Hothouse Flower (17 page)

When Venetia greeted her, her face was pale and her brow furrowed with anxiety.

‘What’s up?’ asked Olivia as she followed Venetia through the hall and into the kitchen, which was the room the family used to entertain in the summer as it fed out on to the delightful walled garden at the rear of the house.

‘Gin?’ asked Venetia.

Olivia looked at her watch; it was only eleven thirty. She shook her head. ‘Not for me, thank you, darling, not after last night anyway.’

‘I wouldn’t usually, but Pup came home last night and he’s so awfully distressed.’ Venetia poured herself a healthy measure of gin and took a large slug. ‘He was talking to Mup mostly but, from what I heard, he says that all the ghastly things that are happening in Germany are not being reported properly in any of the newspapers here. And they are beastly, just beastly!’ Venetia’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Pup actually witnessed a synagogue just outside Munich being set on fire by a group of Nazi youths. Oh, Olivia, it seems Herr Hitler wants to wipe the Jews off the face of the earth!’

‘Surely, that can’t be true?’ Olivia moved across to Venetia and put her arms round her.

‘It is, it is!’ Venetia sobbed on to her shoulder. ‘Mup’s upstairs with him now. He looks … broken. And he was in such terrible danger. And we didn’t realise it!’

‘Well, darling, at least he’s home now and safe.’

‘Thank goodness,’ agreed Venetia, wiping her eyes. ‘The things he’s seen … he said he could never bring himself to paint them. It was so awfully violent, so full of hatred. Did you know that it’s illegal for an Aryan and a Jew to make love, let alone get married?! And that thousands of synagogues have been burnt to the ground in the past eighteen months? They can’t own a radio and their children are forbidden to attend schools where there are Aryan children.’

Olivia listened in shocked silence. Eventually she said, ‘But why doesn’t the world know of this?’

Venetia shook her head. ‘I have no idea and neither does Pup. He said he’s going to do what he can to spread the word amongst his influential political friends.’ She grasped Olivia’s arm. ‘Oh, darling, I know we keep trying to forget, but this is real and it’s going to happen. And the frightening thing is, who knows where it will all end?’

15

Harry Crawford woke up, enormously grateful to be home. And at least, unlike many of his fellow officers who had no idea what their fate might hold in the next few months, his was assured. He was to take charge of training a group of local new recruits to the 5th Royal Norfolks. This would mean that, for the next few weeks at least, he could enjoy high summer in his own home and in his own bed.

He had been ribbed for what was considered a jammy number by his fellow officers, some of whom were being posted to far less salubrious locations – many asked whether his father had had a proverbial word in the right ear, but Harry doubted it. With Germany threatening to march into Czechoslovakia at any moment, his father’s thoughts were hardly likely to be focused on his son’s creature comforts.

Harry heaved up the sash window, leant out and breathed in the fresh, sweet smell of the jasmine his mother had planted in great swathes along the terrace, enjoying a rare moment of peace. He would have preferred his cousin Penelope’s dance not to fall on his first day home – he would have to do his bit and squire horse-faced girls around the dance floor later – but it was good to see the old place being brought to life again. And he knew how much the event meant to his mother.

When Harry arrived downstairs, the house was a flurry of activity. Extra staff had been brought up from the village to help with the preparation. Furniture was being carted across the hall and extra chairs and tables were being moved into the ballroom to accommodate one hundred and fifty guests for dinner. After the meal, the guests would be herded into the drawing room or on to the terrace if the night was warm, whilst the tables and chairs were removed from the ballroom and the band set up, so that the dancing could begin.

Harry picked his way through the chaos and walked towards the ballroom, glad that, in answer to his mother’s prayers, the unpredictable English weather seemed set fair for the rest of the day. Jack and his son, Bill, appeared on the terrace, wheeling wheelbarrows piled high with colourful flowers.

‘Need some help, chaps?’ he offered.

‘Thanks, Master Harry, but we can manage. I knows you only came home yesterday – you take it easy, young sir,’ said Jack, doffing his cap.

Harry ignored him and began unloading the flowers on to the terrace. ‘Hear you’re signed up for the 5th Norfolks, Bill?’ he continued.

‘Yes, Master Harry, I am, sir.’

‘Well, it looks as if we might be getting to know each other a lot better. I’ve been put in charge of bringing you all up to scratch. I will be seeing you at the Drill Hall in Dereham on Monday. It will be good to know a familiar face and you can introduce me to all the other fellows.’

Bill gave him a broad smile. ‘And we’ll all be glad to have you, sir.’

Jack turned his wheelbarrow around. ‘Bill, you go and tell her Ladyship the flowers are here and I’m off to collect the rest. She’ll want to work out where they’ll all look best. You know how her Ladyship is particular about her flowers.’ Jack winked at Harry. ‘Thanks for your help, sir. I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure.’

Olivia and Venetia had left London at ten o’clock that morning. Venetia had borrowed her parents’ Ford, promising Olivia she was a competent driver. This had not proved to be the case. Olivia had spent the past five hours in fear for her life, as Venetia veered on to the other side of the road, stalled, then put the car into the wrong gear, narrowly missing a fatal collision on endless occasions.

Olivia’s skills as a map reader had been little better than Venetia’s driving. They had taken numerous wrong turns, which had engendered more bad manoeuvres by Venetia. And, instead of the four-and-a-half-hour journey they had imagined, they were still at least an hour from Wharton Park and would not be there in time for afternoon tea.

At least the countryside had recently become far prettier, and Olivia was fairly certain they were on the right road.

‘Are you sure we’re not going to simply plunge off the side of this island into the North Sea?’ questioned Venetia. ‘I can’t get over how long this journey’s taken and I’m absolutely famished. Pup always says he’s allergic to fresh air. I don’t think he’s left the city since the day I was born. I think I might follow in his footsteps,’ she added petulantly.

Olivia raised her eyebrows and ignored the comment. Venetia was in a bait, but she was sure that, once she saw Wharton Park, her friend would feel that the journey had been worthwhile.

One and a half hours later, they turned into the long drive that led to Wharton Park. The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the park.

Venetia was still complaining next to her about her empty stomach, her stiff back and her sore foot from so much gear-changing. Olivia wound down the window and breathed in the smell of the warm, balmy evening.

‘There’s the house,’ she said as it came into view. ‘Don’t you think it’s absolutely beautiful?’ she added dreamily.

Venetia, past making pleasantries and just to be obtuse, said, ‘Has the light bulb made it here yet?’

‘Don’t be facetious, Venetia, of course it has! Besides, it’s the twenty-first of June, the longest day of the year. So we’d hardly need light even if there wasn’t,’ Olivia replied. ‘Anyway,’ she said as Venetia brought the car to a bumpy halt in front of the house, ‘if you want to spend the weekend in a funk, go ahead. I think it’s a heavenly place. And I’m all set to enjoy it, even if you’re not.’

At that moment the front door opened and a young man she vaguely recognised came running down the steps towards them.

‘Hello, Miss Drew-Norris,’ the young man said, as she stepped out of the car and smoothed down her creased dress. ‘Good to see you back at Wharton Park again.’

Olivia recognised him as Bill, the gardener’s son, whom she had met briefly in the hothouse in January.

‘How are the flowers?’ she asked, smiling at him. ‘My frangipani is looking awfully pretty on my windowsill in London.’

‘They’re doing well, Miss Drew-Norris. Thank you for asking.’

‘I can’t wait to see the gardens,’ Olivia breathed. ‘Harry said they were magnificent in high summer.’

‘That they are, and you’ve picked exactly the right moment to see them; everything’s still fresh and budded. By the time mid-July is here, it all starts to look tired and parched. Miss Drew-Norris, do you have anything to be taken into the house from the car? I’ll carry it in for you, then if I may have the keys to your car, I’ll take it off and park it for you.’

‘It’s my car, actually.’ Venetia sidled around it and dangled the keys in front of Bill. She smiled at him seductively. ‘Take care with it, won’t you?’

‘Course I will, Miss,’ said Bill, opening the boot and removing the two small suitcases.

As he carried them up the steps and inside the house, Venetia said, ‘Now that’s what I call scenery. He’s heavenly, who is he?’

‘Will you please behave yourself?’ admonished Olivia, but she was smiling. ‘He’s the gardener’s boy. You’ve been reading too much
Lady Chatterley
. Now come on, I’m gasping for a cup of tea.’

At seven o’clock, Adrienne was standing on the terrace, a glass of champagne in her hand. The night was as perfect as she could possibly have hoped. And it was only on nights like this that Wharton Park rivalled the beauty of her childhood home in Provence. The softness of an English country evening, when land and sky seemed to melt into each other, the smell of freshly mown grass, mingling with the scent of roses, had its own special magic.

Inside the house, everything was ready. The ballroom behind her looked exquisite, the fifteen tables laid with crisp white linen, antique crystal glassware and, in the centre of each, a vase containing fresh blooms from the hothouse.

Adrienne loved moments such as this one. Everything was finished, yet nothing had begun, and one was filled with optimism that it would live up to expectation.

‘Mother, you look ravishing.’ Harry was behind her, looking hopelessly handsome in evening dress.

‘
Merci, mon chéri.
I am taking just a few seconds to enjoy this perfect evening.’

Harry lit a cigarette and gazed across the magnificent gardens. ‘It’s so very still, calm … the lull before the storm,’ he smiled.

Adrienne turned to him, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. ‘I have hardly seen you since you arrived home. How are you, my darling?’

Harry nodded. ‘I’m well, Mother.’

‘And happy?’ she asked, although she knew the answer.

‘I am … accepting that I’m a mere cog in the wheel and don’t control the universe. What will be, will be,’ he sighed, ‘and one must simply get on with it.’

‘My Harry,’ Adrienne sighed. ‘If only the world could be a different place, but it cannot.
Mon dieu!
’ Adrienne clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I am becoming maudlin and I must stop this instant. I am so very fortunate to have you here, and we will enjoy the time together.’

‘No fear!’ He smiled down at her, thinking how much he loved her.

‘Now, your cousin Hugo was unable to attend tonight. He too is training with his battalion in Wales. So, rather than your father leading poor Penelope in her first dance, it must be you, Harry. I went up to see her in her gown a few minutes ago.’ Adrienne shrugged elegantly. ‘Even though it is difficult to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, between my choice of the dress and Elsie styling her hair, we have at least made her presentable.’

‘Then you must really be a miracle worker, mother,’ he replied, thinking of his plain, dumpy cousin.

‘Perhaps she will be a late bloomer.’ Adrienne reached for his hand and squeezed it. ‘I must go,
chéri
, and search out your father. Last time I saw him he was upstairs, deciding on his choice of dress shirts. He can hardly believe his luck that all the young debutantes have come to his house. He is very excited.’ Adrienne raised an eyebrow. ‘We will let him have his little game,
n’est ce pas
?’

Harry watched her cross the terrace. She looked radiant tonight, in a saffron-coloured silk gown which accentuated her perfect, petite physique. Her dark hair was styled into a chignon and large diamond-drop earrings emphasised her swan-like neck. Harry thought back to their conversation and wondered whether it was a hindrance to have such a beautiful mother. It was difficult to imagine any girl matching up to her. He pondered sometimes whether that accounted for his lack of interest in women. The magical feeling that other men would describe as ‘love’, or some of his fellow officers described on a more base, physical level, had not happened to him yet.

Olivia Drew-Norris, the girl from India he’d met a few months ago, had been the nearest to his idea of an attractive woman. She was here tonight, he knew, and perhaps he’d make an effort to dance with her.

He heard the faint sound of tyres crunching on gravel at the front of the house, indicating the first guest had arrived. His moment of contemplation at an end, Harry walked back inside the house to do his duty.