The Debutante (36 page)

Jack looked around anxiously for help. ‘Should I call someone?’

She shook her head and, after a moment, her breathing eased. She took off the mask. ‘Tell me, where are you from?’

‘London.’

‘Really?’ She sat forward. ‘What’s it like these days?’

‘Busy. Dusty. Hot.’

‘Who’s cooking at the Mirabelle?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The head chef.’

‘I must admit, I have no idea.’

‘You do dine out, don’t you?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘And dancing … do you go out dancing afterwards?’

‘Well, not really.’

‘Where do you go?’

‘Like I said, I’m not the dancing type.’

‘How extraordinary!’ She sighed. ‘You know, you remind me of someone.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘A man I adored about a thousand years ago. Handsome, charming, witty!’

‘Thank you.’ Jack smiled.

‘Of course he was queer.’

He laughed. ‘I’m not sure how to take that!’

‘As a compliment. He was the most tremendous company and the only man I really loved.’

‘That must’ve been complicated.’

‘When isn’t life complicated? We had an arrangement. I was his beard. Of course, in those days it used to be more of a stage one passed through rather than a way of life.’

‘His beard?’

‘A rather quaint term. Your father will understand.’

‘What became of him?’

‘I really can’t say. People lose touch.’ She stubbed the cigarette out and sat back, closing her eyes wearily. ‘You haven’t by any chance got the latest copy of
Hello!?’

‘Sorry. No.’

‘Of course not. It’s utter rubbish. But I do love gossip. Don’t you think Queen Elizabeth has got fat?’ She opened her eyes, looked at him sideways. ‘I don’t suppose you could get a copy, could you?’

Endsleigh
Devon

31
May 1941

My darling Nick,
Just when I had given up all hope! My love, it’s too, too beautiful! And so gorgeous! Of course I can barely get it round my wrist, as they are so fat now, but I cannot tell you how I wept when I opened it! It’s simply the most extravagant gift in the world and when I had given up all hope of ever hearing from you again! You cannot imagine what I’ve been thinking—that you were dead under the rubble of London or that you’d been shipped far away … You have not forgotten me and my heart is positively singing with joy! I can’t imagine where you got the money or even care. Thank you, my love! Thank you a thousand times! Please come and see me—I beg of you! And till then I shall stare at my swollen wrist for courage! Oh my darling! Oh my sweetest, truest love! We shall begin again. Anything is possible, you see, anything!

Yours forever,

Baby xxxxx

‘There were two sides to her, Irene. She could be incredibly charming, really, the nicest woman you ever met. And as long as you did exactly as she wanted, she adored you. But if you put a foot wrong …’ Alice looked up. ‘I once made a mistake in the kitchen, with some silver. I put a platter in the oven to warm and it melted.’

‘Jo told me that story.’

‘Stupid, really. Irene used to laugh about it—it was one of her favourite stories at a dinner party. Only she never told it except when I was in the room, serving. To everyone else it made her look like the most wonderful, forgiving hostess in the world. She’d pretend to shrug it off and everyone else at the table would look at me for a reaction and laugh. But it used to mortify me. I could hardly wait to leave the room. And then one evening, while she was doing it again, I happened to look up and catch her eye. And I could see, she didn’t even bother to hide it. She understood exactly how humiliated I was. She was making me pay for getting it wrong, only she did it in such a way that no one would ever know that but me.’

‘Why didn’t you leave?’

‘I was very young at the time, I didn’t have a lot of experience. I thought she was doing me a favour by hiring me. And like I said, she wasn’t always that way. She could be very charming. And I was in awe of her. She had great plans for Endsleigh. It was all going to be restored and updated; it was meant to be a showplace. But then again, she had great plans for everyone, for her husband, herself. I think for a while she
really thought he was going to be prime minister. But there was always one fly in the ointment. Baby. Baby was always doing something impossible, something that put her ambitions at risk. And then of course the thing about Baby was that everyone was fascinated by her, men especially. Even Irene’s husband was charmed. Baby used to say right to his face that if she had to listen to him bore on another second about politics, she was going to strangle him with his tie, and all he’d do was laugh. But Irene wouldn’t have dared to speak to him that way, not in a million years. She worshipped him and he knew it. But Baby could get away with anything and no one would bat an eyelid. It infuriated Irene. She was too proud to admit that her little sister had that much power. And in public, she treated her the same way you would treat a naughty pet. But alone, in private, I think it ate her up. None of the rules she lived by applied to Baby—she was as fast as a racing car and no one seemed to mind. That’s the way it is with the truly beautiful. It was as if God had given her a special dispensation.’

‘I thought Irene was very religious.’

‘Yes. But to Irene, even God was meant to follow her rules. And she hated to lose. Then the war came. All the men went away. That’s when she really came into her own. She headed all sorts of charities, trained as a nurse, and went around giving speeches and talking on the wireless about the importance of making sacrifices for the war effort and living by Christian values. Then London was bombed and Baby came to stay. But she was pregnant. Again, Baby was flouting
decorum, getting what Irene wanted and couldn’t have. Only this time, Irene had an advantage. Baby couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t even leave the house for fear of being seen.’

Alice paused. ‘Irene really wanted that child. She never said anything. But I knew. She started doing up the nursery, filling it with toys and books. Painting it so that it looked like a perfect, golden dream world. But Baby wasn’t very well. Being locked up didn’t help. She got worse rather than better. And although she used to write long letters, presumably to her lover, he never wrote back. Irene took them to be posted herself. Every day she’d ask if there was anything for her. There never was. Irene tried to keep Baby’s spirits up but some days she wouldn’t even get out of bed, she was so bad. See, Baby had done things before. Hurt herself. Irene got scared. Told me I had to watch her. That’s why she bought her the bracelet.

‘She ordered it special and then there was an air raid over the coast and she was put on extra shifts at the hospital. So she had me collect it. I’d never even been to London before. I was terrified I was going to get bombed or mugged. And the shop! I’d never seen anything like it. Irene was insistent that I had to post it from London with a little note she gave me. That was very important, she said. It must have a London postmark. I guess she wanted Baby to believe that the man, whoever he was, still loved her.

‘And it worked. For a while she was over the moon. And then suddenly, without any warning at all, she turned. We were collecting old newspapers. I was tying them in bundles
and Baby was so big then she could only help with simple things. Her job was to go round the house, gathering up any leftover bits we’d missed. And then she was gone for a very long time. I got worried. And I went to find her.

Alice stopped.

‘She had one of the Colonel’s razors. I’d never seen so much blood.’

Cate felt a chill through her whole body. ‘Did she die?’

Alice shook her head. ‘No. But she went into labour early.’

‘What happened to the baby?’

‘You see—’ Alice looked down, concentrating hard on the space between her hands—‘everything was meant to be perfect. Endsleigh was meant to be a showplace … not just to their friends but to the whole nation…’

Cate leaned forward. ‘I don’t understand…’

‘The child was … all across his little face, a terrible red stain.’

‘You mean a birthmark?’

Alice nodded. ‘It seems it ran in the family.’

‘The family?’ Cate frowned. But Baby was so beautiful, so flawless. And Nick so classically handsome.

Then suddenly she remembered the old black-and-white photograph on Irene’s dressing table. Irene and her husband standing side by side at some veterans’ function, not touching. She was holding the plaque and he was smiling proudly, hat off, wincing into the bright sunlight … and the unexplained shadow that crept across the right side of his skull, just visible beneath his thinning hair.

Only it wasn’t a shadow.

It too was a stain.

Cate sat back.

The child had never been Nick’s.

Down the corridor in the drawing room a harpist had begun to play; there were people chatting and laughing. But here, the only sound came from a large grandfather clock ticking dully in the corner.

‘What happened to him?’ Cate asked quietly.

‘There was an argument. A terrible argument. The Colonel took him somewhere, I don’t know where. Baby never even saw him. And then a few nights later, a car came with a man … a big, tall man. In the morning she was gone.’

Cate had only one more question. ‘Alice, is … is Baby still alive?’

‘I honestly don’t know. It was my job to watch her. I’ll never know what made her turn like that. I’ll never know.’

The old woman seemed visibly weighted down by the effort of telling her. Her shoulders slumped forward and the light in her eyes dimmed, as if she’d retreated somewhere deep within herself.

‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘What do you mean?’

She looked up. ‘I’ve never told anyone, not even my daughter what I’ve just told you. Are you going to sell it? Are you a journalist?’

‘No. No, of course not.’

‘Then why?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why go to all this trouble, digging up the past of someone you don’t even know?’

‘I’m sorry, I…’ Cate stopped.

Alice was staring at her, her dark eyes filled with confusion and loss.

‘I don’t know,’ Cate admitted finally. ‘She didn’t feel like a stranger. In fact, for a while, she felt like the person I wanted to be.’

An African male nurse came round the corner, pushing a wheelchair. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He flashed a wide gleaming smile. ‘It’s time for your lunch, Duchess.’ Then he stopped, eyeing her sternly. ‘I think you’ve been smoking again, haven’t you?’

‘Oh honestly!’ She pouted, reaching out to take his arm. ‘Don’t be such a Nazi, Samuel! Besides, it wasn’t me this time. It was him!’

Samuel looked at Jack.

‘All I can do is apologise, I’m afraid,’ he said, struggling to conceal a smile.

‘She’s seduced you, hasn’t she?’ Samuel saw through them both, shaking his head. ‘Don’t think you’ve fooled me, Duchess. Besides—’ he eased her gently into the wheelchair, placing the oxygen canister on her lap—’I thought I was the only one covering up for you.’

‘Well, you’re my favourite, Sammy.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But I never promised to be faithful. What time is it anyway?’

He checked his watch. ‘Almost one thirty.’

‘Come on. We can row later.’

‘OK,’ he said softly.

Her brow wrinkled and there was urgency in her voice. ‘I don’t want to be late.’

‘We have plenty of time.’

Jack stood up. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’

She took his hand. ‘You have to forgive me. I must go. I’m expecting someone.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

Jack watched as Samuel pushed her up the wheelchair ramp at the side of the building and in through the double doors. She was such a strange creature, not at all what he’d imagined the residents would be like.

He felt in his pockets for his cigarettes; he searched the table, the bench. They were gone.

Strolling back inside he was about to go back to his father’s room when he stopped suddenly at the nurses’ station. He felt in his pockets again, this time for change. ‘Excuse me, I don’t suppose there’s a payphone I could use?’