Winter Solstice (59 page)

“You know Sam Howard, don’t you, Arthur?”

“Don’t think I’ve ‘ad the pleasure. Pleased to meet you.”

“Arthur’s going to be our barman, Sam.”

Sam said, “I’m sure you know how to open a bottle of champagne, Arthur.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ‘ad that much practice, being a beer man myself. But on the telly, like the Grand Prix, it’s all a bit of shaking, and then squirting each other, like a fire ‘ose. Dreadful waste of good booze, I always thinks.”

Sam laughed.

“Good fun, but I agree with you. A terrible waste. Actually, it’s no problem. You don’t want any loud pops, corks hitting the ceiling, or gallons of froth.” He took a bottle from the ice bucket.

“Just untwist the wire, and then the gentlest easing out of the cork… like this. And you don’t turn the cork. You hold it, and turn the bottle….” He demonstrated the subtle art, the cork slipped gently out with the softest of sounds, and the golden wine creamed into the waiting glass without a drop spilt.

“Well, that’s very neat, I must say,” said Arthur.

“I never knew it could be done so quiet.”

Elfrida, with the final eyelash tweaked into place, gazed at her reflection in the long mirror of the wardrobe. She had put on black silk trousers and a filmy little black blouse, over which she wore a loose green silk coat. Dangling earrings and long strings of beads were the same jade green as the coat, and her eyelids were blue, her mouth scarlet, and her hair a freshly twinked blaze of flame.

She hoped that all her new friends in Creagan would not think she had gone over the top.

Emerging from her bedroom, she found Arthur Snead all ready for duty by the makeshift bar.

“Arthur! You look so handsome. Where’s Mrs. Snead?”

“Just finishing off the last of the mini kievs, Mrs. Phipps. She’ll be up in a mo’. I ‘ope you don’t mind my saying so, but you look very dashing. Would hardly ‘ave recognized you, meeting you in the street.”

“Oh, thank you, Arthur. Is everybody present and ready?”

“All inside, by the fire. Guests ought to be ‘ere any moment now.”

“They’re meant to walk in. But if they don’t, be a saint and go down and open the door.”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. Phipps. And now, ‘ow about a nice glass of bubbly? The others are already at it. Dutch courage, Mr. Blundell said. Not that I think ‘e needs much courage on such an occasion of celebration.”

He poured her a glass, and carrying it, she went to join the others. The room, and they, all looked wonderfully sophisticated and glamorous, like an illustration from some really glossy magazine. Lucy had somehow put her hair up, and with her long black legs and her elegant neck and her earrings, looked all at once about seventeen. As for Carrie, she was, this evening, ravishingly beautiful, with a glow to her skin and a shine in her dark eyes that Elfrida had not seen for years. She had put on a sleeveless black dress, simple as a T-shirt, but with a skirt that flowed softly from her slender hips to her ankles. On her feet were sandals that were no more than a couple of sparkling straps and a pair of very high heels, and her only jewellery were her sapphire ring and a pair of diamond ear-studs.

Seeing her, Elfrida could not imagine how any man could stop himself falling in love with her, but Sam was playing his cards very close to his chest, and seemed to take Carrie’s sensational appearance entirely for granted. Which, perhaps, was a hopeful sign. Elfrida wanted above all else for Carrie to be happy again, but Oscar was right. This was too soon for conjecture; too early for matchmaking. One just had to be content with what had happened so far. Which was that Sam had turned up, out of nowhere, in the first place. And that he and Carrie seemed, at last, to have made friends.

They were all talking, but Oscar, standing by the fireplace, saw Elfrida as she came through the door. Their eyes met, and for an instant it was as though it were just the two of them, alone in the brilliantly lighted room. And then he set down his glass and came across to take her hand.

“You look quite wonderful,” he told her.

“I thought I looked a bit like a battered old actress. Which of course I am. But a happy one.” She kissed his cheek cautiously, so as not to leave a smudge of lipstick.

“And you, Oscar?” They understood each other very well.

“All right?”

He nodded. Downstairs, some person, mistakenly, rang the doorbell. Horace leaped to his feet, burst into a cacophony of barking, fled out of the room and down the stairs.

Elfrida began to laugh.

“So much,” she said, “for my carefully laid plans.”

“I’ll go,” said Lucy instantly. (Probably hoping it was the Kennedys and longing for Rory to be astonished by her new and grownup image.) She disappeared after Horace, and the next moment there floated upwards the sound of voices.

“Are we the first? Are we too early?” And Lucy replying, “Of course not. We’re waiting for you. Let me take your coats. Everybody’s upstairs.”

Elfrida’s party, at last, was on its way.

A quarter past eight, and it was all over. Rutleys, Sinclairs, and Erskine-Earles had departed to the sound of goodbyes and thank-yous ringing down the deserted street. Only the Kennedys lingered, and that was because they had been late arriving in the first place, coming to the Estate House straight from the annual party at the Old People’s Home. Peter, wearing his dog-collar, announced himself awash with tea and buns, but that didn’t stop him gratefully downing a dram, and plunging enthusiastically into another roomful of slightly less geriatric friends.

Now, a certain languor prevailed. Sam had built up the fire, and all had collapsed into chairs, grateful to get the weight off their feet Rory and Lucy were down in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Snead and Arthur with the last of the clearing up. Cheerful noises and much laughter floated up the stairs, and it was obvious that the party, below stairs, continued.

Elfrida, sunken gratefully into cushions, and with her shoes toed off, said, “I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. We’ve all been beavering away all day, and the next thing you know, it’s eight o’clock and guests start looking at their watches and saying it’s time to go.”

“That’s the sign of a good party,” said Peter. And added,

“Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.” He sat in the wide-lapped chair by the fireside, and his wife was on the hearth rug leaning in comfort against his knees.

“I liked Lady Erskine-Earle,” said Carrie.

“She looked like a dear little Highland pony, all dressed up in cashmere and pearls.”

Tabitha laughed.

“Isn’t she a star?”

“She and Mrs. Snead chatted for hours.”

“That’s because they’re both on the fund-raising committee for the church. And the Women’s Institute. Elfrida, asking the Sneads was a huge bonus. No fear of pregnant pauses with Mrs. Snead and Arthur on the go.”

“Arthur was not a barrow boy for nothing,” Oscar pointed out.

“He never misses a trick. When he wasn’t being either butler or guest, he found time to do a little business as well. Orders for New Year’s Eve. Chrysanthemums for Emma Erskine-Earle, and six avocados for Janet Sinclair. Incidentally, I think Janet Sinclair’s a charming person. We hadn’t met her before. Only the doctor, when he came to see Carrie.”

“And what is more,” Carrie told Oscar, “she’s an architect. She works three days a week in a practice in Kingsferry.”

“And,” Peter added, “she’s extremely efficient. She designed a new wing for the Old People’s Home, and did a good job. Only thing is, it makes the rest of the place look a bit gloomy.” He laid down his glass, shifted slightly in his chair, as though his wife’s weight against his knees might be giving him cramp, and looked at his watch.

“Tabitha, my love, we should be on our way.”

“Oh, don’t go,” Elfrida begged.

“Unless you have to. This is the best bit of a party. Talking it all over with the last of the friends. Stay, and we’ll have a kitchen supper. We’ll finish up all the scraps, and we’ve got some soup, and there’s more smoked salmon. Sam gave it to us. And a delicious Stilton….”

“Are you sure?” Tabitha was clearly tempted.

“If we go back to the Manse it’s only scrambled eggs.”

“Of course you must stay….”

Here, Carrie took over.

“In that case, I shall be in charge.”

She got up from the sofa.

“I’ll go and see what’s happening in the kitchen, and find something for us all to eat. No, Sam, you stay and chat. You’ve done your part for the evening.”

Elfrida was grateful.

“Darling, you are sweet. If you want any help give me a shout.”

“I’ll do that.”

She went out of the room and closed the door behind her. On the landing, all that was left of Elfrida’s party was the table with the white cloth. Bottles and glasses had all been cleared away. The Sneads, Rory, and Lucy had clearly been hard at work.

The telephone began to ring. Carrie looked at it in some astonishment, because for some reason it was the last thing she expected to happen. It had only rung once when she picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Who’s that?” The female voice was clear as a bell, but there was a tiny hiccup of hesitation on the line.

“It’s Carrie.”

“Carrie. It’s Nicola. From Florida.”

“For heaven’s sake. How are you?”

“I’m great. Fine. What are you doing?”

“Just had a party. We’re all sitting around recovering.”

“Is Lucy there?”

“Yes, she’s downstairs, helping to do all the clearing up. She’s been having the time of her life. How’s Florida? Is the sun shining?”

“Nonstop. Everything’s wonderful.”

“Hold on. I’ll go and find Lucy….”

Carrie laid the receiver on the table and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she saw that all the washing up and putting away had already been accomplished, and Mrs. Snead was now pulling on her mock Persian lamb coat and fastening the silver buttons. Arthur was enjoying the last of a final beer, Rory leaned against the sink, and Lucy was sitting on the kitchen table.

Mrs. Snead was still in full flow.

“Well, I must say, that was a really good do…” she was saying. She hiccuped slightly and Carrie saw that the bow on her coiffure had slipped a bit, giving her a rakish appearance. “… and here’s Carrie. I was just saying, Carrie, that was a really good do. Nice company, too….”

“I certainly enjoyed it,” Carrie told her.

“Lucy, you must run upstairs quickly, your mother’s on the telephone.”

Lucy’s head jerked around; her eyes met Carrie’s and in them Carrie saw an expression of alarm.

“Mummy?”

“Yes. From Florida. Go quickly, because it costs a bomb.”

Lucy slipped down from the table. She looked at Rory, and then back at Carrie, and then went out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Discreetly, Carrie closed the door behind her.

“Fancy that,” said Arthur.

“All the way from Florida.”

“It’s still afternoon there. Five hours’ difference, you know.” Mrs. Snead informed them all importantly. Having buttoned her coat, she took off her suede court shoes and pulled on stout boots, in readiness for the short walk home.

“Lucy’s been a real help, I must say. We got through it all like a dose of salts, didn’t we, Rory? And Arfur’s put the empties out in the scullery, and a few scraps of sausages I put on a plate for Horace. He can ‘ave them for ‘is dinner tomorrow.”

Carrie was grateful.

“You’ve both been marvelous. You made the party.”

Arthur drained his beer and set down the empty glass.

“I’d like to agree with my wife. A very nice bunch of customers. And tell your friend I’m grateful to know ‘ow to open a bottle of champagne. A real little art that one is. Next time we ‘ave a Bowling Club party, I’ll be able to demonstrate my skill.”

“Oh, Arfur, you are a one”

“I always say, it’s a good day when you learn something.”

Mrs. Snead gathered up her possessions, her handbag and the plastic carrier into which she had put her good shoes.

“We’ll say good night, then, Carrie.”

“Good night, Mrs. Snead. And have a great Christmas.”

“Same to you. And tell Mrs. Phipps I’ll be in Thursday as usual.”

When they had gone, arm in arm, out into the night, and the back door had closed behind them, Rory said, “What’s Lucy’s mother ringing about?”

“I don’t know, Rory.” Carrie took Elfrida’s apron from its hook and tied it on over her filmy black dress.

“Probably just to say Happy Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“Perhaps she’s just getting her word in early. Elfrida’s asked you and your parents to stay for supper, so I came down to try and get something organized.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“I think you’ve already done your share.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather do that than make small talk.”

“It seemed to me you managed rather well.”

“It’s not so bad if you know people. What do you want done?”

“Well, if you really mean it… perhaps you could lay the table. For eight of us. Knives and forks are in that drawer, and the plates are in that cupboard. And there’s smoked salmon in the fridge. I think it’s all sliced. You could maybe put it on a plate, and then we’ll have to butter some bread.”

She went into the icy scullery and returned to the kitchen bearing an enormous pot filled with Elfrida’s latest brew of soup. She lit the gas ring on the cooker, turned the flame down low, and put the pot on top of this to heat through slowly.

Behind her, Rory said, “Lucy talked to me.”

Carrie turned her head to look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Lucy.” Laying the table, he squared off a knife and fork.

“She talked to me. About London and everything. Her parents divorced. Her grandmother. About not really wanting to go back.”

“Oh, Rory.” He did not look at her, simply went on with what he was doing.

“I’m sorry.”

“What have you got to be sorry about?”

“Because in a way I feel responsible. Guilty, perhaps. Because I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Stayed in Austria, and somehow lost touch with my family. Everybody was all right. Except Lucy. It wasn’t until I got back that I realized how impossible life must be for her. It’s not that anybody’s unkind to her… in a way, she has everything. But she misses her father. And she’s never been encouraged to get in touch with her grandfather… my father. There’s so much acrimony. It’s not good to live with.”