Someone Wishes to Speak to You (9 page)

Riding his father’s highly spirited grey thoroughbred hunter Winston, who stood at 16.3 hands high, Mathew would take an exhilarating early morning gallop in the Home Park as far as the lodge at the end of the mile-long south drive. He
would then rub Winston down in his spacious loose box and give him a reward of a good feed of oats. After returning to the hall for more cups of Kivu coffee and a light breakfast, he would isolate himself in the library. There he would remain mostly undisturbed with his note books for the majority of the day, only breaking briefly for a snack at lunchtime in the hall’s flagstone-floored kitchen.

It had been on a Saturday morning when Mathew was having breakfast with his parents that Sid Stockdale had brought in the morning papers,
The Times
and the
Telegraph
, together with the day’s post. And, as always had been Stockdale’s custom, he placed the small pile of letters ceremoniously to the side of Sir Colin.

‘I also had to sign for this package that came by registered post from Africa,’ he announced in his usual regimental fashion. Seeing that this was for Mathew, Lady Sally was quick to take possession of the package before passing it onto him, seizing the opportunity to glance at the rather flowery backward-slanting writing and noting that the sender’s name and address was L. Luzembo, from the National Park Office, Bukavu, Zaire.

‘What a lovely lot of colourful stamps there are on that package! We must find a small boy to pass them on to . . . Who is “L. Luzembo”, Mathew?’

Although Mathew had found it difficult to disguise his excitement in receiving the package from Lucienne, he made an attempt to be as casual and as uninterested as possible. ‘Oh . . . Lucienne is Adrien Deschryver’s assistant; I was working with her in Bukavu. She’s can speak four languages – one of which is English – she helped me a huge amount while I was there.’ Whereupon his mother, with the benefit of maternal instinct and feminine intuition, sensed that Mathew was being rather guarded in what he was saying; perhaps there was more to it than a working relationship, she thought.

Mathew had decided that it would be prudent not to open
the package until he had returned to the privacy of his bedroom; he was well aware that his mother would have been studying his expressions and reactions like a hawk. He was determined, at this stage of his relationship with Lucienne, not to give anything away about how he felt. Once he had returned to his room, it proved to be just as well that he was by himself.

Within the folds of its scented pages was a gorgeous photograph of a smiling Lucienne, dressed in a colourful sky-blue kaftan, sitting with a glass of wine in her hand on the balcony of the Bistro Zanzibar overlooking Lake Kivu, with the mountains of Kahuzi-Biega as a dramatic backdrop. On the back of the photograph, Lucienne had written in red ink:
‘How I so much wish that you were here with me now, so that I could once more be in your loving embrace. Here’s to our reunion in Atlanta. With lots of hugs and kisses, Lucienne xxx’.

The package had also included a second, more formal, typed letter to bring Mathew up-to-date and to report that she had been accepted by Emory University’s Department of Psychology to undertake a three-year degree course to study both Primate Social Psychology and Animal Behavior and Evolution. A copy of Osman Hill’s letter to her was enclosed with regards to the funding he had arranged for her air ticket to Atlanta, and the stipend he had organised for her in connection with the research she was to undertake at the Yerkes Center for Volume 9 of his primate monograph.

Lucienne had also included in the package a selection of recent photographs of Mathew’s study group of gorillas, and one of Deschryver communicating with Casimir, which had the effect of engulfing Mathew in a mist of nostalgia. After reading and rereading her loving sentiments, he kissed the photograph a couple of times, as well as her signature, prior to placing the pictures and the scented letter back into the package, and carefully secreting it among his belongings.

Taking care not to bump into either of his parents, he made his way to the stables, saddled Winston and galloped through the Home Park, scattering the herd of Friesian cattle as he passed through their midst. He just wanted some time on his own to attempt to reconcile the strength of his feelings for Lucienne and to arrive at some degree of normality as to the ever-increasing conflicting emotions that had started to haunt him. He was fully aware that as far as his parents were concerned, if he were to become engaged to be married they would expect him to chose a person from a similar social background, who would thereby be easily able to fit into the privileged world that he inhabited. Mathew could only conclude that if he were to become engaged to Lucienne
and bring her back to England, it would be extremely unfair for her to have to be exposed to such a parochial environment and high degree of social bias, and for her fun-loving, intelligent personality to be inhibited by the unacceptable, entrenched, short-sightedness of his peers.

While riding at a more relaxed pace along the riverbank, Mathew reflected on his experiences during his time at Scaife University. He reminded himself that in spite of the US 1964 Civil Rights Act, sizeable forces in the Deep South still resisted change, resulting in various degrees of racial tension and divide still remaining apparent. He also wondered how long it would be before such current, almost tribal uncertainties between the races became a spectre of the past. But regrettably, the more he thought about such a social bias-based imbroglio, the more he came to the conclusion that the way he felt about Lucienne was almost insurmountable.

Mathew knew that once he gained his PhD, if he were to marry Lucienne, which would in all probability distance him from his family and friends in England, he would at least be able to gain employment as a university lecturer in either Africa or even in the USA, but he had to confess that a totally academic teaching career had never appealed very much to him. However, by the time he had returned Winston to his loose box, he had concluded that it was of the utmost importance not to allow such a conflict of emotional loyalties to distract him from his priority; the analysis of his field notes. Otherwise, his moral dilemma could well undermine his immediate objective, that being the attainment of his doctorate from Emory University.

After returning to the hall, Mathew joined his parents for lunch in the nineteenth-century orangery, taking with him the selection of gorilla photographs that Lucienne had sent. He showed them the photographs and described in great detail each member of Casimir’s family, highlighting their individual temperaments, characteristics, and how they interacted with
each other. Although both parents tried to show as much interest as possible, their only remarks were how brave he was to have been in such close contact with such ‘large, black, human-like apes’. After he had told them about the threats that the eastern lowland gorilla species had been subjected to, prior to Adrien Deschryver’s dedicated work for their conservation in Kahuzi-Biega, the only question his mother asked was what Luzembo’s Christian name was. And in a similar somewhat distracted fashion, his father had rather tactlessly asked him whether there was any good big game shooting in the area.

The following week, the Duncan family received an invitation from the Earl and Countess of Drysdale to a dinner party at their nearby estate, Bardon Towers. It was an event to celebrate Antonia having just come down from Cambridge for the summer break. Sir Colin regretted that all such evenings were no longer ‘white-tie’ occasions as they always used to be in pre-war days for, as far as he was concerned, just having to don a dinner jacket and black tie represented a retrograde step. Prior to such a formal dinner, he always made this a point to lament about.

On the Saturday evening of the dinner, while they were waiting for Sid Stockdale to arrive at the hall’s front entrance with the immaculately polished Daimler, Mathew had joined his father in the study to take a glass of chilled Harvey’s amontillado sherry. ‘Fancy a smiler, Mathew? We’ll have a lot of talking to do tonight!’ Having a ‘smiler’ was a family custom that was often observed before attending social gatherings.

‘Yes please, I think I’ll need it.’ Mathew had been particularly pleased to accept the offer for he knew it would help to calm his nerves prior to being cross-examined by the somewhat imperious Countess of Drysdale, as well as in seeing Antonia again after such a long time. When it was time to leave,
Lady Sally joined the two of them in the hall, dressed in an elegant floral-patterned silk evening gown, and wearing around her neck a perfect double string of fine Cartier pearls.

‘Mathew, you look positively smart – the smartest I’ve seen you since you came back. Even your hair is neat, and that is certainly a rarity.’ She glanced at the little finger of his left hand to see whether he was wearing the gold signet ring with the family crest engraved upon it that she had requested him to put on for the evening. She smiled in satisfaction that he had complied with her wishes. As the family trio descended the wide front steps of the hall in their evening finery, Mathew reflected on how some of his student friends in Atlanta would have viewed such a regal spectacle.

A dinner at Bardon Towers had always followed a similar procedure, with the Earl’s family butler, wearing white kid gloves, serving flûtes of champagne from a large silver tray in the drawing room, which rejoiced in a commanding view over the deer park.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to proceed into the dining room – dinner is served.’ The gong had sounded and the party was led to the spacious dining room with its minstrels’ gallery and tapestry-adorned walls which, at intervals, were punctuated by a series of rather stern-looking family portraits. The butler, holding a small table plan, ceremoniously gestured with his free hand to indicate to the guests the shortest distance to their designated place at the enormous Chippendale table.

When each guest arrived at their chair, in order for there to be no last minute confusion or exchanging of places, their name was neatly written on a small gilt-edged card, supported by a silver place-name holder positioned in front of each table setting. Once Mathew had located his place and stood behind his chair, he was delighted to be joined by Antonia, who was to be seated to the right of him. No doubt, he guessed, on her insistence.

After the Earl and Countess had seated themselves at each end of the long table, Mathew pulled out Antonia’s chair. ‘Allow me,’ he said as she slid into her seat, smiling.

‘So lovely to see you again Mathew, it’s been an absolute age. You must tell me all about Africa – rather more exciting than Cambridge, I’ll bet . . . Jolly good, this is Daddy’s favourite Premier Cru Chablis, you must try it,’ said Antonia as the wine was poured into exquisitely cut crystal glasses. Mathew took a sip and decided the evening might be tolerably pleasant after all. The five courses were served on the family’s fine gold-leaf edged porcelain, all of which had their coat of arms with the crest on each plate being positioned carefully at twelve o’clock in front of the diner. At either side of the placement had been a set of monogrammed Georgian silver cutlery. During the meal, each dish was accompanied by a generous amount of vintage wine, which included some fine claret from the Earl’s renowned cellars. Three tall candelabras gave flickering light to a selection of rather over-ornate gold family heirlooms, which had been positioned at intervals along the length of the table. Two sizeable Venetian chandeliers hung on long, gilded chains from the vaulted ceiling, providing some welcome additional illumination to this formal setting.

The conversation between Mathew and Antonia flowed easily. ‘Do you know,’ said Antonia, ‘I do so enjoy Girton. I love studying History of Art, and the college itself is just wonderful – we really have so much freedom, and there’s just so much going on. One can never complain of being bored!’ While she was talking about her new life in Cambridge, Antonia had left her knee touching his, which Mathew had found surprisingly agreeable, although after a while he had decided it was prudent to move away. He found it difficult to decide whether this contact had been intentional. As they had been getting on so well, Mathew had hoped that it was.

As the evening progressed, it was as they shared a joke together that she had momentarily gently squeezed the top
of his right leg and Mathew recognised that Antonia was still attracted to him. But while they had been talking about mutual friends and the privileged lifestyle they had always both so much enjoyed in their youth, he had become conscious of how very much they had in common. Mathew could not help thinking how Antonia still possessed that rather delectable countenance of innocence that he had previously found to be so enchanting, and how he found her to be so much more mature than ever before.

‘Gentlemen, the ladies will take their leave of us for a while before we join them for coffee.’ Following the Earl’s lead, Mathew and the other five male guests rose to their feet while the women followed the Countess to her boudoir. Here, without the presence of the menfolk, they could discuss various upcoming social events, as well as the ramifications of some society scandal that had recently come to their attention.