Chapter 32 #3
Streams of guests trickled through the door over the next hour, resplendent in their finery.
Taffeta and chiffon and diamonds and fur; black patent shoes and moiré cummerbunds and twenty-four-carat dress studs.
There were shrieks of excitement as trays and trays of champagne were brought around, the crystal glasses winking in the candlelight.
Alexandra arrived, looking like Marie Antoinette in swathes of white satin, then Henrietta swept in, a ship in full sail, followed by Nigel and Freddie and Camilla.
Freddie remembered the last ball, for he’d been with Alfie in the hydrangeas, swigging illicit cider cup.
And then the smallest member of the Breverton choir walked in through the front door, holding a candle, and began to sing the opening verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’.
Everyone fell silent, and there was barely a dry eye as he made his way through the hall, down the corridor and into the drawing room, where the pianist from the band joined in the second verse, along with the rest of the choir.
‘We mustn’t forget about Christmas,’ Elizabeth had thought two weeks earlier, and had telephoned the vicar to arrange it, glad that she had overcome her prejudice and invited him.
He was here now, in his white surplice, and he’d told her he would be slipping away before too long.
People who said that were usually the last to leave.
Elizabeth had wondered if Jasper would actually come.
He had scrawled an RSVP in black ink on the back of a postcard saying he would, but she couldn’t be sure.
Once she would have worried for days whether he’d turn up, but when he did she felt nothing more than mild pleasure, the kind you had on seeing an old friend after a brief absence.
It was nothing like the torrent of lust he’d once ignited in her, that sweet rush through the veins that left her almost mad.
Addictive though that feeling had been, it was a relief for it to be gone, for it had complicated her life far too much, she realised now, and led her into a dangerous place where her decisions were predicated on desire, not common sense.
He was, of course, the kind of man white tie was made for. He looked dashing in a midnight-blue tailcoat as favoured by the Duke of Windsor. She went to kiss him, a brush on each cheek, and this time his fingertips were cool on her skin, where once they would have set her on fire.
‘You look ravishing,’ he told her, dark eyes eating her up.
She smiled her thanks. ‘Remind me where you’re staying?’ She hoped he wasn’t expecting a bed here. The guests were going to be stuffed in like sardines.
‘Oh, I’m not. I’ll drive back tonight. I fly to Paris on Christmas Eve, so there’s much to be done.’
‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Paris at Christmas.’ Once she would have felt sick at the thought of him leaving.
‘That’s what I thought. I’ll wake up in the Georges Cinq and Paris will be my oyster.’
He was still holding on to her arms. Looking into her eyes. She knew what he was after from her. He wanted protest. Regret. Longing. She wasn’t going to give him an inch.
‘Well, I hope Father Christmas can find you. Or should that be Père Noel?’
‘I’m sure he will.’ He let his hands drop. She wasn’t being cold as such, just cool. She felt so much stronger, not being controlled by that terrible urge inside her.
‘Jasper.’ Michael appeared at her side, and held out his hand for Jasper to shake. ‘Merry Christmas. Elizabeth tells me you’re off to Paris.’
‘A new adventure.’ Jasper nodded.
‘Well, perhaps we’ll come and visit. Elizabeth and I have plans to do more together now Alfie and Diana are at the factory.’
Did he know? wondered Elizabeth. Had he suspected?
Had he seen the signs of her obsession? If he had, he’d never said anything, and the strategy had worked, for now, given the choice, she would choose Michael over Jasper every time, for his quiet strength, his dignity, his unshowy handsomeness, his sense of duty and family.
Jasper, by contrast, was flighty, probably unfaithful – though how could you expect fidelity when you were breaking your own marriage vows? – capricious … though he had been fun.
You are my past, thought Elizabeth now. And there you must stay.
After dinner, Stella escaped the midst of the throng, after she’d introduced Harriet to Freddie and Camilla and Monsieur Corbières to Clementine’s parents, and slipped into the hall.
She needed a moment to herself, and this was the quietest place now everyone had arrived.
Most people were either in the dining room, where a bar had been set up, or in the magnificence of the drawing room, where there was a pianist and a huge cauldron of mulled wine for those who preferred it.
She could hear cries of delight as people greeted each other, roars of laughter, the popping of champagne corks.
It all felt a bit overwhelming, and she realised she hadn’t really been to any kind of social event in all the years she’d had Ted.
It was exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure.
She wasn’t quite sure how to behave. She wasn’t shy, she’d never been shy, but she wasn’t really used to polite chitter chat or laughing politely at someone’s terrible joke.
Ted was racing about the place with Paddy in tow, lapping up all the attention, which made her happy, though she must make sure he wasn’t going to become a nuisance.
She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked into huge grey eyes behind heavy spectacle frames and a lopsided smile in a thin face. The wild hair she remembered had been slicked back. Clementine’s half-brother.
‘Ben!’
‘Stella.’ He feigned a double-take. ‘My God, you look as if you’re about to step onto the stage and accept an Oscar.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not quite as dishevelled as I must have been that night. You didn’t see me at my best. Thank you so much again for your mercy dash. I love Monsieur Corbières dearly but he’s not necessarily reliable after six o’clock.’
‘I was talking to him earlier. He’s enjoying himself enormously.’ Ben mimed raising a glass to his lips.
‘Oh dear. I’d better go and find him in a moment. Make sure he doesn’t have too much champagne.’ She was so pleased Mr C had come, but he looked older and frailer than ever, and she hoped the journey and the excitement weren’t too much for him.
‘Ah, he’s having the time of his life. And how’s Ted? I saw him flash past earlier.’
‘Full of beans. I think he’s going to be a party boy like his father.’
She was trying not to stare at him while taking in as much of him as possible.
He must be older than he looked, for although he had a boyish demeanour the laughter lines around his mouth and eyes were quite deep.
She remembered Clementine saying he was awfully clever, that he’d been in the Intelligence Corps in the war.
She found that hard to align with the person in front of her, his face alive with mischief.
His white tie was askew, and he had a fringed silk scarf slung around his neck.
He held up his glass, indicating the paintings on the wall. ‘I came out to have a closer look at these. They’re astonishing.’
‘Oh, I know. I look at them every day and I never tire of them.’
He was looking at the picture of her, frowning.
‘I was quite a bit younger there,’ she told him, thinking he was wasn’t sure if it was her.
‘You’ve hardly changed. It’s extraordinary. It’s so … alive.’
She looked at it again, remembering how she’d felt that day. ‘I’d never felt so alive.’
He put a hand on her elbow. ‘I’m so sorry. That you lost him.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled her appreciation. His fingers felt warm on her skin. She was sorry when he took his hand away.
There was silence for a moment.
‘Clem told me the story, you know,’ Ben began. ‘About seeing you on the train. She’s not usually an interfering sort of person, so it bothered her, whether she’d done the right thing, coming to find you on the boat.’
‘We wouldn’t be here now if she hadn’t. Though at the time, I was … terrified, to be honest. I trusted her, but I wasn’t sure what to do. We’d been on our own for so long.’
‘I’m sorry about the fire, too. It must have been hard, losing everything.’
She nodded. ‘It was losing his stuff that was the worst. Especially all the drawings and sketches. They were like having him with me.’ She hadn’t told anyone this before, but somehow, Ben was easy to talk to.
‘I can imagine. I can almost feel him here now.’ He looked around at the paintings again. ‘I can tell I’d have liked him.’
‘Oh, you would,’ she agreed. ‘And I think he’d have liked you.’
He looked surprised, but pleased. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, for it was quite an intimate observation, but she meant it.
Ben was intriguing. More serious than Clementine had led her to believe, for she had complained of his antics with a fond exasperation.
Or perhaps serious was the wrong word. Thoughtful?
Certainly not as flighty as you might think, given his flamboyant dress.
‘I’m so glad,’ he was telling her now, ‘that Clem found Alfie. I was getting worried about her. I was dreading her settling for second best. But the minute I met him, I knew he was right. A safe pair of hands, but not a stuffed shirt.’
‘Alfie’s wonderful,’ she said.
‘It’s hard, isn’t it, getting the right balance in people?’ he said. ‘If someone’s too much fun, they can end up being a nuisance.’
He sighed, and she wondered who he was thinking about. ‘Is that the voice of experience?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve as good as given up. I’m a terrible picker when it comes to women. I think I want fun and then I end up picking up the pieces, and then they think I’m trying to spoil their fun.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said, teasing. ‘Well, you’ll have to try for someone a bit more sensible.’