The Shape of Sand (13 page)
“I am out here,” she called softly, her heart beating with
hope, not turning her head, “I needed some air.”
hope, not turning her head, “I needed some air.”
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned as he joined her on the balcony. She gave a stifled cry.
“You thought I was Amory!”
“Yes.” She had begun to tremble. A thick pulse beat in her throat.
“He has gone into his study. He will be there for hours.” He placed his hand on hers as it lay on the balustrade and she did not withdraw it. They came closer, his free hand moved to her white arm, stayed a moment, then moved to her throat, her cheek, and gently rested there. They stood, eye to eye, not speaking, not moving, but then body to body, lip to lip. Until, with one accord, they moved back into her bedroom.
The light went out and after a moment the cigarette of the watcher in the garden was also extinguished.
The following day, Vita lay in the hammock under the cedar, trailing one pretty little foot, a soft cushion behind her head, half asleep, her thoughts drifting, listening to the church bells pealing their summons for morning service, pleased with herself for having resisted the pressure to attend. It was too hot to go anywhere, too pleasant to be doing anything other than lazing here, day-dreaming, just feeling perfectly happy. She was going to marry Bertie, and she didn't care a fig that everyone else thought she was doing so simply because she had managed to make a good catch, in her first season â she knew otherwise. Her family liked him well enough â who could fail to like Bertie? â but at the same time it was obvious they thought he was a bit of an ass. Vita, however, though far from being a fool, didn't crave intellectual stimulation. Unlike Harriet and Daisy, she wasn't the clever type, nor had she ever wanted to be. All she had ever asked was to marry and have three â or four â darling children. She was just very lucky to have found the right man so soon â¦
I, Victoria Edina, take thee, Bertram Granville George
â¦
â¦
Her bridesmaids were to be in palest blush pink. Beatrice was of the opinion that they should, all eight of them, be in traditional white, but pink would be kinder to dear Dolly's slightly sallow complexion (Dolly had chosen cream for her own wedding gown, for that very reason). Besides, Vita herself would be wearing white satin, pure and virginal.
She felt the heat run right up from her neck into her face as she remembered last night's fiasco and what might have happened. They had both drunk too much champagne. As soon as was polite, Bertie's mother and sisters had indicated they'd had quite enough of the festivities and wished to be escorted home. Bertie, half-drunk, had whispered that he would be back, she must wait for him, pretend to go to bed and then come out again to meet him. Greatly daring, she had
promised. What a lark! She would have promised him anything. But oh, what machinations she'd had to resort to in order to avoid being seen as she slipped out! In the end, she had managed it, and waited for him, heart beating, ready to slip into his arms. Under his soft, insistent persuasions, she had led him to where she was sure they wouldn't be disturbed, so that they might kiss and embrace as they were never allowed to do in daylight. And goodness knows what it might have led to if they hadn't been so rudely interrupted â
promised. What a lark! She would have promised him anything. But oh, what machinations she'd had to resort to in order to avoid being seen as she slipped out! In the end, she had managed it, and waited for him, heart beating, ready to slip into his arms. Under his soft, insistent persuasions, she had led him to where she was sure they wouldn't be disturbed, so that they might kiss and embrace as they were never allowed to do in daylight. And goodness knows what it might have led to if they hadn't been so rudely interrupted â
Vita put her hands to her flaming face. Heavens, no! What was she thinking? Nothing like
that
would
ever
have happened! Bertie was too honourable, he would never have let her risk losing her reputation, and besides, he knew she was
not
fast, or immoral ⦠she was not! Hot shame coursed through her, but at the same time, there was a secret inner excitement that told her if Bertie had insisted, she just
might
not have resisted enough â¦
that
would
ever
have happened! Bertie was too honourable, he would never have let her risk losing her reputation, and besides, he knew she was
not
fast, or immoral ⦠she was not! Hot shame coursed through her, but at the same time, there was a secret inner excitement that told her if Bertie had insisted, she just
might
not have resisted enough â¦
“Vita!”
“What?” Vita sat up, almost tipping herself out of the hammock, which at least served to cover her confusion and gave her time to collect herself. “Oh, it's you, Daisy. What's wrong?”
“Do wake up! I can't find Mama anywhere.”
“She's gone to church, I suppose.”
“No, she hasn't. Hallam says not. She's in rather a state, Hallam I mean â she hasn't even gone off to the Baptists this morning, which speaks for itself. She'd rather miss eating for a week than her Bible class! She says Mama didn't go to bed until late last night, but when she took her morning tea in to her â she wasn't there.”
“Well, don't ask me! She may have gone for a walk.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing. The unlikelihood of this amounted to an impossibility. Beatrice never walked anywhere if she could avoid it, except perhaps to take a gentle stroll in Hyde Park when in London, or as far as the lake, here.
In any case, she rarely put in an appearance before eleven in the morning. Sometimes it was noon, especially on Sundays, or when they had been entertaining late the previous evening,
as had happened yesterday, but she was usually to be found before then in her room, writing and answering letters and invitations, often from her bed, flicking through fashion journals or busily making plans for entertaining guests here or in Mount Street. But as for rising early and going out to take the air â¦!
as had happened yesterday, but she was usually to be found before then in her room, writing and answering letters and invitations, often from her bed, flicking through fashion journals or busily making plans for entertaining guests here or in Mount Street. But as for rising early and going out to take the air â¦!
“Perhaps she's gone for a spin with Papa.”
“He's in the library. With orders not to be disturbed. And Copley's polishing the motorcar in the yard.”
“Have you asked anyone else? The servantsâ”
“Well, I suppose Hallam's asked them, I haven't. Kit's gone back to London, Uncle Myles left for home an hour ago, Harriet's off to church with Marcus â and Mr Iskander doesn't seem to be about, though I don't imagine he's gone to church. What religion is he, do you suppose? I wonder what the rector would say if he turned up there ⦠perhaps he's run off with Mama!”
“Daisy, don't be such a goose! I know, she'll have gone across to Nanny's cottage. That skirt material came from Swan & Edgar's yesterday, and I was supposed to take it across. But I forgot, and Mama was quite cross with me.”
“I dare say you might be right. I'll go over and find out. I want to see if Nanny's cough's better, anyway.”
“Shouldn't you be helping Miss Jessamy? I thought that was the reason you'd been excused church.”
“Oh, I escaped. She's having difficulty with one of the walls and creating such a dust! And since I've been worked to death all week, I felt I deserved a break. She's a real slave driver.” Indeed, Rose had driven Daisy, installed like the sorcerer's apprentice, almost as hard as she drove herself and the staff who had been enlisted to help her with the heavy work.
“You do look a sight, darling Daisy,” said Vita with a laugh, stretching out a hand to rub at a streak of paint on Daisy's flushed cheek, rolling her eyes at the plaster-spattered breeches and smock which her sister had been allowed to wear for the duration of the work â and for that only â in imitation of the workmanlike garb Rose Jessamy donned to paint in.
“I know,” answered Daisy, with satisfaction. “But it's such fun.”
“If you say so.”
“Wait until you see the finished product.”
“Gracious, I have no intentions of doing anything else but wait!”
But not everyone was avoiding all the mess and clutter, Vita knew, especially the men â Wycombe and Papa, as well as Kit and Marcus, who never ceased to marvel at the quick and competent way in which Miss Jessamy wielded a trowel and a heavy hod of wet plaster, leaving the walls smooth as silk and ready to be worked on.
Vita said, rousing herself from her lethargy, “I'll walk across to Nanny's with you and take her last month's
Ladies' journal.
She loves to look at the fashions.” The girls were all very fond of their old nurse. “You'd better change first, though,” she added. “If Mama catches you outside the house in that garb, you'll never be allowed to put it on again.”
Ladies' journal.
She loves to look at the fashions.” The girls were all very fond of their old nurse. “You'd better change first, though,” she added. “If Mama catches you outside the house in that garb, you'll never be allowed to put it on again.”
“I suppose I must.” Daisy pulled a face, but went off to change.
When she came back she had on a skirt and a fresh cotton blouse, her face was washed and her hair brushed and tied back with a large black bow. They walked the hundred yards or so to Nanny Byfield's cottage in the lane at the edge of the woods, but found her alone, sitting on a chair outside the door in the sun, turning the heel of a sock without even needing to look, the four steel knitting needles flashing in the light. Poor Marcus! Yet another pair of thick, grey woollen socks, which he must pretend to be pleased with, when he'd been wearing silk ever since he left school. But he would never let Nanny know that.
“No, I've seen nothing of your mama this morning. Maybe she got up early and went out into the garden and waited there to join the others when they went to church,” Nanny suggested.
“Mama, putting a toe out of bed before she's had her tea? Oh, Nanny, you know better than that!” laughed Vita, though Beatrice quite often did not have any breakfast. “And besides, how could she dress, who'd tighten her laces for her?” Their mother had never been known to leave her room without being properly equipped to face the day, her hair done and her
corsets defining her splendid curves.
corsets defining her splendid curves.
“Never say never where your mama's concerned, or she'll surprise you in the end! And as for getting up early, well, she was always up and out in the fresh air before everyone else in the family, when she was a girl. âIt's too
shiny
a morning to stay in bed, Nanny,' she used to say, âI don't want to miss a moment of it!'“Nanny Byfield, who had been Beatrice's nurse, too, had reached the age when she loved to reminisce and never missed the opportunity of taking advantage of a captive audience. “Oh, she was a madam, and no mistake! âWhen I grow up, I want to do this, I want to do that!' there was never any end to it. âWell, then want will be your master, young lady,' I used to tell her, but I don't think she ever listened.” She smiled and drew up a further length of thick grey wool to hook between her fingers as she changed needles, having revealed such totally unexpected facets of Beatrice's character that Vita and Daisy, after one glance at each other, were temporarily silenced. “Out she'd run, down to the keeper's cottage, and calling out for Clara Hallam to come and join her.”
shiny
a morning to stay in bed, Nanny,' she used to say, âI don't want to miss a moment of it!'“Nanny Byfield, who had been Beatrice's nurse, too, had reached the age when she loved to reminisce and never missed the opportunity of taking advantage of a captive audience. “Oh, she was a madam, and no mistake! âWhen I grow up, I want to do this, I want to do that!' there was never any end to it. âWell, then want will be your master, young lady,' I used to tell her, but I don't think she ever listened.” She smiled and drew up a further length of thick grey wool to hook between her fingers as she changed needles, having revealed such totally unexpected facets of Beatrice's character that Vita and Daisy, after one glance at each other, were temporarily silenced. “Out she'd run, down to the keeper's cottage, and calling out for Clara Hallam to come and join her.”
“Hallam?”
they chorused, united in astonishment.
they chorused, united in astonishment.
“Well, you knew she was the gamekeeper's step-daughter on your grandfather's estate, same age they were ⦔
“Yes, we knew that â but not that they were
friends!”
Vita said.
friends!”
Vita said.
“Well, as to friends â it was always Miss Beatrice this, Miss Beatrice that, lady and servant, you see, never mind their ages, and very right and proper, too. But neither of them had anybody else, only a houseful of stepbrothers in Clara's case, young Fred that she ran wild with, until Miss Bea took her up. Miss Bea without even a mother, and as for her father ⦠he'd always wanted a son, and when his wife died giving him a daughter, he'd no interest.”
“Poor Mama!” said Daisy.
“Oh, she never seemed to mind that, what she'd never had she didn't miss, I suppose,” Nanny said briskly, “and I didn't see any reason then to discourage the friendship with Clara â as long as I kept an eye on it ⦠it taught Miss Bea she might not be the only one in the universe, and Clara learned better manners than she might have, with all those rough brothers,
and to speak nicely. Her mother had been sewing maid up at the Hall, and she made sure Clara knew how to sew. For all her gawkiness, she had neat fingers, and she was a quick learner, I'll give her that. So she was all set up for becoming your mama's maid-” She broke off abruptly and looked down at her gnarled fingers, which had stilled on her knitting. “Well, that's enough of my old maunderings.”
and to speak nicely. Her mother had been sewing maid up at the Hall, and she made sure Clara knew how to sew. For all her gawkiness, she had neat fingers, and she was a quick learner, I'll give her that. So she was all set up for becoming your mama's maid-” She broke off abruptly and looked down at her gnarled fingers, which had stilled on her knitting. “Well, that's enough of my old maunderings.”
When she looked up again, she could see how taken aback they were. “Don't you take too much notice of what I say, my dears, she soon forgot all that when she met your father and learned that a contented marriage and a good husband is worth a peck of wishful thinking. She'll be back from church with the others, you'll see.”
But the churchgoers returned without Beatrice, and a small fuss arose, annoyance tinged with a frisson of uneasiness. All kinds of unlikely suppositions were put forward as to where she might be, but mostly it was felt that she must, on a whim, have suddenly gone to call on someone, or accepted an unexpected, off-the-cuff telephone invitation to luncheon â from someone who must, in that case, have sent a conveyance to fetch her. It was the only reasonable explanation, but left too much unexplained. In particular why, if she had decided to do something so astonishingly out of the ordinary, had she not let anyone know?
It was Marcus, on his arrival home from church, who put an end to these speculations. “Mama?” he repeated. “She hasn't b-been seen since last night?” No one else had quite looked at it like that. “Then something's happened â we must look for her immediately. I'll m-muster some of the m-men.”
“No,” Amory said steadily, his face pale but admirably controlled. “There's no need for that yet. Don't make a to-do over it. There's bound to be some simple explanation.”
Marcus seemed about to protest, but Harriet laid a restraining hand on his arm, and after a moment he subsided, though the look of panic remained. He had seen, like Harriet, that their father's unwillingness to instigate such a search just yet might well arise from an uncomfortable feeling that by doing so he would be admitting that something, after all, might be sadly amiss. Which possibility could not, really must not, be
considered.
considered.
The bell rang for luncheon, and everyone assembled, with the exception of Miss Jessamy, who never ate at midday, just a piece of fruit, it seemed â and nor was Mr Iskander there, either. Enquiries from the housekeeper as to his whereabouts subsequently elicited the information that he had departed Charnley early that morning, leaving behind a nightshirt in a drawer and a bottle of macassar oil on the dressing table, though fortunately he hadn't forgotten to leave a sizeable tip for the servants. He had asked with such assurance for the pony trap to take him to the station for the first train that Copley had assumed the family were aware of his departure. Gone, bag and baggage, without even a note or a word of thanks to his hosts! Disappeared, like the genie in âAli Baba'! This was deplorable, and it was also unexpected. Whatever else, Iskander's manners had always been impeccable.
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