It was of a sunrise over the sea, a common enough subject, but the splashes of vermilion and ochre on the churning waves suggested anger, as if the brushstrokes had flicked over the canvas again, again, again.
‘What do you think of this one?’ asked Maddie. ‘Don’t
worry, it’s not one of ours, so you may give your true opinion.’
‘Mmm.’ I frowned in mock-seriousness, as if I were conversing at the Royal Academy. The painting did have something about it, and so I said, ‘Rather undisciplined, but it has a certain wild passion, don’t you think?’
Maddie chuckled. ‘Can you guess who did it?’
I peered at the signature and, as I did so, a voice over my shoulder purred, ‘Admiring my painting, Mr Carver?’
Maddie blushed. I turned to Mrs Bray and said, hoping she hadn’t heard me earlier, ‘It’s very nice.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Nice?’
I saw that Alec was behind her, swaying slightly as he surveyed the room.
‘Would you get me a gin and tonic?’ she rapped out to him, and he sighed heavily, put his hands in his pockets and lumbered across the room to the drinks table.
She looked like a sharp-toothed carnivore in that sheath of a dress she was wearing, along with her scarlet lips and glittering eyelashes, and her perfume smelled of crushed cigarettes.
‘So tell me, Mr Carver, have you been back to Princes Street lately?’
I had been expecting something like this, but felt wrong-footed all the same. ‘N-n-no,’ I said. ‘Of-of c-course not.’
‘Strange. I thought you might have formed an attachment to the place.’ There was a mischievous slant to her voice I had not heard before. ‘You were quite the talk of the area, you know. Everybody thinks you’re desperately in love with me.’
I did not mind her teasing. It meant, I presumed, that she could not be as furious as she had been before. The gong sounded, and so before she was stitched back to Alec’s side I said, ‘I’m n-n-not a spy.’
She widened her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘As you accu-accus … said I was.’ For some unknown reason, my speech was splintering as badly as it ever had done in my first nightmare years of school. ‘N-Nobody in the family’s asked me to rep-p-port back to them. About you, I m-mean.’
She nodded. A servant held out a silver tray with a drink clinking ice upon it, and she took it and raised it towards Alec, who was hovering at the other end of the room. ‘All right. I believe you.’
The turnaround stunned me. ‘R-really?’
Past us, people began drifting down to the dining room. I saw Lizzie make her way across the room.
Mrs Bray sipped her drink through a straw. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d therefore surmise that the only reason for your following me is that you were sexually attracted to me and, as you despise yourself for that, you have convinced yourself that I’m a blatant little slut who deserves everything she gets.’
‘Then,’ I snapped, ‘it’s just as well you do know better, isn’t it?’
Mrs Bray smiled round her straw and flicked her eyes leftwards. ‘Elizabeth!’ she exclaimed. ‘How lovely to see you. I’m so glad you’ve been entertaining our cousin. Alec and I have been far too busy, and I’m afraid we’ve quite neglected our duties.’
‘Oh no, it’s been fun.’ Lizzie gave Mrs Bray a cow-eyed
look. ‘I love your dress by the way,’ she added, as she blushed a deep crimson.
‘You are a sweetie. You must come round sometime, and we can have a jolly girls’ chat in the garden.’ She shone her teeth at me. ‘Anyway, I’ll allow you two to go down. I believe my husband’s coming this way. Ah. Here he is.’
And nobody would know, I thought, as I descended the stairs next to Lizzie, the frosty silence that reigned at home. True, Alec and his wife hardly said a word to each other the entire evening, but as they were placed at opposite ends of the dining table this went unnoticed, except by me.
The Featherses’ dining room was a curious affair. I had never been inside it before, but I was surprised to see that there were various locked cabinets on the walls, shelves with untidy files heaped upon them, and items of furniture shrouded in lengths of white cloth. It was my misfortune – or perhaps both of ours – that I was placed next to Mrs Bray at dinner, but I immediately turned to my neighbour, one of the spare women, and began chatting to her about the first nonsense that came into my head.
‘Lovely room, isn’t it?’ I said.
She sneaked a glance at the senior Featherses. The lady of the house was nodding wearily while being subjected to a monologue by one of the town councillors, and the doctor was occupied with waving in the clear soup course. ‘It’s his consulting room,’ my neighbour hissed to me, indicating our host.
‘Is it?’ I looked round. Across the table, Alec drained his glass and held it up for more.
‘The front part’s the office, the back’s the doctor’s den.’ She waved her soup spoon towards the shrouded furniture. ‘I’ve spent many an invigorating session on that couch. Rather strange to be back here enjoying oneself, so to speak.’
The doctor settled himself on the other side of Mrs Bray, and my neighbour immediately changed the subject. We chit-chatted amiably as the soup was followed by grilled mackerel stuffed with fennel. It was during the roast pork that I heard Dr Feathers say, seated on Mrs Bray’s other hand, ‘How’s your parlourmaid doing? What’s her name? Agnes, is it?’
My neighbour was at that moment expounding on the delights of some country estate that I simply must visit now I was in the area. (‘The delphiniums are just a delight at this time of year.’) I tried to nod and smile while holding an ear to Mrs Bray’s answer.
‘Oh, I don’t care any more,’ she said.
(‘You employ a chauffeur? I see. Well, the drive is quite spectacular.’)
‘If you ask me, she was making the whole thing up.’
‘But it was …’ I heard the doctor cough. ‘I mean, it is the same room?’
‘Possibly. I don’t take much notice of the arrangements.’
(‘Tell him to head past Walmstead Hall – no, no, that’s not right. Turn left just before it, that’s the one …’)
‘But thank you for asking. She’s a hysterical little child, to be honest, and saying that she’s homesick won’t wash with me, and she knows it. I left home when I was fourteen. Best thing I ever did.’
‘Well, as you know, I don’t hold for any sort of superstition, and thank goodness Mrs Feathers is of the same opinion as me. But here’s the thing, Mrs Bray: it’s rather interesting that what occurs in the head can have quite physical effects on the body.’
(‘I do believe the National Trust is perhaps the most important institution this country’s produced in the last fifty years.’)
‘Oh yes. So just because there’s no basis to it doesn’t mean she’s not in severe pain.’
‘Pain!’
(‘What a marvellous cook they have here. I shall have to have words with Mrs Goode.’)
‘The girl doesn’t know the least thing about pain. I think I might have to send her home. I’ll give her a reference …’
And then I was forced to answer a direct question from my neighbour, at some length, and the next time I was able to eavesdrop, Dr Feathers was talking to his other neighbour, and Mrs Bray was now free.
I quickly turned back, but my applauder of the National Trust was now engaged in the same monologue on her other side, and so I was thrust once more into the shark-infested waters of social chit-chat with my cousin’s wife.
I wanted, of course, to ask all about Agnes, but as that would have shown I had been listening in, and as I had already denied the charge of spying, I felt that that particular conversational gambit was not on the cards. Casting about for a safe topic, I said, ‘I didn’t realize that you painted.’
‘I don’t really,’ she said. ‘Daubing.’ And this was so close to how her husband had disparaged her that I nearly smiled.
‘You’ve probably a greater talent than me,’ I said, thinking of my timid pieces.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes, probably.’
I looked at my wine glass. ‘I see you’ve no room for false modesty.’
‘I haven’t. Although I don’t think it’s false. I think you’re right.’
‘I had an exhibition once,’ I snapped. ‘At the local library.’
‘Good for you.’ She scooped a last piece of potato into her mouth. ‘My circle would no doubt approve of your public-spiritedness.’
‘Your circle?’ Round the room, plates were being cleared and orange compote served. Alec stared at his dreamily.
‘My painting circle. We meet once a month and drive into the countryside. Watercolours, mostly. We’re meeting tomorrow, actually. If you’d like to come.’
I stared at her. She dipped a spoon into the compote as if nothing untoward had occurred.
‘Y-you’d like me to come?’
She continued not to look at me. ‘It’s of no consequence to me. I just thought you might want to improve your skills somewhat. You probably need to.’
‘Well.’ I looked at my dessert. ‘Well. I … I suppose. One could … I mean I could …’
‘I shall be outside the front at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’ She dabbed her lips with her napkin.
I saw the red smear left on the white linen cloth. ‘It’s up to you.’
I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was some sort of elaborate trap, as revenge for my curiosity, but as she seemed entirely unconcerned whether I went or not, I decided I would wait and see how the evening progressed and if she defrosted any further towards me.
Yet I was unable to find out. Hardly had dinner finished and the ladies gone up to the drawing room than Alec, jumping to his feet as if pulled by strings, announced, ‘Sorry to leave you, chaps, but Robert and I have to go.’
I stared at him, a fat unlit cigar in my hand. He gave me an elaborate wink, witnessed by every other man in the room and therefore pointless. I had been rather looking forward to partaking of this ritual, denied me at home on account of the trouble it caused my lungs. I’d already brewed up several opinions on the new government that I was hoping to air. ‘Now?’ I said. But my voice was swallowed up by Dr Feathers, who said, ‘What? Is there some sort of emergency?’
‘Well … that is … no. Not really.’ Alec blinked down at the assembly, like a schoolboy caught out in a lie. ‘I’ve arranged to meet an old chum, you see. My business partner, actually,’ he added, as if that made it all much more acceptable.
‘Do I know him?’ Feathers chomped enthusiastically on his cigar. My stomach sank at the thought of having to deal with Bump again, and I wondered how I could edge out of Alec’s arrangement without upsetting anyone.
‘Prob’ly not.’ Alec attempted to lean on the sideboard, then realized that would be a bad idea and tried to
straighten himself again. ‘He’s the Duke of Cowray. Tenth-richest man in England,’ he continued, smiling broadly.
I noticed a general rustling round the room as this information was absorbed. Dr Feathers looked pleased with himself, as if knighted by association. ‘Well, well. Of course, in that case you must go,’ he said, looking across the table to make sure everybody had heard. ‘But must we also forgo the pleasure of Mr Carver’s company?’
‘I’d be happy to stay,’ I said immediately, staring at Alec as if I could convey my message telepathically.
Alec waved his brandy balloon. ‘Unfortunately …’ He trailed off, staring at the clock, and seemed almost to fall asleep standing, until he blearily returned to the room. ‘Hmm. It’s a business meeting. Robert is our artistic advisor. We are in desperate need of his services.’ He gave a high-pitched giggle.
I was about to argue, but I saw that the rest of the room was quite as happy to get rid of me as Alec was to take me away, and so I reluctantly got to my feet and went about shaking hands with bigwigs I was never likely to meet again.
Doris was dispatched to fetch Lizzie, and she came down into the hallway to say goodbye. Alec was already outside the front door, leaning on one of the house pillars for support. I thought perhaps the night air might be sobering him up, but I did not have much hope in it.
‘Do you have to go?’ she pouted, as the men barked at each other from the dining room next door. ‘Surely you can get out of it if you really want to.’
‘Not for showing Alec up to be a dreadful liar.’ I added quickly, ‘Don’t say that to your father.’
‘Well, you did promise you’d be here.’ She beetled her brows. ‘Although I’m sure going off with Mr Bray will be far more fun than listening to dreary old me play some dirge on the piano.’
‘I’d much rather stay!’ I protested, feeling unfairly got at. ‘And I did come. You didn’t tell me you were going to perform.’
She was still pouting. ‘One of Chopin’s nocturnes. It was supposed to be a surprise.’
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie. Look, I’ll make it up to you, all right?’
She sniffed. ‘I suppose you could come for lunch tomorrow.’
I thought of the painting circle, but decided to be circumspect, at least in her current mood. ‘It’ll have to be later, I’m afraid. How about tea at four?’
Her pout threatened again, but I did not waver, and finally the lower lip retreated and formed itself into a reluctant smile.
‘Come on, Carver!’
Alec was in the doorway, a black silhouette against the indigo sky outside.
Lizzie blew me a sly kiss and headed for the stairs. I called goodbye, but I heard the click of the drawing-room door opening, and knew my words were lost amidst the murmur of female voices that emerged, among them a scratchy, hoarse burst of laughter that sounded as if it had been swept off the factory floor.
‘There goes my wife,’ said Alec, jerking his head towards
the sound. ‘Apparently one can rub it all out except for the laughter.’
‘Rub all what out?’ I echoed as we went down the steps together.
Adopting a sneer, he said in a terrible cockney accent, ‘The old fishwife voice, y’know.’ Reverting to his usual manner, he continued, ‘You see, there are some things elocution lessons can’t erase. Laughing’s one. Of course, there’s another.’
I wondered what the other was, but he was already striding ahead of me down the cliff. ‘I hadn’t actually heard her laugh before,’ I said, running to catch up.
‘Never in my presence, old boy. Never in the house. Only with her “friends”.’ He tossed the word out towards the waves. ‘Still, we’re off to have a jolly time, eh?’