Authors: Georgia Fallon
Saule looked at her with interest.
‘Do you not feel that you belong, Miss Weston?’
‘
I wish you’d call me Lucy. Is Saule your Christian or family name?’ she asked.
‘
Neither,’ he replied. ‘I am just Saule.’
‘
Oh I see,’ she said although she didn’t really. ‘But to answer your question, I suppose I do belong but not in the same way you do. I’m English, perhaps I should say British; there you see that complicates things straight away. Britain is such a mishmash of people, cultures and influences. I was born in Essex but neither of my parents were from there, they just ended up there like a large percentage of its other inhabitants. It may be my home county but I don’t have any real history there. You can speak of your people knowing you are really part of them and they of you. I think you’re lucky.’
Lucy would never know it but that night Saule sat down and for the first time in many years wrote to his family. He told them of the young white woman who had said he was lucky to be able to say,
‘I am Saule of the Tiv people in Benue Province.’
~
Lucy had only just let herself into her workshop and opened the window to let in some fresh air when there was a tap at the door, and there stood the actress she had met at the ball.
She had another woman of around the same age with her who she introduced as her agent, and together the two of them pored over Lucy’s display cases asking all sorts of questions about her work. They stayed an hour by the end of which Lucy had orders for two necklaces, several of the little notebook holders which were to be personalised for gifts, and a bracelet of engraved silver over copper for the actress’s ageing mother who suffered with arthritis. Both women promised to return with more of their friends. Lucy was thrilled to have got off to such a flying start.
That evening Lucy and Amy ate their salads in the cool of the kitchen and then walked down to a local pub with a large beer garden. Sitting at a shady table with glasses of ice cold lager the conversation soon came around to Lucy’s relationship with Marcus.
‘
When you said about not having got into his arms yet, do I take it that things still haven’t moved on physically?’ Amy asked.
‘
Not a jot.’
‘
You don’t think he’s gay do you?’
Lucy shook her head slowly
‘No, I don’t get that vibe at all.’
‘
No,’ agreed Amy. ‘I didn’t either when I met him Saturday morning. And I see what you mean about him being in good shape for his age; rather sexy I thought. Perhaps, because it’s more of a business arrangement than a real romance, he thinks that sex shouldn’t come into it until the deal is done so to speak. After you’re married I mean.’
‘
Hmm, I wondered about that myself. I hope that isn’t the case, I wouldn’t want that looming up on my wedding night; it’s too Victorian! Anyway,’ she giggled, ‘I’m starting to rather fancy him!’
Both women had a healthy interest in sex, and it wasn’t something that necessarily needed to come hand in hand with love. In fact they had each had very satisfying experiences with men they barely knew but were strongly attracted to. Ships that pass in the night.
Amy laughed. ‘Well, you’re going to have to start giving him some encouragement.’
~
Early the next evening Catherine came bustling into the wine bar fifteen minutes late and full of apologies.
‘
Sorry, Lucy, I got caught on the phone with our legal department just as I was going through the door.’ She paused to kiss Lucy’s cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to leave you standing at the bar on your own.’
Lucy was in fact sat at the bar on a high stool, looking as fresh as a daisy in a sleeveless peach coloured linen dress which showed off her tan admirably. Catherine felt and looked slightly dishevelled, and was rather pink in the face. She’d had a very busy day, was overdressed for the weather in a long sleeved suit that was getting too tight for her increasingly generous hips and had made herself hot by rushing along the road to meet Lucy.
‘Don’t worry, Catherine, Jason and I have been discussing our most recent body piercing and tattoos,’ Lucy told her, smiling at the good looking young Australian barman. He obligingly turned and lifted his tee shirt to reveal a beautifully executed Indian brave.
‘
How very edifying,’ Catherine responded with only the slightest hint of irony. ‘One never knows where one will come across such high quality conversation. Well, Jason, I must trouble you for a bucket sized gin and tonic for me and another of whatever Lucy’s drinking.’
He told them he would bring the drinks over and they went to sit at a table in the corner out of the sunlight. Catherine began to cool down, the colour receded from her cheeks and after the first large gulp of her drink, she started to feel much better.
‘So how was your weekend at the stately pile? How many footmen were there?’
‘
It wasn’t like that at all,’ Lucy said defensively. ‘Graylings is really lovely, quite big, but not at all grand. I had a good time.’
Lighting a cigarette Catherine exhaled smoke and asked,
‘So, did he tell you about the knighthood?’
‘
Yes, he did actually.’ Lucy didn’t feel the need to explain that she had put Marcus in a position where he had little choice.
‘
Well, that’s something I suppose. Lucy, I don’t want to seem like I’m interfering but I really don’t think you know what you’re getting into here.’
‘
So tell me,’ challenged Lucy.
There was a glint in the younger woman’s eye that warned Catherine she was not going to be receptive to criticism of Marcus but she felt she owed it to Lucy to tell her what she knew. Under her steady gaze she found it difficult to know where to start.
‘Marcus is very rich, and money brings power. I’m hearing more and more often that he is using that power to bend people to his will.’
‘
Exactly what are you trying to say, Catherine?’ Lucy’s voice was even.
‘
That he bribes people, but worse than that, he blackmails them too’.
‘
And you have proof of this?’
Catherine was caught in a difficult position. She had been told of too many instances of Marcus’s threats not to believe they were true, but she didn’t have any concrete proof. She dared not tell the story of the unfortunate woman at the DTI for fear Lucy would repeat it to Marcus, causing goodness knows what fallout.
Watching her face Lucy said, ‘You don’t, do you? I’m sorry Catherine, I know you are only trying to protect me but I really don’t want to hear all this. As you say, Marcus is rich and powerful and as such he is always going to be subject to people’s jealousy. Unless you can give me categorical proof he has done something dreadful then I have to give him the benefit of the doubt.’
‘
But Lucy,’ Catherine tried to reason, ‘these accusations have been coming up for a long time. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’
‘
No, Catherine,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘Where there’s a successful man there will always be detractors. If he were really as bad as all that someone would have spoken out by now; there would be proof. It’s just jealousy. I realise I haven’t known him very long, but by your own admission you have never even met him. He has been nothing but kind and generous to me. I’m going to have to trust my own judgment on this one.’
Catherine longed to tell her that there are none so blind as those who will not see, but she guessed it would fall on stony ground and she was not prepared to let this dangerous man drive a wedge between her and Lucy.
~
At eighty-two years old Elizabeth Davenport still enjoyed amazingly good health. Yes, various body parts were exhibiting signs of wear and she wasn’t as fast out of her chair as she used to be, but she remained perfectly mobile and her brain worked well enough for her to still be a formidable bridge player. She was proud of the fact she needed no medication, feeling superior when she lunched with friends and out came all their little plastic organisers full of heart pills, liver pills, blood pressure pills, all neatly filed to avoid confusion.
Despising the short perm with its almost obligatory flat patch on the back of the head, as sported by most of her contemporaries, she kept her abundant silver hair just long enough to be worn swept up. Still slim and upright she dressed with style and carried herself like a much younger woman.
Elizabeth looked exactly what she was, the daughter of a High Court judge and widow of a career diplomat who had risen to ambassador and died just before Her Majesty’s grateful government was about to reward his years of endeavour on their behalf with a knighthood. She had not worked a single day in her life, women from her background didn’t of course, but had been an exemplary wife and mother, a tower of strength and unfailing support to her husband.
Lucy was Elizabeth’s favourite grandchild and she was delighted when she phoned to suggest they have tea together. Charles, Amelia’s brother, had four sons. Noisy and rough as little boys, she did have to admit they had grown into well mannered and successful young men, albeit rather stuffy. They had the annoying habit of treating her as if she was in her dotage, speaking loudly and in very simple sentences on the increasingly rare occasions they visited her. Lucy was different; she was fresh and alive, kept in regular contact with her grandmother and spoke to her like she was a friend, which was how Elizabeth liked to think of herself.
‘
Lucy dear, that would be lovely. Let me just look at my diary, being old is quite time consuming you know, there’s always someone wanting to check bits of you are still working.’ She rustled the pages and then went on, ‘No, Wednesday is fine, I’ll expect you around four.’
As they sat in the pretty sitting room surrounded by framed photos of
Elizabeth and her husband in evening dress, at the races, on their boat and with their children, she smiled at Lucy and said, ‘So, I hear you’ve found yourself a rich potential husband.’
Lucy smiled back. ‘I think it’s a bit early to
be talking about marriage, Gran.’
‘
I don’t see why. When a girl finds a wealthy and presentable man…’ She looked at Lucy and asked, ‘He is presentable I assume?’
Lucy nodded and
Elizabeth went on, ‘Well then, she owes it to herself to not let him get away.’
Lucy said with mock gravity,
‘Mother does not approve.’
Setting down her teacup
Elizabeth told her, ‘Lucy, your mother is an admirable woman in many ways but has always been, even as a child, prissy and lamentably unadventurous. How she ever came to marry someone like your father I do not know. How is he by the way?’
Ruefully Lucy told her,
‘About to marry for the fourth time.’
Her grandmother laughed her tinkling little laugh.
‘Good for him! I’ve always liked him. He still sends me postcards when he’s away in exotic places and drops in to see me from time to time you know.’
Lucy didn’t know this but she wasn’t surprised, it was just like Kit to take the time to keep in touch with the old lady.
Elizabeth poured more tea and said in a matter of fact way, ‘I married for money you know.’
‘
Gran! You didn’t, did you?’ Lucy was astonished.
‘
Oh yes, it was quite usual in my day. Us girls were expected to marry well, no falling for someone unsuitable and letting the side down. I liked George of course, he was handsome and fun, much more interesting than a lot of the young men in our set. But I wasn’t in love with him then and never was actually, awfully fond of him though.’
Lucy looked at her grandmother with interest and asked,
‘Did you ever regret it?’
It was the second time within a few days that she had asked someone that question and she got the same, though more fulsome, answer.
‘Lord no! We had a wonderful life together, couldn’t have been better. He was already quite well heeled in his own right, inherited money you know, but it was obvious he was going places with the Diplomatic Corp and I thought it would be fun to see the world, which we did in high style. No, if I had my time again I wouldn’t change a thing. Take my advice Lucy, if you like this man, if you get on well together and he can give you a good life then marry him. I’m pleased he’s English. I worried about you with that Frenchman, best to stick to your own kind.’
Lucy was amused at this and chiding gently said,
‘Come on now, Gran, don’t be xenophobic.’
‘
I’m not in the least bit xenophobic, Lucy dear. You forget that I spent more than thirty years living amongst foreigners and I met some charming ones. In fact…’ Elizabeth had been about to tell of the Spanish lover she had for most of the two years she and George had spent in the British Embassy in Madrid but thought better of it. ‘Never mind that. The truth is by virtue of being foreign they are different to us, they see things differently, have different values. I just don’t think they make very comfortable husbands that’s all.’