Bad Girls Good Women (50 page)

‘Well. Perhaps the lower four acres. It’s convenient for the village. Good building land …’

Julia nodded again, dimly imagining bungalows spreading between the house and the village. And the money from that, paying for George Tressider to hang his chintzes and arrange his English oak furniture. Julia laughed, an abrupt bubble of it, then covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Bliss. I suddenly thought about George.’

He smiled at her. ‘Go on laughing. I like it. There hasn’t been enough, for a long time.’

‘I’m going to feed Lily. If I laugh now it’ll give her hiccups.’ Alexander stood up and stretched comfortably. ‘In that case I’ll go and see Minns, and leave you in peace.’

When she heard the further door shut, Julia tore open the blue envelope. She unfolded the thin sheet of airmail paper and began to read.

Dearest Julia
, Josh had written.
Harry Gilbert saw the birth announcement in
The Times.
I can’t imagine you married, and married to a Sir, no less. But somehow I can see you with a baby, especially a daughter. Has she got black hair, and eyes like yours? I wish I could see her. And her mother, too, if she would let me. It seems a long time, doesn’t it? And yet no time at all. I think of you often, you know
.

There were more paragraphs, describing Vail and the new ski-lodges, skipping on to some flying work that Josh had done in Brazil. Greedily, Julia devoured the words. Josh had no great skill as a letter writer but she could hear his voice framing the sentences. He seemed so close that his shape was silhouetted against the light from the window. His vibrancy seemed to spring out at her, a bolt of pure energy. She reached the last paragraph.

I guess Sir Alexander must be Sophia’s brother. I told you all that time ago that you should get to like those Wengen girls, didn’t I? And now you’re one of them. What would you say, that serves me right? I hope you’re happy. I’m sure you are. If you will let me, I’d like to come and make certain, and to see your baby and your English manor house in the green country. Do you remember the cottage in the corner of the wood?

Julia, Julia
.

I hope you think, once in a while between the garden parties and the summer balls, about your aviator
.

Julia looked up, and there was nothing standing between her and the light streaming in through the window. The room was empty, except for Lily on her shawl.

She said aloud, ‘Josh,’ but nothing answered her except the silence.

She began to cry then, desperate and furious tears that didn’t assuage the loss or the loneliness.

Fifteen

Lily tottered to her feet, took two steps and flopped down again. She had been installed on a rug in the shade of the copper beech tree, but the moving fringe where shadow met sunlight was irresistibly fascinating. She set off again towards the pattern of leaves, crawling now, rubbing grassy stains into the toes of her new white shoes. The shoes and the pink and white broderie anglaise dress were a present from Faye, and scattered around Lily’s rug were the torn wrappings and chewed ribbons from other presents. Lily was more interested in crumpling the bright paper than in playing with the pull-along yellow wooden duck or the woolly elephant, but the circle of adults watched her approvingly. Now she crossed the line between shade and sun and set off towards the blazing colours of the flowerbeds.

It was Lily’s first birthday.

Sophia and Toby and their two boys had come to Ladyhill for the weekend to celebrate it with the rest of the family. The boys were bored with the baby and with baby toys, and had gone to play somewhere in the garden. Occasional whoops and shouts sounded across the grass.

The adults sat around the tea table. Alexander and Toby had drawn their chairs a little way away. They were talking, Julia suspected, about money. The four women faced each other: Julia, Faye, Sophia and China. China sat still, her small figure upright and her face deeply shadowed by the brim of her straw hat. Faye and Sophia were gossiping, their high voices blotting out the low murmur of the men’s.
The picture of perfection
, Julia thought. Tea on the manor house lawn. White dresses and thin-cut sandwiches. The village church clock was striking five, and she counted the slow strokes and the dragging seconds between them. A stifling sensation clogged her chest and rose into her throat. Her face was suddenly burning and her heart thumped. Julia realised that she was possessed by an ecstasy of boredom. It was distilled by the limpid afternoon to a purity that rushed to her head like a drug. Her hands gripped the wicker arms of her chair and her mouth opened. She had the impression that China was studying her under the brim of her hat.

‘The sun’s very hot,’ Faye said.

Julia fixed her attention on containing the boredom. She was becoming expert at it, but this was a powerful onslaught.

‘The sun is very hot,’ Faye repeated, more loudly. ‘I’m worried about it on Lily’s head. Don’t you think she should have her little sunhat on, Julia dear?’

Julia stood up. The table rocked, and the faces turned up to look at her. Even Alexander and Toby paused momentarily in their low conversation.

‘I’ll go in and get it, if you’re worried,’ she said clearly. She grabbed the big teapot and held it up. ‘And I’ll make some fresh tea. You would all like some, wouldn’t you?’

If she stayed in the same position, frozen into her chair and into the contented tableau, she was afraid that she would scream, or swear, or upset the pink and white birthday cake in a shower of breaking china. Bearing the teapot in front of her she almost ran across the lawn, past Lily who was happily putting earth into her mouth, over the gravel beneath the yew trees, under the portico and in through the front door. There was a new door now, in thick, well-seasoned oak. The insurance money had provided that, one of the last items before it ran out. The restoration work had come to a stop, and Mr Minns and his workmen had departed until Alexander could raise some more funds.

Julia went through into their salvaged wing, and put the kettle on in the kitchen. The crusts that she had cut off the teatime sandwiches littered the table. Waiting for the kettle to boil she folded her arms on the deep windowsill and looked out. This side of the house faced away from the gardens and the village, out over open countryside. The mild, tolling landscape was drowsy under the sun and empty of human life.

Sophia’s voice behind her made her start. ‘You look a bit cheesed-off.’

Julia turned back into the room. Sophia’s choice of words almost made her laugh. But she was fond of her good-natured sister-in-law, and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She said, vaguely, ‘Oh, you know.’

‘Mmm, only too well. Motherhood’s a full-time job, isn’t it?’

It was, Julia reflected, not that Sophia knew much about that. Sophia had a Norland nanny, and a girl who came in to help on the nanny’s weekends off. ‘And Faye does fuss a bit. Sunhat in England in June, indeed. When we took Jem and Rupert to Corfu they toddled about all day long in blazing sun, and it was me and Toby …’

In the next room, the telephone began to ring.

‘Excuse me,’ Julia murmured.

‘I’ll make the tea, shall I?’ Sophia asked blithely. Leaving all the doors open between them Julia went to the telephone and answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Julia. It’s Josh.’

Julia’s eyes widened and her breath stuck in her throat. The room went dim, and Sophia’s humming faded in the kitchen. His voice was unmistakable, like everything else about him. Julia put her fingers up to shield the mouthpiece, staring imploringly at the open door.

She whispered ‘Josh?’, and heard him laughing.

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘Why not?’ Her bearings were coming back. She had answered Josh’s letter, sending her reply to the address he gave in Colorado, but there had been no response. She had waited months for another letter, through the frozen Ladyhill winter, and her dreams of the fire, and into the spring. She had stopped hoping, then.

‘It’s her birthday, isn’t it?’ he demanded.

‘Yes. How did you know?’ Julia felt stupid with surprise, and pleasure.

‘Harry Gilbert sent me the clipping from
The Times
. I keep it in my billfold. You didn’t know I was so sentimental, did you? Tell her happy birthday, from me.’

She could see the yellowing fragment of newsprint, tucked away with the scribbled addresses and business cards and dollar bills.

‘Where are you?’ Julia breathed. ‘You sound close.’

‘I’m in London. I’m going to be here for a while. I want to buy Lily a present. Can I see you, Julia?’

After a year of silence. Years of separation before that. When she had needed him, and he had shaken her off. For her own good, she knew he had believed that. But now she was old enough to know for herself. And she knew that she loved him as much as she had ever done.

Without hesitation, she said, ‘Yes.’

‘When?’

Julia could hear Sophia clanking in the kitchen. She was suddenly terrified that she would appear in the doorway, overhear everything.
Josh Flood? Golly, how super
.

‘It’s not a very good time now,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Give me a number where I can call you.’ He recited the digits and Julia gabbled, ‘Thanks for ringing. I’ll talk to you soon. Goodbye.’

The receiver clattered into its cradle. She snatched a piece of paper off the desk and wrote down the number. She folded the paper once, then again and again into a tiny square, and pushed it deep into the pocket of her cotton dress.

In the kitchen Sophia was wiping the table top, still humming. She was too well mannered or else too deficient in human curiosity to listen to other people’s telephone conversations, Julia thought with relief. But when she saw Julia’s face she asked concernedly, ‘Something up?’

‘Um …’ She knew that she looked blank. ‘Oh, someone from the WI about the flower rota for the church. I don’t know why they come to me. They’ve always hated my efforts when I’ve arranged them.’

Sophia put her head back and laughed. ‘Oh dear me, nothing changes at Ladyhill. After I got back from being finished, with all the weird Constance Spry ideas I’d learned, there were endless feuds about what was suitable for church. They wanted to go on sticking sheaves of purple asters into green enamel buckets, just like always …’

With Sophia still chattering, they went out into the sunlight again. The sun was lower and the walls and lawns and the copper leaves of the big tree were all gilded with the same soft light. A pair of swifts skimmed and looped over the grass, and Julia saw a cloud of midges hovering in the sweet, still air.

It was a beautiful afternoon, she thought. The scented, midsummer height of the year. Her boredom had gone, lifting itself like a black depression that had dogged her for months, and leaving her senses cleansed and sharpened. She said to herself,
Josh
, and the tips of her fingers touched the folded square of paper in her pocket.

They reached the group around the table, and she saw Alexander smile. She realised that it was in response to the brightness in her own face. He had taken Lily on to his knee, and her face was smeared with dirt from the flowerbeds.

‘Where is it?’ Faye asked.

Julia blinked. ‘Where’s what? There’s the tea.’

‘Her sunhat.’

Everyone around the table laughed, and Julia laughed too. She felt light, light-headed, ready to float. ‘I forgot it.’

In the midst of the good humour Faye shook her head indulgently. ‘Well, never mind. It’s cooler now.’

Composing herself, Julia asked, ‘Would anyone like some more tea?’

*

That evening, after the boys and Lily had been put to bed, there was a family dinner. Julia cooked, skimming to and fro in the temporary kitchen and improvising boldly with the ingredients, as Felix would have done. Toby sat with the newspaper and a whisky and soda, and Sophia laid the table and then came to help in the kitchen, devoting herself mostly to peering over Julia’s shoulder and exclaiming, ‘Who taught you to cook so brilliantly?’

‘You haven’t tasted it yet. It was my friend Felix.’

‘The black man? The decorator?’

‘Yes, that one.’ Julia’s dryness was, as always, lost on Sophia.

‘Elizabeth Singer said he did the most lovely room for her. All grey and pink, like being inside a cloud. Clever of you to bring him and George together …’

Julia looked out of the window. The sky had faded to grey suffused with pink in the west. The trees were lush, heavy masses with impenetrable shadow beneath. Alexander and China were coming slowly across the grass towards the house. They had been out, at Julia’s suggestion, to pick herbs from the old bed in a corner of the garden. Julia had taken it over in the spring, looking for something to concentrate on, and to her amazement the chervil and the parsley and all the rest had flourished. China was carrying an armful of green and grey fronds. Her other arm was linked through Alexander’s. Their faces were turned to each other and they were talking animatedly. China was hatless now, and Julia could see the line of her throat, and the neat chignon drawn up at the back of her head.

She wondered what they were talking about.

Julia was still jealous of China. Alexander and his mother seemed to share a closeness that excluded her. It might have been easier, Julia reflected, if she had been able to dislike her mother-in-law. As it was, she couldn’t even resent Alexander’s attachment because she would have liked to possess some of China’s cool grace herself. She was calm and at ease even here, at Ladyhill, with Faye and Sophia.

Julia went on chopping vegetables for the salad. Alexander and China passed out of sight again, around the corner of the house.