Sea of Lost Love (4 page)

“You can't do that, Celestria. You'll get all dirty, and your nails! Do go and get Soames, he'll do it in a flash. That's what staff are for. Really, darling, I insist.”

But Celestria was already on her knees, striking a match and lighting the little balls of newspaper that Soames had stuffed under the grate. It was easy. The wood was dry and caught fire immediately. No dirty hands and no broken nails. She stood up and looked at it in triumph.

“I don't know why you're so pleased with yourself, Celestria; it's not ladylike to do men's jobs.”

“I don't want to get caught by Aunt Julia,” she explained, flopping into the chair again. “I'll be exhausted by the time everyone arrives.”

“Quite, darling, let everyone else do it. Too many cooks spoil the broth. Have you decided which dress you're going to wear? I did tell you to bring a bigger selection. You'll freeze in those flimsy things.”

“I think I'll wear the pink. I'm feeling pink today,” she replied.

“We'll have to tone down your cheeks a little. This Cornish weather does nothing for a woman's complexion.”

“I was lying in the sun with Lotty.”

“I hope she was wearing a hat. That girl is dreadfully pale.”

“She was. But guess what? She's lost her heart.”

Pamela's eyes widened. “Is he suitable?”

“Not at all.”

“Well? Who is he?”

“I can't tell you, Mama. I'll be breaking my word.” Pamela's face fell. “I can tell you that he's ordinary.”

“Common?”

“Not one of us, no.”

Pamela Bancroft Montague allowed a small smile to flourish on her lips. “Oh dear,” she said, looking delighted. “What will Penelope say when she finds out?”

“Aunt Penelope wants her to marry—”

“Edward Richmond, I know. Edward would be a good catch for Lotty. After all, she's no oil painting, but then, neither is Edward. They are definitely on the same level of the food chain.”

“What do you mean?”

Her fingers stopped stroking Poochi's powdered fur as she deliberated a moment. “Well, Lotty is not a panther, or a tiger, is she? She's more like a deer. Sweet and guileless. There are plenty of her sort. Edward is neither a lion nor a leopard; he's also a herd animal, being not very original and of a type. I'd say he's a wildebeest.”

“Oh, that's so clever, Mama! What am I?”

“You, Celestria? You're a lioness, of course, and only a lion will do for you. You're at the top of the food chain, darling. It simply wouldn't be right for you to marry a buffalo or a weasel or even a stallion.”

“So it's a combination of beauty, class, and intelligence?”

“Exactly. You are not a herd animal. You have a beauty and grace that set you apart from the rest, and, although you are not the daughter of a duchess, you have all the qualities of one in abundance.”

“Except the egg face!” she laughed.

“You get your strong chin from me.”

 

When Monty entered, they were busy going through the family, placing them neatly into the food chain one by one, beside themselves with amusement. “What's Papa?” Celestria asked as he looked at them indulgently.

Pamela narrowed her eyes. “He's a cheetah,” she said in a throaty voice. “Because he's the fastest animal in the world.”

“And you, my darling, are a white tiger: beautiful, solitary, and very, very rare.” He smiled at her tenderly. “So this is where you've been hiding out!” he said to Celestria. “It's safe to come out now. It's all done. Julia's gone up to have a bath. I should think you ought to be doing the same.”

“Perhaps I'll meet my lion tonight,” she said, getting up.

“Don't accept anything less, Celestria. I didn't.”

“It's a good fire, isn't it?” she added.

“She lit it herself, silly child,” Pamela said to her husband. Monty didn't bother to point out that it was still summer. “I packed my mink stole this year,” she continued. “Tonight I shall wear it.”

“If you're lucky, it will ward off any lesser beasts,” Monty said good-naturedly.

“Oh, I don't think she needs the stole for that,” Celestria quipped as she left the room. “Lesser beasts can recognize a tiger when they see one.”

C
elestria stood in front of the window to watch the sunset. The days were slowly shortening, summertime forced into retreat by an overzealous autumn. The light was amber. Soft and warm and sad somehow. The sea glittered and sparkled like copper beneath a sky darkening prematurely with clouds. Of all the nights, the drizzle had chosen tonight. There may even be a storm, she thought with rising excitement, envisaging pressing herself against Dan Willmotte for comfort as claps of thunder ripped apart the heavens. The water was calm. Ominously so. As if holding its breath for the inevitable tempest.

She studied her reflection in the mirror and smiled with satisfaction. The pink dress looked stunning, complemented by the sparkle of her mother's diamonds. She pulled her shoulders back, admiring the gentle sheen of oil on her skin. She would shine the brightest tonight. Only a lion would do, she thought smugly. She'd leave the buffalo to Melissa. Poor Lotty, so foolish to allow herself to fall in love with an unsuitable man, she thought gleefully, certain that she was too cunning ever to make the same mistake.

She waited in her room until she was sure that the rest of the family was downstairs. It was always fun to make an entrance. She heard them in the drawing room, their voices a low murmur, punctuated by sudden bursts of laughter. She closed the curtains. The sky was now a deep mauve, like a bruise, the sea already rousing itself for the oncoming storm. As she left her room she heard the first drop of rain break against the window pane.

The noise of voices grew louder as she walked up the corridor. She reached the stairs to be met by Poochi and a strong whiff of tuberose. They could only mean one thing: that her mother had waited to make an entrance, too. She might have known. When Pamela saw her daughter, her face shone with pleasure. “Darling, you look beautiful!” she exclaimed, casting an admiring glance over the dress. In her daughter she saw the beauty she had once been and could be all over again, vicariously. “You're going to slay them all, Celestria.”

“You look lovely, too,” Celestria replied truthfully, although
lovely
was without doubt too soft a word for her. At forty-eight, Pamela Bancroft Montague was still strikingly beautiful. Her blond hair was pulled back into a shiny chignon, accentuating her now fuller face and cool aqua eyes, carefully framed by jet-black lashes. Diamonds swung from her earlobes and around her neck where the skin was still firm, and a large diamond brooch was pinned to her bosom. She was wise enough to know that, at her age, being thin only a made a woman appear older. Her lips were the color of blackberry juice, against which her teeth sparkled a dazzling white. Her shoulders were wrapped in the mink stole, which complemented the deep green silk of her dress; rich colors were kinder to her skin, making it seem to glow by contrast. She wore black gloves that reached her elbows and held a small black pouch with a diamanté clasp in the shape of a flower. Inside she kept her Elizabeth Arden lipstick, a gold powder compact, and a small flask of perfume. Pamela knew how to make the best of herself, a talent she had passed on to her daughter. Taking Celestria's hand, her smile was full of pride. After all, her daughter was an extension of herself, a living reminder to everyone of the magnificence of her youth.

They entered the drawing room at the same time. Their presence, resplendent in diamonds and silk, caused a sudden hush to come over the room. The family all turned at once, their conversations trailing off as their lips parted in silent admiration. Only Bouncy continued to chatter as he tried to persuade Purdy to play with him by pulling his tail. Finally, Monty strode over. “What glamorous girls!” he exclaimed jovially. “Do they really belong to me?” He took Celestria's hands and kissed them with a bow before slipping his arm around his wife's waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. He looked handsome in white tie, his sandy hair brushed back off his forehead, his skin brown from being at sea all afternoon. His face glowed with pride as he led them into the room. The two women floated into the crowd like a pair of swans.

Julia wore a gown of pale turquoise. She looked poised and graceful, her bubbling laughter rising above the chatter of her excited family. Had it not been for the frenetic dragging on her cigarette, Celestria would not have known how nervous she was. She recalled the conversation she had overheard in the library and wondered whether Archie wasn't perhaps a little uneasy at the extravagance of his party. There he stood with Harry and his two elder sons, laughing about their recent rat-catching expeditions, stroking his mustache. He clearly adored his boys. He took time to listen to them, prompting them patiently with questions and chuckling in amusement at their stories. He patted Wilfrid's head and ruffled Sam's hair, and the boys gazed up at him admiringly. Celestria wondered whether he knew about her father's gift, or whether Julia had kept it to herself, as she'd said she would. She turned her attention to her smallest cousin. Little Bouncy was sitting on Monty's knee, pretending to ride a horse as his uncle bounced him up and down over imaginary fences. “Again!” the child demanded after each “race,” and Monty obliged without the slightest indication that he might be tired or bored.

Celestria assumed she was the last member of the family to arrive until the room fell silent once again. Put out, she craned her neck to see who stood in the doorway. There, sucking the air out of the room with inflated nostrils, stood Elizabeth Montague. “It's the bad fairy,” Celestria hissed to her mother when she saw the solid black figure of her grandmother planted firmly between the double doors.

Pamela whispered back, “On the food chain, I'd say your grandmother is a hyena, wouldn't you?”

“But she produced a lion?” Celestria retorted.

“Only
one
lion, and that was on account of your grandfather, who was a lion, too,” Pamela replied with emphasis. “Now there is only one lion in this family, and I married him. Archie's a badger, and, as for Penelope, she's a wild boar.”

“Mama, you're so cruel!”

“The animal kingdom is a cruel world, darling. Dog eat dog, but the hyena eats the remains of everyone else's meal.”

Elizabeth Montague was escorted into the room by her first cousin, Humphrey Hornby-Hume, a large barrel of a man with ruddy cheeks and bulbous eyes that glistened like undercooked eggs. Elizabeth's face was set in its usual scowl. Years of indignation had corroded any memory of joy. Her face had simply forgotten how to smile, and she was now too old to be reeducated. She always wore black in the evening, claiming that it was the most flattering color for a woman with one foot in the grave, and she walked with a stick, one hip stiff and painful due to arthritis. She smoked incessantly, reminding everyone that cigarettes and food were her only remaining pleasures—except for Monty, whom she worshipped with a fierce and possessive love, and her grandson Bouncy, who she claimed to be the image of her dear brother who was killed in the Great War. Elizabeth adored men, perhaps because the envy she felt for women younger and prettier than herself was too much to withstand. It was impossible to imagine that this full-figured woman with wide, lopsided hips and stout legs had once been handsome, and a terrible flirt.

As they entered the room, Monty, the dutiful son, strode up and kissed her gnarled hands, followed hastily by Archie, the birthday boy. The old woman's face thawed at the sight of her favorite son, and her mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. Archie backed away, used to being eclipsed by his more charismatic brother. Julia noticed, as she always did, and her heart buckled with compassion.

Nevertheless, she greeted her mother-in-law with the same warmth with which she greeted everyone. There seemed to be no side to Julia; she was a ray of sunshine beaming down on everyone indiscriminately. If she disliked her mother-in-law, she certainly never let it show. Instead, she flattered her, echoed boisterously by Humphrey, who seemed never to notice his cousin's sour humor.

“Now the most important member of the family is here, I think we should proceed into the tent. The guests will be arriving shortly,” Julia suggested.

“Ah, you are too generous! I don't deserve such praise!” Humphrey quipped in his thin, reedy voice.

“Your jokes have never been funny, Humphrey,” Elizabeth replied with a dismissive snort. “I'm certainly the oldest person here. I only come to Archie's party to remind the world that I am still alive.”

“Well, let's go and show them,” Julia persisted, trying to usher them through the room.

“I don't want them all celebrating when there's nothing to rejoice about,” the old woman continued.

“My dear cousin, if ever there was a woman so full of life…” Humphrey began.

“And laughter,” Elizabeth cut in sourly. “I know, Humphrey, I'm the life and soul of the party. Get me a drink and a chair, or I shall quite literally be the soul of the party, and we don't want that, do we?”

“Archie, darling, perhaps you could make an announcement,” Julia proposed, suddenly looking rather weary.

Archie cleared his throat. “Attention everyone!” he exclaimed, puffing out his chest importantly. No one seemed to notice.

“Speak up, boy, we can't hear you!” shouted Elizabeth, bashing her stick repeatedly on the wooden floor until the china began to wobble in the glass cabinet against the wall. At once everyone stopped talking and turned to Archie.

“Julia would like everyone to proceed to the tent now.” He sounded rather sheepish. By contrast, Monty's voice was firm and commanding.

“Before we all disperse into the tent, I'd like to wish my brother most happy returns of the day. This is, after all, a very special birthday. It gives me great pleasure to be among my family, and I know it gives Archie a great deal of pleasure, too. Blood is thicker than water, and there is nothing like the sharing of blood to unite us all in an unbreakable bond. Archie, my dear brother and friend, father, husband, and son, we wish you a very happy birthday and many more in the years to come, and whatever the future brings, know that I, your brother, have always admired you.” Julia's face softened at Monty's kind words, and Archie lowered his eyes with embarrassment. He didn't feel at all worthy of Monty's admiration.

While everyone clapped Elizabeth managed to bring the conversation once more around to her. “I think this will be my last, Humphrey. Next year, they'll have double the reason to celebrate.”

“Hello, Grandma,” Celestria exclaimed, taking her elbow so that she walked into the tent between her granddaughter and Humphrey. Before she could reply, her cousin, whose rheumy eyes had lit up at the sight of young flesh, broke in, his reedy voice a few notes higher with excitement.

“Ah, the most charming and radiant Celestria. I thought I sensed the room exude a light more heavenly than earthly. You look more glorious than ever.” He dropped his eyes to her chest, where they delved a moment into her cleavage.

“Are you admiring my diamonds, Humphrey?” Celestria teased. He withdrew his gaze with difficulty.

“They are exquisite, but you shine far brighter than they do.”

“Don't listen to the old bore!” Elizabeth interrupted. “If he was fifty years younger, I'd be concerned.”

“I'm struck in the heart, Cousin. How cruel you are!”

“Celestria, that dress is almost indecent!” she stated. “In my day only tarts wore dresses that revealed so much. A dress like that will only get you into trouble.”

“But I love trouble, Grandma!”

“With a man of experience, my dear, trouble can be a great deal of fun.” Humphrey had begun to perspire.

“A dress like that sends out the wrong messages,” her grandmother continued. “You're a Montague, and you should behave with more discretion. Look at your cousins. Now,
those
dresses are most suitable. I brought Penelope up with a strong sense of morality, which I am glad to see she has passed on to her daughters. I brought your father up in the same way. The only trouble with your father is your mother. Americans have no sense of decorum.”

Celestria laughed as Humphrey winked at her over Elizabeth's heavily coiffed gray head. “I love Americans,” he said. “And your mother is splendid. In fact, I'm going to reserve a dance with her right away before she gets booked up. I'd like one with you, too, Celestria. Will you promise to make an ugly old man happy?”

“Of course,” she lied with an easy smile. The thought of being pressed up against that swollen belly, already steaming with sweat, made her blood curdle.

Humphrey disappeared into the tent to find Pamela, a futile expedition, for Celestria knew her mother would decline his offer before he had even finished his sentence. Pamela hadn't the patience for men like Humphrey; after all, she was a white tiger, and white tigers were very disparaging of warthogs.

“Let's get you to a chair, Grandma,” Celestria said, eager to deposit her charge quickly so that she could mingle among the guests, who were now arriving in droves.

“Get me an ashtray. I'd like a cigarette.” She sat down stiffly, leaning her stick against the table, and scratched about in her bag for a cigarette. Elizabeth always smoked through an ivory cigarette holder her father had brought her from India for her twenty-first birthday. While Celestria went to find an ashtray, a waiter struck a match and lit it for her, placing a bubbling champagne flute on the table in front of her.