Authors: Alison Stuart
“Not even Paul Morrow?” Helen ventured.
“Paul?” Angela stopped and removed the cigarette from her mouth. She crossed her arms, holding her cigarette between her fingers. “Way too much history there. Did Tony tell you, I was the one who brought him in? Can’t tell you what a fright it gave me when I got to the clearing station. You don’t expect to have to bring in someone you know, let alone someone you...” She drew on her cigarette and blew out the smoke, watching it disperse into the night air.
Helen tried to read the other woman’s face. Had she loved Paul Morrow or was it just the affection of a shared childhood?
“No, he didn’t mention that,” she said.
Angela’s mouth tightened. “I really didn’t think he would live. Terrible mess. I’d given up believing in God by then, but I prayed for Paul...” She looked down at the cigarette, before stubbing out the butt on the wall and taking Helen’s arm. “When that bloody Fiona ditched him, I could have clawed the little cat’s eyes out but it was probably for the best. She’d only have made Paul miserable.” Angela screwed up her face at some unspoken sentiment. “It’s getting cold, let’s go in. Good. I can hear the men, let’s get some music going and have some fun.”
The gramophone had been wound by the time the two women stepped into the room. Helen found her hand grabbed and Tony whirled her away in a lively and not always rhythmic foxtrot. After Tony, came a succession of partners until she collapsed exhausted on to a sofa next to Paul Morrow.
“You seem to be having a good time,” he remarked.
She smiled without looking at him. “Oh yes. I haven’t danced so much in years.”
“You dance well. I do believe you made Scarvell look like a flash dancer.”
Helen gave him a sideways glance. “Are you glad you came?”
He took a drag on the cigarette. “I suppose so,” he said. “It’s been a diverting evening. Good to see some old faces.”
His eyes followed Angela who was dancing with an older man. Something about the way the man held her and the way their gazes locked indicated that more than mere acquaintance lay between them.
“Do you want to dance?” Helen blurted out and then at the look on his face, she flushed scarlet. “Oh God, how forward. Sorry, Paul.”
To her surprise he laughed. “I don’t dance, Helen.” He tapped his right leg.
“No, but I do,” Helen rose to her feet. “I promise not to have any expectations.”
Before Paul could respond, she felt a hand on her arm and turned to see a fair haired man standing at her elbow. He held out his hand, with a quick glance at Paul.
“Morrow, you don’t mind if I steal your companion?”
“Helen, this is an old school friend of Charlie’s, James Massey,” Paul said. “Massey, the decision is entirely Mrs. Morrow’s. I have no claim on her.”
Helen looked from one man to the other sensing a tension between them.
“Mrs. Morrow, you will break my heart if you don’t dance with me,” Massey said, and taking her hand, he swept her into his arms for a two-step.
He proved to be the best partner of the evening. As he held her close, she smelled the tang of expensive cologne and his grip on her was sure and confident.
“Coming to the tennis tomorrow?” Massey asked.
Helen nodded. “Yes, although it’s been a while since I’ve played, so I’ll probably be hopeless.”
“I hope you’ll partner me at some point in the day. Ah, a fox trot. Up for another dance, Mrs. Morrow?”
Helen saw Paul rise to his feet and look at his watch. She excused herself from her partner and joined Paul.
“It’s getting late, Helen, and I’ve got to get that report finished for Woolley by Monday. Do you mind if we decamp?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“What, not leaving?” Tony exclaimed as Paul bade him goodnight. “What about Helen? You can’t take her away?”
Paul looked down at Helen and shrugged. “Helen’s free to stay if she wishes.”
“No,” Helen said, shaking her head. “If I’m going to play any sort of tennis tomorrow, I’d better go now. Thank you, Tony. It’s been a lovely evening.” She held out her hand to shake his and to her surprise, he seized it and lifted it to his lips.
“Good night, Helen. What about you, Morrow? Joining us for tennis.”
Paul shook his head. “My tennis, like my dancing days, are over. I’ll leave it to Helen to uphold the Morrow pride.”
“Helen, I’ll send the car over for you at nine,” Tony said. “Goodnight.”
* * * *
“Did you enjoy the evening?” Evelyn asked Helen as the car pulled away.
“I met some charming and interesting people,” Helen said.
In the dark, Paul could not see Helen’s face but he sensed a slight tension in her voice and wondered if, despite being the centre of attention, she had really enjoyed herself.
“What about you, Paul?” Evelyn drew him into the conversation.
“Tony and Charlie’s crowd, Evelyn,” he replied. “I never had much in common with them, even at school.”
“I found Angela Lambton quite a surprising person,” Helen said.
“Despair of her mother,” Evelyn responded.
“I’d like to see some of her paintings,” Helen continued.
“Those ghastly war paintings?” Evelyn said. “Should never have been shown. The girl thrives on controversy.”
“What was her husband like?”
Evelyn did not reply, so Paul answered. “He was all right, but Harry had too much of an eye for other women, and the drink. Now, of course, he rests in hallowed memory, like so many others, sanctified by their violent deaths. People forgive sins easily.”
“Really, Paul. That’s no way to speak of the dead,” Evelyn chided from her corner of the car.
“She told me you were engaged,” Helen said.
Paul smiled, wondering if Helen could read his face in the dark of the car’s interior. “Oh, did she? Another disaster in the making. I’m just grateful to Fiona for having the sense to break it off. We’d have hated each other within a year.”
“Dreadful girl,” Evelyn said. “Treated you shamefully.”
Paul shook his head. “Too harsh, Evelyn. She was just like those girls at the party tonight. Pretty, spoiled and entirely without a thought of their own. She belonged to a time before the war.”
Evelyn sniffed. “According to you, Paul, everything belongs to a time before the war. Why can’t we have that time back again?”
He looked across at his aunt and shook his head. Evelyn would forever pine the passing of the golden ages of Victoria and Edward.
Alone in his room, later that night, Paul poured himself a whiskey and stood at the window, looking out over the dark countryside thinking for the first time in years about Angela and the night she had first come to his bed.
Chapter 10
The Wellmore car carrying Helen and Evelyn to tennis had departed and Paul sat at the library table contemplating a small clay tablet with scant attention. His great-grandmother’s journal peeked out from underneath a pile of papers he had brought down from his rooms, and he pulled it out, tapping the green leather cover with his pencil before opening it up to the first of the coded passages.
He glanced up at Suzanna’s portrait and silently cursed her. She had not written the entry in ancient Greek, but rather used the ancient alphabet in a simple substitution code. Simple it may be, but it would take a little effort to translate. Still, it made an interesting alternative to the finances of the Ur dig, he thought, as he pulled a blank piece of paper toward himself and picked up a pencil.
“What are you doing, Uncle Paul?”
He started at Alice’s voice and looked up to see her standing in the doorway watching him. He smiled at her.
“Good morning to you too, Alice,” he observed. “I didn’t hear you knock?”
She ignored his dry tone and unbidden, walked up to the table and started to spin the globe.
“Mummy wouldn’t take me with her,” she said in a sulky tone.
“It’s not a day for children,” Paul said.
Alice pulled a pack of cards from her pocket and held them out to him.
“Do you want to play cards?” she asked.
He considered her for a moment. “Why not? What do you play?”
“Snap?” she suggested and then added with a cheeky grin, “Really fast.”
They cleared a space on the table and she knelt up on a chair and began dealing the cards.
“Tell me about your home.” Paul asked. “Terrala, is that what it’s called?”
A grin spread across Alice’s face and she nodded. “We live with Granny and Grandpa in the big house. We used to live in the cottage down by the dam but Uncle Henry lives there now.”
“Uncle Henry?”
“Mummy’s brother. He went to the war and when he came back he married Aunty Violet and Mummy said it wasn’t fair for us to live in the cottage since Daddy was dead and Uncle Henry and Aunty Violet needed it.”
“And who else lives at Terrala?”
“Well there’s Uncle Ben and Uncle Frank and Uncle Fred but they were all too young to go the war. Uncle Fred’s still at school. He wants to be a doctor.”
“So your mother doesn’t have any sisters?”
Alice shook her head. “She’s the eldest. The others think she’s bossy. Are we going to play?”
They played three games, all of which Paul lost. Halfway through the fourth game, which Paul was winning, a voice came from the door to the courtyard.
“That looks fun, can I play too?”
“Angela. Doesn’t anyone in this house knock on doors?” Paul rose to his feet, as Angela Lambton, dressed in jodhpurs and riding boots strolled into the room. “What brings you here?”
Angela looked around the room. “Had to get out from under Mother’s feet and that beastly tennis party. So I thought I’d ride over here and see what you were doing to amuse yourself on this glorious day. Hello,” she addressed Alice. “I’m Angela, who are you?”
“Miss Alice Morrow,” Paul replied for Alice who seemed to have been struck dumb by Angela’s entrance. “Alice, this is Mrs. Lambton.”
“Charlie’s daughter?” Angela raised an eyebrow at Paul. “Well I’m pleased to meet you, Alice.”
“Mrs. Lambton is Mr. Scarvell’s sister,” Paul explained.
The suspicion in Alice’s face dissolved and she smiled.
“So, are you going to deal me in?” Angela said. “I warn you, I’m a mean Snap player.”
Paul looked across at Alice and gave her a rueful smile. “So is this young lady,” he said.
After two games, Sarah appeared at the door with a tray of tea and biscuits. “Miss Alice, Lily’s here to play with you.”
Alice jumped to her feet. “Thank you for the games, Uncle Paul, Mrs. Lambton.”
“Have fun,” Angela said. “Have you found the dollhouse?”
Alice stopped at the door. “I love the dollhouse.”
Angela poured two cups of tea as the door shut behind Alice and Mrs. Pollard. “Nice child. I like her mother too. I can see why Charlie fell head over heels for her.”
“He shouldn’t have left her,” Paul said.
Angela sat back in one the winged chairs by the hearth, one leg hooked over the arm. Paul offered her a cigarette, which she took, inhaling with a deep sigh.
“Mother has Tony bailed up with those ghastly women for the whole weekend,” she said. “I don’t know how he puts up with it.”
“
Noblesse oblige.
” Paul sat in the chair opposite Angela. “Mercifully we don’t have the money for Evelyn to even consider a similar tactic on me.”
“She wouldn’t dare anyway,” Angela smiled. “As for those poor cows Mother is trotting out for Tony, I don’t think any of them compare to your Helen.”
“They don’t,” Paul agreed. “And what do you mean ‘my Helen’?”
Angela gave him a sidelong glance and blew out a cloud of smoke. “She’s a Morrow, that makes her your responsibility doesn’t it?”
Paul rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I’m not sure she would agree with you.”
Angela regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “Mother doesn’t approve of her.”
“That’s hardly surprising. Your mother is the greatest snob I’ve ever met.” Paul changed the subject. “How long are you staying down?”
“I have to be back in London by Tuesday,” she said. “I’ve an exhibition opening on Wednesday night. All very respectable and saleable paintings, darling. I should do well.”
“One day a Scarvell will be worth as much as a Rembrandt,” Paul remarked.
Angela threw back her head and laughed. “Only in my dreams.” She looked at her wristwatch. “How about we ride over to Wellmore and join the luncheon party?”
Paul looked across at his table where the small, green journal sat on top of a pile of papers.
“All right,” he said. “I’ve nothing here that won’t wait.”
* * * *
Only England could turn on such a glorious summer day, Helen thought, as she sat in a deck chair, watching the match in progress. Out of deference to the Lady Scarvell’s disapproving frown, she had accepted James Massey as her tennis partner before Tony had a chance to ask her. He had been partnered with one of the debutantes who had a high-pitched giggle that echoed around the tennis court every time her racquet connected with the ball.