Chapter Thirty-Three
It was Sunday evening and emerging from King’s College Chapel with the rest of the congregation, Venetia buttoned her coat and glanced around to see where Ronnie was.
They’d managed to get separated in the mêlée of worshippers filing out, many of whom looked like tourists and probably there for the sense of theatre, which was not in short supply in such splendid surroundings.
She for one had enjoyed the display of such a time-honoured ritual immensely.
The choir had sung beautifully, their voices combining with the swell of the organ notes soaring as though to heaven itself through the magnificent, vaulted roof.
She had never been a regular churchgoer, but she was certainly partial to what might be termed as the high notes of the religious calendar – Christmas and Easter, along with weddings, baptisms, and funerals – the latter occurring increasingly more frequent for her these days.
When Ronnie had asked her if she’d like to attend Choral Evensong with him, she’d been surprised, and he’d known it.
‘What, you thought I was too much of a philistine to want to do something like that?’ he’d said.
‘Do not put words into my mouth, Ronnie Sharp,’ she’d told him sternly. ‘I’m merely surprised that you would want me to join you.’
He’d laughed. ‘Good recovery, I’ll grant you that. So how about it, do you fancy an hour of mystical malarky with me? We could go for dinner afterwards if you’re up for it.’
‘When you put it like that, how could I possibly refuse?’
Still waiting for Ronnie, a brisk wind sweeping across the great court that led down to the River Cam, Venetia scolded herself again for the assumption she had made about him.
She, of all people, should know better than to pigeon-hole anyone too hastily.
The more time she spent in Ronnie’s company, the more she liked him.
She saw herself in the role of friend, a friend to whom he could talk quite openly because she was outside of his normal circle of friends, acquaintances or business associates.
When she’d driven him to Addenbrooke’s for his appointment to see the consultant he had been as fidgety as a child in the passenger seat next to her, and from the tiredness etched on his face, he’d looked like he’d passed a sleepless night.
She had suggested she accompany him inside, but he’d pursed his lips and shaken his head.
‘No need,’ he’d said gruffly, ‘I’d sooner face my fate alone. ’
At his pessimism she’d given his arm a reassuring squeeze, hoping to transmit support and encouragement through the sleeve of his coat.
She’d then watched him walk away, shoulders hunched, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.
Wishing he had allowed her to go with him, if only to hang around a waiting room while he saw the consultant, she had reluctantly driven away.
To fill the time, she’d driven the short distance to Wandlebury Country Park where she’d taken Bon-Bon for a walk.
When she returned to the hospital, after receiving a text from Ronnie that the ‘quack’ had now finished with him, she could see at once the change in his bearing; the twinkle had come back into his eye, and he was smiling broadly and clutching a small paper bag.
‘Cancer be damned, it’s nothing but a stupid stomach ulcer, and it’ll take more than that to finish off this old fella!’ he’d joked with cheerful bravado. ‘Let’s go and celebrate,’ he’d then said.
‘Will your stomach cope?’ she’d asked with a frown.
‘Sure it will, mind over matter now that I know what’s wrong. Plus, I’m fully loaded with medication which the consultant has prescribed for me.’ He’d waved the paper bag in front of her.
That had been earlier this week and as if imbued with a new sense of gung-ho energy, Ronnie had been busy sorting out his affairs in Majorca. He hadn’t elaborated on what he was discussing with the lawyers whenever Venetia spoke to him, and she hadn’t pursued it.
‘There you are,’ she said when Ronnie finally appeared through the doorway of the college chapel.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘I got chatting with a couple of Americans. How about dinner? Shall we risk it at The Ivy, seeing as it’s a short hop away?’
‘What’s the attraction of Choral Evensong for you?’ Venetia asked when they had ordered their meal, and a waitress had brought them their drinks – a Diet Coke for Ronnie and a Bloody Mary for her.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Are we back to you thinking that I don’t seem the sort?’
‘If I’m honest, yes.’
‘Well, to satisfy your curiosity, it’s always had an appeal for me, ever since I sang in the school choir as a boy treble. Yeah, I know, it’s hard to imagine me as an angelic choirboy, isn’t it?’
She smiled. ‘Where was that?’
‘Home was in Middlesex, but I went to a very minor public school in Derbyshire. It was pretty bleak, your typical institution where you either swam or sank, and for me, not being particularly sporty or academic, the one thing I did seem good at was singing in the choir. But then my voice broke, and it was never the same again and I became more interested in earning money. And girls. Of course.’
‘Both of which you excelled at I don’t doubt,’ she said with a raised eyebrow.
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ he replied with a laugh.
‘Did you never go back to singing again?’
‘Only in the shower or in the car on my own. But enough about me, tell me some more about your time at Hope Hall when it was a children’s home.’
She had only recently shared with him that she had grown up at the Hall but hadn’t gone into too much detail with him, merely satisfying his initial show of interest and then changing the subject.
‘I’m not sure there’s much more to tell you,’ she said, just as a waitress brought them their food – they each had chosen the turbot with shrimps and a dish of fries to share.
When the girl had gone, Ronnie said, ‘Was it a happy time for you? I ask the question out of genuine curiosity, given that we were both institutionalised at a young age, so in some ways I would imagine we had similar experiences.’
‘It was a happy time,’ she answered, ‘but then you have to understand, it was the only life I knew, I knew no other way of being. It was harder for children who came to Hope Hall when they’d previously experienced what you might call a proper home environment.’
‘We never miss what we never know, so goes the old adage,’ Ronnie commented thoughtfully.
‘Exactly. I was definitely one of the lucky ones.’
‘But weren’t you interested about your origins, your mother who abandoned you and whoever your father was?’
‘I’m often asked that,’ she said, ‘and my answer is always the same, that I just accepted my life for what it was.’
‘Because you were happy?’
‘Yes. If the woman who gave birth to me hadn’t wanted me, then I didn’t want or need her. That was how I felt. Which you probably think was harsh of me, even judgemental, but I was a child, and children always see things very simplistically.’
‘Did your attitude change as an adult?’
‘Not really. I was busy getting on with my life, trying to look forwards rather than back.’
‘What about friends?’ Ronnie asked, adding salt to his fish, then helping himself to some fries, and making Venetia wonder if he shouldn’t be taking more care, given he had an ulcer. ‘Was it easy to make friends in that environment?’
‘I was something of a loner and naturally self-contained,’ she said, ‘I still am really. Back then I never looked at the world through a lens of me, as I would venture to say so many young folk do today. For most of us at Hope Hall, it was always a case of we, and what we could do to make life better for those around us. That was Lady Constance’s philosophy, she taught us to look outwards, beyond the self.
In many ways, she was ahead of her time, a visionary. ’
‘It sounds like she was a huge influence in your life.’
‘She was.’
‘I can’t say that I experienced anyone at my old school who influenced me so inspirationally. But I did have one really good friend. We’re still in touch, all these years on. What about you? Did you make a close friend, even though you were something of a loner?’
‘There was one,’ she replied. ‘He became a very special friend from when I was twelve.’ Venetia then explained about Lucien coming to the Hall and Lady Constance appointing her to take care of him and how close they became.
‘We were practically inseparable,’ she said, ‘kindred spirits you could say.’
‘Was he your first love?’
Venetia found herself blushing, which was ridiculous after all this time. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Did it go the distance?’
‘That would depend on how you measure distance, or what it implies.’
‘First kiss, then?’
She nodded.
‘First time—’
‘I’m certainly not going to answer that,’ she interrupted him severely.
He smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’
‘Take it any way you like, you cheeky devil.’
Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he said, ‘So what happened next, did your childhood romance fizzle out all of its own accord?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Did the lad break your heart? Or,’ he said as if hit with sudden insight and inspiration, ‘perhaps you cruelly broke his? Yes, I can see it now, the beautiful young Venetia spurning the boy’s ardent affection for her!’
She tutted. ‘What a lot of nonsense you do speak, Ronnie.’
‘I can’t help it, I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.’
‘Well, it was nothing as silly as you’ve just suggested. No hearts were broken,’ she lied. ‘We grew up and drifted apart.’