Summer's End (14 page)

‘You've noticed?'

‘It isn't difficult. It's hopeless, of course. Daniel's set on becoming the next Scott of the Antarctic. Or perhaps the next Livingstone. He doesn't like the cold. Anyway, I'm afraid Ashden doesn't loom large in his aspirations. Or –'

‘Felicia,' Caroline finished for her.

‘I was going to say marriage. The sooner he leaves the better. I'm surprised he's here today. I thought he'd still be carousing the end of his time in Oxford but, no, he's managed to tear himself away for the weekend. Not, I'm afraid, for Felicia's sake; he needed to see Father about money. I hope once he's gone she'll forget him.'

‘Felicia isn't very good at forgetting.'

‘Nor Daniel at remembering.'

Caroline was surprised at the unusually disparaging note in Eleanor's voice. ‘Don't you like Daniel?'

‘Of course I do. He's my brother, and he's adorable. But those whom both the gods and the world adore, tend to adore themselves rather too much, don't you think?'

Caroline had never heard Eleanor speak so before. Eleanor had always been Eleanor, pleasant, good-humoured and reliable. She lacked the good looks and accomplishments of her brother and, being the youngest, it occurred to Caroline for the first time that she might feel her position keenly. First Aunt Tilly, now Eleanor. She was beginning to think that as a judge of character she was less accomplished than a two-year-old.

Daniel and Felicia won their match six-four, and unsurprisingly
Isabel and Robert all too easily won theirs against Phoebe and Peter Jennings. The time had come. She chatted eagerly to Eleanor and Christopher as they walked on to the court, leaving Reggie to walk behind them – rather to Eleanor's puzzlement. She looked at Caroline in inquiry, but she pretended not to notice.

Reggie was a good player and she was mediocre, but nevertheless Caroline was unreasonably annoyed when he said, having won the toss, ‘I'll serve first, shall I?' It might technically have been a question, but the fact that he strode straight to the right-hand court made it clear it wasn't. Suddenly she could appreciate all the arguments in favour of becoming a suffragette, she fumed – and missed an easy return.

Reggie said nothing. Usually he'd have yelled: ‘Wake up, woman.'

I hope he's sickening for measles, she thought crossly, brushing past him without a word as they changed court. She pulled herself together, and returned Daniel's service with a volley almost by accident, winning a surprised, ‘Not bad,' from his lordship, her partner. She said nothing, but when he netted Eleanor's lob she could not resist: ‘Did they teach you that shot in the OTC?' Reggie was always talking of his Oxford Officers' Training Corps experiences (when he wasn't talking about women, that is).

‘Yes. Just like you must have learned to serve in an army canteen.'

That was more like it. She began to warm to the game, and they won six-four. She was pleased – until she realised this meant they'd have to play in the semi-finals. Off-court Penelope congratulated her, and from her detailed analysis of their performance Caroline realised she had been observing very closely. Perhaps she was regretting her rejection of Reggie? Perhaps that
was
why she was here today and it was nothing to do with Aunt Tilly. Of course it must be. How could she have been so blind?

‘Where are you off to?' Penelope asked, surprised, as Caroline went to walk away, convinced that she was right, and only too pleased to let them get on with it.

‘To the croquet lawn.' She said the first thing that came into her head.

‘Aren't you going to watch your aunt play? Here.' Penelope patted the rug at her side, and unwillingly Caroline sat down, surprised there was still no sign of Reggie. Anyway, in fairness to poor George, she supposed she should watch his ordeal.

Tilly's first stroke showed George what aunts could be made of, as her serve zinged the ball across the net and past Patricia. This was as well for George was goggling so much he'd have been incapable of movement had Patricia returned the serve.

‘Quite a lady, your aunt.' Penelope observed.

‘She is indeed.' Caroline proceeded cautiously.

‘She said she'll take me to London. You too?'

Caroline stiffened in amazement. ‘Are
you
interested?'

‘Very. You remember the uproar last week when the debutante livened up her presentation at court by curtseying to the King and crying out, “Your Majesty, stop forcible feeding”?'

‘Of course.' The whole of England knew about it, and mostly deplored the girl's outrageousness.

‘She's a good friend of mine, and a very brave soul. They say her mother fainted. I rather like Lady Blomfield, so I sympathise, but we can't have our opinions ruled by our parents, can we?'

‘I can't imagine your parents having much success,' Caroline said frankly.

‘No. I've been spoiled by my father, because my mother's long dead,' Penelope announced cheerfully. ‘My aunt brought my brother James and me up and promptly left us there. James has vanished into the Army and here I am.'

‘I'm so sorry.' Caroline tried to imagine life without her own mother, the backbone of the Rectory, and could not. ‘Doesn't your father worry, though, and try to marry you off?'

‘He wouldn't dare try. I don't see any advantage in marrying at all, save for children, and that's not everyone's burning ambition. I told Reggie so.'

‘He was very upset,' Caroline replied, taken aback at this frank exposition.

‘Vanity. You'll never make a suffragette if you feel so compassionate towards the enemy.'

‘But if women are equal to men, then they must acknowledge men hurt as we do, surely, and we should be as considerate to their feelings as they to ours.'

Penelope grinned. ‘Conquer the enemy,
then
show compassion – with your boot on his chest.'

‘I can see why you'll make a good suffragette. I wouldn't like to be a policeman unchaining you from the railings.'

Reggie chose this inopportune moment to stroll up self-consciously. ‘I brought you ladies some lemonade.'

‘Oh, Reggie, how chivalrous,' Penelope squeaked in mock gratitude, winking at Caroline. Reggie noticed and flushed angrily, just as a tennis ball pinged at the wire fence in front of them. So he was still keen on Penelope. Well, Caroline wasn't going to wait to be an unwelcome third at the tea heralded by George's roar from the court ‘We won! We won!'

‘Oh good, it's you, Reggie. Help Mother take round the cake, would you? I've got to see what's happened to Phoebe …' Caroline glanced back as she hurried away and saw him standing looking after her in surprise, lemonade still in his hand.

Phoebe once again found herself bored. After tea she had wandered off. There was no one her own age there, even Patricia had disappeared with Peter Jennings. He was a silly man anyway, and it was all his fault they'd lost their match. Now she couldn't even vent her boredom on a tennis ball. Anyway it was too hot for tennis. She felt as though she wanted to burst out of these stupid, stupid clothes; even her light girdle felt clammy and uncomfortable on her hot skin.

She decided to take a ride on Poppy; then they might miss her and come looking for her. Even Christopher with luck. Besides, she felt good on a horse, with its moving, rippling body under her. Old Poppy didn't move very fast, she acknowledged, but she was better than nothing.

She came round the corner to the stables and saw there was a man standing there, lighting a cigarette. He looked up and saw her but he didn't put the cigarette out, as he should when a lady approached – particularly as this one was Miss Lilley of the Rectory, and he was only Len Thorn, the blacksmith's elder son. She rather admired his nerve. He straightened up in the stable doorway but didn't move aside to let her pass. His eyes travelled down her tennis skirt and up again, disconcerting her.

‘Let me pass, please.' There was an imperious note in her voice which was not feigned. She'd never before noticed how creepy his eyes were, they were almost tawny, set in his swarthy-skinned face. And the way he just stood there! She wasn't going to give way. Why should she?

‘Very well, Miss Lilley.' His voice was disconcerting too, a slow
Sussex drawl, thick like his lips. She'd have to squeeze past him, because despite his words he still didn't move. She summoned all her courage. She wasn't going to back away in their own stable. She turned sideways to get past him, trying to ignore how close he was.

‘There's an entrance fee, miss. A kiss.' He was practically breathing in her face as he made this outrageous statement.

Nor did he ask if she'd pay it, he merely put his hands on her shoulders, drew her closer than she was already and kissed her. She was hardly aware of the lips, only that his hands were now on her bottom and of the odd sensation she had even through her corset. Not just odd, rather frightening, like being on a horse. Only better. But frightening nonetheless.

She tore herself free. ‘I'll tell my father,' she stammered. ‘I don't want to have a baby.' Everyone knew you had a baby if you kissed someone.

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You won't tell him, Miss Phoebe. You enjoyed it too much.'

She started to run, pursued by his sibilant whisper: ‘Come back when you want to, Miss Phoebe. I'll see there ain't no babies.'

She was unusually subdued as she sat with Patricia, watching Caroline and Reggie playing George and Tilly. Lucky, lucky Caroline. She was never in turmoils like this, feeling in turn sick, frightened and excited inside; Caroline was always so calm and sensible …

Caroline was painfully aware of Reggie's annoyance as she lost her second service game to George and Tilly. She was aware she was not playing at her best, and ‘best' wasn't very good anyway.

‘Two-love,' he'd shouted triumphantly when he broke George's service game. Now they were at three-four, and Reggie was looking grim, not triumphant, thanks to her.

He promptly turned into another Anthony Wilding and, ignoring her presence on the court, completely took it upon himself to cover all return shots. It seemed to annoy him even further that he couldn't get the better of Aunt Tilly's service game, and, sensing Caroline's unworthy satisfaction at this outcome, he won his own service game to love, and smashed George's to smithereens. With a glance that said ‘beat that' he reluctantly (or so her smarting pride told her) handed the baton back to his humble partner for her to serve. She lost. The score was five-six, and Reggie was livid. It needed only
Tilly's pounding serve to win the semi-final for herself and George.

She didn't dare look at Reggie. To avoid his recriminations she kept away from him as the famous punch was brought out by Percy, his own particular triumph, and felt rather as she had on Easter Day. Another special feast spoiled – only this time she had undoubtedly contributed to the disaster herself. The punchglass felt like the poisoned chalice, and as soon as she decently could she melted away from the gathering to gather her equilibrium in the orchard. She perched on the stile and gloomily surveyed the tiny apples already forming in the trees. Perhaps they could tell her what on earth the matter was with her.

‘What on earth's the matter with you, Caroline?' Reggie echoed her own thoughts uncannily, having come right up behind her unheard and put his hands on her shoulders. She jumped like one of the rabbits which were beginning their daily pre-sundown romp in the orchard.

‘Nothing.' She climbed down into the orchard, but he leaped over the stile to follow her. Reggie was never one to take a hint.

‘There must be. Or with both of us,' he added fairly. ‘I can't stand this any more. I'm sorry I was so rotten to you on court.'

‘I was worse to you. Anyway, it doesn't
matter
.'

‘It does. Why do you treat me like a particularly unnoticeable ghost whenever I come near you?'

‘I thought you'd prefer to spend the time with Penelope,' she flung at him, and was instantly ashamed.

‘
Penelope?
' He stared at her, then roared with laughter. ‘That hop-pole? I must have been mad.' He began to look more cheerful.

‘It's not funny,' she shouted.

‘Yes it is. If only I could make you understand –'

‘We understand each other too well. We've grown out of each other.'

‘We never grew in. You don't understand me in the slightest, and I certainly can't make you out. You seem to have turned into a shrew.'

‘I have
not.
It's you, it's you. You're stupid, obstinate and –'

‘Point proved.'

Something gave, something between a laugh and a strangled sob emerged, something that might have been ‘Reggie', something that vanished the ground between them and hurled her into his arms. She might have heard ‘Caroline' somewhere beyond the drumming
of her chest and the dizziness in her ears. In her
ears
?

‘Caroline.' She did hear it this time, but even if there had been an answer, she could not have given it, because his lips were on hers. It was quite,
quite
different from feeling them on her cheek, nor did the arms around her feel like those of the man she'd gaily waltzed with through the years. But it
was
him, here with her in the apple orchard, and his lips, and the feelings they were arousing, were beginning to seem part of her, an inseparable part. As her lips opened, he drew her closer, and a tremor ran through her that seemed entirely answered by her closing her eyes, relaxing and enjoying feeling his hands travelling down behind her, holding her even closer. Then he broke away, and there were two of them again, not one. Was it alarm she saw in his face? Regret?

‘Caroline, I think I love you.'

How did little white clouds supply themselves so conveniently to be danced upon?