All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (57 page)

Nan took the baby, who gave her a token smile of recognition, and then got down to the serious business of yelling for food.

Polly’s appearance excited him to operatic strength, but as she sank gratefully into an armchair and took him, his cries ceased in midstream as he found what he wanted.

‘Nan, dear, you go to bed. It’s long past your bedtime.’ And as she hesitated, Polly said, ‘Gerald will take you there. It’s the fourth door on your left.’

‘And show Nan where the bathroom is,’ she called after them as they left the room.

Alone with her baby, she could indulge in a passionate adoration that she imagined she concealed from everyone. His eyes, that had turned from slate-blue to brown like his father, were fixed trustfully on hers, his copper-gold hair was damp from his exertions, and she gently smoothed his curls from his forehead. ‘You are the most perfect, beautiful baby in the world,’ she told him. ‘I love you – passionately.’

She knew that she was taking far too long to wean him, but she clung to this special intimacy: this was her last baby, so it was an intimacy she would never have again.

‘The thing is,’ Harriet said, ‘we’re more likely to get snow if we all want it. Couldn’t we just say, “Let there be snow” – like God – and there will be?’ You had to hold your own against the twins, since there were two of them and they always agreed with each other.

Eliza and Jane both had their hair in pigtails and they were all snug in their sleeping-bags. The space they’d made for Laura was unoccupied, and they found out that she was sleeping with Georgie. This, they thought, was very unfair, and they all agreed that Laura was spoiled. ‘She’s too young for us, anyway,’ Eliza had said. ‘I mean, I often read in bed, and she can’t read without a grownup helping her. Andrew is awful, too. I think all very young children are pests. I shan’t have babies when I get married. I shall wait for them to be at least seven before I have them.’

Harriet was aghast. ‘Eliza, you can’t just go about with a seven-year-old baby inside you. You’d explode – like a balloon.’ She could not suppress a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought.

‘Goodness, Harriet, of course I couldn’t. I’d have it at the normal time and then lend it to people until it was old enough.’

There was a silence while Harriet digested the snub. ‘Are we staying awake for Father Christmas?’ she asked rather timidly.

She saw the twins exchange a look. ‘I think it would be best if we all went to sleep,’ Jane said, adding kindly, ‘and please don’t worry about birth and all that. I can quite see that as you don’t live in the country you couldn’t know much about that sort of thing. Do you want to go on reading, Lizzie?’

‘Not specially.’ She shut her book with a snap; she’d only been pretending to read it. They were all tired -being sick on the journey had meant the twins had had a rather small supper, and Nan had made them have baths.

The light was turned off by Eliza, who said, ‘I’m going to undo my plait: Nan made it far too tight.’

‘Me too. You’re lucky to have such lovely thick hair, Harriet - ours is far too mingy.’

Harriet lay in the dark, savouring this compliment. Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before. She decided to remember it all her life.

Roland, having successfully installed the Christmas lights, packed up his tool case and said he would go to bed. He found Teddy, Tom, Henry and Simon in the nursery trying to play records on a pretty ancient machine. One of them was also struggling with a wireless that emitted constant crackles and small bursts of jazz. ‘We’ve not to make too much noise,’ one of them was saying.

‘Roland will know what to do,’ Simon said. He was dealing with the gramophone.

It was marvellous to feel so useful and informed, Roland thought.

Louise and Juliet had soon got bored by all this, and had gone to bed, where they were exchanging important confidences – Louise about Joseph, and Juliet about the new love of her life. They were most honourable about dividing the time spent on discussing Joseph and Tarquin, while at the same time going through the elaborate process of cleaning and nourishing their skins for the rigours of the night. ‘Tarquin’s at a drama school, on a scholarship, so he must be frightfully good. My best friend at the school I used to be at took me to the end-of-term play they were doing, and he played a very old man in it, and I thought he must actually be very old, but when we met and he was taking off his make-up, he wasn’t – at all. He’s twenty – the perfect age for me. So we fell in love. He says I ought to be an actress, which I’d far rather do than go to France. He said that being a model was just mucking about. Oh! I’m sorry I said that because it’s what you do – I didn’t mean that you muck about because you’re at the top, aren’t you?’ She had dropped her drawl now they were alone, and her faint blush made her look even more beautiful.

‘Oh, no. I don’t mind you saying that in the least. I think I do muck about. Ought to find something more interesting to do.’

In the drawing room, they had finished filling the golf stockings, and had laid all the other presents under the tree. Gerald had returned to say that Polly was putting Spencer back to bed, and that he had told her to go too. ‘But are we missing anyone?’ Rachel said.

‘We’re missing Lydia because she has to do panto with her rep company.’ This was Villy. ‘I rang her before leaving and she sent her love to everyone.’

‘Wills wanted to spend the time with his girlfriend’s family. Fair enough,’ Hugh said, but he looked sad.

‘Well,’ Rupert said. ‘I think I can beat you all with Neville’s excuse.’ He took a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and read out a message: ‘Sorry can’t be with you. Am working in Cuba where I shall probably get married.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘The “probably” is a typical Neville touch. I didn’t want to produce it at dinner, because I wasn’t sure how Juliet would react. She’s had a bit of a crush on him.’

‘She’s over it now,’ Zoë said quickly. ‘She’s found an actor to be in love with.’

‘Right.’ This was Archie. ‘Let’s do the stockings and call it a day.’

So, some time later, they filed upstairs with the creaking stockings, which Gerald, Archie and Hugh deposited in each of the bedrooms.

Clary could well remember pretending to be asleep, listening out all the while for the stocking to be laid carefully on her bed. Louise and Polly would be fast asleep, but she – especially in the war years when Dad was missing – always just opened her eyes a slit so that she could see who it was. The drawing room had been out of bounds then; this evening she had been examining it with a grown-up eye. The lovely curtains that Aunt Rachel had insisted on – dark green chintz with creamy white roses – were now in tatters; you had to draw them very carefully not to split them more. The sofas and upholstered chairs were also worn and shiny on the arms. The lampshades had darkened with time so that they were almost the colour of coffee, and the immense carpet that had covered the room was now full of dangerous if familiar rents.

Her play was hopefully coming back to London some time in the New Year. She had not earned very much money from it so far, but an agent had written to her saying he would be happy to represent her. Archie had said that would be a good thing and meant she would not have to worry about money. So she was to see him in the New Year. What did worry her was the alarming fact that she did not have a notion of what to write next. She had started trying to compose a new play several times, but all the scraps that she had managed to put onto paper remained scraps – incoherent and pointless. She was looking forward to living with Rupert and Zoë and kept deciding that she would postpone trying to write again until they had settled in. Saying goodbye to Home Place was the immediate thing. She and Archie were the luckiest members of the family: Hugh and Edward and Rachel were the hardest hit, and Rachel faced the bleakest future. When she thought of Rachel, she began to imagine awful things. Supposing Archie died as Sid had, and she did not have Bertie and Harriet, and she had no qualifications for any decent kind of work, but had lost all her money and needed to make some . . .

‘What are you crying about?’

She told him.

‘My darling, you must be deliriously happy if you have to invent things to cry about. I am extremely well, and so are the children. And you are now a playwright. I do agree that we have to worry about the others, but now, as Rachel said, we’re here to enjoy Christmas. I’m going to put my lovely healthy arms round you and you’re going to go to sleep at once.’

Rivers, although he had been dozing round Georgie’s neck, was immediately awake when Hugh came in with the stockings. He had learned to lie low when people who weren’t Georgie turned up, and scurried under the blanket until they had gone. He had no intention of spending the night in his cold cage, and as Hugh did not put on a light, he would not know that he wasn’t in it now. Awake, he felt like a snack and luckily discovered half a digestive biscuit under the pillow near to Georgie’s hair. He nibbled this very quietly, so as not to wake his friend.