A Dream of her Own (58 page)
He glanced at her keenly. ‘Nella, I shouldn’t have told you this story. You’re too tender-hearted. I’ve upset you.’
‘Upset...’
‘Let me get you a shot of brandy.’ Patrick McCormack rose and hurried into the coffee house.
‘Nella?’ Valentino had finished his coffee and cake and was staring at her worriedly. ‘Are you upset?’
‘No, my darling. Everything’s fine.’
‘Where shall I serve the coffee, Mrs Edington? In the front room or the conservatory?’
‘The conservatory, please, Polly. It’s such a pleasant evening, don’t you think, John?’
He didn’t reply but he smiled and went ahead to light the lamps, although, at almost midsummer, it wouldn’t be truly dark for more than an hour yet. They didn’t have a garden at the back of the house, only a yard, but the conservatory, built out from the dining room, was large and, thanks to Albert Green and his father, it was beginning to rival that of John’s uncle and aunt at their grand villa in Jesmond.
John held her chair for her and when she was settled, he sat at the other side of the engraved brass-topped table and smiled ruefully. ‘I wish Polly would say “drawing room” not “front room”. Can’t you train her any better?’
Constance controlled her own irritation. ‘She’s doing very well, John.’
She would have liked to add that, although she was doing her best to educate their maid, she herself was beginning to question some of the trivia of social niceties, but she held her peace. After all, it was only recently that John had started dining at home again and, as he was obviously trying to please her tonight, she did not want to upset him.
She was glad she’d kept quiet when he said contritely, ‘I’m sorry. You’ve been marvellous. Our servants ... this house ... our daughters ... You are a good wife and mother, Constance, and you are more than I deserve.’
He turned to look out of the window, or rather at the massed plants standing between him and the glass, but he had not been quick enough and Constance had seen the sheer misery in his eyes.
‘And yet you are not happy.’
She said it so quietly that she was not sure that he had heard her. He remained staring into the waxy green foliage until Polly arrived with the tray, then he turned and smiled up at her.
‘Thank you, Polly. And thank you for the lovely dinner.’
‘It was only brisket,’ Polly said, and turned to go.
‘Wait a moment.’ John called her back. ‘Did Albert like the silk scarf?’
‘Yes he did, thank you. But I’m not sure when he’s going to wear it.’
When she had gone, John raised his eyebrows. ‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘She’s grumpy, tonight.’
‘I think she’s a little jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Of the fuss you make of Albert.’
John was silent for so long that Constance wished she could recall her words. But then he said, ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Well, you know, you have been generous ... you give him gifts—’
‘They’re usually samples.’
‘That may be. But sometimes when they go out together Albert looks much smarter than she does. Perhaps Polly feels belittled.’
She wished she’d had the courage to say what she really believed. That Polly had guessed that her master was in some way attracted to Albert. Constance saw that John was staring at her. Had he read her mind?
‘That’s nonsense!’ he exclaimed. But he smiled. ‘Well, if that’s what it is, I can easily put things right. You know the new shop is specializing in a line of ready-mades? When I saw all the little shop girls gawping at the display in the window - and some of them were making sketches—I realized there was another market out there! Well, anyway, it would be easy enough to bring a sample home now and then for Polly. Do you think that would put things right?’
‘It may do, John, and that would be kind of you.’
‘Good. Do you mind if I have a cigar? I’ll open the outer door and stand there. But don’t go away, will you?’
‘Please go ahead. I’m going to have another cup of coffee.’
Did all husbands and wives talk to each other like this, Constance wondered. Like polite strangers? She watched John go over to the doorway, open it and begin the business of lighting his cigar.
When they were first married, she mused, Polly would never have spoken to John like that. In the maid’s eyes, John Edington could do no wrong, and she and Polly had got off to a bad start. But she had made every effort to put that right and now she could count on Polly as an ally.
Ally ... what was she thinking of? Did she need an ally? Was John her enemy? Were they at war? No, of course not. But neither were they loving friends as she had imagined they would be ... and she had imagined that they would be so much more.
Although John had been making an effort lately, the atmosphere between them was entirely artificial and more than a little strained. For example, he had never questioned her about the destruction of the chair cover in the sewing room as surely a normal husband would have done.
And he had been so pleased just now to accept her explanation of why Polly was jealous - the gifts of clothes. But Constance suspected that it was more than that. Even if Albert refused to acknowledge it, his sweetheart knew what kind of man John was, and she was worried that one day he might expect a certain kind of gratitude.
‘You were right, of course.’
She looked up to find him staring out into the yard; the smoke from his cigar curling out into the dusk. ‘Right?’ she said.
‘About my not being happy.’
‘Oh, John, I—’
‘In fact I am most unhappy about my uncle’s latest suggestion. Suggestion! That’s what he calls it but it is more like an order. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? My cousin Esther has persuaded her parents that she should work with me.’
‘Would that be a bad thing?’
He turned and glared at her. ‘How can you ask? Of course it would. I want this venture of mine to be completely separate from Barton’s. My aim is to be completely free of the family.’
‘Then you must say no.’
‘Would you support me?’
‘Why do you look so surprised? Of course I would.’
‘Well, that day they came here - Aunt Muriel and Esther - and persuaded you to show them my workroom ...’ He hesitated and Constance wondered if, at last, he was going to ask her what had happened in there that day. But then he continued, ‘I thought they had persuaded you to influence me.’
‘Goodness, no. Your aunt knows that I have no influence with you.’
She was surprised by the look he gave her. It was one of consternation. ‘Oh, Constance, I’m sorry. Have I been such a bad husband?’
‘John ...’
‘My uncle told me that I had, you know. He said that I had been neglecting you shamefully - that I should spend more time with my wife and family.’
‘Is that why you’ve been coming home for dinner lately?’ she asked sharply. ‘To please your uncle?’
‘No! Not to please my uncle. It’s because I saw the truth of his words. I have been neglecting you and I felt ashamed.’
‘But not ashamed enough to stop bringing—’
‘Go on, what were you going to say?’
‘Nothing, John. I’m glad that you have been coming home to dinner with me.’
‘But you are still unhappy?’
She shrugged.
‘Constance, my uncle said that you might want another baby. Is that true?’
‘I think that idea came from your aunt.’
‘But is it true?’
‘I ... I don’t know, John.’
‘Well, anyway,’ he looked relieved, ‘it’s something to think about, isn’t it?’
He smiled at her and her heart ached to see how handsome he still was - in spite of the dark shadows under his eyes. He always looked tired these days and Constance had no way of knowing how much sleep he got. Her husband may have returned to the family table but he still had not returned to her bed.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think it’s time to go out and check the gate, see that we are locked up securely for the night.’ He stepped out into the yard and then half turned and said, ‘I won’t be long.’
Constance put her coffee cup on the table and rose from her chair. In spite of John’s good intentions he had probably just lied to her. He checked the gate that led into the park every night but she had known for some time that he wasn’t always locking it. On the contrary, some nights her husband would be making sure that the gate remained unlocked.
That way the visitors that he imagined nobody knew about, the new friends who came when everybody else was in bed, did not have to walk down the terrace past the houses of all their respectable neighbours. They could come unseen across the park and John would no doubt meet them at the conservatory door before taking them surreptitiously up to his room at the top of the house.
Constance had sometimes heard the whispers and the stifled laughter as they mounted the stairs and she burned with shame to think that Polly and Florence might hear them too.
She had no idea who these men were, for of course, the visitors were men. Sometimes there was only one visitor; now and then she heard two. But none of them spoke in the cultured tones of Matthew Elliot.
She didn’t wait for John because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to face him and pretend that nothing was wrong. With a last regretful look into the musky night, she turned and hurried up to bed.
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘Go on - eat some. It’s good.’
‘What is it?’
‘Goose liver pate.’
‘Ugh!’ Declan pulled a disgusted face.
John smiled. ‘Just try it,’ he said. ‘It’s made from goose, bacon, wine, brandy. Here, take this knife and put a little on this biscuit ... let me ... there you are, open your mouth.’
Declan took a bite gingerly and then looked up and grinned. ‘I like it.’
‘Have some more. Help yourself—and try the cheese ... and the pigeon pie. I’ll pour you some wine.’
‘I’d rather have a glass of stout.’
‘No doubt you would, but I haven’t got any.’
‘Gin?’ Declan raised his dark brows hopefully.
John laughed. ‘No. You’re going to have wine, and a good one at that, although I doubt if your uneducated palate will appreciate it.’
Declan scowled. ‘What’s readin’ and writin’ got to do with wine?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’ve just said I’m uneducated. It’s never bothered you up to now.’
He put down the knife he’d been holding and hunched forward on the chair, clenching his huge fists on his knees. John noticed how the firelight glinted on the signet ring he wore and how it highlighted his swarthy features, making him look sinister, menacing almost. But that was part of the attraction, he supposed, the hint of danger was exciting ... stimulating. Nevertheless he decided to tread carefully.
‘I didn’t say that you were uneducated. What I meant was that, as you are not used to drinking wine, it may take some time - and several bottles’ - he grinned, hoping to coax a response - ‘before you begin to appreciate the difference between one wine and another. That’s what I meant. Really.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
Declan relaxed and unclenched his hands. He reached for a large slice of cold pie and put it on his plate. ‘You know, John,’ he picked up the plate and sat back, ‘sometimes you talk a load of horse manure. I wouldn’t put up with it if I didn’t love you, would I?’
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