Chapter 3
If it wasn’t for the flowers, Elizabeth often thought, she wouldn’t be able to get through the day.
Even now. But they gave her hope. From the first drift of snowdrops under the oak trees in January, they gave her purpose, for the garden at Foxwood was a full-time job.
More than a full-time job, for it kept Joey busy all year round, and they got another lad in too, Maurice, for the lawns in the height of summer when everything ran away, as it was about to.
May was bursting with enthusiasm as it hurtled towards June, eager to show off, the wisteria hanging heavy at the front of the house, always at its best for Alfie’s birthday, and the garden smelled divine, making her head swim and the bees lurch drunkenly from branch to branch.
Thank goodness for the flowers.
She was walking through the hall with an armful of peonies just as the telephone rang.
She stopped short. There was never a time when she didn’t remember its shrillness breaking into their Sunday that evening.
Every time it rang she felt a momentary ripple of panic before remembering that she didn’t have to worry anymore because the worst had happened. The thing she had feared the most.
So who might it be? Not him, especially not at the weekend, with Michael still sitting in the dining room.
It was probably the Reverend Elphick, who was always particularly annoying on a Saturday.
He wrote his sermon on a Friday, and it left him dangerously unoccupied until Sunday, so it was Saturday when he chased people who’d promised him things.
Elizabeth found it increasingly difficult to be civil to him.
He was so smug, so convinced that he provided her with comfort and succour and guidance, when all she wanted to do was shout at him, tell him she didn’t believe in God, how could she, after the bloody war, after bloody Hitler, after Edwin …
But she couldn’t, because she was Elizabeth Arbutus of Foxwood, and she had a duty to set an example to his parishioners.
The bell shrilled on. It could be the vicar, about the fête, always held in the grounds of Foxwood and ominously close, or perhaps Marigold Dempster asking them for one of her awful suppers, or Alexandra with some envy-inducing London gossip. There was only one way to find out.
‘Breverton six four two.’ Her voice went up at the end, as if she was querying herself.
‘Mumma.’
‘Alfie!’ She smiled. ‘Happy birthday, darling. You are still coming?’
She hoped so. Daisy had already put the scones into the oven, plump with sultanas.
‘Of course. But I’m bringing a friend. They’re keen to see the garden. I said it was the very best day of the year to see it.’
‘Well, of course. That’s lovely.’
‘We’ll be there around half past two.’
‘Does your friend have a name?’ Her tone was teasing.
There was a smile in his voice as he answered. ‘She does. Clementine.’
‘Clementine. How pretty.’
‘Very pretty.’
Was he talking about the girl, or her name? Elizabeth was already imagining her, racking her brain for any Clementines she knew of.
‘We’ll see you just after lunch, then. Will you be staying?’
‘I think that would be nice. Make a weekend of it. I’ll ask her. If that’s all right?’
‘Of course.’
She put the phone back in its receiver with a smile and a raised eyebrow, pondering what she’d just heard. Then she picked up the receiver again and dialled a number.
‘For God’s sake,’ said a weary voice eventually. ‘What time do you call this?’
‘It’s half past nine,’ said Elizabeth crisply, staring at the fat-cheeked face of the sun in the grandfather clock. ‘I’ve been up for hours. Listen, do you know of any Clementines? Alfie’s bringing a Clementine for his birthday tea.’
‘Only that ghastly Clemmy Horrocks. She’s a terrible drip. She wouldn’t be Alfie’s type.’
‘But we don’t know what Alfie’s type is. Do we?’
‘No, I suppose we don’t. How intriguing. This is almost worth getting up for. I might drive down.’
‘Why don’t you?’ The weekend was always more fun with Alexandra around. ‘After all, you are his godmother.’
‘Oh yes. I’d better get him something. Oysters. I could bring oysters from Fortnum’s.’
Elizabeth knew it would take Alexandra at least three hours to get ready. Throwing oysters into the picture would mean she wouldn’t be here till dusk.
‘Forget oysters. We’ve got mountains of food. Daisy’s been beavering away for days. Just jump in the car.’
‘Oh God, I can’t. I’ve got to make myself look human first. I look an absolute hag. Honestly, it’s terrifying.’
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Alexandra didn’t look a day over thirty, even if she’d been up all night, which she probably had.
‘It’s only us. We don’t care.’
‘I care. And I don’t want to frighten Clementine.’
Elizabeth wondered for a moment if it was a bit cruel to inflict Alexandra on their new guest, but decided the chances of her getting here in time were remote, so it didn’t matter.
‘See you when we see you.’
She put the receiver back for a second time, holding her hand on it for a few seconds as if she was about to pick it up again, then thought better of it.
She ran through guest numbers quickly to assess if a dash into Breverton was necessary, but she didn’t think so.
She’d have to tell Daisy straight away though.
‘Daisy! Red alert. We have extra guests for tea,’ she sang as she headed back into the kitchen.
Daisy looked up from sliding her scones off the baking tray and onto the cooling rack. ‘Oh?’
‘Alfie’s bringing a friend. Clementine.’
‘Oh!’ The cook’s eyes and smile widened.
‘I know. And Alexandra’s coming.’
‘Is she now?’ Daisy looked less impressed at this news. Alexandra meant chaos and cocktails and breakfast trays. But Elizabeth knew Daisy didn’t mind really. She was happiest when the house was full.
It was hard to imagine life before Daisy.
She’d come to them as a live-in maid after losing her fiancé in the war.
She’d quickly made herself indispensable and when their old cook, Mrs Prosser, had retired, she had taken over.
Mrs P had taught her everything she knew, and over the years Daisy had grown ever more confident until now she ran not just the kitchen but the whole household as well, with the help of a couple of maids and a cheery unflappability.
She had given the house structure and momentum.
She made them all feel secure, but wasn’t afraid to speak her mind when things weren’t being run quite how she thought they should be.
Elizabeth’s biggest fear was that Daisy would find someone to marry and would leave them.
Though at the same time, she wanted her to find love and happiness. Of course she did.
The bloody, bloody war.
‘Do I need to go into Breverton?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Speak now.’
Daisy ran through everything in her head. ‘I can do another batch of scones. And I’ve done a Victoria sponge for his cake, but I can add an extra layer. Perhaps we could do with another loaf? Or two, even.’ There would be breakfast tomorrow. ‘And perhaps some more bacon? Will they be staying?’
‘I think they probably will … Alexandra will stay, of course. I’ll put her in her usual room and could you make up the little room for Clementine. I’ll go and get some more bread and bacon.’
‘And cucumber. Another cucumber. And perhaps a bit more butter, if I’m doing all this extra baking.
’ It was a joy, to be able to bake with abandon, now that sugar and butter were no longer rationed.
It still felt a bit wrong, a bit unpatriotic, to be so extravagant, but Daisy didn’t care.
Not today, on Alfie’s birthday. Clementine, whoever she was, was a lucky girl.
Elizabeth picked up the wicker basket kept by the kitchen door. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’ She stood for a moment in thought. ‘Perhaps a chicken, in case everyone is here for Sunday lunch? We’ve got masses of new potatoes and runner beans.’
Daisy waved a set of floury hands in approval. Elizabeth slipped out of the kitchen and made her way to the dining room.
There was Michael, her handsome husband, sitting at the head of the table, the bay window behind him, sun streaming in.
The Financial Times and a silver pot of coffee were in front of him, and he was in his usual Saturday outfit of Tattersall shirt and a Paisley cravat with moleskin trousers.
Elizabeth glided over and dropped a kiss on his head.
She’d been up and dressed and making herself busy long before he was awake.
She’d come to hate seeing the look in his eyes when he woke, the dull stare of realisation, so she tried to avoid it.
‘Guess what?’ she said now, her voice filled with excitement.
‘Well, I can’t,’ he said. ‘That would be impossible.’
She tutted, but she smiled nevertheless. ‘Alfie is bringing a girl for his birthday. Clementine.’
Michael raised his eyebrows. There was one bright white hair amidst the darker ones that Elizabeth itched to pull out, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, she reached for the coffee pot and poured him another cup.
‘Do we know her?’ he asked, knowing he was supposed to ask.
‘We couldn’t think of anyone it could be. Alexandra’s coming to inspect.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be gentle with the poor girl.’ Michael shook out the paper before folding it back up neatly into four and smiled at her.
He knew Elizabeth and Alexandra only too well.
They wouldn’t mean to overwhelm, but they were quite a force to be reckoned with, the pair of them.
They had been, ever since they’d arrived at St Mary’s Calne together, and Alexandra had let Elizabeth share her pet mouse, which was her clever way of getting her to feed the animal and clean out its cage.
Elizabeth had been fully aware she was being exploited but she didn’t mind.
She’d loved the mouse, and she’d loved her new friend.
She still adored her. Elizabeth didn’t know what she would do without Alexandra, and would forgive her everything, even her being endlessly, maddeningly late and sometimes rude.
‘I’m just honest,’ Alexandra would say, and it was true.
‘I’m going into Breverton for extra provisions. Do you want to come?’
‘No, I’m going to the factory to go over some figures. It’s too hectic during the week.’
‘Mmm.’ Elizabeth looked at her husband thoughtfully. He was working too hard these days. She couldn’t pretend that didn’t suit her, but she also worried about him. ‘Alfie will be here about half past two. We’ll have tea at three.’
Michael nodded. ‘Shall I ask Maurice to mow the top lawn again?’
Elizabeth gazed out of the window. She had wondered that.
It had been mown on Monday and was already sprouting daisies.
And there was nothing more delicious than the scent of freshly cut grass.
But it would add another layer of frenetic activity to the morning and she wanted to enjoy the preparations, not get herself worked up.
‘I think it’s the perfect length, actually.’
Michael’s eyes followed her gaze. ‘Yes. Yes, I think you’re right.’
How brilliantly expert they were, she thought, at navigating life on the surface.
The little town of Breverton was buzzing, mellow in the May sunshine, light bouncing off the diamond-bright windows, the river shimmering, the lime trees providing much-needed shade for wilting dogs.
Elizabeth parked on the high street and galloped in and out of the shops, accumulating everything she needed and some things she did not – some new soap for the possible guest, a bottle of sherry, clotted cream, even though it was too early for raspberries but an apple Charlotte would be nice for lunch tomorrow.
At last her basket was full to the brim and she couldn’t possibly stuff in anything more.
She made her way back to the car and set the basket on the front seat.
Then she walked down to the bottom of the high street. Outside the Breverton Arms was a red telephone box. She felt in her pocket for the coins she already knew were there. She could fool anybody but herself that this hadn’t been her plan all along.
If anyone saw her and thought it strange that Elizabeth Arbutus was using a public telephone box, she would say she was asking Daisy if they needed lard.
The important thing was to look composed, not as if her heart was about to burst. She put on her serene expression, the one she used when the vicar was at his most tiresome, picked up the receiver and asked to be connected.
The coins were in her right hand, ready to be pushed in as soon as he answered.
Only he didn’t. With every ring, her heart sank a little lower.
And, of course, all she could picture was him tangled up in his sheets, smoking a cigarette, with one arm around some girl, her head resting on his chest, staring up at the ceiling in post-coital wonder.
She would be able to feel his heartbeat, feel his fingers winding themselves amidst her silken strands of hair –
She slammed the receiver back down, bit her lip so sharply she could taste blood, and told herself she had no right to be jealous.
Then congratulated herself that at least now he wouldn’t know she’d called.
She hated him seeing her vulnerability – sometimes, she thought he liked it when she was in a state of agitation.
As she headed back to the car, she felt much happier knowing he hadn’t answered the telephone.
That would have unleashed all sorts of unknowns.
Now she could focus on Alfie’s birthday tea, which was much more important.
She slid back into the driver’s seat and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. What on earth had she been thinking?