Chapter Four
CHAPTER
FOUR
Violet liked cooking and was enjoying the prospect of company. Felicity and Oliver both seemed delightful.
‘ Et voilà, ’ said Felicity when she had extracted the cork from the bottle. ‘If you tell me where I can find glasses, I could pour. We want to drink it now? The wine doesn’t need to breathe?’
‘It probably should breathe,’ said Violet, opening the bread bin and finding a loaf. ‘But we definitely want to drink it now. And you do have a very charming accent, if I may say so.’
Oliver, wearing the dressing gown, appeared in the kitchen. ‘It is indeed. Very charming.’
Felicity went pink. ‘It irritates my mother. I think she prefers not to be reminded that she abandoned us when we were very small – left us living with our papa. Naturally French is my first language.’
‘But you speak fluent English,’ said Oliver.
‘Well, my grandmother is English, of course, but she lives near us in France. She made sure that we spoke English properly. And we had an English nanny.’
‘Did you?’ said Oliver, obviously intrigued. ‘That gives us something in common as I did too. And did yours wear a uniform, was very strict and have hairs sprouting from random parts of her face?’
This made Felicity giggle, obviously thinking how unlike her own nanny Oliver’s sounded. ‘Certainly not! She is very beautiful. Anyway, she wasn’t our nanny for long because she married my father.’
‘Ah!’ said Oliver. ‘Even better. You have a wicked stepmother!’
This made Felicity laugh even more. ‘Pah! My mother’s man friend said more or less the same thing when I first arrived! Why do people keep assuming Alexandra is wicked because she is a stepmother? In fact, she is not at all wicked and is only a few years older than I am. I was far too old to have a nanny when she came.’
Oliver sighed. ‘I’m disappointed. I was depending on you to have a stepmother that I could rescue you from. Can I help?’ he said to Violet.
Violet handed him an onion, a chopping board and a knife. ‘Can you handle onions?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well done,’ said Violet.
‘Do give me a job too,’ said Felicity. ‘What are you making?’
‘Welsh rarebit, which is nothing to do with animals, you may be glad to hear. I need breadcrumbs and the bread is too fresh really. The onions are my own variation.’
‘I will chop the bread,’ said Felicity. ‘I know all about Welsh rarebit. When Alexandra first came to us, all there was to eat was stale bread and hard cheese.’
‘That must have been challenging for a young English girl just starting a new job,’ said Violet. ‘Why was there only bread and cheese?’
Felicity shrugged. ‘The housekeeper had left. There was nothing else. And I’m ashamed to say that my brother and I weren’t at all helpful.’
‘How old were you?’ asked Violet.
‘Fifteen. My father employed Alexandra for Stéphie really. She’s my little sister.’
‘How old was she when your nanny arrived?’
‘Eight or nine, I think,’ said Felicity.
Violet pursed her lips but didn’t comment on how young this little girl must have been when her mother left the family. Her own mother had died when she was about that age.
Something in her manner must have indicated how she felt about this because Felicity said, ‘Stéphie isn’t my real sister. My father adopted her when she was tiny.’
Violet, embarrassed that her disapproval had been evident, smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t appear judgemental.’
‘It is confusing,’ said Felicity. ‘My brother and I adore her and she feels like a proper sister to us, but Lucinda wasn’t her mother.’
Violet smiled. ‘I’m glad.’
‘My mother isn’t very maternal,’ Felicity went on. Violet nodded, not wishing to comment. ‘Alexandra was very kind to Stéphie. It’s what first made me and my brother warm to her.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that.’ Violet smiled again, pleased that Felicity had felt she could confide in her. ‘Now I must make toast. I love having a toaster here,’ she went on. ‘At home we do it under the grill.’
Soon the three of them were sitting round the table, eating and drinking. But the moment Oliver had finished, he got up, obviously feeling awkward.
‘Er – Violet?’ he said. ‘Could I possibly use your telephone? I must tell my hostess that I can’t go to their party.’
‘But there is a dinner jacket and trousers here that you could borrow—’ said Violet.
‘It’s very kind of you but I looked at them and they are enormous,’ Oliver explained. ‘Besides, I think the party here is infinitely more enjoyable than the one that I was going to would have been.’ He laughed. ‘Actually, that’s hardly fair. The one I was going to was always going to be grim, full of people my father would like me to mix with.’
‘Oh …’
‘I’ll take flowers tomorrow, but I must cancel tonight,’ he said.
Violet gestured towards the hallway. ‘There’s the telephone; please use it.’
When Oliver had telephoned his hostess he returned to the table. ‘She was very unhappy with me. As so often is the case, she was short of “debs’ delights”.’ Aware that Felicity was looking blank he went on to explain. ‘That means young men of the right age and background to dance with young women who are debutantes.’
‘Debutantes are young women of a certain class who do “the season”,’ Violet began to explain, aware how bizarre it must sound to someone who was not familiar with the concept of the tea parties, dances, balls and other entertainments designed so the right young people could meet each other and possibly marry. She cleared her throat before trying to continue her explanation.
‘It’s all right,’ Felicity broke in. ‘Alexandra explained all of this to me. My mother would have wanted me to join in, but I didn’t like the idea, and my father wasn’t in favour. He says he wants me to meet all sorts of people. Besides, I’m going to art school next year. There’s no point in meeting my future husband yet.’
‘You are very young,’ said Violet, suppressing her romantic hopes for Felicity and Oliver. Maybe her own lack of romantic prospects had turned her into a matchmaker. She happened to notice that Oliver, as he refilled the glasses, looked cast down. ‘But you should look on this time in London as an opportunity to have fun.’
Felicity nodded. ‘That’s what Alexandra said.’
Oliver smiled, possibly to hide his feelings. ‘I’m still disappointed that your stepmother isn’t wicked. Not that I wish you had a miserable girlhood, but the idea is so romantic.’
‘I don’t know if this helps your romantic notions, but my mother disapproves of her a lot,’ said Felicity.
‘Understandable if she stole your father from her – there are so many tales of how the father of the house goes off with the much younger nanny, leaving the good and faithful wife devastated.’
‘It was not like that at all. My mother disapproves of my stepmother because she is – what is the expression? – a free spirit? She is very kind, however.’
‘If you want a wicked stepmother,’ said Violet. ‘I have one.’ She got up from the table to find the box of chocolates her godmother had left for her.
‘Really?’ said Felicity.
‘Then I do hope I haven’t offended you, making jokes about it,’ said Oliver.
‘Well, when I say she’s my stepmother, she hasn’t actually married my father yet, but it is definitely her intention.’ Violet came back to the table and took the lid off the box.
‘Are you going to tell us more? The English are quite reluctant to talk about their feelings, I find,’ said Felicity. ‘But don’t let me embarrass you,’ she added hurriedly.
‘No, it’s perfectly all right.’ Violet was wondering why she suddenly felt the desire to confide in these two young people when she had talked to so few people about it. ‘Do have a chocolate. And shall I find the bottle of port my godmother left?’
‘Maybe a small glass,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve already blotted my copybook so much tonight by missing the party I may as well wake up with a hangover.’
‘Oliver, would you mind getting the glasses? They’re in that cupboard.’
Felicity refused the port. ‘Are you going to tell us?’ she asked instead.
Oliver had opened the bottle Violet had produced and now poured a small amount into the glasses he had found.
‘My life went wrong when my father came into money,’ said Violet. ‘I know that’s not what’s supposed to happen when an ancient, very distant relative leaves you everything. It’s supposed to be good news.’
Felicity made a Gallic-sounding sound of dissent. ‘Money can change things, cause problems. Go on.’
Violet wondered what made Felicity say that and decided she’d have to find out one day. ‘In this case it meant women suddenly saw my father as marriageable material. My own feelings, which are probably very naive, are that you either want to marry someone or you don’t. Your feelings are what matter, not how much money you have in the bank.’
‘I do hope you’re right,’ said Oliver. ‘I have no money in my bank.’
Violet saw him glance at Felicity, which told her that he was already smitten.
‘Sadly, Oliver, not everyone is as high-minded as we are,’ Violet went on.
‘And …?’ Felicity prompted.
‘This woman – we knew her, but she had never given my father and me the time of day, living as we do – did – in a large and very ramshackle house. But the moment word got round that my father was now a peer and wealthy, she came round with a homemade stew – she called it something much grander – offering commiserations. My father, who is perfectly in his right mind normally, fell under the influence of too much make-up and cheap perfume and – to be fair – delicious stew.’ Then Violet laughed. ‘It was probably just the right amount of make-up, actually, and I have no idea how much her scent cost.’
‘These things are not always important,’ said Felicity, sounding wise.
‘Anyway, this woman spent a lot of time courting my father, who really is old enough to know better – he’s fifty-two – and convinced him she was homeless and could she have a teeny-tiny corner of our great mansion to live in!’ She cleared her throat. ‘To be fair again, she didn’t mention the great mansion, but she did say “teeny-tiny corner”.’
‘Reason enough to hate her, just for that,’ said Oliver.
Violet nodded. ‘I thought so. Anyway, it turned out she wasn’t homeless at all; she’d just rented out her cottage. But by the time we found out about this, she’d made a cosy little apartment in the sunny part of the house and my father looked as if he might move in with her any moment.’ She took a sip of port. ‘And then, to make it all so much worse, my best friend, who I’ve known all my life, decided to up sticks and go and live in France so she could learn about traditional farming methods from some mad old man. He’d written a book that Jenny had read. She wrote to him saying how useful the book was and he invited her out to stay with him.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Oliver.
‘Why would she want to know about farming?’ asked Felicity. ‘Is she a farmer?’
‘It’s not quite as mad as it sounds. He was a specialist in gardening and husbandry before people added chemicals. Jenny is fascinated by things like that.’ Violet took a breath. ‘She said she could learn so much from him and that looking after him in return was a fair exchange.’
She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Jenny. Her decision seemed so hasty to Violet, but Jenny insisted that now was the moment and she wanted to do something different and meaningful with her life, and wanted to learn from this man who had become a fount of knowledge to gardeners and smallholders.
‘I tried to persuade her to stay, that she didn’t need to go to France for all that stuff. We had already turned the walled garden of my house into a market garden. We used to sell to local people.’ She sighed. ‘I must stop thinking it’s all still there. It’s not. It’ll be a mass of weeds by now.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ said Oliver, who seemed to Violet to have impeccable manners, ‘if you are a market gardener, why are you living in London?’
‘Apart from not really being a market gardener, except by default, did I explain about my godmother, Athene?’ Violet asked.
‘Not really,’ said Felicity.
‘Well, I told her about the woman—’
‘Whose name is …?’ said Oliver. ‘Not that I care about her but it’s easier if she has a name.’
Violet made a small noise of disgust. ‘It’s Kiki.’
‘Isn’t that the name of a parrot in a book?’ asked Felicity.
‘It must be a nickname,’ said Oliver. ‘She’s probably called Susan and wanted something more exciting.’
Violet looked at him gratefully. He seemed to understand. ‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘Anyway, when Athene heard about Kiki she insisted I come and live here because she was going away. So now I find myself in a very smart flat in the best part of town.’ She paused. ‘I’ll get used to it,’ she added. ‘Have another chocolate.’
‘They are delicious,’ said Felicity. ‘Charbonnel et Walker – I must remember the name. My grandmother told me that chocolate in England was disgusting and not fit to eat.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘People are very snooty about the sort of chocolates you buy in newsagent’s, but I’m very fond of some of them.’
‘Me too!’ said Violet.
Felicity shrugged. ‘I don’t know where these were bought but I think even my grandmother would approve.’
‘I’m glad you like them. Anyhow, now my charming, intelligent father is being fed by the woman named after a parrot. At least she has her own apartment within the house. I’m hoping the rest of the house is too large and untidy for her to encroach upon.’ The thought of Kiki, whom she and Jenny referred to between themselves as That Woman, applying her idea of good taste to the timeless charm and comfortable shabbiness of her old home was too awful to imagine.
Felicity considered. ‘What was it that this Kiki fed to your father? I don’t think we have “stew” in France.’
‘I think you do,’ said Oliver, ‘only you probably call it something more appetising, like boeuf bourguignon.’
‘Ah!’ said Felicity. ‘That’s what stew is?’
‘Not always,’ said Violet. ‘Stew can be disgusting.’ She paused. ‘I do wish I could say Kiki’s food is disgusting, but it really isn’t. Felicity, will your mother be back yet? It would be awful if she arrived home and you weren’t there.’
Felicity looked at her watch. ‘It’s all right. She said she would be home by half past ten at the latest. It is only a quarter to nine now.’
‘And I’ve already missed my party …’
‘So we may as well continue having a party here,’ said Violet. ‘Have another chocolate, everyone. I’m going to make coffee.’
‘Let me do it,’ said Oliver. ‘Please.’
Violet patted the sofa next to her and Felicity sat down. Oliver, who was apparently very at home in someone else’s kitchen, was grinding coffee beans. ‘So do you like London, Felicity?’
‘I hope I will,’ said Felicity. ‘I don’t like it much so far. Alexandra said I’d find nice girls to be friends with on my secretarial course but I haven’t. They are not like me in any way.’
‘But how many days have you been there?’ asked Violet, trying to be encouraging.
‘Only three, but they call me the French girl and sniff at my clothes which are so much nicer than their horrible ones.’
‘Horrible?’
‘Yes! They wear round-necked jumpers that make their chins look fat and hairy skirts. Sometimes with checks. And always a little pearl necklace and little pearl earrings.’ She sighed.
Violet laughed. ‘I’ve worn a few hairy skirts myself in my time, it’s what the English – well, everyone – calls tweed. It’s very warm.’
Felicity shrugged. ‘It may be warm, but it isn’t stylish.’
Oliver brought in a tray of cups and a pot of coffee. ‘I haven’t heated the milk, I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘I never bother to do that,’ said Violet.
‘Don’t you?’ said Oliver. ‘For my father, it’s essential.’
Violet sensed there was a story behind this casual remark, but it probably wasn’t the time to dig deeper.
‘How are you going to get home?’ asked Felicity. ‘I’m worried about you.’
Oliver laughed. ‘I’ll walk home. No need to worry. I’m a Londoner – walking is how a lot of us get about.’
‘But your bicycle was stolen,’ persisted Felicity. ‘Can I lend you money for a taxi?’
‘Certainly not. You know I couldn’t accept it,’ said Oliver lightly yet firmly. ‘But I would very much like to see you again.’
Felicity flushed and looked at Violet. ‘Would this be permitted? I am not sure what is acceptable in England and, for obvious reasons, I can’t ask my mother.’
‘I think it would be fine if you introduce Oliver as a friend of mine,’ said Violet. ‘Perhaps you could invite Oliver over to have tea? Having got permission from your mother first, of course.’ She frowned. ‘Although that might not be possible if Oliver has a job.’
Felicity looked between Oliver and Violet.
‘I think that sounds very appropriate,’ said Oliver. ‘And while I do have a job – several, in fact – the hours are flexible.’
‘What do you do?’ asked Violet.
‘Well, for one of them, I work in a pub and a restaurant, and another I help out with the other barges when I’m needed.’ He paused. ‘What I really want to do is become a jeweller. But my father won’t hear of it.’ He paused again and took a breath. ‘I do realise they’re not the sort of jobs you can boast about to your friends, but I am very good with mothers on the whole.’
‘Is it because you sound like my friend David when you speak? He is an actor,’ said Felicity.
‘It’s partly that,’ Oliver agreed. ‘But I can be very charming and polite when I need to be.’
‘Q.E.D. – as my father would say. As you have demonstrated,’ Violet added.
‘How will I get in touch with you?’ asked Felicity. ‘Do you have a telephone?’
‘Only for emergency use. But you can write to me.’
‘And if you like, you could telephone me, Oliver,’ said Violet. ‘I can get a message to Felicity.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ said Oliver.
When telephone numbers had been shared (Felicity felt she also should have Violet’s, just in case), Oliver got up to go.
‘Are you sure you’re happy to walk home?’ Violet said as she helped him into his still muddy coat.
‘Very happy. Thank you so much, Violet. You have been very kind.’
Oliver and Felicity exchanged shy, slightly longing looks and then Oliver was gone.
Felicity’s longing look became questioning when it was transferred to Violet.
‘Do you think he’s nice?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Violet. ‘And I think he’ll easily be able to charm your mother into liking him.’ She paused. ‘But even covered in mud, he’s very good-looking, and lots of girls will find him attractive.’
‘What are you saying? Can you be frank, please?’
‘I couldn’t be certain that he wouldn’t break your heart. If you gave it to him, of course.’
Felicity laughed awkwardly. ‘I’d better keep my heart safe then, and not give it to mud-covered young men who can get on with my mother.’
‘I’m not saying don’t give him a chance!’ said Violet, worried in case she’d been over-protective. ‘Do ask him to tea!’
Felicity nodded. ‘I will. And I’ll invite you too, Violet.’
After thanking Violet effusively, Felicity made her way downstairs.
Violet got out her writing case and started another letter to Jenny, even though she had posted one to her just hours before. She found corresponding with her friend a pleasure. She enjoyed thinking of things to include that would amuse Jenny, as she loved getting letters, however long they took to reach her. Jenny wrote back about her life in France. Although she hadn’t said as much Violet felt that it wasn’t the bucolic dream she had envisaged when she had rushed off to deepest Provence.
She seated herself at the little desk and began: ‘Dear Jenny, Well, things are a lot jollier that they were when I wrote to you only hours ago! I have met the most entertaining young couple …’