A pause before Hannah answered. ‘Aye, I remember. No, I’ve heard naught. Is it true that he’s to marry Margot’s daughter?’
Lily swallowed, her throat gone suddenly dry. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
‘Well, fancy that. Rumours have been flying for years about one thing or t’other. Not that I let on to your father what I hear. He sets great store by a person’s good name.’
Lily looked into her mother’s knowing eyes. ‘Yes, I suppose he does.’
Hannah said, ‘I couldn’t quite tek it in though. What a pair they’ll make! Chalk and cheese, eh?’
Lily kept her voice carefully neutral. ‘Margot would’ve preferred him to be richer, but she was so worn out by Selene’s fussing that she soon agreed. Anyway,’ she said, looking anywhere but into Hannah’s eyes, ‘he’s doing well for himself - or at least he was before the war - and afterwards no doubt he’ll carry on where he left off before...’ Her voice faltered as she wondered if that was quite true, if he’d even return.
‘He was a good friend to your Bertie.’
‘He was, still is.’
‘Does he write to you?’
‘He used to.’
‘Not heard from him lately then?’
‘No.’ Struggling to keep her voice normal.
Hannah sadly shook her head. ‘These are terrible times we live in, lass. His housekeeper used to hear from him regular, but she was telling me she’d heard naught for weeks. I hope he’s all right.’
‘Yes,’ said Lily politely. ‘So do I.’
By Christmas 1917, war weariness was rife. In Margot’s opinion the government had no right at all to ration food or restrict any facet of civilised life. Wasn’t it difficult enough with one’s servants having joined up out of patriotic fervour, leaving her with only one young housemaid and Betty to run Barwick House? Unthinkable before the war. The sooner it was over the better. Even the King had asked them to eat less bread. The very idea! Margot chose to ignore this particular request as hysterical nonsense. Would it put any more food in the mouths of the so-called poor, or hasten the end of this ridiculous war if she half starved herself? And no one could accuse her of being selfish. Hadn’t she worked unstintingly for the hospital committee since the war began? At great sacrifice to her own social life.
Fortunately Betty was proving to be a most capable girl. With the advantage that she was no oil painting so unlikely to catch a beau, even if there were one around. Margot had instructed her in cooking and personally dispatched several Christmas puddings to Bertie, determined that at least one of them should reach him.
So in view of the difficulties, she saw no reason why Edward shouldn’t take his three womenfolk to the Marina Hotel to celebrate the festive season. At least that establishment would not be short of local produce.
They dined in fine style on turbot and roast duck, followed by a raspberry and redcurrant tart, and, as luck would have it, met up with the Kirkbys. Margot had been reliably informed of the couple’s recent move into the area and had been dying for exactly this opportunity.
‘Who are they when they’re at home?’ Edward mumbled, as she prepared to make herself known to them.
‘Mr Marcus Kirkby has taken that big new white house by the golf club - Rosedale Lodge. Quite charming. He owns a munitions factory in Liverpool, I believe.’
Edward sat up a little straighter, even took the cigar he’d been about to light from his mouth. He’d taken a few too many losses recently. Exports were almost at a standstill and he wondered sometimes where his next shipload would come from. A new contact might be useful. Lily had persuaded him to run the
Faith
as an extra ferry for people, at weekends at least, when he was home. Not that Edward ever minded an excuse to go out in his lovely boat but Lily wouldn’t hear of taking much money off the locals who used her, so more often than not he was out of pocket after he’d bought the coal. As always with one of Lily’s deals. But she often came along too, happy to stoke for him since George had been called up. Not minding when she got her cheeky face all smutty. Though how much longer he could continue to be so generous was a worry. ‘He’ll be comfortably off then?’
Mother and daughter exchanged a speaking glance. ‘We should welcome them into the locality, do you not think?’
Margot hurried over the introduction of Lily, calling her ‘my poor little daughter-in-law’, thereby stamping her firmly with the appropriate credentials. Selene she kept to last, delighted to see how Marcus Kirkby lingered over her hand. When the introductions had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction he suggested they all adjourn to the lounge, for coffee.
Lily, to Margot’s very great relief, excused herself on the grounds that she must hurry home to care for Thomas.
The fact that Kirkby possessed a wife already was undoubtedly a disappointment. She would not have been against finding a better match for her darling Serene. However, Margot decided the woman must have connections, for all she looked as if she dined on cold gruel. Margot settled her increasingly corpulent frame into an easy chair and prepared to be agreeable. These were not people to offend.
The ladies were soon exchanging the usual pleasantries while Edward and Marcus fell into deep conversation about who was winning the propaganda war, what would be the outcome of revolution in Russia, and the many difficulties Marcus experienced in getting his supplies delivered. ‘You’re in transport, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘So you’ll understand.’
Edward, well warmed by brandy, concentrated hard. ‘Freight. I own a modest fleet of merchant ships. Move stuff from A to B, don’t you know?’ He wished now that he hadn’t taken that third glass as he became suddenly aware of an opportunity he really shouldn’t overlook. He sat up straighter. ‘Perhaps I can be of service? If you need supplies fetching, I’m your man.’
Marcus looked doubtful, even embarrassed at finding himself cornered. ‘You misunderstand me. I am the supplier. I manufacture arms for which I have my own transport. It would be far too risky to use anyone else.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Edward’s disappointment was all too evident and Marcus, considerably sharper at the best of times, and having been far more abstemious with the alcohol at luncheon, wondered at it. Edward Clermont-Read might be a bumbling old fool but he was not without substance. A fine house together with the usual accoutrements of the well-to-do, warehouses in both Manchester and Liverpool, plus his merchant ships.
And a daughter.
He glanced again at Selene, now quietly engaged in conversation with Catherine, her whole body poised in a way which revealed her awareness of him. His interest quickened. Who knew what the future might hold, or when an acquaintance or friend might prove useful? Selene Clermont-Read, for one, showed undoubted promise.
Clearing his throat Marcus Kirkby directed a polite smile at her father. ‘I shall remember your offer, though. I like a man of enthusiasm and, should I find myself hard pressed or in need of transport, it might be useful to know of a service I can trust.’
Edward, who had slumped back in his chair, hastily searched for his cigars and offered one to Kirkby. ‘Just say the word, old chap.’
As Edward went through the ritual of clipping and lighting the two Havanas, describing the many attributes of his fine ships, Marcus shifted his gaze to find Selene openly considering him across the table. A half smile played about her lips and then, quite provocatively and infinitely slowly, she slid out a pointed pink tongue and licked them. He almost burst from his chair in excitement. He could have taken her there and then, amongst the coffee and petits fours.
Selene turned to Catherine and casually remarked upon the exquisite style of her gown. With very little more flattery, she had elicited an invitation to come to dinner at their charming home the very next Saturday.
‘’I thought three of my bridesmaids should wear pink, and the other two a deep burgundy velvet.’
‘Dear heaven,’ replied Edward, brow furrowing deeply. ‘Five bridesmaids? There is a war on, drat it.’
Selene paused briefly to kiss the top of his head as she flounced past him to stand before the oval mirror above the fireplace and tease her curls into place. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Pa. You know that my fiancé and I have decided not to marry until the war is over. So you have plenty of time to prepare.’
She never called Nathan by his name, only ever by his status in her life, as if he should have it emblazoned on his hat badge like a military honour. Or perhaps she saw him as a prize she’d won for her trophy shelf. Selene had heard no word from him for months, but refused to give credence to rumours he was dead. She was quite certain that he would be at her side when required. For the moment it was pleasant to enjoy the kudos of being engaged without suffering the irritation of having to do anyone’s bidding but her own.
She tugged at the bell pull and when the maid answered, instructed her to fetch her best beige coat and scarf.
‘Where are you off to now?’ Edward snapped.
Margot, comfortably ensconced in the window seat where she could work on her accounts and keep an eye on the comings and goings of boats on the lake, thereby discovering who was visiting whom, directed a knowing smile upon her offspring, and a less beneficent one upon her husband. ‘I reminded you at breakfast, dear, Selene is invited to dine with Marcus Kirkby this evening.’
‘Ah, forgot.’ Edward frowned, not quite easy in his mind as he recalled how attentive the man had been to her. Didn’t seem quite proper somehow, yet he hadn’t liked to object when he hoped for the fellow to put some business his way.
‘He’s sending his motor.’
Edward scowled all the more. ‘Motor? Humph. You’ll not be late home I trust?’
‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Selene said, buttoning the glass bead buttons on her wrist-length gloves. ‘We’ll have to come back the long way, around the lake by road. Now I must hurry. Mrs Kirkby likes her guests to be punctual.’
‘And I’ll check the state of my shares, to make sure I can afford this damned wedding of yours. If it ever happens,’ said Edward sourly
‘Oh, it will happen, darling Papa. Do not fear.’ Popping another kiss on her father’s frowning brow, she flounced off to her dinner party.
When she had gone he turned the glower upon his wife. ‘What’s this all about? What’s she doing spending time with Kirkby? He’s married, for God’s sake, and she’s engaged to wed that Nathan Monroe.’
Margot managed to give every impression of innocence. ‘It’s all perfectly proper and above board. You did hear her say that his wife would be present?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well there you are then. Though I agree he does seem quite smitten with our darling daughter.’ Margot sniffed, implying she could say more had she a mind to but, showing unusual fortitude, confined herself to facts rather than speculation. ‘The wife is not at all well, poor creature.’ A significant pause. ‘And he is exceedingly rich.’
Edward had opened his mouth to protest as a good father should. Then closed it again. Money talks, as they always said. And who knew what could happen, in a war?
The dinner party, so far as Selene was concerned, proved to be an outstanding success.
There were two other couples present, both of whom were known to her. The vicar, the Reverend John Warcop, and his wife, and the Gowdrys, accompanied by their daughter Millicent who, in Selene’s opinion, grew more and more like the horses she apparently doted upon.
‘Poor Millicent’s last hope of matrimony was lost in the trenches,’ her fond mama whispered to Selene as they sipped their sherry. ‘Such a tragedy. But at least she did have the pleasure of being engaged. Better to have loved and lost, as they say.’
A sop to sad womanhood, if ever there was one. Selene managed to offer appropriate words of condolence and while Mrs Gowdry bumbled on about how at least they would not now be denied the pleasure of their darling daughter’s company, Selene compared poor Millicent’s dilemma with her own situation. Finding it uncomfortably similar rather took the edge off her own contentment. To devote her life to spinsterhood? To live forever as a daughter? A
chaste
daughter? Could that be the fate in store for her?
If Nathan Monroe did not survive the trenches, she too would be spoken of as a woman who had loved and lost. She too would be the recipient of pitying glances. The very idea was intolerable. All that trouble to catch herself a rich husband only to be robbed of him by war! It simply wasn’t fair. There must surely be other compensations, ways of achieving the same goal. A rich man to shower her with the attention she deserved.
Selene cast her glance around the assembled company and let it rest thoughtfully upon her host. Marcus Kirkby was some years older than herself, of course, perhaps in his late-thirties, but what did that signify?
If he no longer had the charismatic energy of youth, at least he possessed the essential attributes of middle age. He was not unhandsome. Some might even call him a fine-looking man. Straight-backed, firm of stomach, a neat head of hair only slightly receding, and clearly with access to a first-class tailor. She had never seen him anything but impeccably dressed. The double-breasted grey suit he wore this evening must be of the finest wool, the trousers sharply creased. His navy silk neck tie was the very last word in elegant understatement beneath a very proper stiff collar.