Chapter Thirty-Two #2
There was a note of lazy amusement that she recognised. Honor turned awkwardly in the low-slung chair. ‘Doris!’
‘Me,’ Doris agreed. And it was indeed her, more delicate and weary-looking than ever, her face wan and pale and utterly beautiful. The dark smudges under her eyes were pronounced, but her eyes shone with delight and affection. Honor began to struggle out of her chair.
‘When?’ she asked. ‘How? What …?’
‘Just now. The usual sort of ways,’ Doris said, laughing and putting out a hand to help Honor up. ‘Train, car. Any more questions?’
‘All of them, but they’ll have to wait.’ Honor threw her arms tight around her friend.
The smell of her was, she thought, like walking into one’s own house after long days away.
Familiar. Reassuring. ‘Oh, darling, I’ve missed you.
’ She was, she realised, crying. She pulled back to look and saw that Doris’ eyes were wet too.
Close up, she looked truly tired, not the affected exhaustion that she used to disguise the ardent energy that was her real nature.
‘Hullo, Doris. Wonderful timing – you’ll play,’ Brigid said immediately. ‘You’re already wearing trousers – divine ones; Schiaparelli? – so all you need are shoes.’ They had all come forward to cluster around the newcomer. ‘At least, if we had someone for you to play with …’
‘Doris will hardly want to play the very second she arrives,’ Chips said. ‘Why, you must be exhausted. Perhaps you’d like to go and lie down.’
Barely was Doris in the house, Honor thought, and Chips wanted rid of her. She started to laugh, and as she did, she realised it was the first time she had laughed – properly laughed – in a long time. ‘Doris is never tired,’ she said. ‘Are you, darling?’
‘Exhausted,’ Doris insisted. ‘I can barely lift a cigarette, let alone a racket.’ But her eyes sparkled.
‘But who is she to play with?’ Chips said irritably.
‘Albert,’ said Fritzi. ‘He will be the very thing.’ Doris caught Honor’s eye and gave a tiny grin. Because he said it, Chips didn’t immediately reject the idea. Fritzi went off to speak to Albert, who had remained in his rattan chair, and Chips took Doris by the hand.
‘You’d better come and meet our Americans,’ he said.
‘Americans? How forgiving you are, Chips!’ she murmured. ‘I quite thought you had sworn off your fellow countrymen after Wallis Simpson turned out to be such a frightful disappointment.’
‘Dear Wallis. Never a disappointment,’ Chips said.
But he said it mechanically. It was true, Honor thought, that he had largely forgiven Wallis since she had settled into her life as Duchess of Windsor, but somewhere he would always resent the spoiling of his plans that had come with Edward VIII’s abdication in order to marry her.
Only someone who knew him as well as Doris did would have known to look for that buried chagrin.
She remembered then how it had always been between Doris and Chips, her friend and her husband – the way they circled one another, tested one another; how much Doris loved to tease Chips, how easily goaded he was by her.
And she realised that, where once this had made her uncomfortable – split her loyalties so that she didn’t know which way to jump, always forced to work at keeping an uneasy truce between them – now she could simply watch them, because there was no division.
Not since she had watched Chips’ face when he had revealed he knew of her affair.
Her loyalties were entirely whole at last.
‘Fritzi, I suppose you’d better come and say hullo to Doris,’ Chips said then.
‘We’ve met,’ Fritzi said, coming forward immediately.
‘Have you? Where?’ Chips asked, instantly alert.
‘In Berlin,’ Doris said, holding out her hand. ‘A year ago, was it?’
‘Nine months,’ Fritzi said. Then added, ‘I remember because it is the last time I was there. On a visit to my family.’
‘It was a party,’ Doris said, calling up details. ‘At the Steinplatz hotel. You wore your Luftwaffe uniform. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, it was a celebration of you and your brothers joining?’
‘My father said it was the right thing to do at that time,’ Fritzi said evasively.
‘At that time,’ Doris echoed.
What did that mean? Honor wondered. That it was no longer the right thing? And what did Doris understand by it? Something to puzzle over later. She saw that Duff looked over at them. ‘We danced,’ Doris continued, head to one side as she looked at Fritzi.
‘You remember.’ He looked elated.
‘I have a good memory.’ He looked downcast. ‘You were very popular that night,’ she said, still consulting her memory – as though, Honor thought, she sifted through a well-organised drawer.
‘Yes,’ she continued, ‘you and your brothers, all looking dashing in your new uniforms. As I recall, your joining the Luftwaffe was called “a wonderful example of the unifying of ancient and modern Germany”.’
Fritzi looked momentarily terrified. Curious, Honor thought.
By then Chips had brought the Kennedys forward, so Honor had no time to puzzle out what exactly any of this meant.
Introduced to them, Doris was at her most charming, and within minutes, Honor saw them smiling and nodding at her.
Indeed, the ambassador tried to draw her away with him, to look at a plant with pale spidery leaves.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and made to set off.
Doris couldn’t possibly have seen the thinning of Rose Kennedy’s mouth into a hard line – a line that Honor recognised with weary familiarity – because she had her back to her, but even so, she was far too clever.
‘Oh no, I know nothing at all about plants,’ Doris said.
‘They require far too much effort, besides not being so terribly entertaining.’ She smiled dazzlingly.
‘I’d much rather, Mrs Kennedy, if you would introduce me to your delightful daughter.
’ Yet she kept her hand in the ambassador’s arm, so that they walked, all three, towards the tennis court where Kick was bouncing a ball, hard, and catching it each time.
And Honor marvelled, as she always did, at her friend’s swift reckoning, the swoop of her understanding and resourcefulness.
‘Come on!’ Brigid called to them all. ‘If Doris and Alfred play Elizabeth and Fritzi, then the winner of that can play Kick and Chips, and we’ll have an overall winner.’
‘Better hurry up,’ Duff said. ‘Before rain comes.’ He was over beside the drinks tray and Honor watched as he poured a large glass from the jug, drank it down, then poured another, ice cubes tinkling merrily.
Beside him, Maureen hissed something that Honor was too far away to hear, but caused Duff to scowl.
She leaned forward, took the glass from him, raised it to her lips and drank, then held out the half-empty glass and, just as he reached for it, she let it slip through her fingers and fall onto the stone terrace, where it smashed.
Honor, even though she had seen it fall, jumped at the noise.
‘Silly me,’ Maureen said. The tennis players ignored her.
Duff did not. He glared at her, then turned his back to watch the play.
This was a faster game than the first one.
Pretty quickly, Elizabeth gave in, making only the feeblest effort to keep up.
Mostly, she let Fritzi do all the running, calling ‘Good shot’ encouragingly.
Doris, in a pair of borrowed tennis shoes that Andrews had magicked up from somewhere, had dropped all pretence at languor.
She was fast and sure, moving with all her usual grace, only speeded up, like one of those reels of film they showed at the cinema.
Albert was indeed good, as Fritzi had promised, seeming able to anticipate exactly where the ball would go each time.
He behaved, Honor thought, nothing like a servant on the court.
Too energetic, even ebullient when things went well.
He had, she saw, broad shoulders and nicely browned forearms. Soon he and Doris were slapping their palms together to celebrate a point scored, or crouching side by side, shoulders touching, as they anticipated what was to come.
They fell into the way of one another, seeming to understand by instinct when to leave a ball to the other, when to reach for it.
Except once, when he put a hand out and placed it on her arm to restrain her, before answering the shot that came from Fritzi.
‘Rather unexpected.’ It was Maureen, back beside Honor. They both stood – no way was Honor getting back into that low-slung chair.
‘What is? Doris?’
‘No. Or rather – yes, but not that. Him.’ She jerked her head towards Albert.
‘You sort of forget they’re human, in uniform all the time.
Then you see them in different clothes and you realise …
well, he’s a man.’ With shock, Honor realised what she meant.
Albert’s powerful build, the confidence of his movements, the way he dominated his section of the court.
‘Like taking a bridle off a horse and turning it free into the field,’ Maureen said thoughtfully. ‘Quite a different creature …’
‘Good God, Maureen.’ Honor was disgusted, as much by the way Maureen spoke as by what she said.
‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t notice,’ Maureen said, looking her over beadily. ‘You have no idea about that sort of thing at all, do you?’
It was humiliating – why did everyone assume she was some terrible prude?
Honor decided she had had enough. She would go back to the house and they could join her when these silly games were done.
It was still hot – too hot – but there was no sun at all anymore, just that bank of damp cloud that lay over everything, making all movement an effort.
The yellow-ish tinge to the air was worse now, like looking out through a glass filled with lemon barley water.
She turned but before she had gone two paces, there was a loud clap of thunder and rain began to spill from the sky, hitting the hot ground and sending up an acrid smell.
For a moment, big heavy drops chased each other almost singly, one landing before the next arrived, as though an advance party had been sent out, and then, with another loud clap, down it came in a torrent, like the moment a basin overflows.
‘Quick, inside!’ she called. The group scattered and began to run.
Kick and Brigid squealed in excitement and ran laughing, zig-zagging through the rain as though they could avoid it.
The ambassador produced a large umbrella he must have taken from the house and snapped it open.
Rose stepped under it and the two of them walked away briskly.
Albert caught up a jacket and held it over his head – held it out for Doris to duck under too.
She did, and the two of them ran together towards the house, close together in that tiny patch of shelter.
Honor, not nearly as fast, ran behind them but quickly was out of breath.
She was so wet anyway, what was the point, she decided.
And so she slowed down, walked, watching the flowers flatten under the weight of the rain.
The garden was quickly blotted out around her, hidden by the lowering gloom.
The ground couldn’t absorb water fast enough and soon there were busy rivulets running alongside her as she walked.
Another clap of thunder. She wiped her soaking fringe from her eyes, licking her lips where drops had trickled down and over them. The rain tasted ferrous.
Ahead, she could just about make out a figure in the porch of the side door.
Who, she thought, would stand in a porch, even if it was partly sheltered, when they could be inside?
Perhaps it was a guest, fussing about wet shoes.
She speeded up, ready to call and tell them not to bother, but as she got closer, she saw it wasn’t one person but two, standing huddled together.
Later, she realised she would never have known it was two, so close were they, except that one of them pulled away and the space between them showed the truth.
The one who pulled away was Doris. She slipped in through the door behind her, leaving whoever it was she had been talking to.
Albert. Honor watched as he turned and went towards the back of the house.
What, Honor wondered, could Doris possibly have to say so intently to a man she had only just met? A servant, at that.