All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (53 page)

She gave a great gasp, but managed not to succumb to a second outburst. Instead she blew her nose again and spoke far more quietly: ‘I don’t need one. I’ve got too old to cope with those young girls in the office. Always chattering about their love life, and most of them can’t spell for toffee. In my day, work was work, and play was play.’

She didn’t look as though she had had much of the latter, Hugh thought. He was feeling dreadfully sorry for her.

‘I suppose,’ she went on, tentative now, even shy, ‘that when you start your new occupation, you will need someone, and then perhaps you would bear me in mind?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I most certainly shall. And now I think the best thing would be for you to type all the formal letters while I make rough drafts of the others.’

When she had gone he reflected upon the ways in which she had irritated him for years: her exaggeratedly quiet speech and movements when he had one of his heads coming – this was entirely unreasonable of him, he knew; the way in which she always picked up his telephone and made it clear to the caller that it would be difficult to talk to Mr Cazalet as he was extremely busy, even when he wasn’t. And the maddening nursery voice she had put on to his children on the rare occasions that they had come to the office. But in so many ways she had been the perfect secretary: never forgot anything, was always tactful at reminding him when deadlines fell due; her impeccable letters, her punctuality, her general reliability. He could not recall her ever being off sick . . . She must have been on holiday when he had borrowed Jemima from Edward. That had been a piece of extraordinary luck. It made him smile to remember it now. A need to go home to her came over him; to have tea with her and pretend to help Laura with her homework . . . He had invented a cunning ploy to make her do her arithmetic by getting her to ask him a question: ‘What are three nines?’ And he would say, ‘Seventy-four.’ And then she would laugh at him and get the right answer. He longed now to be home for that. But it was only half past three, and he always worked until five . . . He pulled a piece of headed paper onto his blotter and began to write.

RACHEL AND EDWARD

‘Edward! How absolutely lovely! There’s a fire in the morning room, although it isn’t going very well. Would you like a drink?’ He kissed her, and her body underneath the thick cardigan and shawl felt like a bird’s.

‘I’d love some whisky, if you have it.’

‘Oh, yes! I’ve been getting in the drink for Christmas.’ She rang the bell, and Eileen, who had heard the car, arrived.

‘Hello, Eileen. How are you?’

‘Keeping nicely, Mr Edward.’

They all loved Edward, Rachel thought. She ordered the whisky and asked him to stoke the fire. A flurry of little frowns came and went on her face – ‘her monkey face’, her brothers had called it – when she had something difficult to say.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t talk more on the telephone, and you said you had something to tell me, so I thought I’d pop in this evening. So, fire away, darling.’

‘Well. As you know, this is going to be the last family Christmas here, and I wanted everyone to come. Villy has been most kind helping me with the sale of Sid’s house, and it occurred to me that she might like to come down to Home Place and bring Roland for Christmas. I haven’t asked her yet, because I wanted to know how you and Diana would feel about it. That’s what I wanted to ask you.’

Here, Eileen brought the drinks and Rachel asked him to pour them. ‘A very small one for me.’

‘Will Mr Edward be staying for dinner?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘Say when.’

‘Oh, stop there. That’s the most enormous whisky.’ She offered him a Passing Cloud.

‘No, thanks. I’ll stick with my gaspers. We wouldn’t be able to stay with you,’ he began carefully. ‘Susan has a friend from school staying with us. Her parents are in India. Perhaps we might come to lunch or something. Anyway, if you’re having all the rest of the family, you really won’t have room, will you?’

‘Most of the children are bringing sleeping-bags but, yes, even then we shall be a tight fit. But what do you think of my asking Villy? With Miss Milliment gone – oh, yes, didn’t you know? – I think she will be rather on her own.’

‘I don’t know – Diana—’

But she interrupted him: ‘I don’t want to know about Diana. I want to know about you – how you would feel.’

He felt cornered. He
was
cornered. He knew he would feel guilty seeing Villy again after such a long time. He would feel guilty about Roland, whom he hardly ever saw since she had done her level best to make it awkward for him to spend much time with him; those dutiful lunches during school terms – the same questions asked, the same replies given – smoked salmon being the highlight for Roland, his formal gratitude for a ten-shilling note being the – rather dimmer – highlight for him.

‘We couldn’t stay anyway,’ he repeated. ‘Diana – well, she’s naturally upset about the firm going bust, and we may have to sell our house if I don’t land another job pretty fast. It’s frankly not the best time for her to have to face Villy. And, of course, we don’t know how Villy will react.’

‘I think I’ll ask her. And of course I’ll let you know.’ She could sense that he wanted to go. Poor Ed. He had never liked facing up to difficult situations, and now he seemed to have to cope with so many at once.

They both stood up, and he put his arms round her to give her a hug, and kissed her cold face. ‘Thank you for the drink, darling. I’ll let you know about my end.’

‘It’s been lovely to see you.’ She could not bring herself to send love to Diana, simply could not like her after her behaviour towards Sid.

She saw him out into the freezing cold, waited to hear his car start, then went back to the shabby little morning room. These days she always felt stabbed by loneliness when people left.

THE CHILDREN

Georgie: ‘I could easily take practically all my zoo to Home Place. Laura will help me. We could go by train with crates. Except for Rivers, of course. He travels with me. You know, Mum, I can’t help thinking that it would be better if Laura’s family came to live with us. Harriet claims not to like pythons.
Claims!’
he repeated, with scorn at such an unlikely dislike.

Eliza: ‘The main reason why we don’t like staying with people is the milk.’

Jane: ‘It always tastes different from our milk. It’s nasty. So, if we have to go, could we ask for orange squash?’

Andrew: ‘Well, I want to go. I love exploring new places and it’ll be good practice as I’m going to be an explorer when I grow up. I shall discover the East Pole and be extremely famous. Milk is just girly-whirly stuff.’

‘Mum, he’s so stupid! How can you bear him?’

Harriet: ‘Mum! How will he know we’ve changed our address?’

‘Father Christmas always knows that sort of thing.’

‘OK, but
how
?’

‘Well, as a matter of fact, we tell him. And don’t ask me how or the magic might not work.’

Clary had spent the whole afternoon making a Christmas cake. She now took it out of the oven for the fourth time and plunged a skewer into it. At last, it came out clean. She tipped the cake out of its tin and put it on a rack to cool. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to make more Christmas stuff: Zoë and Jemima were contributing too.

She had already made the marzipan, about which her household was divided. Archie loved it, but Bertie said even the word made him feel sick. Harriet, her fears about Father Christmas allayed, took the lofty attitude, saying that Bertie was simply too young to understand about marzipan. Both children were excited: about Christmas at Home Place, about going to live with Georgie, and having their own bedrooms for the first time in their lives, and about the thrilling uncertainty of what they would get in the way of presents, and the prospect of there being about eleven other children for the holiday.

Laura was in the same state, but she was also agitated about the presents she would be giving. She had embroidered a white handkerchief with a rather crooked J for her mother, but the linen had become grey and blood-spotted from her exertions, and she decided that Hugh must stand guard at the bathroom door while she washed it. She had saved up all her pocket money to buy presents, seven and sixpence, and she had made a list of the recipients. Against her parents on the list she had simply written ‘Ha Ha!’ ‘It means that you and Mummy simply can’t find out about your presents.’ Against Georgie she had written ‘rabbit, parrot, Komodo Dragon (if small enough), tortoise, two goldfish, and small snake’. Due to her large handwriting, this had left almost no room for possibilities for anyone else on the list. Hugh suggested that she give Georgie just one of the things she’d written down – but there was a very good pet shop in Camden Town, she’d retorted. ‘I want to give him everything that’s on the list. I love him, you see.’

‘I think you’ll find there is a marked shortage of dragons,’ Jemima said comfortingly, as she saw them off.

It was a difficult morning. Laura felt so rich, that she could not understand why she could not buy everything she wanted. She wanted to give Henry and Tom penknives and was aghast to discover that this would use up five shillings of her bounty. ‘That only leaves half a crown for Georgie!’

‘Never mind. The penknives are a brilliant idea. If the worst comes to the worst, I can help you with Georgie.’ He was touched by her unbridled generosity. It reminded him of Polly buying a little writing desk for Clary.

‘I’m afraid we’re clean out of dragons,’ the man serving in the pet shop said to Laura. He winked at Hugh, and she noticed.

‘Rather a rude man,’ she remarked – intentionally audible - to her father.

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean to be.’

‘That’s what I don’t like. People being what they don’t mean to be. They should be what they are.’

She was getting tired, Hugh knew. All the buses they had taken, the searching they had done in Selfridges, and now having to scale down her plans for Georgie. ‘He hasn’t got a single goldfish,’ he prompted.

Laura thought this was a good idea. She chose two. ‘One would be cruel. He’d die of boredom. And I want a proper tank for them – not a silly bowl. A tank with sand at the bottom, and green weed growing out of it.’ She chose the fish after agonising uncertainty: one nearly all black and a gold one with black marks on it.

‘They look more rare than the plain golds, don’t you think?’

Eventually, with fish caught and ensconced in a polythene bag in the tank, and smaller bags with sand and the weed, and a very small bag for food, they had finished. Laura had used up all her money, and Hugh had helped with the equipment. ‘Dad, you’re so kind. You try to be secret about it, but it shows.’ She pulled his good arm so that he bent down for her to kiss him, and they went in search of a taxi.