‘Ferguson!’ They both spoke laughingly together and those about them, both men and women turned to stare reprovingly, at the youthful high spirits of the young lady and her escort.
They had sampled the hors d’oeuvres, Meg encouraged by Martin who said airily he had tried them in Savannah and found them nothing to write home about and certainly not a patch on Meg’s own oyster patties but you had to try everything once, didn’t she agree? She did, most seriously, pleased with his remark about her own cooking and when they moved on to the consommé julienne, she considered Mrs Whitley’s thick pea a lot more substantial! They tried whitebait and grouse and bombe Leslie – who was Leslie, did Martin think? – pétits fours, strawberries and a dish with peaches in it which was delicious, coffee and, at Martin’s insistence a liquer.
She was
quite
relaxed by then, the sherry, the glass of wine Martin had pressed on her and the liquer combining to make her pleasantly light-headed, voluble though not loudly so, flushed with laughter and utterly beautiful. Martin could not take his eyes from her!
It had taken all his powers of persuasion to make her go with him. She had been suspicious, for Jenny, the pretty young housemaid with whom she worked at times had talked of nothing else, almost hysterical with excitement, of the wonder of her evening out with Martin; of what she would wear at the Adelphi –
The Adelphi
! just think of it – of how handsome Martin was and what a man of the world he was, and how witty he was and did Meg think she should do her’ hair this way or that, and if Mrs Stewart should find out she would lose her job for the servants were not allowed to ‘walk out’ with another member of staff! She was to meet him at the gates, she said, where he would pick her up in the Vauxhall,
her
in a motor car, she said wildly and Meg thought she was about to swoon with the sheer joy of it!
She was in tears an hour later, her outing to the Adelphi with Martin postponed, she said. He was to go on an errand into town on Mr Hemingway’s behalf, she said, wiping her nose forlornly on her sleeve her bright blue eyes dulled with misery, her hopes in ashes one supposed, for Martin was off to Scotland in the morning and a good-looking chap like him would have the girls after him like bees to honey and now her chance was lost.
‘I’ve booked us a table at the Adelphi for tonight, Meg,’ he said carelessly when another hour had gone by, knowing nothing of poor pretty Jenny’s confidences to Meg, catching her as she slipped out of the kitchen to fetch a silver soup tureen from the footman’s pantry and was quite put out when Meg turned to stare at him in amazement.
‘You’ve what?’
‘I thought you might like to have a night out before I go off to Scotland so I’ve booked a table at the Adelphi. Put your best frock on and you and me’ll “do the town” as they say in the States!’
‘Oh do they indeed? And what do they call it when you ask one girl to go out with you and then let her down for another, telling lies into the bargain about errands to be done for your employer?’
‘Pardon?’
‘You heard.’
‘I don’t know what …’
‘Oh yes you do! I’ve had nothing but Martin this and Martin that from Jenny since the minute you got back. Now she’s in tears because you’ve
suddenly
got to go into town for Mr Hemingway. What’s going on then, our Martin?’
Martin looked abashed then grinned audaciously. In the four years since he had started work for Robert Hemingway, first as his mechanic/chauffeur and then as that special and quite astonishing creature, a motor car racing driver, he had become a complete man. Young still in years, his experiences, on and off the racing track had changed him considerably. Behind the wheel of his racing car he was a machine to match the one he drove. Steady eyes and hands and nerves, and the power to make split second decisions had induced in him a belief in himself which showed in his easy carriage, his relaxed and quite unthinking air of authority. The danger, the likelihood of injury or even death, though it was part of his life did not signify for he was young, immortal and this belief gave him a dash, an élan which set him apart from
other
men. He had always been an attractive boy and youth with abundant charm for the ladies which had made seduction not only comfortably easy but enjoyable for himself and his partner. He never made the mistake of taking this style he had for granted treating each new love with a sensitivity and pleasure which, when the relationship ended left no bitterness on either side, rather a memory of excitement and sweetness. He had learned from these brief encounters and built upon them and his liking for, his genuine admiration of pretty women was apparent in his treatment of them. He was polished, easy with himself and yet not self-complacent, an adult and yet boyishly engaging. His virility was beyond question. It showed in his confident manner, his vibrant and often audacious wit and the agreeable but very positive approach he took with every woman he found attractive. He was headstrong and proud, sometimes arrogant for he had achieved so much and wanted more, not only in the world of motor cars but also from the women that world had put in his way. But his brown face would smile and his brown eyes glow warmly in admiration and when his lips curled in that certain way they had, they lifted the corners of his mouth into what each woman was sure was the beginning of a laughing kiss meant irresistibly for her.
Now Martin put his slender, workmanlike hands, still ingrained with the oil from the engine of the Hemingway flyer (which had arrived only that morning by ship from New York) about Meg’s waist and began to whirl her around the confines of the small pantry in a fair imitation of a waltz but she would have none of it.
‘Give over, Martin! Let go of me at once!’ She was stiff with offended outrage and her hands slapped at his. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? If Mr Ferguson catches us he’ll have
my
job for sure. And what are
you
doing in the house? You know how particular he is about inside and outside servants …’
‘I’m not “outside”, Meggie.’ His grin was endearing as though he was perfectly certain she would forgive him as Mr Ferguson would forgive him, for could he be resisted!
‘So what are you, pray?’ she asked, then, as though realising she was being diverted from her original complaint she pushed him away and, raising her hands to her hair in the age old gesture of a woman seriously displeased with the pranks of the man who
had
disarranged her she moved huffily away from him, intent, one assumed, on returning immediately to her duties.
‘Oh come on, Meg, don’t be mad at me. I know I told Jenny I would take her but … well …’ His deep brown eyes softened and melted and despite herself,
surprising
herself, Meg hesitated, drawn back to him into the cool dimness of the pantry. ‘You see … you’ll think I’m daft but …’
‘What …?’
‘I had this idea …’
‘What …?’ She took another step towards him her curiosity, always impossible to repress getting the better of her.
‘Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve always been with Mr Hemingway. Good hotels, restaurants, and he’s taken charge, naturally, after all he was paying and I am his employee. Wherever we stay it’s always the best. Oh, I know I don’t have the standard of room he has but I often eat with him and I’ve watched him and listened to him go through the menu with the waiter. I’ve seen him study the wine list and decide what to drink with what and I made up my mind …’
‘What, Martin?’ She was quite absorbed as he had intended.
‘… that it was time I did it. Just walk into some posh place, demand the best table and be exactly like he is. Like they all are! Order what I fancy and if I don’t like the way it’s cooked, send it back to the kitchens just as I’ve seen him do! Why not? I’ve got the money to do it now, not often but I can see no reason why I … we … shouldn’t do it now and again do you?’
His face was absolutely certain of it and his eyes glowed into hers with all the unhesitating conviction which his months of travel with Robert Hemingway and his own complete and undisputed confidence in himself had given to him. He lifted his chin arrogantly then something in him, perhaps for the last time, remembered that he was a boy who had no past, no name bar the one given him at the orphanage where he had been abandoned as a baby, and the expression on his face became curiously vulnerable, shy almost, and he put out both hands, taking one of hers between them.
‘Share it with me, Meg, this first time. I’d rather be with someone I know, someone who knows me, knows what I’ve been and where I’ve come from. Someone who knows what I’ve achieved and where I’m going. You understand, Meggie, you always have. You’ll know what it means to me, without being impressed, or
overawed
as Jenny would be. She’s alright, good fun and all that but …’
Meg shifted impatiently, not knowing why the mention of Jenny and her talent for ‘fun’ should irritate her but Martin saw it and hastily took another tack, quite well aware that no woman wishes to hear the qualities of another.
‘… but she’s not such good company as you and it’d be the first time for us both. An experience we’ve never had, never even dreamed of when we were at Great George Square! Imagine us dining at the “Delly” all dressed up in our Sunday best letting the rest of ’em see what orphanage kids can do when they’ve a mind to, what d’you say?’
‘Well …’ but he knew she was willing, had known long before she did that his power of inducement, well tested and practised upon would win her round for didn’t it always, with
all
women! Besides, was he not doing as Mrs Whitley and Tom had asked him to do? Had they not begged him to find out what was going on in Meg’s secret mind these past months. Why she had become the compliant, unfathomable, seemingly tireless workhorse who, besides the passion for work on which she had always thrived, bore no resemblance to the light-hearted Megan Hughes they had once known.
Her face had come alive with excitement and she leaned towards him in the most delightful way and he could smell some fragrance about her which he did not recognise but found extremely pleasing. Her eyes, as he had seen them do a thousand times when she was happy changed to a flashing, golden warmth and her soft pink mouth, full and moist, parted on a sigh.
‘The “Delly”! Lord, I can’t believe it! You and me and Tom at the “Delly”! D’you really mean it, Martin, because if this is one of your daft jokes I’ll not forgive you. You’re not having me on, are you? D’you mean it, gospel, our kid?’
Jenny was forgotten. She was nothing to do with Meg and Martin and Tom who were a separate, complete unit, set apart from the rest of the servants, the household, the rest of the world even, by the circumstance of their close upbringing!
Martin’s face became uncertain and he opened his mouth to protest for there had been no thought in his mind of taking Tom with them to dine at the Adelphi. He did not stop to wonder why, nor even to question his own objection, he only knew that the image of dining alone in the opulence of the best restaurant in the
north
of England with this amazingly radiant creature appealed to the masculine in him. The predatory male though God alone knew why for was she not only ‘their Meggie’? She was gazing at him with the rapture of a child who has been granted a peep into a fairy grotto and it filled him with a strange but quite gratifying piquancy. Tom was a good fellow and they had been friends, brothers even for a long time and Martin would defend him with his life if it was needed but on this one occasion, this one evening he felt the desire to have Meg to himself. To talk to her and tell her of his plans since there was no-one more interested – was there? – than Meg. He wanted to find out – didn’t he? – what
she
was up to, did
she
have hopes for the future since he knew that of the two of them she was more ambitious, more like himself than Tom. Tom was … was settled, happy as a pig in muck in the very job he was doing. He would have nothing to say that he hadn’t said a dozen times before on the benefit of a steady job and a place to put your feet up with people you liked about you. Careless and carefree was Tom and he’d think nowt a pound to the Adelphi, or so Martin told himself. Besides, he’d not have a decent suit let alone a dinner jacket!
But how to say this to Meg without making her think he was deserting Tom, the Tom who had never yet been left out of any of their excursions, at least not deliberately but Meg saved him the dilemma of it by clapping her hand to her head.
‘Oh, I forgot! He told me he had to go over to the home farm. I can’t remember what for but he’d promised Jack Tabner …’
‘Oh, what a shame, but never mind, Meggie. He can come next time for there will
be
a next time, don’t you fret. We’ll make a pact that when I’m home we’ll all go to the “Delly” for a slap-up meal, on me of course,’ he finished magnanimously.
They lingered, as seemed to be the way of those about them, over their coffee. The lights were soft and the diners, mellowed perhaps by the magnificence of the food they had eaten and the fine wine they had drunk talked quietly. The laughter was muted, the waiters hovered attentively, unobtrusively, ready, should they be needed to pour another cup of coffee, to light a cigar. They were easy with one another, their long association as children and through their adolescence giving them the unruffled facility to talk, or not; to laugh together over half-forgotten memories, to be unhurried, companionable, to listen.
‘And your designing, Martin?’ Meg said at last, her tawny eyes
dreaming
through the candlelight into his. ‘What of that? Will you spend more time on it or are you to go on racing?’