I smiled. ‘Like my brother.’ Hampered only slightly by spiced pork and delicious pastry, I recounted my story of Edward’s hair-raising journey from Singapore to Sumatra and thence to Ceylon. ‘Edward told me once that he was a wharf rat of long-standing, and that I should trust him. So I did.’
The French windows were being opened to admit fresh air and allow guests to drift out onto a scruffy lawn which in weak sunlight looked inviting. Without discussing it we moved towards the glass doors and crossed the threshold into the early afternoon, strolling until we were upwind of a band of determined cigar-smokers.
‘So what’s your creed, then, Mrs Parr?’
‘Ellen, please.’
‘Ellen. Does your paganism include a hereafter?’
His tone was very light. It didn’t feel like an interrogation. I smiled.
‘I believe in the beeches in Pipehouse Wood. I can’t think of anything more sensible than to worship them. And the downland flora on Beacon Hill. I believe we go down into the earth and disintegrate.’ I thought for a moment. ‘And then – how do I put this – bits of us turn into bits of other living things. A piece of moss, or a beech leaf, or an orchid. Or a raindrop. Which is as it should be, because we only came together in the first place, via a few links in the chain, from pieces of moss and beech leaves and rain. And it never stops, all through time.’
‘I see.’ He sipped his drink. His eyes over the rim of the glass were keen, amused, serious. ‘Well. That’s the Resurrection demolished!’
‘Yes, unfortunately.’ I was smiling. ‘But not the Life.’
A robust figure emerged through the French windows. Margaret Dennis, striding towards us in tartan skirt and frilly blouse. She greeted the vicar affectionately. ‘Lovely party. Couldn’t get near you to say hello, goodbye or how d’you do.’
He grinned. ‘Is that what makes for a lovely party, Margaret? Hazardous overcrowding?’
‘Yes, dear. One of the things, anyway. Now, may I borrow Ellen?’
The Reverend made a polite ushering gesture. ‘By all means. I’ve just spotted Mr Kennet. I’ve been meaning to ask him about my fruit trees.’
Margaret Dennis took my arm. ‘Good to see you two having a chinwag,’ she said, once he was out of earshot. ‘Haven’t met properly before, have you. Awfully nice man, widower, in case you were wondering. Ten years now, she got cancer, very sad.’
‘I wasn’t wondering, actually.’
‘What? Oh – ha, ha, ha.’ The syllables of her laughter were separate, like the puffs of a steam engine. ‘Listen, I need a favour. It’s about Penny Lacey.’
I fixed my eyes on the Reverend Acton, his retreating back as he joined William and Althea under the trees. Althea was braced forward on her two sticks, a pair of red flared trousers hanging from her bony hips. I thought about running to them like a hunted hind, drawing the three of them round me.
‘What about her?’
‘Oh dear, Mrs Parr. Your face.’ Mrs Dennis shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve done so much already. And I never even thanked you properly for the hair. You saved her housemistress a dreadful ordeal at Upper Cuts. Anyway the thing is, it’s the exeat next weekend. And Mrs Lacey’s been carted off to some sort of drying-out bin. Terrible, I know. But hardly unexpected. But what with Dad in Ireland Penny’s got nowhere to go. I’ve made enquiries among the girls but none of them want her, poor little baggage.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve cracked down on the bullying but they haven’t warmed to her. She’s too forthright. Too enthusiastic. I try and instil precisely those qualities, honesty and keenness, in the girls, but it doesn’t work. Nowadays, you see, the prevailing tone is world-weary sarcasm and indolence. So they intimidate and mock her.’
Mrs Dennis was giving me an expectant smile. Her upper teeth, I noticed, were almost as small as the lower ones. They sat, little square bricks, one row on top of the other. There was a long pause, during which laughter rose from the drawing room. The wind changed, and a noxious tide of cigar smoke began to envelop us.
‘I only came to you, Mrs Parr, because she asked for you. Bless her. Are you all right, my dear? You look a bit wan.’
I watched Althea raise one stick and prod the bole of the nearest tree with it, for all the world like an elderly insect.
‘It’s the cigars. I can’t bear them. Actually, I think I might go. If Lady Brock’s ready. I brought her with me.’
I moved across the grass towards Althea, leaving Margaret Dennis standing.
‘Well, you’ve made an impression on James Acton,’ Althea said, as I helped her into the Land Rover.
‘I’m not surprised. I told him we turn into pieces of moss.’ I climbed in and we set off for the Lodge. ‘Mother certainly has. There’s moss all over her grave. It’s gorgeous, like a coverlet. I’d like to think there was something of her in it.’
I spoke absently, took the bend faster than I should. We both leaned sideways in our seats.
‘That wasn’t the sort of impression I had in mind, Ellen.’
I was used to Althea’s voice, with its ironic drawls and hollows, the coarse gravel of its lower reaches. But the emphases seemed even heavier than usual. I gave her a quick glance. Her eyes were trained on me, deep and knowing.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Althea. Oh, honestly.’
‘Why is it so impossible that a man would find you attractive, Ellen?’
I swung round another corner. ‘Ha! I’ve put paid to that. I’ve just learned he’s a widower. Not only did I deny the Resurrection, I did it to a man whose one solace must be the hope of meeting his wife in the hereafter—’
‘We’re nearly at the turn, Ellen. Slow down. Slow down.’
At her bidding I slowed, lurched onto the drive, and came to a halt by the Lodge. I applied the handbrake, took my hands from the wheel, and heaved in several deep breaths.
‘Ellen, what’s the matter?’
‘Bloody Margaret Dennis—’
The mirror swung, the light flashed, a small pale child looked heavenwards. I clamped my hands over my mouth.
‘Margaret? What’s she done, the animal? I won’t have her upsetting my friends.’
Althea put a hand on my arm but it did not help me. She and I were once more in the sun room at Upton Hall with the cactus tall against the black-rimmed window. And Selwyn was upstairs playing the piano to Sir Michael, and I was feeling that delicious wash of gold over my body as Althea told me that Selwyn was in love with me. And even at that moment she was warning me that he would try, the moment he came downstairs, try his hardest to release me, that this was about to happen …
‘Mariage blanc, you told me it was going to be. Do you remember, Althea? Well, it wasn’t a white marriage, it was golden. Un mariage doré—’
‘Darling girl—’
‘Lucy was right, actually. I didn’t get the full bowl of cherries. What life was meant to be. She just didn’t understand what it was. What I didn’t have—’
‘Ellen, dearest friend.’ Althea’s eyes were such a kindly brown. Just now a little aglimmer with party booze. ‘Whatever Lucy might say, a marriage without children – you and I know this – is a matter for nobody, nobody but you and your husband. Now, much as I’m enjoying the comfort of your Land Rover, I’m going to suggest we head indoors. We can sit down over a nice cup of coffee. Just set me free from this deathtrap.’ She began to struggle with the seat-belt buckle.
‘Children.’ I laughed. ‘Of course, that’s what you and Lucy think.’
Her hands went still. ‘Ellen …’
‘You think I wanted children.’ I unfastened her seat belt and mine, got out of the vehicle and went round to her side. ‘It’s not about children.’
She clambered down holding onto my shoulder, her grasp at once unsteady and strong. ‘Ellen, do come in and talk to me—’
‘No, I won’t, if you don’t mind.’ I walked with her to her door, a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Have you got your key? Good. There we are.’
‘Darling girl, please stay.’
The door opened; Stuart began his intemperate greeting. ‘I’ll come on Tuesday for your shopping list. But now I must go—’
‘Never mind the bloody shopping!’ she burst out. ‘Ellen, for the love of Christ!’