All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (19 page)

Sid started the car and drove it to the lane before stopping. For a moment she was speechless with rage.

‘Why have you stopped?’

‘Why did you betray me like that? Putting it all on me. Yes, I was rude to Diana, but she had been getting at me all evening. Did you know that she didn’t condescend to acknowledge my presence until we got to the dining room and she started sniping about my origins? And when I asked if I could have a small helping of the crab – which you know I can’t bear – she simply piled it on my plate.’

‘She did that to both of us.’

‘And when that nauseating stew arrived, she pretended to make a small helping for me, then deluged it with that rich sauce. She didn’t do that to you because you sucked up to her, which simply made me look worse. I knew if I tried to eat any of that stew, I’d be sick. As for being rude, I thought a little plain speaking would do her good.’

‘It’s funny how people who are rude call it honesty or plain speaking. It’s only other people who are rude. Do you think that I wanted a rich meal like that? You might have had the manners to put up with it. I’m sure she was trying to be kind, making all those complicated things. As it is, you’ve made the whole evening a fiasco.’

‘There you are! Putting it all on me! It was all very well for you. You had Edward to talk to. I was stuck with her and she didn’t in the least want to talk to me.’

There was a silence during which she realised that she had a pounding headache and her back was throbbing with small dagger-like stabs.

Rachel said, ‘I think you’d better get on with driving us home. I’m tired, and I don’t want to discuss this any more. At least Diana didn’t say anything horrid when you told her you were Jewish.’

‘That was good of her, wasn’t it? Really wonderfully good!’

Rachel did not answer. Nor did she reply to any of Sid’s increasingly desperate attempts to engage her. In the end, Sid stopped trying, concentrated on her driving (she had an uneasy feeling that she might be a bit drunk), but she was also confounded by this very different Rachel, who, until now, she had never encountered. The remark – no, the gibe, surely – that Rachel had made about Diana’s non-reaction to Sid’s saying she was Jewish, with its hostile inference, had really hurt her to the quick. Curiously, it had wounded her far more than the allegations about manners and rudeness. Rachel, who had once said, ‘I would rather be with you than anyone in the world,’ had painfully turned into the world. Tears stung her eyes, and as she covertly brushed them away, she glanced at Rachel, but she was leaning back in her seat, her eyes closed.

Back at Home Place, she parked the car, woke Rachel, who said she had not been asleep, and unlocked the front door. Rachel went ahead of her. ‘I’m going to sleep in the Blue Room,’ was all she said, and Sid followed her up the front stairs where they parted without touching each other and in silence, Sid going towards the room they usually shared, and Rachel to the opposite passage.

Sid took a painkiller, ate a water biscuit to allay her stomach, undressed and got into bed. She fully expected to lie awake all night, but in fact she was so exhausted that she fell almost at once into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was woken in the early hours by a tearful, contrite Rachel kneeling by the bed and imploring forgiveness. ‘Darling, I was so horrible to you. I’m so sorry – must have been a bit drunk. I had far more than I’m used to. But I’m not excusing myself. I was an absolute beast. I knew Diana was being awful to you and it was cowardly of me not to stand up for you – I was so disappointed in Edward being so obstinate about Hugh – no, I wasn’t just – I was angry. I was actually furious with him about everything, and then I thought, Whatever Diana is like he has married her, and I must try to see the best in her because of him. But you, my poor darling, you had the worst of it. You didn’t want to come anyway – only did it to drive me. Please, please, forgive me!’

‘Get into bed or you’ll freeze.

‘And of course I forgive you,’ she said a minute later.

After they had kissed and Rachel lay in Sid’s arms, she said, ‘The worst thing I did was that monstrous gibe about it being a good thing that Diana hadn’t gone for you being Jewish. I said that to hurt you. I think when people are angry they pick on anything that will hurt, and that’s what I did. I take it all back, of course.’

‘You’re not very good at anger, my treasure. It’s never been your strong suit.’

And so they made it up.

It was some weeks before she could bring herself to ask (casually) whether Rachel actually minded her being Jewish, and was blessedly assured that of course she did not.

LOUISE, JOSEPH AND EDWARD

She felt very grown-up in her new black corded silk dress that Mrs Milic had made her, the bodice cut low with a deep, rounded neckline that showed off the gold chain Edward had given her for her birthday. She also felt a sense of triumph: although it had proved surprisingly easy to get her father and her lover to dine together, it was more fun to feel it had required intense diplomacy. Her father had fetched her from Blandford Street and they had arrived at L’Étoile before Joseph, were shown to their table by the
patron
himself and presented with glasses of champagne.

‘Darling, you do look wonderful. You get less and less plain by the week.’

He was looking rather haggard – poor Dad – and she bet that living with Diana was no bed of roses. ‘How is your new house?’

‘Oh, splendid. You must come and visit us – we’d love to have you.’ But he said it without much conviction, and they smiled at each other to cover the insincerity.

‘Here’s Joseph,’ she said, with some relief.

And Edward saw a tall, dark-haired man, impeccably dressed, with an Old Etonian tie, moving gracefully towards them. He shook hands with Edward and picked up Louise’s hand to kiss it. ‘How good of you to come.’ A glass was produced for him at once, with menus for them all.

The menus were the kind that omitted prices on those given to the guests, and just as they were settling down to choose, the oldest waiter, with white hair and a tragic expression, wheeled a trolley up to them that contained a magnificent fish salad and they all decided that they would start with it. ‘It’s absolutely delicious,’ Louise told her father. She was famished – hadn’t eaten properly since her dinner with Joseph the night before.

Joseph, who had been studying the wine list, said, ‘How would you all feel about a rack of lamb to follow?’

Louise said good, and Edward said perfect.

‘I must say you are the perfect guests: no fussing and changing your minds.’ He ordered two bottles of wine. ‘The red may be a bit of a gamble. It’s a 1934 Mouton Rothschild, and it may not have come round. I keep trying it every six months or so because it’s such a great wine, and last time it was so nearly there that tonight I feel we might just have hit the jackpot. Meanwhile I thought we’d start with a Pouilly Fumé. Your daughter told me that you feel about wine much as I do.’

The white napery and sparkling glasses made for an atmosphere both festive and cosy, and the mirror glass in the back wall reflected an infinity of little red lamps around them.

‘Well, now. Louise has told me that you have a family business selling timber, and that you own three wharves, two in London and one in Southampton. Plus a London office in a pretty posh part of Westminster.’

‘Yes. But in the last few years we haven’t been making enough money.’

‘Ah.’

There was a pause as they each started on their meal, and then Edward continued, ‘We specialise in unusual hardwoods – my father was the first timber merchant to import them. We used to do quite a lot of business with private railway companies, but since nationalisation that’s got much harder because there aren’t the number of buyers there used to be.’ Something about Joseph’s attentive and intelligent expression gave him confidence: he looked the sort of chap who’d understand.

‘We’re not simply making too little money, we’re losing. We’re heavily in hock to the bank, and I don’t think they’ll stand for much more. I think we should sell off at least two wharves and find a cheaper office, but my brother, who is the present chairman, is dead against it. Any of it.’

Louise noticed, when she looked at her father, how careworn he seemed – years older than the gallant charming Dad she was used to.

‘Of course, selling off property is an option. But have you considered a third one?’

‘What would that be?’

‘Going public. Ceasing to be a private firm. Of course you would still be running it, but you would no longer be responsible for its finances. There would be people put in to deal with that. The accountants would also need to be assessors. They would be responsible for assessing all the capital value, as well as the debts, plus the goodwill is sure to be considerable, and when a new board of directors is formed, the shareholders would need to be represented. But if you decide to go public, your present directors could walk away with substantial sums of money, plus a number of shares in the new company.’

There was a silence while the wine waiter poured a small amount of the burgundy into Joseph’s glass and he tasted. Then, to Edward, he said, ‘I shall be most interested in what you think of this wine, as I know from Louise that you’re an authority.’

So Edward went through the ritual: swirling the wine gently in the glass while he inhaled it, taking a sip and rolling it round his palate before finally swallowing and waiting for its aftertaste. ‘Yes! Oh,
yes
! Full marks from me.’ And he smiled at his host.

How clever Joseph is, Louise thought. Her father had been looking somewhat overwhelmed by Joseph’s radical suggestions; now he was feeling really good because Joseph had deferred to him about the boring old wine.

‘My friend does not like her lamb too pink. Give her the ends. I’m so glad you like the wine. It’s taken a devil of a time to come round, but here it is at last. Here’s to the future of Cazalet Brothers.’

It was then that Edward, who was clearly much impressed by Joseph, started to tell him more about his brother’s attitude to change of any kind, and the stalemate consequences.

‘And the rest of the board? What do they think? And, by the way, who are they?’

Edward, for the first time, looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, they realise that things haven’t been going well lately, but otherwise they’re rather in the dark. At meetings this has not been discussed. Except by my older brother and me. Hugh is the chairman.’

‘Yes, so you said. But who are the others?’

‘My second brother, Rupert, my son Teddy, who has only just been appointed, and our sister, Rachel Cazalet. Our father was adamant that only Cazalets be appointed. Rachel is not a very active member: she lives in the country.’ He stopped there to take a refreshing swig of the wine.

Joseph, who had been regarding him steadily, said, ‘My dear chap – may I call you Edward? – I’m afraid I’ve been spoiling your dinner. Putting you in the dock, as it were. Louise and I went to the Royal Court last week to see Laurence Olivier. He gave a cracking performance, didn’t he, darling?’

‘Oh, yes! He played the part of a clapped-out music-hall turn. He was wonderful, so seedy and vulgar – and sad! It was marvellous. You should go, Dad – you’d love it.’

She was about to suggest they go together when he said, ‘I think Diana would enjoy it. She loves the odd night in town – stops her getting bored in the country with me away all day.’

Joseph, who had been told at length about Diana’s behaviour in France, now fleetingly caught Louise’s eye, which stopped her feeling sad and made her simply want to laugh: When people marry awful people, just be grateful that you aren’t them – either of them.

Edward had finished his lamb, and pudding menus were presented. The men opted for cheese because of the burgundy, but she was free to have a lovely large ice cream.

‘I can’t think where she puts it all. She eats like a horse and stays as thin as a rake,’ Joseph said fondly. He had no idea how little food was consumed at Blandford Street. Stella regarded food simply as fuel and they were both rotten cooks. Stella – who was always too late to catch buses – spent her money on taxis and Louise spent hers on beautiful material for her Polish dressmaker to make her clothes. They also splashed out on a cleaner three mornings a week, a large, mournful lady, who said she started each day on ten aspirin, and Stella said looked unnervingly like Katherine Mansfield.