Serena continued blithely on, as if his rudeness were quite normal, which I suppose to her it was. ‘This is my daughter, Mary. And my son, Peniston.’ The introduction was for Bridget’s benefit. I smiled and said hello, which greeting was returned by Mary pleasantly, as I willingly concede, and Peniston also held out his hand. They clearly knew who I was, which was pathetically gratifying. Serena smiled too, enjoying the presence of her children. ‘When did you last see them?’
‘In another lifetime, I’m afraid.’ I smiled and shook the young man’s hand in my turn. ‘I won’t mention the girl in sulks over having to wear some party dress she hated, or the boy in blue rompers, peddling his first tricycle round the kitchen.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Peniston.
‘I remember that dress,’ said Mary. ‘Granny sent it and it was covered in the most hideous smocking, like an illustration from a Jack and Jill reader in the Fifties. I screamed the place down rather than wear it and I would do the same today.’ We laughed, and I found myself revising my opinion of Mary, even if her resemblance to Andrew was very off-putting. Through all this, Bridget looked blank and Andrew once again assumed the expression of affront that I could already tell had become habitual. There was no obvious reason for this, although it might have been because the reference to his daughter’s tantrums or his heir’s rompers, or perhaps to his wife’s kitchen, was some piece of iniquitous lèse majestè on my part. I neither knew nor cared.
But the young siblings eased the touchy moment by chatting away about mundane things and Andrew’s gaucheness was soon forgotten. Presumably Peniston and his sister often had to perform this service to cover the tracks of their tiresome Papa. I was not, in truth, much disposed to like the new Viscount Summersby, as he now was, since his very name still made me shudder, but even I had to admit he seemed a nice fellow. I can’t pretend he was exactly attractive, being overweight and shortish, and if his face was pleasant, it was not good-looking. But then again, my impression of him may be suspect. Most men, or women too for aught I know, have ambivalent feelings towards the children of those they once loved. Particularly if it was not their choice to end the relationship. In a way these boys and girls, symbols of some horrible misjudgement by the gods, should never have been born if things had gone right. Yet it’s not their fault, is it? As one usually comes to see in the end. So it was for me, with Mary Wintour and Peniston Summersby. The news of their impending births had cut me like a knife from fore to aft, but of course, presented with this nice man, this agreeable woman, it was quite a different matter, and even I could see it wasn’t fair to hate them because their father was a blockhead and their mother broke my heart. There wasn’t much of Serena in either of them, to be honest, and even less as they had grown. As a little girl, Mary had been a miniature of Andrew, far more than her brother, but on that night he too looked more like his father, if he looked at all like either. Happily for them and for their prospects, neither seemed to resemble Andrew in charm.
Peniston smiled. ‘Granny was frightfully excited when she spotted you. She’s terribly proud to know a real novelist. She’s read everything you’ve ever written.’›
‘I’m flattered.’ I was. And astonished. Suddenly it was less extraordinary that I’d been found among the crowd.
‘She just loves knowing a writer. Most of her friends have the greatest difficulty reading to the end of a restaurant bill.’ A pretty woman in her early thirties had joined us. ‘This is my wife, Anne.’
‘What he says is quite true. Roo’s thrilled you’re here. She’s got all your books, you know. I expect she’s lining them up for you to sign.’
‘She has only to ask.’ Since Lady Claremont’s interest in my work presumably implied an albeit slight interest in me, I was amused that in forty years she had never invited me to a single gathering either here at Gresham or in London, nor made the smallest attempt to reestablish contact. Why was that, if her fascination with my career was so great? At the time, my paranoia immediately attributed the cause to the Estoril evening, but I am fairly sure now that I was wrong. Occasionally one does come across this curious diffidence on the part of the posh and there is nothing sinister or deflating in it. I suppose it is the flip side of their tendency to patronise. They are still marking the absolute divide between their world and yours, but in this case it is demonstrated by a kind of modesty, a tacit recognition that their muscular, social powers may not always impress those who have other choices.
‘You’re missing everything.’ Andrew’s voice cut across our merriment, and we obediently turned our attention back to the fireworks. Fizz, bang, ooh. Fizz, bang, ooh. The display ended with what should have been a very impressive showing of the Gresham crest, a rearing lion holding a flag of some sort. In the event it didn’t quite work, as most of the lion’s head failed to ignite, rendering the image faintly macabre, but even so it delivered a reasonably big finish. And then it was over, and time for the guests, inside and out, those not staying the night anyway, to make their exit and not to take too long about it. I managed to find our hosts in the throng to thank them and say goodbye.
Lady Claremont was still smiling, with that glint in her eye. ‘We must get you down here. If you could ever spare the time.’
‘I’m down this weekend, so I must have some time to spare.’
‘Of course you are. With those funny people who’ve got Malton Towers.’ The phrase ‘those funny people’ told me everything I needed to know about Tarquin’s chances of ever getting in with the County. ‘One of Henry’s great-grandmothers grew up at Malton. He used to stay there quite often before the war. But you thought it was ghastly, didn’t you?’ She looked at her aged husband.
He nodded. ‘Coldest bloody house I ever entered. Cold food, cold baths, cold everything. I never had a wink of sleep in all the years I went there.’ It was easy to see that his lordship had had about enough of this interminable evening and was more than ready for bed, but he hadn’t quite finished. ‘They’re crackers to have taken it on. Ruined my cousins, ruined every organisation that came after them. And at least my relations had the land, much good did it do them. Your friends have just bought a bottomless pit.’ Actually, to me this sounded not only like fairly accurate reporting but also curiously reassuring. It is easy to forget, watching the Tarquins fling every last penny they possess into supporting some pseudo-aristocratic, gimcrack fantasy, that there are still people for whom these are normal houses in which normal lives should be led. If they’re uncomfortable then they’re uncomfortable and that’s that. Never mind the plasterwork or the Grinling Gibbons carving, or the ghost of Mary Stuart in the East Wing. There was a kind of no-nonsense quality to his dismissal of Malton Towers that seemed to earth my own experience of it, releasing me from reverence. At any rate Lord Claremont had said his piece and there didn’t seem much point in getting him to elaborate, so I nodded and moved on.
I caught sight of Serena in the hall. She was with her family and talking to Helena, who was looking a good deal older than her older sister. But she was friendly when we met again, kissing me and wishing me well, as I grinned across her at the object of my ancient and unrequited passions. Looking back I cannot quite explain why the sight of Serena that evening, far from making me sad as it might so easily have done, had in fact given me a terrific lift. I felt marvellous, giddy, tight, high, whatever Seventies word is most appropriate, at being reminded of how much I once could love. Still loved, really. A whole set of muscles that had atrophied through lack of use sprang to life again within my bosom. Rather as you are empowered by discovering an ace has been dealt you when you pick up the cards from the baize. Even if you never get a chance to play it, you know that you are the better and stronger for having an ace in your hand.