Chapter 14
After a week at Foxwood, Clementine was feeling a little stronger, both physically and emotionally, and a trickle of kindness from various corners had restored her spirits.
Ben had sent a cake down from Fortnum’s and Alexandra a basket of fruit.
Please let me know when you are next in town, her note had said.
Daisy had embroidered her a little heart on a white handkerchief, and had brought it to her, shyly.
‘It’s something to remember the baby,’ she explained. ‘So as not to forget the poor little thing.’
She burst into tears and Clementine went to hug her then burst into tears too, touched by the girl’s thoughtfulness.
‘It’s all right, Daisy,’ she said. ‘These things happen.’ She was echoing Sister Milner.
‘They shouldn’t though, should they?’
‘No.’ Daisy’s response was heartfelt, and Clementine thought about the fiancé she had lost, and how she looked after them all and never complained. How did grief make some people selfless and others transgress?
Daisy looked at Clementine gravely. ‘It’s what this house needs. A baby.’
And she hurried away, suspecting she had said too much. Clementine watched after her. She was probably right. Babies put everything into perspective.
Henrietta had phoned her, eventually, in floods.
‘I kept picking up the telephone to call you,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t know what to say. Oh, Clementine. It’s too awful. I can’t bear it. I wish I was nearer.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased to hear from you.’ Clementine felt relieved. She didn’t want the miscarriage to come between her and her friend. ‘I’m coming up to London next week to see Dr Shaw. Let’s meet for lunch.’
She spent the afternoon writing thank-you notes on Foxwood notepaper.
Cream vellum with a crest of a fox at the top.
The black ink flowed beautifully across the thick paper, and it made her feel better, almost as if she was drawing a line under the whole sorry affair.
Thank you so very much for your kind thoughts.
It means the world to me and Alfie at such a sad time.
‘There should be some stamps in the bureau,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘If we’ve run out, I can get some more when I go to Breverton later.’
Clementine headed into the little sitting room.
It was fast becoming her favourite room in the house, so much more cosy than the formal drawing room next door.
She loved curling up on one of the sofas, reading a book, watching Joey and Maurice pottering about in the garden.
And everyone came here at six o’clock for a drink before dinner.
It was clustered with beautiful things, family photographs and mementoes and ornaments, like an Arbutus museum.
The bureau was tucked into a corner underneath a window, a pretty writing desk with an inlaid lid which lifted to reveal one large drawer, inside which were several smaller drawers with mother-of-pearl knobs.
She made her way through them. The third was a little stuck, and she had to tug at it.
It was full to the brim with pieces of card, stacked so haphazardly that the drawer was jammed, so she pulled them out to make them tidy.
They were invitations. Dozens of them, on thick white card with a gold edge. As she sorted through them she gradually realised they were all different, but all to the same event:
On THE LONGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR
the pleasure of your company
is requested at
THE SNOW BALL
Foxwood
Nr Breverton
Somerset
Each one was illustrated, with the year inscribed in the top right-hand corner.
There were garlands of holly and ivy, intricate snowflakes, fir trees, candelabras, a horse-drawn sleigh, a snowman, skaters, robins, a sugar-plum fairy, a plum pudding, each one painstakingly drawn in pen and ink.
The very last one was dated 1939, and on it was a jolly Father Christmas sitting with his legs spread out in front of a fireplace, a glass of port in his right hand.
‘We never sent that one in the end.’
Clementine jumped. She hadn’t heard Elizabeth come in.
‘I’m sorry – the drawer was jammed. I was just looking for the stamps –’ How awful, if Elizabeth thought she was snooping.
Elizabeth picked up the invitation. ‘Edwin drew it in the summer, before war broke out, when we still had hope.’ She sighed.
‘The Snow Ball’s been a tradition in Michael’s family for years.
They started it before the first war. It was always on the longest night – December the twenty-first …
’ She trailed off, lost in the memory. ‘Edwin started decorating them when he was about twelve.’ She leafed through them. ‘See – there’s his first.’
She showed Clementine a stack of beribboned Christmas presents piled up on a sledge. It was definitely less polished than the later ones, but Edwin’s talent still shone out.
‘It must have been great fun.’
‘Oh, it was. Everybody from around here came, and friends from London, and we dressed up in white and ate and drank and danced and laughed until we collapsed. It was hysterical. Bodies everywhere, tucked into every nook and cranny. It took weeks to get ready but it was worth it, even if it did go in a flash …’ She looked down at the last, unsent invitation once again.
‘It didn’t seem right to hold it that year, once war broke out.
And as the war went on, of course, there was rationing and no one wanted to travel, although perhaps it would have done us all good.
We could have done something smaller perhaps. We could have made do. But we didn’t.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘If Edwin had still been here, he would have made us revive it, that very first Christmas after the war ended.’ She looked at Clementine, her eyes diamond-bright with tears.
‘It was his ball, really, by the end. He took over the organising, when he was about eighteen. He loved dressing up, dancing, pretty girls …’ Elizabeth was lost in her memories.
‘It seems a shame,’ said Clementine eventually, ‘to stop it for ever. When it was a family tradition.’
‘I know. And Edwin would be furious with us. I can hear him now. What’s the point in moping, just because I’ve gone?’
Clementine paused for a moment, cautious, because she didn’t want to encourage Elizabeth to embark on something she might regret, but the ball had captured her imagination.
She pictured fires burning bright, candlelight, tables groaning with food, guests arriving at the door, the pop of champagne corks …
‘Perhaps it’s time to revive it?’
Elizabeth looked down at the invitation. ‘The invitation’s here, ready to be printed. We’d just need to change the year.’
‘I could help,’ offered Clementine. ‘I need something to do.’
She had decided she wouldn’t go back to the gallery just yet. She still had a tendency to get weepy when she least expected it. And she was rather glad of the break. Clementine was far from lazy, but losing the baby had been a shock. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.
Elizabeth clasped her hands together, deep in thought for a moment. ‘We could start small,’ she said. ‘Just to see how it goes, to get everyone back into the swing of it. It would be the perfect way for you to meet everyone you haven’t met yet.’
Was this a dig at her, for not wanting a big wedding?
Clementine didn’t think so. Elizabeth wasn’t one to take a swipe.
She was surprisingly easy-going. And immensely kind.
Quite the opposite of what you expected when you saw her, for she was effortlessly glamorous, like an exotic bird flittering through Foxwood.
She fascinated Clementine. She seemed such a mass of contradictions, bouncing from warm and caring and concerned to vain and nervy and aloof in the blink of an eye.
Perhaps that was what having an affair did to you?
Harbouring a secret like that meant you never quite knew how you were supposed to behave.
‘How many people, do you think?’ she asked her now.
‘Let’s say … sixty?’
Clementine blinked. That didn’t sound small to her.
‘Drinks, dinner, dancing,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘We have bowls of punch everywhere and a huge buffet, and breakfast before everyone leaves, of course, to send them on their merry way.’ Her face clouded. ‘I suppose I’d better ask Daisy what she thinks.’
‘I expect she’d love it.’ Clementine thought Daisy always seemed happiest when she was cooking for a crowd.
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. She tapped the invitation against the palm of her hand.
‘I’d better speak to Michael first. Then Daisy.
If I get their seal of approval, then we can get going.
’ She smiled at Clementine. ‘Thank you. I would never have thought of it if you hadn’t found the invitations.
And you’re right. It absolutely is time. ’
She pulled out another of the drawers and extracted a stamp.
And then she was gone, a whirlwind with a mission.
Clementine flicked through the remaining invitations, imagining all those years when the house rang with music and laughter.
The ball was just what the house needed, to chase away the last lingering shadows and bring the light back in.
‘I think it’s a terrible idea.’
Elizabeth was shocked. It wasn’t like Michael to put his foot down about something.
He was usually so easy-going, and went along with whatever she planned.
But he almost threw the invitation back at her, flicking it onto the side table next to the sofa.
The fire had been lit, and he was three sips into a Scotch and soda before dinner.
It had seemed the perfect time to broach the subject, when he’d shuffled off the burden of the working day and was starting to relax.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those days are gone, Elizabeth. It won’t ever be the same.’