Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
David called by early the following Saturday, after an anxious week for Violet during which she had packed a bag with a few little comforts for Jenny. She had put in some nice underwear, a new nightdress, cosmetics and a novel. Felicity had contributed a Mary Quant lipstick that was the wrong colour for her and some ‘Quickies’ – the handbag staple in the blue tin that was brilliant for sticky fingers.
‘Jenny probably won’t need any of these things,’ said Violet apologetically, ‘but I wanted to send something.’
‘Quite right. And fear not. I’ll find her and take her back to the chateau. She can ring you from there so you know she’s all right.’
‘Good!’ said Violet briskly when David had driven off down the road. ‘I’m going to pop down to see Daddy. Kiki is visiting relations. We’ll eat pork pies off our laps, let the dogs on the sofas and have a lovely day. Want to come?’
Felicity declined. ‘It sounds very tempting but I’m going shopping with Maman today. If we try on most of what Peter Jones has to offer, she won’t feel guilty about spending most of Sunday in bed and will be pleased to be rid of me. Which is good as I have a date with Oliver tomorrow.’
‘I do hope shopping will be fun.’
‘My mother is at her best in a large department store. We’ll have lunch and come home in a cab full of large carrier bags. She has a date tonight so will be wearing something new. All will be well.’
‘Well, that’s good. I’m getting the first train so we can have a longish day. I’ll see you tomorrow!’
Violet set off for Waterloo shortly afterwards. She wanted to tell her father about David rescuing Jenny. He would be pleased to hear of it. He’d never been happy about Jenny disappearing into the wilds of Provence.
The following day, Felicity was meeting Oliver at the Victoria and Albert Museum. She borrowed the A–Z that was kept by the telephone directories and set off, giving herself a good half an hour. She was buzzing with the thought of seeing Oliver again, as it had been over a week since the last time.
As promised, he was waiting on the steps for her. He ran down them, took her hand and pulled her up. He was obviously excited.
‘Why are we here, Oliver?’ asked Felicity, happily.
‘Apart from the fact that it’s free and there’s nothing else open on Sundays?’ He laughed. ‘I want to show you why I want to be a jeweller.’
It didn’t take Felicity long to understand. ‘These are so beautiful! And they must be so difficult to make. But remind me how you found out it was what you wanted to do?’
‘I mentioned the friend I take my mudlarking finds to, didn’t I? He used to work in Hatton Garden, the jewellery quarter in London. I’d found a brooch, possibly Tudor, but the stones had come out. I left it with him and the next time I saw him he’d replaced them. He’d used semi-precious stones so the brooch wasn’t intrinsically valuable, but it was beautiful.’
‘But your father—’
‘Wants me to join the army, like my brothers.’ Oliver sighed. ‘He’d probably support me if I wanted to be a lawyer or an accountant or something useful, but he won’t hear of anything artistic.’
‘How does he think you spend your time?’
Oliver gave a rueful laugh. ‘Pretty much as I do spend my time: having a variety of jobs, living from hand to mouth. He assumes I’ll get fed up with it soon and go home. I won’t.’ Oliver took hold of Felicity’s hand again. ‘Come and see what Catherine the Great used to wear. Talk about flamboyant!’
He led Felicity from case to case, showing her details she would never have noticed without him. How some brooches and hair ornaments had sections that trembled when the wearer moved. ‘These were worn before there was electricity. These jewels had to dazzle by candlelight. They would have looked magnificent.’
Seeing the intricate settings of diamonds and rubies, imitating flowers or fruit in minute detail, Felicity had no difficulty in believing him.
Oliver turned to face her. ‘You’re getting tired, I can tell. There’s something about museums, however wonderful they are, that make you suddenly exhausted. Let’s go and have lunch.’
‘OK. It does seem a long time since breakfast,’ said Felicity.
‘I should warn you, it’s a picnic.’
‘Oh,’ said Felicity brightly, trying to overlook the fact that it had been trying to rain earlier. ‘Where will we have it? Under a tree in Kensington Gardens?’
Oliver shook his head. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large key. ‘Better than that. I have this!’
‘What’s that? The key to the magic kingdom?’
‘Almost as good. Come with me!’
In a matter of minutes they were in Thurloe Square and Oliver was opening the gate to the private gardens in the middle of it. ‘I was helping at a party last night and happened to know one of the guests. I explained my predicament and she let me have the key first thing this morning.’
‘How kind of her,’ said Felicity. Although winter had begun, there were a number of trees with blossom that filled the garden with scent. ‘It’s a lovely garden.’
‘All the lovelier because it has an arbour so we can have a little bit of shelter while we eat our lunch. Which is in here.’
He unhooked a green canvas bag from his shoulder. ‘All sorts of little bits from last night’s party all packed by the hostess. I have to give her back the Tupperware box. She included a nearly full bottle of wine.’
‘Oliver! This is amazing!’
It was extremely romantic, Felicity thought. They were alone in the garden, which was like a fragrant oasis in the middle of London. The food, although a little battered, was delicious. Vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, hard-boiled quails’ eggs with curry-flavoured yolks. There were pastry parcels filled with something faintly fishy, but tasty, and cocktail sausages. The wine, which was red, Oliver poured into cardboard cup; it seemed to enhance the meal.
‘It was very kind of your hostess to let you take all this home with you,’ she said.
‘It would have been thrown away otherwise,’ said Oliver. ‘If I’d had a bit more notice I’d have brought proper glasses. I’m not sure the cardboard does justice to the vintage.’
Felicity laughed. ‘I think it tastes fine.’
‘I don’t expect your father would be impressed.’ Oliver sighed.
‘What’s wrong, Oliver? There’s been something worrying you all day. You’ve been your normal, cheerful self on the surface, but underneath – there is a problem.’
‘Well guessed! It’s nothing much really, but it involves disappointing my father – yet again.’
‘Tell me.’
This obviously sounded sufficiently commanding for Oliver to pause. Then he said, ‘When I first met you, I borrowed your address.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I told my father I lived at your address and not on the barge. He’d known about the barge but he made a huge fuss about it. To shut him up – of course I mean to reassure him’ – Felicity laughed obediently – ‘I lied to him, but now I have to confess to him that I don’t live in Cheyne Walk at all, but still live on a barge in Chiswick.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s coming to visit me. He’s getting off the train this evening.’
Felicity didn’t hesitate. ‘Don’t tell him you live on a barge! Carry on pretending you live with us. You could be our lodger! Or Violet’s. She’d help us, I know she would. I just hope she’s back in time.’
Oliver took several minutes to try and persuade her that this was a mad idea, but Felicity wasn’t convinced. If Oliver needed her help, she would give it to him.