Chapter Six
CHAPTER
SIX
Later, when Felicity had gone back downstairs, Violet contemplated her words about not having parents making it easier. Of course Violet had her beloved father and he never cared what she wore, but would her mother have minded? Definitely, she realised. Her godmother judged people’s clothes and she and her mother had been girls together growing up.
Although Athene never said as much, Violet gathered that she hadn’t inherited her mother’s sense of style. She tended to go for comfortable, practical jumpers and skirts. If she was gardening she wore an old pair of jodhpurs that fitted neatly into her wellington boots. When would she be gardening again? Would she ever be able to dig a fork deep into soft, rich soil, prior to growing things once more? Gardening hadn’t been her first love, as it had been for Jenny, but she did get satisfaction and comfort from it.
Not one to dwell on her misfortunes, Violet cleared up the tea things and then ran a bath. There were few things that weren’t improved by submerging oneself in hot, scented water. One part of her London life that she preferred to her old one was the abundance of hot water. Back at home a bath had to be planned for possibly hours beforehand.
Violet made sure she was very slightly early for her tea appointment the next day. She had asked a colleague at the bookshop if it would be all right for her to leave work early and they had said, politely and kindly, that of course it was all right. No one knew what she was doing there anyway.
Lucinda answered the door. ‘Violet, how nice to see you. Do come in. Anna and Felicity are in the kitchen. Sit down by the fire. We’ll have tea as soon as this young man arrives. What can you tell me about him?’
As there was virtually nothing Violet could say about Oliver, she was extremely grateful when Felicity arrived in the room wearing a very pretty apron over what appeared to be a twin-set and pearls and knee-length skirt. Her hair was down but the front was caught back into a black velvet bow. She looked extremely demure and was bearing a plate of madeleines, warm from the oven.
‘Ah! How charming!’ said Lucinda. ‘The smell is supposed to remind us of Proust, is it not. Have you read Proust, Violet? Nor me.’
‘Anna is putting the finishing touches to the cake. I’ll get the sandwiches.’
Just then the doorbell rang and Violet saw panic in Felicity’s expression and irritation in Lucinda’s.
‘Shall I answer the door?’ suggested Violet. ‘Everyone else seems to be busy.’
‘Oh yes, thank you,’ said Lucinda, who got up from her chair so she could adjust her hair in the mirror.
‘Hello, Oliver,’ said Violet when she had wrestled with the various locks and got the door open. ‘How nice to see you again. How are you?’ She spoke loudly, aware that her words were being overheard.
Then she whispered, ‘We have to pretend to know each other rather better than we actually do.’
Oliver nodded. ‘Violet!’ he said, also quite loudly.
‘Do come in,’ said Violet. ‘Let me introduce you to our hostess.’
Violet saw Felicity stuffing her apron behind a cushion.
‘Mrs Cedaro?’ said Violet, not sure of the correct etiquette, ‘do allow me to introduce you to Oliver …’ She racked her brain …
‘Ward,’ he supplied. ‘I never remember people’s surnames.’ He put out his hand and almost bowed. ‘How do you do? Such an honour to meet you. I have met your daughter, of course. You do look very alike.’ He looked around the small group to confirm this and realised that Felicity had fled.
‘I expect Felicity is getting the tea,’ said Violet.
‘How do you do, Oliver,’ said Lucinda, almost giving him her hand to kiss but taking his at the last minute. ‘Very nice to meet you. Do sit down.’
‘I’ll go to the kitchen and see what’s going on,’ said Violet, keen to escape as well as to help.
Anna was piping swirls of chocolate icing on to the cake. Felicity was jumping from foot to foot, holding a plate of sandwiches. Tea things were set out and there was a kettle on the stove but the tea wasn’t made.
‘I want to be there in the drawing room when Anna brings in the cake,’ said Felicity.
‘Then run along with the sandwiches. I’ll warm the pot and then Anna can make the tea when the kettle is boiling again.’ Violet’s father had a housekeeper who got into a state when guests came; it was natural for her to give gentle instructions.
She followed the cake and the sandwiches into the drawing room.
‘I say, what a truly splendid cake!’ said Oliver. ‘Hello, Felicity. How nice to see you again.’
‘Nice to see you too. Isn’t the cake wonderful?’ Felicity added. ‘Anna has gone to so much trouble.’
Anna, who wasn’t accustomed to being praised for her efforts, put the cake down. ‘I do hope you like it. It’s a recipe from my home.’
‘I’m sure it’s delicious, Anna,’ said Lucinda. ‘Now do go and make the tea, please.’
‘Why is that girl making such a fuss about cake?’ she went on when Anna had left the room. ‘It looks extremely fattening.’ She smiled at Oliver. ‘Not that you need to worry about that.’
‘At the risk of sounding like a matinee idol,’ said Oliver, holding Lucinda’s gaze. ‘You don’t need to worry about that either.’
As she sipped tea and ate madeleines, Violet observed Oliver at work. He was charming but not smarmy; polite but not formal. He was, indeed, very good at mothers.
Just as Violet was wondering if being so good at dealing with mothers was necessarily a positive thing, she caught him smiling at Felicity as he took the piece of cake she handed him with a delightful mix of warmth and diffidence and she relaxed. Oliver was very likely just as nice as he seemed. If he’d been less good-looking she wouldn’t have worried in the slightest.
By the time Violet got up to go, Oliver had eaten a huge amount and had almost achieved Lucinda’s total approval. Lucinda had allowed Oliver to write down their telephone number in his little book and said he was very welcome when he thanked her effusively for the tea.
Violet felt she’d made progress with Lucinda too and had managed to get through the tea without making a fool of herself. She was accustomed to country ways, which were less formal. She could barely remember the last time she had served tea in the drawing toom there. But maybe Kiki was doing it daily now.
After their guests had left, Felicity went into the kitchen to help Anna with the washing up. She wanted to avoid being grilled by her mother and float on her bubble of happiness a little longer. She was certain her mother had liked Oliver but knew a certain amount of interrogation was inevitable.
‘Everyone loved the cake, Anna,’ said Felicity, running hot water into the washing-up bowl. ‘Oliver – the young man – had three slices.’
‘I don’t think Mrs Cedaro liked it. Too fattening.’
‘She is always thinking about her figure, but Violet said it was delicious. She was wondering if it was too complicated for someone not from Hungary to make.’
Anna shrugged, obviously delighted by this. ‘If Violet wants a Dobos torte, I will make her one. Tell her, please.’
‘I will. Our sandwiches were good too.’
‘Sandwiches are only good if you make them seconds before you serve,’ said Anna. ‘Otherwise they are always stale.’ She paused. ‘The little cakes you made were very nice.’
Felicity nodded. ‘They are French. I made them to remind myself of home.’
Anna sighed. ‘I made Dobos for the same reason.’
‘It was kind of you to help Anna with the washing up, Felicity,’ said Lucinda a little later. ‘But I hope you wore gloves. Nothing is more disastrous for hands than detergent. Have you some hand cream? Please put some on and then come and tell me what you know about Oliver.’
‘I know very little about him,’ said Felicity, rubbing cream into her hands. ‘But I do like him. Did you?’ She felt she was taking a risk asking her mother this.
‘He was very personable, I must say. And he obviously has a wide circle of friends. It could be useful. As you refused to take part in the Season, he could help you meet the right people and the right young men.’
Felicity rather thought Oliver was the right young man but didn’t challenge her mother. She felt she was winning her over and didn’t want to change that.