All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (33 page)

She had a smudge on her forehead, but below it, her eyes sparkled with pleasure: he could never resist their beautiful candour.

LOUISE AND TEDDY, WITH EDWARD AND DIANA

‘Do you think anyone has Christmas where they want to?’

She was in a bad mood, Teddy thought. He had come to pick her up to drive them both down to Hawkhurst. The flat reeked of burned feathers, and the shop below her ghastly flat was crammed with dead dressed turkeys. ‘I’m used to it,’ she said, when he remarked on the smell. She had kept him waiting and he’d sat in her small, bare sitting room.

There was a bookshelf and a small gas fire, but most of the elements in it were broken so it gave out uneasy blue flames and no perceptible heat. Come on, Louise, he begged silently. He didn’t want to say anything that might make her crosser.

But when she finally emerged, she looked so marvellous that he felt better at once. She wore jeans, boots, and a navy blue fisherman’s jersey, her shining blonde hair dressed in a French plait and small silver rings in her ears. ‘Don’t you agree?’ she said. ‘We all have to do duty visits at this jolly time of year.’

‘Well, I’m just glad to get away from Southampton. And we’ve never been to Dad’s new house: it might be fun.’

‘Not with Diana in it.’ She had lugged her heavy suitcase into the room. ‘It’s all yours. Sorry it’s so heavy.’

‘Why do you hate her so much?’

‘I suppose because she hates me. And Dad’s so tactless about it – he keeps calling us his two favourite women. She can’t stand that. Are we going to have lunch first?’

‘If we do, the traffic will be even worse.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly two now. But we will if you really want to.’

‘I don’t care. I can’t afford to care too much about meals in my job.’

When he’d stowed her case and they were in the car, he said, ‘I went to Mum’s last night.’

‘Oh, well done you. I went at the weekend. Poor Roland. It must be so dreary for him.’

‘Pretty bad for all of them, I should think. Miss Milliment didn’t seem to know who I was. That’s hard on Mum.’

‘I think she likes things to be hard.’

‘You seem to have got rather cynical in your old age.’

There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Sorry, Ted. I’m not really cynical – just a bit sad.’ Silence. ‘Sometimes it’s not much fun being a woman.’

‘You’re in love with somebody?’

‘I think so. Yes, I must be.’

‘And he doesn’t love you?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose he does, in a way.’

‘But he’s married, is that it? So you can’t marry him.’

‘I don’t know if I’d want to marry him. But I can’t anyway. He spends five evenings a week with me, and goes back to his wife at weekends. Oh, yes, and for long holidays in the south of France – weeks and weeks. While I stew down in London.’ She made an effort to laugh. ‘I’m the icing rather than the cake.’

‘I can see that’s difficult.’ It’s quite difficult being a man, he thought, recalling Ellen and the frightful mess he’d made of that. She had got pregnant, after that one day on the Isle of Wight – had told him six weeks later. He’d been trying to see her only in the pub, had made no plans for time off with her although he could see that she was unhappy. He told himself that it was just as difficult for him, but really he knew it wasn’t. He couldn’t face marrying her, had begun to realise how little they had in common, so one evening when she had served him his pint and very quietly said she wanted to talk with him in private, he had agreed, and waited for her to emerge from the pub after closing time. He had thought that she was going to ask him what was wrong, why they weren’t seeing each other, so her news was a bombshell.

‘Are you sure?’

She had missed two periods and she felt sick in the mornings – threw up sometimes – so, yes.

‘Couldn’t you go back home to have it?’

She could not. Her family would throw her out; she’d land up in some home run by nuns who would force her to get it adopted. ‘It’s your baby, Teddy. I couldn’t let that happen.’ She was speaking quietly, but her eyes were bright with silent pleading.

‘I have to tell you, I can’t marry you, Ellen. My family wouldn’t hear of it.’ As he said that, he was sharply aware of what a coward that made him.

But she seemed to accept his rejection. ‘That’s what families are like,’ she said, a single pear-shaped tear falling from one eye. There was a sad, resigned silence.

‘I think the best thing would be for you not to have it.’

‘That would be a wicked sin. It’s what my friend Annie did and she may well burn in Hell for it.’

‘She won’t, you know. I’m sure she won’t.’ Desperately, he began improvising about religion, of which he knew very little. ‘God doesn’t punish people who repent. At least, my God doesn’t. He’s merciful, and – and— Well, there it is.’

‘Is it?’

‘Of course. Why don’t you ask Annie what she did? I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.’

And that, in the end, was what had happened. Annie did know someone. They wanted four hundred pounds for it so he had pawned his watch and his gold cufflinks, and just about scraped up enough to give Ellen. She was not in the pub for a week after the abortion, and when she returned to work, she was pale and seemed much older. ‘I’d rather not see you any more,’ she said. So he stopped going to the pub, but he didn’t stop feeling bad about her.

‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

‘I was thinking. All the things you’re supposed to do aren’t much fun, and the other things simply seem to end in disaster.’

‘What other things?’

‘You know, going to bed with people, and drinking too much, staying up all night so you’re no good for work the next day, smoking hash – all that lot – and sleeping around—’

‘You said that before. Have you got anyone now?’

So then he told her about Ellen.

‘Oh, poor old Ted. What awfully bad luck.’

He hadn’t thought of it like that. It didn’t seem right, but at the same time it was oddly consoling.

‘You should lay off barmaids, darling.’

‘And you should lay off married men.’

‘Oh dear! It’s so easy to give other people good advice, and so hard for them to follow it. I think you ought to marry someone,’ she said.

They were well out of London now, through Seven-oaks, and there was far less traffic. There had been a long, comfortable silence between them, during which each had had kindly thoughts about the other.

‘I think you should, too, Lou. Just because we chose the wrong person the first time doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be a good idea. Think of the future if you don’t.’

‘The future, as far as I’m concerned, is Christmas with Dad. I must say, I’m glad it’s both of us.’

‘So am I.’

The house was difficult to find, and it was dark by the time they arrived. They were met by the Labrador, which seemed vociferously delighted to welcome them.

Her barking produced their father, who embraced them both. ‘Well done! Was it an awful drive? Come and have some tea. Diana’s in the drawing room. Down, Honey!’ The Labrador instantly sat at his feet. He led the way with his arm round Louise. ‘I must say you’re looking wonderful, darling.’

‘Ted’s pretty wonderful, too,’ she said.

‘Of course he is.’

The room was delightfully warm, with a large log fire, and Diana was lying on a sofa with a tea tray on a low table before her.

‘Hello! You must be dying for tea. I’m afraid my greedy two have demolished all the chocolate cake, but there are still some crumpets left, although I’m afraid they’ll be rather cold by now.’

‘Crumpets will be fine,’ Teddy said. ‘We missed lunch because the traffic getting out of London was so thick.’

‘You must have started very late, then. But I suppose you don’t mind, do you, Louise? I mean, you must have to keep worrying about your figure in order to get into the clothes.’

‘I don’t worry about it too much.’

She and Teddy both started eating crumpets that were slippery with butter then Teddy dropped his on the yellow carpet. He picked it up, but it left a mark.

‘Oh dear! Edward, darling, get some soda water and a cloth. Quickly!’

Teddy apologised, and Diana said it didn’t matter at all, which was clearly untrue.

When Edward returned with the soda siphon and a cloth, she insisted on doing the squirting and cleaning herself, in spite of Teddy offering.

Louise said she would like to unpack, and Teddy offered to take up her luggage. Edward said he would conduct them upstairs.

‘Where are they sleeping, darling?’

‘Oh, Teddy’s in the old night nursery and Louise has the maid’s bedroom at the back.’

A look of embarrassment crossed her father’s face. It’s going to be just like France, she thought, loving him for minding, hating him for being so weak.

‘Here we are,’ he said, opening the door on a bleak little room that was icy cold. ‘I’m afraid the heating doesn’t get as far as this. I’ll see if I can find you an electric fire. Teddy is next door.’

‘Where’s the bathroom, Dad?’

‘At the end of the passage. I’ll go and see if I can track down that heater.’

Teddy dumped her case on the little iron bedstead. ‘Not exactly the Ritz, is it? I’ll come back when I’ve unpacked.’

She hung her two dresses, stored her suitcase with the rest of her things, and decided to explore the bathroom. When she returned, it was to find a tall young man standing outside her door with an electric fire. ‘Hello! I’m Jamie, your half-brother. Sorry about the fire. Susan pinched it, in spite of having a perfectly good radiator in her room. Shall I plug it in for you?’

He had a charming easy manner, although he didn’t look a bit like Dad. ‘It’s bloody cold in here,’ he said. ‘There’ll be drinks quite soon, so come down as soon as you’re ready. I missed you in the south of France last summer. Susan and I turned up after you left. I must say that was a pity.’ His admiration was open and she felt cheered by it. ‘Sorry you’ve got such a dud room. I’d have given you mine if I’d known. Hope you’ll get warmer soon. By the way, my sister Susan is absolute hell at the moment. Mum says it’s just a phase, but it sure is a long one. She’s fifteen, and she’s been like it for nearly two years.’

But before Louise could ask what sort of hell, he’d gone.

She changed her jersey for a white silk shirt, brushed her hair, put on some lipstick and went downstairs for the drink and the welcome log fire.

That was the beginning of the three days she and Teddy spent in their father’s house, where everyone ate and drank too much, exchanged presents, spent embarrassing interludes when Susan regaled them with her ghastly well-known-speeches-from-Shakespeare and, worse, speeches she had written for herself, the latter requiring much tedious explanation to set the scene. She was going through the unfortunate stage of adolescence where she bulged out of her clothes, had acne on a face that was pear-shaped with puppy fat, and adopted a voice for her acts that was a nauseating blend of martyrdom and self-righteousness. They sat through these pieces because Diana explained that it was important for her to express herself, and Edward, though he was clearly both embarrassed and bored, said nothing. At one point Jamie suggested that they should play charades but no one seemed enthusiastic. By the evening of Boxing Day they all picked at pieces of cold turkey and mince pies with a certain relief that Christmas was nearly over although, of course, nobody said as much.