Tall Poppies (12 page)

‘It's two miles and I'm wearing court shoes. Everywhere is so far from everywhere else in this Godforsaken hole. When are we going back to London? We're missing all the parties and celebrations.'

She sounded so peevish that Henry turned a frown in her direction. ‘My son has just returned home. He's ill. Celebrating in such circumstances is unseemly.'

‘So is wallowing in self-pity over him, since it won't change anything.'

Livia had never met anyone with less sympathy for her fellow human beings than the new Mrs Sangster.

‘Can't we have a New Year's party  . . . do something to liven the place up?'

‘Enough, Rosemary. Allow me to enjoy the season in the company of my son,' he said wearily, and began to walk away, leaving her to follow.

For a moment she hesitated, then she followed after him. Her arm slid through his. ‘Don't be cross, Henry. I was only suggesting we could invite a few people to dinner.'

‘I know what you were suggesting.'

‘Anyone would think you were ashamed of me.'

‘Oh  . . . for God's sake,' he said, under his breath, and gave her a measured look, as though he was considering it.

‘I miss the theatre so. I wanted to attend Lionel Crawley's New Year party. He promised I could sing to his guests; they will all be from the theatre, and he's casting for a new show. It's an audition, of sorts, really. I won't get a chance like this again  . . . a talent scout from an American film studio will be there. Imagine that. I might be discovered!'

‘Then by all means don't miss the opportunity to be
discovered
. You don't need me along to hold your hand.'

‘You won't mind if I go to London by myself then?'

‘Not in the least  . . . in fact, I'll ask Beamish to run you up in the car.'

The look she gave him was arch. ‘The least you could do is to pretend you'll miss me, darling.'

‘Why pretend anything?' he said shortly. ‘Go if you want to. Now, can we please change the subject?'

Livia exchanged a glance with Connie. It sounded as though the major couldn't wait to be rid of his new wife.

It was half an hour before the car returned.

‘Is Richard all right?' the major immediately asked Beamish.

‘He had a disturbed night and he's tired, Sir. He'll soon pick up after a sleep. Matthew Bugg is keeping an eye on him till I get back.'

They piled into the car. Rosemary's perfect oval face was expertly made up and framed by grey fur. She gazed out of the window, giving the occasional sigh, like a misunderstood and martyred wife.

Her husband, grey-haired and handsome, was behind the wheel. Outwardly, they were a perfect couple, except Rosemary was a lot younger. Yet it seemed that now she'd got what she wanted, she was still dissatisfied  . . . while marriage had not curbed the major's roving eye.

Beamish gave Florence a smile as he seated himself next to her, and she blushed. The children leaned against Livia. They were still clingy, but there was a sense of excitement about them because it was Christmas.

Their little Christmas tree was nothing when compared to the splendour of the one at Foxglove House. It stood in the corner of the drawing room, frosted with cotton-wool snow, glass icicles and tinsel. The light caught the baubles as they twisted and turned, sending out dazzling gleams. Gifts were stacked underneath.

Connie disappeared into the kitchen with Florence. Soon delicious smells began to waft through the house. Livia set the table, with holly arranged down the centre. If she'd expected any help from Rosemary she was disappointed; the lady of the house arranged herself in a chair by the fire and sipped sherry.

Richard came down in time for dinner. The major carved the turkey and made a toast to his son, then they tucked in. Afterwards, the gifts were opened.

The children were almost overwhelmed by receiving so many gaily-wrapped parcels: there were knitted jumpers from Florence, socks and scarves, jigsaw puzzles and a toy aeroplane.

Richard had bought Chad a bicycle.

‘How absolutely spiffing, I can't wait to ride it,' Chad exclaimed, giving Richard a look brimming over with hero worship.

‘You can have a quick dash around the hall on it,' Richard told him. ‘I'll come out and watch in a minute. Everyone is welcome to attend the event.'

Everyone except Rosemary Sangster joined in the fun as Chad wobbled around the hall, a self-conscious grin on his face.

Esmé received a doll's pram. Its superior-looking occupant had blue eyes, dark fluttering eyelashes and real hair.

It struck Livia that the pair were open to influences beyond her control when Esmé exclaimed, her voice a childish gush, ‘She's so sweet  . . . thank you so very much.'

They gathered round the piano to sing Christmas carols, and Rosemary Sangster suddenly came to life, her voice putting them all to shame. As a result, the voices of the others faded away. She gazed around at everyone with an entirely self-satisfied look on her face when they applauded, then said, ‘Goodnight,' and left the room.

It was a blatant signal to everyone who had a home to go to, and there was a scramble to find coats, hats and scarves.

‘Can I ride home, Livia?'

‘Not in the dark, Chad, the bicycle can go on the back of the car. Mr Beamish will take us.'

‘Are these things ours to keep?' Esmé whispered.

‘Yes, and I'll expect you to write thank you letters to everyone. Place all your gifts in the pram, and we'll put it in the car.'

When they arrived at the cottage, Bertie set up a racket and leapt all over them. The kitten mewed pathetically when Esmé picked him up and made a fuss of him. There was a sense of homecoming.

Beamish stayed for a cup of tea after the children went to bed. They sat in the kitchen where it was warm. ‘I enjoyed today,' he said.

‘Yes, so did I. I was worried about Richard in church, though. He's not as strong as he'd like us to think.'

‘The captain has these turns. Sometimes he'll go for days, then he thinks he's getting stronger and overdoes things.'

‘Is Chad being a nuisance?'

‘Chad's good for him. He has a child's honesty and Richard tells him little things about the war. It's good that he can talk of it.'

‘Richard is a hero to Chad.'

‘Make no mistake; the captain
is
a hero, Miss Carr. Ask any of the men who fought with him. He kept going, though his condition was threatening to let him down. He brought many of his men through and they looked up to him.'

‘Including you.'

He nodded. ‘Things could have been different for him if he'd sought medical help earlier. As it turned out he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

‘And you were there for him. I'm sorry your wife didn't make it through the flu outbreak. That must have been hard to come home to.'

He nodded. ‘Doreen was a nice woman, ordinary and goodhearted  . . . but life goes on and we cope as best we can. We didn't have any children.' He smiled. ‘I haven't got a great deal, just a small flat over an ironmonger's shop in Parkstone, but it's more than many have got. There's enough profit in the shop for a couple, and my father runs it. After my job finishes  . . . well, perhaps I can start over.'

There was a small charged silence. ‘And then?'

He shrugged. ‘Expand. Repair bicycles, install a petrol pump for motorists, and perhaps buy a charabanc and take people on day trips to the seaside. I hope I'll find a nice woman and we'll make a life together. I'd like a family. What about you, Miss Carr? What are your plans for the future?'

‘More of the same, I suppose. The late Mrs Sangster made generous arrangements for me through the Sinclair trust, and Major Henry and Richard endorsed it. They have been kind towards me and I'm grateful to them. I'll work at the house and live in the cottage with my sister and brother until Chad has finished his education.'

‘You don't want to get married yourself?'

‘Who would want me with two children to support?'

‘You'd be surprised, a lovely young woman like you.' He stood, shuffling his feet. ‘Would you do me a favour?'

‘As long as you're not going to propose marriage to me.'

For a moment he looked startled, then he laughed. ‘I can see the notion has no appeal. Well I don't blame you since I'm no oil painting.'

‘Actually you have a nice face, Mr Beamish. You look dependable and trustworthy. We never see ourselves as others do.'

‘That's true.' He cleared his throat. ‘I wondered if you'd find out what Florence thinks of me.'

‘Do you need to ask when she blushes every time you go near her?'

‘I don't want to make a fool of myself.'

‘There are worse things than making a fool of yourself, Mr Beamish. If you want Florence, be positive. She's straightforward and will appreciate knowing where she stands. You'd better not leave matters for too long, though. I have a notion that Matthew Bugg has his eye on her,' she lied, in a moment of mischief.

‘The devil, he has!'

Livia grinned to herself after he left. She washed the cups, turned down the light and went to check on the children. There was a suspicious bulge under Chad's eiderdown. Peeling back the corner revealed a wagging tail. ‘All right, just this once, seeing that it's Christmas.'

Esmé coughed in her sleep. Holding the candle high, Livia gazed down at her. Esmé's cheeks were flushed, and she tired easily. She laid the back of her hand against her sister's cheek and found it was slightly moist with perspiration. Her new doll occupied the chair and Whiskers was asleep in the pram. He opened one eye, looked at her then shut it again.

Livia stooped to kiss Esmé's cheek, reminding herself she should get the children checked over by Dr Elliot. She would ask him the next time he came to see Richard.

The atmosphere lightened a little when Rosemary Sangster left for London.

When the major wasn't with Richard he wandered around aimlessly, getting underfoot and putting the routine of the house out.

Connie scoffed, ‘He never did know what to do with himself here. It's not as if Major Henry was born to be a country gentleman, and he's not really needed here. He likes the high life, and the attention of women. I reckon he should have gone back to London with
her
. At least they have that sort of thing in common. And he has his club to go to.'

After lunch the major decided to walk over to see the reverend. ‘Wish him a happy new year  . . . it's the done thing, you know.'

‘Don't forget to wear your scarf, Major. It's cold outside.'

‘I will. Where are the children?'

‘In my sitting room.'

‘I thought I might take them with me for a walk. They must get bored.'

It was a kind thought. ‘Chad might like to go; he's got his new bicycle with him and is dying to show off on it to someone. I don't want Esmé to go out, though, she's got a cold coming on, I think. I'm going to ask Doctor Elliot to take a look at her the next time he calls. I'll ask Chad if he'd like to keep you company, shall I?'

‘Do.' His face crinkled into a roguish smile. ‘Tell Chad he'll be doing me a favour. He'll provide me with an excuse to leave when the man gets boring. Besides, the reverend is going to teach the boy Latin, so Chad will have the chance to look him over. We might go to the stables afterwards and inspect the horses.'

Chad jumped at the chance to go out with the major and swiftly donned his balaclava, scarf and gloves. He wove back and forth down the drive, showing off for the major who marched in an upright soldierly manner after him.

The doorbell rang later in the afternoon.

A smile touched Livia's mouth when she saw Denton Elliot standing there.

‘You haven't changed a bit,' she said.

‘Neither have you.' It was obvious he'd forgotten her name because he put a finger over her lips and smiled. ‘Hello, Miss Pheasant Feather.'

She raised an eyebrow and laughed, feeling instantly at home with him. ‘Don't be ridiculous. I knew you'd forget my name.'

‘I have not. If it isn't that then you must be Miss Olivia Carr, mostly called Livia, though being instructed to call you Miss Carr, in a rather spinsterish manner.' He placed his hands against his heart. ‘I'd forgotten what a beauty you are, though, Miss Carr.'

‘Your memory is outstanding if you can remember the exact wording of a conversation all that time ago.'

‘It is, if the subject matter is worth remembering. Are you going to make me wait on the doorstep in the cold?'

She opened the door wider. ‘I'm sorry, do come in,' and she closed the door behind him when he did. ‘You're exactly like your father. I think the pair of you have Irish blood and have kissed the blarney stone. I was expecting him to call in on Captain Sangster today, and wondered if he'd look at my sister while he was here.'

‘I can manage that. What's wrong with her?'

‘She has a cough, though it's not much of one, so it's not urgent. I expect the captain will enjoy seeing you. He doesn't often get visitors of his own age. Follow me.'

‘How has he been?' he asked, following her up the stairs.

‘Pleased to be home, I think. He rarely complains, and is very kind, sweet and thoughtful.'

‘He seems to have made a good impression on you,' he said rather drily. ‘I was talking about his health.'

‘I'm hardly an expert on his health, Doctor Elliot. Oh, dear, I do hope I don't get you and your father mixed up.'

‘On the train I distinctly remember asking you to call me Denton, and you did. What's changed?'

She blushed. ‘On the train it was different. You were a stranger and I didn't expect to see you again. And what's more, I didn't know you were a doctor.'