Coming Home (22 page)

When they had finished, she looked about her, and decided that her insignificant possessions made little impact on the beautiful, luxurious room, but Loveday had no time to stop and stare. Impatient as ever, she was already bored by housewifely activities. She kicked the empty bag under the bed and said, ‘That's done. Now let's go and find Mary and see if she's dug up something for you to wear. I don't know about you, but if I don't get out of this horrible uniform very soon, I'm going to start screaming.’

And she was out of the room and off again, racing away back to the nursery, thundering down the passage as though defying every school rule that had been drummed into her wayward head, because she was home again, and free.

Mary had finished her ironing, folded down her board, and set the iron to cool. They found her kneeling in front of a tall armoire, which was the most impressive piece of furniture in the room, with the deep bottom drawer opened and various garments set, in neat stacks, around her.

Loveday couldn't wait. ‘…what have you found? It doesn't have to be smart. Anything will do…’

‘What do you mean, anything will do? You don't want your friend looking like something out of a jumble sale…’

‘Mary, this is a
new
jersey. Athena got it last hols. What's it doing in this drawer…?’

‘You may well ask. She caught the elbow on a bit of barbed wire. I mended it, but would she wear it? Not her, the little madam.’

‘It's gorgeous, cashmere. Here…’ Loveday tossed it over to Judith, who caught it, and it was like catching thistledown, so weightless and soft was the wool. Cashmere. She had never owned a cashmere jersey. And this one was holly-red, one of her most favourite colours.

‘…now, here's a nice gingham blouse, with a Peter Pan collar. Dear knows why Athena threw that out. Bored with it, no doubt. And a pair of shorts. She had those at school for playing hockey. I kept them because I thought they might do for Loveday.’ Mary held them up for general inspection. They were navy flannel, pleated like a little skirt.

Loveday approved. ‘The very thing. Those'll do, won't they, Judith? Oh, Mary, you are brilliant.’ She stooped to hug her, winding skinny arms in a stranglehold around Mary's neck. ‘You're the best Mary in the world. Now, Judith, go right away and put them on, because I want to show you
everything
else.’

Judith carried the borrowed clothes back to her bedroom. She went in and closed the door behind her, and laid the shorts and the jersey and the blouse ceremoniously on the bed, the way her mother did when she was going to change for a party. In truth, although it was a perfectly ordinary Saturday, Judith felt a bit as though she
was
about to change for a party, because everything about this delectable house — the very atmosphere — had a party feel to it.

But…and this was even more important…for a moment she found herself alone. She could scarcely remember the last time when she had been truly on her own, with nobody to talk or ask questions, or jostle or barge, or tell her to do something, or to stop doing something, or ring a bell or claim her attention. She discovered that this was the most wonderful relief. Alone. By herself, in her own private bedroom, surrounded by space and quiet, and pretty eye-pleasing objects, and peace. She went to the window, opened it and leaned out to watch the white pigeons, and to listen to their gentle cooing.

Alone. There had been so much going on, and for so long. Weeks. Months, even. Christmas at Plymouth, and all the business of packing up Riverview House and shopping for school and finally saying goodbye. And then St Ursula's where it was not possible to be private for a single second.

Alone. She realised how much she had missed the luxury of solitude, and knew that its occasional comfort would always be essential to her. The pleasure of being on one's own was not so much spiritual as sensuous, like wearing silk, or swimming without a bathing suit on, or walking along a totally empty beach with the sun on your back. One was restored by solitude. Refreshed. She watched the doves, and hoped, just for the moment, that Loveday would not come searching for her. It was not that she did not appreciate Loveday, who was being endlessly kind and hospitable. It was just that she needed time to reassemble and reorientate a personal sense of identity.

From far away, from a distant line of woodland, there came a crack of guns. The menfolk, still blasting away at pigeons. The sudden sound, splitting the quiet, caused the white doves to flutter from their perches and fly around in some agitation until they deemed it safe to settle again. She watched them reassemble, pout their snowy breasts, start in once more on their preening.

Loveday did not come. She was probably searching for some suitably ragamuffin garment, as far removed as possible from the rigid discipline of school uniform. So, after a bit, Judith closed the window, took off her own uniform, and, slowly savouring the novelty, dressed herself in Athena Carey-Lewis's cast-offs. Moving to and fro, she washed her hands (Chanel soap) and brushed her hair, tying it back with a fresh navy-blue ribbon. Only then did she go to inspect herself in the long mirror set in the wardrobe door. And it was amazing, because she looked so different. Sleek and expensive. Another girl, almost grown up, and totally new. She saw her own complacent expression and could not help smiling. She thought of her mother, because this seemed exactly the sort of experience that they should be sharing, but at the same time she was pretty sure that her mother, at that moment, would scarcely have recognised her.

The door burst open. ‘Are you ready?’ Loveday demanded. ‘What
have
you been doing? You've taken ages. Goodness, you look nice. It must be something to do with Athena. She always looks sensational, even if she put on an old sack she'd look wonderful. Perhaps she magics everything she wears, and the magic stays. Now, what do you want to do
now?
’

Judith said feebly that she didn't mind, but this was true, and she couldn't think of anything else to say. In her present state of euphoria any ploy suggested would seem perfect.

‘We could go and look at Tinkerbell, but it might take rather long, and it'll be lunch soon. So let's explore the house, and I'll show you every single room, and then you'll know your way around.’

Judith had been right about Loveday. Loveday had pulled on a disreputable pair of jodhpurs which were already far too short for her skinny shins, and a sweater the dark purplish shade of ripe damsons. The colour of this accentuated the violet-blue of Loveday's extraordinary eyes, but so lacking was she in any sort of personal conceit that it was unlikely she had chosen the jersey for this reason, but rather because it had darns in the elbows and had been worn and washed into a comfortable shapelessness.

She agreed. ‘All right. We'll explore. Where do we start?’

‘At the top. In the attics.’

Which they duly did. These slope-ceilinged apartments went on forever — store-rooms, box-rooms, two small bathrooms, and four bedrooms. ‘These are the maids' rooms.’ Loveday wrinkled her nose. ‘They always smell a bit, of sweaty feet and armpits…’

‘How many maids are there?’

‘Three. Janet's the housemaid and Nesta's the parlourmaid and Hetty helps Mrs Nettlebed in the kitchen.’

‘Where does Mrs Nettlebed sleep?’

‘Oh, she and Nettlebed have a little flat over the garage. Now we'll go down the back stairs, and you've seen the guest wing, so we'll start with Mummy's room…’

‘Are we allowed?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, she doesn't mind, provided we don't fiddle and squirt all her scent.’ She opened the door and pranced ahead of Judith. ‘Isn't it gorgeous? She's just had it redecorated, a frightfully fancy little man came all the way down from London to do it. Pops was furious because he painted the panelling, but I think it's rather nice, don't you?’

Which Judith decided was the understatement of all time. She had never seen such a bedroom, so huge, so feminine, so filled with charming and beguiling objects. The walls were pale, neither white nor pink nor peach, and glowed with sunlight. There were tremendously thick and swagged draperies smothered in roses, and inside these a drift of filmy white curtains which stirred, coolly, in the breeze which blew, from the sea, in through the opened window. The wide, snowy double bed was draped in the same filmy white, and stacked with lacy and embroidered pillows, and there was a canopy over it with a little gold coronet at the centre, so that it looked like a bed in which a princess might choose to sleep.

‘But just look at the
bathroom.
This was all new too…’

Wordless, Judith followed and gazed: shining black tiles, and rose-tinted mirrors, white porcelain, and a thick white carpet. A carpet in the bathroom! The utter, final luxury.

‘…and see, her mirror's got lights all round, like an actress's dressing-room, and if you open the mirrors, there are cupboards behind, for all her make-up and smells and stuff.’

‘What's that?’

‘That? Oh, that's her bidet. It's French! It's for washing your bottom.’

‘Or your feet.’

‘Pops was
horrified.
’

They doubled up with mirth, holding their sides, staggering with laughter. A thought occurred to Judith. Controlling her giggles, she went back into the sweet-scented, flowery bedroom, looked about her but found no single trace of masculine occupation.

‘Where does your father put his things?’

‘Oh, he doesn't sleep here. He's got his own bedroom at the far end, over the front door. He likes the morning sun, and he has to be out of the way because he snores so much and keeps everybody awake. Come on, I'll show you more…’

They left the entrancing bedroom and continued on their way. ‘This is where Athena sleeps, and Edward's in here. And these are bathrooms. And then Mary's here next to the nursery, because it used to be the night nursery, and she's just stayed there. And this is the nursery bathroom, and it's got a little sort of kitchen in the corner so that she can make tea and things. And this is my room…’

‘I would have known.’

‘How?’

‘Clothes on the floor and ponies on the wall.’

‘And the Pony Club rosettes, and all my teddies; ever since I was born I've been collecting them. I've got twenty now, and they've all got names. And my books and my old doll's house, because Mary said she didn't want it cluttering up the nursery. And my bed faces
this
way, so that I can watch the sun coming up in the mornings…now come on, because there's still heaps to look at. This is the housemaid's cupboard, where all the brooms and things are kept, and this is the linen room, and another little room which is only used if we're packed out with guests.’ By now they had come full circle and were back again at the top of the main staircase. At the far side of the landing, one last door stood shut. ‘…and this is where Pops sleeps.’

It was not a very large room, and it seemed, after the splendour of the rest of the house, austere and rather dark. The furniture was heavy and Victorian, the single bed narrow and high. All was immaculately tidy. The curtains were dark brocade, and a man's ivory-backed brushes lay neatly in the dead centre of the high chest of drawers. There was, as well, a photograph of Diana in a silver frame, but little else of a personal nature. It was a room which gave nothing away.

‘It's dreadfully gloomy, isn't it? But Pops likes it that way, because it's the way it's always been. He hates change. And he likes his bathroom, because it's round…it's in the tower, you see, over the porch, and he can sit in his funny old bath and hear people arriving and listen to their voices and decide who they are. And if he doesn't like them, then he just stays in the bath until he hears them go away again. As you can gather, he's not very sociable.’

‘Does he know I'm staying?’ Judith asked in some trepidation.

‘Oh, heavens, yes, Mummy will have told him. Don't worry, he'll like you. It's just
her
boring friends he prefers to avoid.’

After that, they went downstairs, and started off on the last lap. Judith by now was beginning to feel a bit bemused and confused. And hungry. It seemed hours since breakfast. But Loveday was inexhaustible.

‘Now, the hall you've seen. And this is Pops' study, and the gents' cloaks. It's got this most wonderful lav, just like a men's club, and Pops closets himself in here for hours every morning after breakfast and reads
Horse and Hound.
Look, isn't it impressive. Mummy calls it his throne room. And then in
here
is the billiard-room, sometimes the men come here after dinner and play for hours, right into the night. Or it's good for wet afternoons. And this here's the dining-room…all laid for lunch, as you can see. And this is the little sitting-room, but we don't use it unless it's a freezing-cold winter night. I shan't take you into the drawing-room because you'll see that anyway, before lunch. Come and meet Mrs Nettlebed.’

And so they came at last to the kitchen, the heart of any house. This was the same as most other Cornish kitchens, except that it was much larger, and in place of the ubiquitous Cornish range stood a huge cream-coloured Aga. But there was the same familiar ration of dark-green paint, the same rack for airing clothes hoisted high to the ceiling, the same dresser, loaded with china, the same immense scrubbed table in the middle of the floor.

At this stood Mrs Nettlebed, arranging bits of glacé fruit onto the top of a trifle. She was a small dumpy lady in a pink overall with a white apron over it, and she wore a concealing, and particularly unbecoming, white cotton cap, low on her brow. Her face was flushed, and her ankles swollen from standing, but when Loveday burst in upon her…‘Hello, Mrs Nettlebed, it's us…’ there were no frowns, nor requests to keep out of the way; she was dishing up the lunch, for heaven's sake. Instead, Mrs Nettlebed's round cheeks bunched up into a besotted expression of pure delight. Loveday, it was instantly obvious, was her treasure and her joy.