Coming Home (51 page)

As for the ten people who sat around the table, Judith was never to forget exactly how they were placed, and how they were dressed. The men, of course, in formal evening wear, dinner jackets, starched, snow-white shirts, and black bowties. The Colonel had decided upon a wing-collar, which made him look as though he had stepped straight from the gilded frame of some Victorian painting. And as for the women, it was as though they had all gone into conference beforehand, like royalty, to be certain that no colours clashed, and no lady would outshine the others.

The Colonel sat at the head of the table, in his usual huge Carver chair, with Nettlebed hovering behind him, and Aunt Lavinia at his right hand. Judith sat between her and Alistair Pearson; beyond him was Athena, looking like a summer goddess in sleeveless white shark-skin. On the Colonel's other side was Jane Pearson, bright as a parakeet in her favourite red, and with Edward at her left hand. This meant that Edward sat opposite to Judith, and from time to time she looked up and caught his eye, and he would smile as though they shared some splendid secret, and raise his wineglass to her, and sip champagne.

Alongside him was his younger sister. Loveday at sixteen was still on the cusp of being a teenager and becoming an adult, but for some reason this uncomfortable state did not bother her in the very least. She still lived for her riding, and spent much of her days down at the stables, mucking out and cleaning tack in the company of Walter Mudge. Clothes were as unimportant to her as they had ever been; stained and shrunken jodhpurs were her usual garb, paired with any old sweater she'd found in the nursery airing cupboard. And so, tonight, she wore no jewellery, her dark curls were artless as always, and her vivid face, with those amazing, violet eyes, shone, innocent of make-up. But her dress — her first long dress, chosen by Diana in London and given as one of Loveday's Christmas presents — was sheer enchantment. Organdie, the vivid green of young beech leaves, cut low over Loveday's shoulders and deeply ruffled at neck and hem. Even Loveday had been seduced by it, and dressed herself up without a word of complaint. Which was a great relief to everybody, in particular Mary Millyway, who knew the contrary ways of her erstwhile charge better than any of them.

Beside Loveday sat Tommy Mortimer, and then, at the far end of the table, Diana, in a slinky satin dress the colour of steel. As she moved, or as the light caught the folds, this shade subtly altered, so that sometimes it seemed blue, and sometimes grey. With it, she wore pearls and diamonds, the only dash of colour her scarlet nails and lipstick.

Conversation buzzed, voices rising as the wine and the delicious feast went down. First, paper-thin, rosy slices of smoked salmon; then turkey, bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, buttered sprouts and carrots, bread sauce, cranberry jelly, thick dark gravy rich with wine. By the time the plates were cleared from the table, Judith's dress was beginning to feel uncomfortably neat, but of course there was more to follow. Mrs Nettlebed's Christmas pudding, her brandy butter, mince pies, and dishes of thick Cornish cream. Then nuts to be cracked and sweet little tangerines to be peeled, and crackers to be pulled. The formal dinner degenerated into a children's party, with unbecoming paper hats worn askew, and painful jokes and riddles to be read aloud.

But finally it was all over and time for the ladies to leave. They rose from the table, now littered with torn paper, chocolate wrappings, ashtrays and broken nutshells, and withdrew, headed for the drawing-room and coffee. Diana led the way. As she went, she paused to stoop and kiss her husband. ‘Ten minutes,’ she told him. ‘That's all the time you're allowed to drink your port. Otherwise the evening will fall to pieces.’

‘And how are we going to spend the rest of it?’

‘We shall dance the night away, of course. How else?’

And indeed, by the time the men did join the ladies, Diana had organised everything; the sofas and chairs pushed aside, the rugs rolled back, and the radiogram stacked with her favourite dance records.

The music was another thing Judith was always to remember; the tunes of that evening, that year. ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ and ‘You're the Cream in My Coffee’, and ‘Deep Purple’ and ‘D'Lovely’.

The moon is out,

The skies are clear

And if you want to go walking, dear,

It's delightful, it's delicious, it's d'lovely…

She danced that one with Tommy Mortimer, who was so expert that she didn't even have to think about what her feet were meant to be doing. And then it was Alistair Pearson's turn, and that was quite different, because all he did was to march her briskly around the room, rather as though she were a vacuum cleaner. After that there was a waltz, for Aunt Lavinia's benefit, and she and the Colonel were quite the best and showed them all up, because they were the only pair who knew how to reverse properly, and Aunt Lavinia lifted the heavy velvet skirts of her dress with one hand, revealing diamond-buckled shoes, her feet twinkling and turning with all the lightness and vitality of the young girl that she had once been.

Waltzing was thirsty business. Judith went to pour herself an orange juice, and turned from the table to find Edward at her side. ‘I've left the best till the last,’ he told her. ‘Done my duty to all friends and relations. Now come and dance with me.’

She laid down the glass and went into his arms.

I took one look at you,

That's all I had to do

And then my heart stood still.

But her heart wasn't standing still. It was thumping so hard she was sure that he must feel its beat. He held her very close and sang the words of the song softly into her ear, and she wished the music would go on forever and never end. But of course it did and they drew apart, and he said, ‘You can have your orange juice now,’ and went to fetch it for her.

For a moment there was a bit of a lull, as though everybody was beginning to feel slightly exhausted and grateful for a breather. Except Diana. For her every moment must be filled, and when the music started up again, it was that old classic ‘Jealousy’, and she instantly went over to the armchair where Tommy Mortimer reclined, took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Dutiful as ever, he drew her towards him, and the pair of them, alone on the floor, danced the tango.

They did this with the expertise of professionals, but, as well, in the most satirical of ways, their bodies pressed close and arms held high and rigid. Every step and pause and swoop was exaggerated, and, unsmiling, they stared intensely into each other's eyes. It was an extraordinary performance, but, as well, extremely funny and, on the final chord of strumming guitars, ended triumphantly, with Diana bent backwards over Tommy's supporting arm, he looming passionately over her, and her blonde head very nearly touching the floor. Only then, as Tommy lifted her upright to a storm of applause, did Diana allow herself to dissolve into laughter. She went to sit by Aunt Lavinia, who was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. ‘Diana, my darling, your tango was brilliant, but keeping a straight face even more so. You should have been on the stage. Oh dear, I don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much, but you know, it's nearly midnight. I really should call it a day, and go home.’

The Colonel, trying not to look too eager, instantly moved forward. ‘I shall drive you.’

‘I hate to break up the party.’ She let him help her up out of her chair. ‘But the best time to go is when you're really enjoying yourself! Now, my wrap, I believe, is in the hall…’ She moved around the room, kissing and saying good night. At the door, she turned. ‘Darling Diana…’ She blew a final kiss. ‘Such a perfect evening. I'll telephone in the morning.’

‘Sleep in, Aunt Lavinia, and have a good rest.’

‘Maybe I will. Good night, everybody. Good night.’

She was gone, with the Colonel in attendance. The door closed behind them. Diana waited for a moment, and then turned, and stooped to help herself to a cigarette. For an instant the atmosphere felt strange, as though they were all children, left on their own without grown-ups to spoil their fun.

Her cigarette lighted, Diana surveyed her guests. ‘What shall we do now?’ Nobody seemed to have any bright suggestions. ‘I know.’ Suddenly her smile was brilliant. ‘Let's play Sardines.’

Athena, still sipping champagne, let out a groan. ‘Oh,
Mummy.
Grow up!’

‘Why not Sardines? We haven't played for ages. Everybody knows how to play, don't they?’

Alistair Pearson said that he'd played, years ago, but had forgotten the rules. Perhaps if somebody could…?

Edward explained. ‘One person hides. The house is dark. We turn off all the lights. The others wait here. We count a hundred and then all go off in search. If you find the hider you don't say anything. Just sneak in and hide alongside, until everybody's crammed into a laundry basket or a wardrobe or wherever the hiding-place happens to be. Last one in is the booby.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Alistair, not sounding over-enthusiastic. ‘I remember now.’

‘The only rule is,’ Diana chipped in, ‘that we must all stay downstairs. There's masses of space, and if we go upstairs somebody's bound to wake the children…’

‘Or get into bed with Nanny Pearson…’

‘Oh,
Edward.
’

‘By mistake, of course.’

‘But how,’ asked Alistair, doggedly determined to get everything straight, ‘do we pick the person who's going to hide first?’

‘We draw cards. Spades are high, and the highest card wins.’ Diana went to her bridge table, opened a drawer and took out a pack; arranged them face down, in a clumsy fan, and went from one to the other so that each could pick. Judith turned her card over. The ace of spades. She said, ‘It's me.’

Loveday was dispatched by Diana to switch off all the lights. ‘Every single light in the house?’ she asked.

‘No, darling, not the upstairs landing. Otherwise there'll be a nanny-panic and people falling downstairs.’

‘But that'll mean we can
see.
’

‘Scarcely anything. Quickly, off you run.’

‘Now.’ Edward took charge. ‘We'll give you a count of a hundred, Judith, and then we'll come after you.’

‘Anywhere out of bounds?’

‘The kitchens, I think. I don't suppose the Nettlebeds are finished in there yet. Otherwise you've got a free rein.’

Loveday returned to them. ‘It's really dark and spooky,’ she announced with some satisfaction. ‘You can scarcely see a
thing.
’

Judith was gripped by a tremor of anxious fear. Ridiculous, but she wished that the high card had been picked by one of the others. She had never admitted to anybody the state of nerves to which she was reduced by these sort of games, and had always found even hide-and-seek in the garden something of an ordeal, because she usually spent most of the time wanting to go to the lavatory.

But there was nothing to be done, except to brave it out.

‘Let's start, then. On your marks, Judith. Ready, steady, go.’

They had started counting before she was even through the door.
One, two, three…
She closed the door behind her, and was overwhelmed by inky blackness. It was like having a dense velvet bag put over her head. She was gripped by panic, searching in her mind for some bolt-hole to crouch in before they all came, like hounds, baying after her. She shivered, but behind the door they were still counting.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.
By now, however, her eyes were becoming used to the dark, were able to see, at the far end of the hall, the faint gleam filtering down the staircase from the light that burned upstairs, outside the nursery door.

Which made everything a bit better. And there was no time to be lost. She went forward, cautious as a blind person, uncertain, and terrified that some chair or table was about to trip her up. Where to hide? Endeavouring to orientate herself, to measure distances, known so well but now totally confusing, she paced her own timorous footsteps, and calculated her whereabouts. On her right the small sitting-room, and then, farther on, the dining-room. On the other side lay the billiard-room and the Colonel's study. As she went down the hall, the pale light from upstairs drew her onwards. She moved to the left, her hand touched the wall, and she let the moulding of the cornice guide her; bumped into a table, felt the cold brush of leaves against her bare arm. Then, the upright of a doorway. Fingers fumbled across the heavy panelling, found the handle, turned it and slipped inside.

The billiard-room. Black-dark now. Softly she shut the door behind her. She smelt the familiar smell, musty baize and cigar smoke. Cheating, she felt for the electric switch and turned it down. The billiard-table was instantly illuminated, swathed in dust sheets. All was neat and orderly; cues standing in their racks, ready for the next game. No fire, but the heavy brocade curtains were drawn close. She got her bearings, and then turned the light off again, and sped across the huge room, her feet making no sound on the thick Turkey rug.

The tall windows in this room had a deep, high sill, where sometimes, on a wet afternoon, she and Loveday perched, watching some game in progress and endeavouring to keep the score. Not a very imaginative hiding-place, but she could think of no other, and the seconds were speeding by. She pushed a curtain aside, gathered up her long skirts and scrambled up onto the sill. Then, swiftly, dealt with the curtains, drawing them close, settling their folds, so that they would appear undisturbed and no betraying chink of light could give her away.