All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (63 page)

‘Edward! Wake up! I’m talking to you! I said, what did you think of Villy?’

‘What do you mean what did I think of her?’

‘Oh – you know. Did she look much older? Does she still care about you? That sort of thing.’

He thought for a moment, and spoke very deliberately: ‘No, she didn’t look older – younger, I’d say. She looked better than she’s done for years. And, no, I don’t think she is still carrying a torch for me.’

‘What were you laughing about, you and Villy and the girls?’

‘We were reminiscing about earlier Christmases, actually.’

He was thinking of them again now: so many since the twenties, when the house had been spanking new, painted and papered, the Duchy machining curtains from morning till night. Hardly anything had been changed since then. Even the claw marks that Bruce, the Brig’s Labrador, had made on the doors were still there. And this was the last of them and, now, the last of the house for him: he would never see Home Place again.

‘I suppose Rachel is selling the house. It’s far too big for her alone.’

‘It is being sold, but since it belongs to the firm, Rachel will get nothing out of it.’

‘Oh. Poor her.’ Her indifference maddened him – a new and horrible feeling.

‘Could we please stop talking about my family? I know you don’t like them much, but I do. I’m very much attached to every single one of them.’

‘Even Villy? You’re still attached to
her?’

‘For God’s sake, Diana, will you stop? Of course I have affectionate feelings for Villy. She’s had four of my children. I was glad to see her this morning. And apart from being glad, of course I feel guilty about what I’ve done to her and Roland. So do me the kindness and shut up.’

And Diana was so surprised – shocked – by his outburst that she remained silent for the rest of the drive.

Lunch was followed by an extremely cold game of Ogres, where the old outdoor kennel was the prison in which the captured were put to wait for someone to rescue them. The trouble was that the youngest always got captured first and the adults got tired of rescuing them. Jemima, who had been worried about Laura, went out to find her sobbing in the kennel. ‘Oh, Mummy, let me out. I hate this game and want to not play it.’

Jemima took her back to the house. She was blue with cold. ‘There’s even snow in my wellingtons.’

‘I’m going to pop you into a hot bath and then you can have tea in your dressing gown. Special treat.’

‘I can stay up while all the others are having theirs.’ The idea pleased her enormously.

Much later, when the children had had their high tea, and had finally been coaxed to bed, it was discovered that they all wanted Uncle Rupert to continue his story about a bear and a tiger who start by fighting but become friends and decide to steal a small aeroplane and fly to England. Tonight he described how they came down in the gardens of Buckingham Palace where the Queen was very kind to them and offered them tea and sausage rolls – the tiger ate twenty-four – and Mars Bars – the bear ate sixteen but then he felt a bit sick . . .

‘No more tonight,’ Rupert said firmly. ‘And you all go to your beds at once or there won’t be any more adventures tomorrow.’ So they went.

‘Although, you know,’ Georgie said to Laura, ‘the whole thing is most improbable. Bears and tigers wouldn’t get on at all, in real life. They would avoid each other.’

‘It’s not meant to be real life. It’s a story. Stories are better than real life. In my opinion.’

‘I prefer real life.’

There was a coldness in the room, until Laura said, ‘I’ve had an idea. I bet you Rivers would simply love a Mars Bar.’

‘Yes! I think he might. Good idea, Laura. Just a small bit, though - we don’t want him feeling sick . . .’

‘All done,’ said Rupert, rather smugly. ‘I could do with a strong drink.’

Rachel, who had been toying with a dry sherry that she did not really want, straightened herself in her chair. ‘Listen, all of you. I want to be practical this evening. This house is full of family furniture. I shall not need very much of it, so I want you all to choose what you would like to have. Please stick a label on it with a name and address so that the carriers can deliver everything correctly. I expect you know that I’ve given the Duchy’s piano to Simon as he’s the musical one, and Gerald has kindly said that he can house it. I have sorted out some linen and kitchen things that I shall need, otherwise it’s a free-for-all. I’m telling you now because you may need time to make your choices. I should like to keep some of your pictures, Rupert, and the drawing you made of the Duchy playing the piano, Archie. In fact, I’ve already put labels on those. And, finally, don’t any of you thank me, because I don’t want to burst into tears. The labels are on the desk.’ She took a swig of her sherry – too much – and it made her choke.

It was Hugh who patted her on the back, and Clary who said, ‘You are the most thoughtful person in the world.’

Then Juliet said, ‘Do I count, Aunt Rachel? And if I do, could I have the beautiful little silver teapot?’

‘You do, and you may.’

A new poker game was ongoing, and as soon as supper was over, Louise, Teddy, Simon, Roland, Henry and Tom and Juliet went off to the boys’ room to resume it.

Until now everybody had refrained from talking about Edward’s visit, with the dreaded Diana. But now, because they were not talking about what was going to happen to them any more, they fell upon the gossip. Archie said he thought that Edward had looked awful, grey and as if he’d shrunk.

Zoë said she didn’t think Edward loved Diana, but was frightened of her, whereupon Rupert observed, unsurprisingly, that one had to look at the other person’s point of view. Clary told Villy that she thought she had been wonderful, so calm and dignified. Villy apologised that Roland had been so hostile, and Hugh said that he rather admired him for it and, anyway, Edward had earned it. Rachel pointed out that he had married Diana, and this had to be accepted. ‘Let’s face it,’ Jemima countered, ‘she doesn’t like women very much. They seem to bring out the worst in her.’

Whereupon Polly bitchily observed that all that meant was that the worst of her was usually out. Gerald said that he didn’t think Diana was actually very happy.

‘I bet she’s not!’ Hugh exclaimed. ‘She thought she was marrying a rich man, and there he is, out of a job, and he told me he’d spent everything he’d saved on her. He’s even sold his guns and some cufflinks to buy them Christmas presents.’

‘Oh, poor Uncle Edward! No wonder he looked so awful!’

Clary’s eyes filled with tears and Archie put his arm round her. ‘She cries for England,’ he said.

Zoë began to say how stupid Diana had looked, bulging out of that dress . . . but Rupert intervened: ‘I think we’ve all been unpleasant enough for one evening, and I, for one, am longing to be in bed with my vituperative wife.’

That was Boxing Day over. Rachel was glad. It had been a long day for her, starting at seven when she had gone up to the churchyard with the snowdrops. She had been appalled at how much she didn’t like Diana. And she’d had no idea that Edward was so poor. If only he’d told me when he came for a drink, I could have given him something. But she knew she couldn’t have given him much. There were the servants to think of. As she was unable to give them large retiring presents, she must find them somewhere to live. And there was Mrs Tonbridge’s operation. I shall be gone in a few weeks now, Rachel admitted to herself. I shan’t be able to look after Sid’s grave. That seemed like yet another parting from her. But that is what I have to do, somehow. And find some work that will pay me money. I’m glad I told everyone to choose things. I’ve got that bit over at least.

It was a small congratulation, but it would have to do.

The next two days – the last two days – were occupied by the family making their choices. The linen, for instance: the wives all wanted some. A great deal of it was threadbare, very fine linen, marked in Indian ink that registered its date of birth, so to speak. In the end, it was divided between Zoë and Clary, as Jemima said she didn’t really need it. Polly, after consultation with Gerald, asked if they might have the hall table, four of the single beds and two chests of drawers. None of the others wanted these things. Teddy said he would like the Brig’s desk. He had nowhere to put it yet, but he suddenly very much wanted something of his grandfather’s. Georgie wanted the cabinet that contained the Brig’s collection of beetles. (This had been Rupert’s suggestion, and had deflected Georgie from wanting to unscrew the mangers in the horseboxes in case he ever got a horse.) Louise chose a very pretty set of Wedgwood coffee cups while Rachel urged Simon to take all the sheet music to go with the piano. Clary asked Mrs Tonbridge’s advice on kitchen equipment for the new flat at Mortlake: she had a small
batterie de cuisine
at home, but most of it was in a poor state.