The Granville Sisters (7 page)

‘My mother’s Mrs Henry Granville, and I’m Juliet Granville; Rosie’s sister.’

‘I can’t bear it …’ wailed Rosie, when she heard Lady Heysham had telephoned, inviting Juliet to supper. ‘Mummy, can’t you see what’s happening? Alastair is staying with her. You should have said Juliet couldn’t go.’

‘I was rather caught on the hop,’ Liza protested, knowing Rosie was right.

‘Ever since I can remember, I’ve dreamed of marrying a man like Alastair,’ she wept. ‘This is breaking my heart.’

‘Oh, darling. What about Charles Padmore? He’s besotted with you.’

‘You said that about Alastair,’ Rosie shot back.

‘Yes. Well, lots and lots of young men are in love with you.’

‘But Alastair is the only one
I’m
in love with,’ she said piteously. The absolutely worst part about the whole thing, and what made it so galling, was that her younger sister had pinched Alastair. Not one of the Duke of Rutland’s two beautiful daughters, which would have been sort of
bearable
. Not Megan Hamilton, or any of her other fellow débutantes, but her own sister, who shouldn’t have come out at all this year.

Alastair was fifteen minutes late, and Juliet, lingering in the hall in a beautiful silk evening coat with white fur cuffs over her evening dress, was terrified he wouldn’t turn up. There was something edgy and unpredictable about him that was exciting but also nerve-wracking.

At last, the front door bell rang, and Juliet hurried to answer it.

‘Thank you, Parsons,’ she said lightly, whipping open the door before the butler could get to it.

Alastair was standing on the doorstep, looking flushed and harrassed. ‘I’m so sorry. The traffic is at a standstill at Hyde Park Corner, because there’s been a road accident. Will you forgive me?’

Juliet just wanted to get away. ‘That’s fine,’ she replied. ‘You’re all right, are you? You weren’t involved in the accident?’

Alastair’s expression softened. ‘Oh, you’re so sweet. No, I wasn’t anywhere near it.’

A shabby old Daimler was parked outside the house. He ushered her into the passenger seat, and then walked around the car and climbed in himself.

As it pulled away from the curb, a face at the second-floor window peered down, seeing it gather speed as it headed towards North Audley Street. Then the view became blurred, breaking up into fragments like a kaleidosope, as the tears poured down Rosie’s cheeks. She knew now, without a doubt, that she’d lost her great love.

‘I do hope your sister …?’ Alastair began diffidently, as they drove round Trafalgar Square. ‘I do hope she doesn’t think … I mean, I never said anything to give her the impression that I was …’

‘Rosie has masses of young men, all mad about her,’ Juliet said quickly, wanting to alleviate any feelings of guilt he might have.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said gratefully. ‘I’d hate her to think …’

‘Oh … quite.’

‘She’s awfully sweet, a dear girl, but …’ He drew a deep ragged breath. ‘But I feel quite differently about you.’

‘I’m glad you do,’ Juliet said in a small voice.

He took his eyes off the road ahead, and threw her a searching look. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really.’

‘Oh, darling. I wish to God we’d met at the beginning of the season, and not the end.’

‘So do I.’ Compared to Edward and Archie, or James and Colin, this slightly older man had a dark, dangerous strain running through him which she found irresistible.

Seated at the best table in the restaurant, he ordered their dinner with flair; champagne and oysters, followed by ragout of lobster with a side salad, and a chocolate pudding laced with fine shreds of real gold, created by the resident chef, Gustav Escoffier, which greatly impressed Juliet.

‘When can I see you again?’ he kept asking obsessively, as they danced. ‘Can we meet tomorrow?’

‘I told you I was going away for the weekend.’ Juliet gave him her catch-me-if-you-can smile.

‘Is there no way you can stay in London?’

‘Mummy would never allow that.’

‘God, it’s going to be a long weekend without you,’ he groaned, pulling her closer. ‘And a longer summer if you’re in the country.’

‘Can we have some coffee?’ she asked. The intensity of his feelings slightly alarmed her.

‘Of course.’ Alastair led her back to the table. ‘Turkish coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’ She’d never had Turkish coffee before, but she wanted to appear sophisticated in the face of such open passion.

‘So what will you do while I’m pining, all on my own?’

She shrugged. ‘Play tennis. Go for walks. Relax. Just the usual things.’

‘Real family life. How sublime. Both my parents are dead and as I’m an only child, I envy you having a big family.’

Juliet sipped the thick black coffee from its tiny cup, and the bitterness made her lips shrivel, but she kept on smiling sweetly.

‘It’s very nice,’ she remarked without enthusiasm, knowing the next three days would be spent with Rosie.

Hartley Hall was grand, but it was not a stately home. Wisteria, climbing up to the grey slate roof, softened the lines of the white-framed symmetrical windows, and Virginia creeper grew neatly around the white front door. There was also an adjoining staff wing, stables, and a coach house.

Lady Anne had been brought here as a bride, shortly after Frederick Granville had inherited the place from his father. She loved the house with its big airy elegant rooms, but most of all she loved the sixteen-acre garden. With Spence, the head gardener, and three under-gardeners, she’d created a magical place of beauty and style that was the talk of the neighbourhood.

To this comfortable and welcoming home, the Granville sisters had come every weekend since they’d been born, with or without their parents.

Hartley was special in their minds. Hartley was home. And the most special thing about it was their grandmother.

‘Darling mother,’ Liza said to Lady Anne when they arrived on Friday afternoon, ‘will you forgive me if I have a cup of tea in my room? I still have a mass of thank-you letters to write and it’s been the
most
exhausting week.’

‘Of course, my dear, anything you like,’ her mother-in-law replied mildly.

Although it was now Henry’s house, he’d insisted his mother should stay on when he got married, telling her he needed her to run the place for him. Lady Anne knew he was being kind, because he could easily have run it himself, even if he did have to work in town, but she appreciated the gesture enormously.

Luckily Liza was more than happy to have her live there too. Liza loved the metropolis and had no feel for the country. She didn’t know the difference between a camellia and a hollyhock, or an oak from a silver birch, and she cared even less.

‘Come along in, my darlings,’ Lady Anne greeted the rest of the family. Tinker, her red setter, and Brandy and Whisky, Henry’s terriers, bounded excitedly around her, overjoyed to see the children again.

‘Down! Down!’ Liza shrieked, worried they would jump up on her pale blue skirt.

‘Mother, dear,’ Henry said warmly, kissing Lady Anne on both cheeks. Then he looked up as he always did at the large mellow pink-brick Georgian house, and wished he could stay here all the time. Hartley had the ability to wrap itself around him like a warm, comforting cloak, and although he never mentioned it to Liza, he intended to retire here one day.

‘How’s everything, Mother?’ he asked, following her into the conservatory, where Warwick, the ancient butler, had laid out tea.

‘Wonderful, darling. You must have a look at the kitchen garden. Not only do we have enough vegetables to feed the whole village, but the figs are ready to eat. So are the damsons and Victoria plums; anyway, you’ll be eating the produce over the weekend.’

‘Can we play in the garden, Granny?’ Amanda asked.

Lady Anne smiled. She thought the way Nanny dressed the children was faintly ridiculous, especially for the country. ‘You might like to change out of your smart clothes and shoes first,’ she suggested, careful not to catch Nanny’s eye.

Up in the nursery the three younger children couldn’t wait to change. Off came the white silk socks, the white buckskin strap shoes, the pastel linen coats, the smocked shantung dresses, and the neat satin hair ribbons, to be replaced by shorts and jumpers, and gym shoes or sandals.

Nanny Granville looked sadly at the rosy-cheeked dishevelled children, as they tore into the garden to go on the swing suspended from a tree, the see-saw and the climbing frame, and felt nostalgic for the days when a spotless appearance and decorum at all times were the order of the day.

After tea, Henry ambled off to his study, and Juliet offered Louise a game of tennis. Lady Anne, finding herself alone with Rosie, eyed her granddaughter with concern. Rosie seemed to have slumped into a wordless depression and she looked pale and wretched.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ she asked gently.

Rosie promptly burst into tears, too distraught to even speak.

Her grandmother took her hand. ‘Let’s go to my sitting room, where we won’t be disturbed.’

Lady Anne’s private retreat, a small, cosy, chintzy room off the hall, with comfortable armchairs, overflowing bookshelves and a work bag of embroidery on a footstool, overlooked the rose garden, which on this late afternoon was banded by golden beams of light from the setting sun. Tinker, like a shadow, never left her side, and as she settled herself in a chair, he draped himself around her feet with a contented sigh.

‘Tell me what’s happened, Rosie,’ she said gently.

Slowly and brokenly, she told her grandmother everything.

‘I loved him so much,’ she said poignantly. ‘I really believed we were made for each other.’

‘Oh, my dear girl,’ her grandmother kept saying sympathetically, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She blamed Liza of course. There’d been far too much pressure on Rosie to be the débutante of the year, to get engaged to an eligible man, to be the toast of the town and the first one to get married.

Juliet had obviously been very naughty, if what Rosie said was true, but had Alastair Slaidburn really been on the point of proposing to Rosie? Mightn’t he just have been an admirer? A dancing partner? A flirt? No doubt Liza had made much of him being a marquess, with a large estate, and this would have nourished Rosie’s fantasies and a desire to please her mother.

‘I can only say, darling,’ Lady Anne said diplomatically, ‘that I don’t think he sounds worthy of you. If he’d given you the impression that he was going to marry you, then, of course, he’s behaved appallingly.’

Rosie was instantly defensive. ‘It’s not his fault, Granny. Juliet stole him away from me. I don’t suppose she cares for him at all, she just doesn’t want me to have him.’

A pained expression flitted across Lady Anne’s finely boned face. Rosie is just like her mother, she reflected; nothing is ever the man’s fault. ‘You talk of him as if he’s so weak-willed he doesn’t know his own mind,’ she said carefully. ‘A man who is really in love with a woman
can’t
be “stolen”, as if he were a pound of butter. It seems to me he’s not worthy of you.’

Rosie’s mouth dropped. ‘But he returned my feelings. And I’d set my heart on marrying him.’

‘I’m sure you had. Are you sure you didn’t just fall in love with the whole idea of being a titled lady living in a fine house?’

Rosie looked taken aback. ‘But that’s how I’ve always seen myself,’ she confessed.

‘I wonder where you ever got that idea from?’ her grandmother enquired drily.

Only the ticking of the little brass carriage clock on the mantelshelf broke the uneasy silence.

‘What on earth shall I do if he marries Juliet?’ Rose finally blurted out in panic.

‘Now brace up, Rosie. He’s probably just a flirt, but if he were to marry Juliet, you must conduct yourself with dignity and wish them both well.’

‘Oh, I
couldn’t
…!’

‘Why cross bridges before you come to them, my dear? Juliet is a flirt, too. There’s probably nothing in it. In any case, the season ends next week, and then you’ll all be down here for August and September, and he’ll go back to wherever he comes from, and that will be the end of that.’ Lady Anne smiled and then rose, bringing their little chat to an end. ‘Why don’t you have a nice hot bath before dinner, while I get a grated raw potato from the kitchen and bring it up to you.’

‘A potato?’ Rosie asked blankly.

Her grandmother spoke briskly but kindly. ‘If you place raw potato on your eyes and lie down for fifteen minutes, the puffiness and redness will go, and no one will know you’ve been crying. You must never be seen in tears in front of the servants, you know, because it embarrasses them.’

During that following week, Alastair pursued Juliet with zeal, sending her notes, telephoning her every day, and ordering extravagant bouquets of flowers to be delivered.

Liza, watching Juliet’s elation and Rosie’s unhappiness, found herself deeply torn between being thrilled by Juliet’s conquest, but at the same time wishing fervently that Rosie was still the object of his desire. One part of her wanted to tell Juliet not to respond to this amorous onslaught, but another part of her was filled with fierce pride that at least one of her daughters looked like making a brilliant match.

‘Keep out of it,’ Henry warned. ‘You must not interfere, and let’s hope to God that once the season ends, and everyone leaves London, this young man will cool off, and leave
both
girls alone.’

That wasn’t what Liza had in mind at all, but she said nothing. If only the season could have lasted another month, she was sure Juliet would have been engaged, but going to the country was inevitable. Nobody stayed in town during August, or appeared to stay in town, that is. The impoverished gentry were known to put up the shutters and draw the curtains if they couldn’t afford to go away, and, like troglodytes, only crept out at night.

On the Thursday evening, Juliet told her mother she’d been invited to join a party hosted by Alastair at the Café de Paris.

This wasn’t true, of course, but she knew her mother would never agree to her going out alone with a man, not even a marquess. Whether Liza believed her or not, and Juliet had a feeling they were both bluffing, she nevertheless lent her daughter a beautiful diamond necklace and matching earrings, telling her not to flaunt herself in front of poor Rosie, because it wouldn’t be kind.