All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (26 page)

And they were planting new trees in the old avenue that was studded with stag oaks and splendid old elms, when there was so much else to be done where the results would not take thirty years to show! She cleared the table of tea things and collected the cheese and bread from the larder. She decided to get on with preparing the venison and vegetables for the stew for supper. Pheasants for tomorrow night, she thought. The family got sick of them at this time of year, but Gerald shot and hung them and they cost nothing. And Dad loved game. All I’ve got to do before they come is check their bedroom, make a chocolate cake for tea and some sort of pudding from our plums – a crumble would be easiest – and perhaps get Nan to make one of her treacle tarts for tomorrow . . .

By the time Gerald and Simon appeared, very pleased with themselves – ‘We’ve planted twelve trees and run out of stakes for the others’ – Polly had soaked the prunes in warm water, and finished scrubbing the Jerusalem artichokes, both intended for her stew.

‘I want to sleep with Andrew.’

‘I don’t want to sleep with her at all.’ He looked at Laura with distaste. ‘She was sick in the car. I don’t want to sleep with a sick person.’

‘I told you, I’m only sick in cars. Mummy, do tell Andrew I’m only sick in cars.’

‘Darling, when you stay with people, you have to sleep where they say.’

Eliza and Jane, who were polishing off their share of the chocolate cake, surveyed Laura with disapproval. One of them said, ‘And you shouldn’t talk about sick at meals.’

And the other said, ‘No, you shouldn’t. It’s disgusting.’ Laura looked at them both, and her eyes filled with tears.

‘I’ll give you some carrots,’ Polly said, ‘and, Eliza, you could take Laura to see your ponies. But only if you promise to look after her carefully. Laura is your guest.’

And Jane immediately said, ‘I’ll take Laura. I should like to.’

‘OK, but everyone finish their milk.’

‘And ask to get down,’ Nan added.

When they had done all of this, Simon got up. ‘I’ll go with them.’

‘Oh, thank you, Simon.’

Gerald then offered to show Hugh what they had achieved with the back garden, and he accepted gratefully.

‘If you go through to the sitting room, my lady, I’ll bring the baby to you. It’s time for his feed.’

‘Shall I come with you, or would you rather be on your own?’

‘Oh, come with me, Jemima. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

Polly had been shocked by her father’s appearance. He looked not only dead tired but somehow diminished. Jemima looked tired also, but she was always so neat in her appearance that her fatigue was not so apparent: blonde hair simply cut, a straight serge skirt and white shirt, with a tidy polished belt round her very small waist. She wore dark blue mesh stockings, and shoes as much polished as her belt. Her expression seemed to have settled to some sort of anxiety that had not been there the last time Polly had seen her.

‘How are things?’ she asked, after Spencer was settled at her breast.

‘I’m worried about your father. He and Edward are not getting on, and that distresses him. Far more than it does Edward. Your dear father can be – well, once he’s made up his mind, it’s almost impossible to get him to change it.’

Polly waited a moment. Then she asked, ‘What do you think he should change his mind about?’

‘Accepting Edward’s wife for one. I think Edward resents him about that, and I don’t blame him. I mean, it’s happened. He’s married to her. But Hugh’s still very loyal to Villy. He goes to see her regularly and every now and then we have to have her to supper. I know I shouldn’t say it that way, but they are awful evenings: Villy always gets round to asking questions about Edward and she calls Diana “The Destroyer” and makes bitter remarks about her. And she won’t let poor Roland go to Home Place without her, and she won’t go unless Edward’s there without Diana. So Roly hardly ever sees his cousins; he’s being brought up as though he were an only child. By the way, Spencer’s a lovely baby.’

Polly, who had him over her shoulder, smiled. Spencer was dribbling; he belched, and Polly stroked his head. He had worn a bald patch bashing his head about when he was in a temper, but his glistening red hair was growing quite long at the back. ‘He’s going through his unsuccessful-composer stage,’ she said fondly.

‘I wondered whether you could talk to him. I’ve tried, and I know that Rachel has, but he adores you. It would be marvellous if you could make him see . . .’

‘Well, I could try, but I don’t think—’

Here they were interrupted by an influx of children.

‘We fed both of the ponies. They simply love carrots – they have lovely soft noses and they smell really nice. I think I ought to have one.’

Eliza and Jane were clearly softened by Laura’s enthusiasm. ‘We’re going to give Laura a riding lesson tomorrow.’

‘Where’s Andrew?’

‘He got stung by some stinging nettles and cried.’

‘I don’t get stung by stingy nettles because I know what they are.’ Laura was so happy that she felt like boasting about anything that came up.

‘Did you give him a dock leaf?’

Jane looked sulky. ‘Can’t remember.’

Eliza said, ‘We told him about them but I don’t think he listened. He’s only six, Mummy – he’s still pretty stupid.’

‘I’m seven and I’m not in the least stupid. I can play “Three Blind Mice” on the piano, and skip twenty-two times, and read some books, and walk two miles with Daddy—’

‘Laura, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for your bath now.’

‘I want to have my bath with Andrew.’

At this point Nan appeared. She seemed refreshed by more children. ‘You’re coming with me, Miss. You and Andrew, then the girls, or you won’t get any supper.’ And she took the unresisting Laura by the hand and led her from the room.

‘Goodness!’ Jemima said, in admiration.

‘There’s nothing like Nan when she’s on form.’ So Jemima went to unpack, and Polly to change Spencer’s nappy and put him in his cot.

The long weekend (it was half-term) ran its course. Simon managed to tell his father that he had decided to become a gardener and, to his surprise, his father made no demur – even seemed relieved that he had settled on something. ‘Don’t you need to do a course or something to get qualifications?’

‘Well, I suppose it would help if I needed to get a job somewhere different, but I like working here with Gerald and Polly.’

And this had been seconded by Gerald, saying what a marvellous help he was and how hard he worked.

Andrew settled for Laura, as she would do anything he told her to do and it made a nice change from being bossed about and snubbed by the twins. Spencer cut a tooth and was very smiley.

Polly, with the excuse of asking Hugh’s advice about Mrs Monkhurst’s suggestions, managed to get him to talk about his rift with Edward, and very carefully brought the conversation round to Diana. ‘Dad, how would you feel if the family had refused to have anything to do with Jemima?’

Hugh stared at her, but she noticed that his usually kind eyes became hard, like marbles. ‘I wouldn’t stand for it,’ he said. ‘In any case, they all love her.’

‘You see, I sometimes think that poor Uncle Edward may feel like that about Diana, too.’

There was a short, uncomfortable silence.

‘I mean, darling Dad, it isn’t so much what
you
think of her, it’s how he feels about her. He has married her, after all.’

‘And what about poor Villy? What about his ruining her life?’

‘That’s happened, Dad. It can’t be changed. It wouldn’t actually make the slightest difference to Villy if you met Diana, but I think it would make all the difference to Uncle Edward. Darling Dad, you’re usually such a kind person – think how awful it would be for me if you didn’t approve of Gerald. I’d be miserable. In the end, I’d stop loving you so much.

‘Or, I might,’ she added, seeing that this had really shocked him.

‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll think about what you’ve said. But, you know, it’s not simply the Diana issue. The firm is having a bad time, and we don’t agree at all on what we should do about it. We’ve reached a point when it has become almost impossible even to talk about it.’

They had been walking back up the avenue, having duly admired the new planting, and now he hooked his arm in hers. ‘You know, Poll, when you talk like this you remind me of your dear mother – of Sybil.’ He gave a little dry laugh to get rid of the terrible picture that recurred to him still of her dying – the slow certainty of it, the agony of watching her pain, his utter helplessness to save her from any of it.

Polly (and this would have surprised him as, like many people, he had been selfish in his grief) also had vivid and painful memories of her mother – her cries when the pain became unbearable, seeing her for the last time when she was conscious of nothing, how she had been allowed one unreciprocated kiss and then was banished. These separate griefs came to them now as they walked slowly up the drive, rich copper oak leaves falling gracefully to their feet and, above them, a sharp blue sky and cold yellow sunlight.

When the house came into view, with its monstrous facade of greyish-yellow brick (‘lavatory brick’, Gerald called it) and each of its many windows framed by architraves of an uneasy red, Hugh stopped to look at it.

Polly, watching him, said, ‘Gerald says it has pomp without any circumstance.’

‘Have you ever thought of selling it?’

‘I used to. But Gerald is devoted to it. It has become his
raison d'etre.
And I have grown fond of the place. We’ve simply got to make it earn its keep. And ours.’ And she told him about Mrs Monkhurst and all the extra money needed, ending by asking him what he thought about sinking a lot more capital into the place.

‘How much more?’

‘She hasn’t told us yet. But I bet it’ll be another Turner.’

‘Poll, I don’t think you should keep selling those. They’re a capital asset.’

‘It’s all right, Dad. We’ve still got a good many. We sold two to get the roof mended and a few other vital things like that. And Gerald sells one for each baby so that we’ve got money for their education.’

They returned to the house to be greeted by the twins. ‘We’re awfully sorry, Mummy, but Laura fell off Bluebell and she’s probably broken an arm or a leg or something.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Jemima’s taken her to the vet.’

‘Not the vet, the doctor, silly.’

‘It wasn’t our fault, Mummy. She didn’t want to be on a leading rein.’

Andrew said, ‘Now you can see why I don’t ride. I need my arms and legs – or how could I climb my trees?’ He had not at all liked the twins appropriating Laura.

‘You know perfectly well that you should have kept her on the leading rein. In fact, you should have led her yourselves. Where was Simon while all this was going on?’

‘He said he had to get more wood in for the fires.’

‘He made them promise not to trot or anything, but as soon as he’d gone they trotted. Jane was on Buttercup, anyway, so she wasn’t much use.’

‘Andrew, you’re a horrible little sneak.’

‘Yes, you are. I think you’re the worst person I know.’

‘Yes, I agree. Quite the worst person.’

Andrew’s face puckered. ‘I’m not the worst. I’m a good person. You’re the ones who let Laura fall off. You’re the worst.’ He was in tears now, sniffing hard and rubbing his eyes. At that moment, Nan appeared with Spencer, who was also crying.