Dreams of Another Day, page 26
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ming, pushed into speech by Gerry’s injustice. ‘I’m sure Julia loves Amanda.’
‘Oh, she probably does, but liking is a different matter. Think of our mother: she would say that she loves all three of us, but she’s no idea what we’re like. I’d hate to bring up a child like that: wanting so much from her that I couldn’t even see what sort of person she was, let alone like her for being it. And if it were not my own it would be even more difficult.’
Ming got up to pour herself another cup of tea.
‘I don’t think that’s quite fair, Gerry. Mother wanted things for us, not from us.’
Ming took a gulp of tea, but it was cool and tasted bitter. She put down the cup.
‘Mother wanted a lot more.’ Gerry’s voice held none of the bitterness of her past quarrels. Instead it sounded tolerant and a little regretful.
‘Haven’t you understood how much she wanted us to make up for all the things she resented? Giving up her old life as her father’s hostess for one thing and exchanging it for the dreariness of married quarters and the duties of an army wife?’
‘I know she’s often bored and she can be quite savage, but …’
‘That’s because she feels as though she sacrificed all that glamour and importance for us and we’ve done nothing to pay for it. She wanted us to do things or marry men who would give her back her sense of being someone important. Instead Flixe caused a scandal when she took up with Peter and there were all those suggestions in the press that he might have spied for the Russians in the war. Mike makes me wonderfully happy but he has no ambition to change the world; and you …’
‘But she must be pleased with your success, Gerry.’ At that moment Ming thought she could not bear to hear of the ways in which she had disappointed her mother.
‘Why? Well-reviewed translations of Russian novels and a growing reputation within the university world are not achievements that mean anything to her.’
There was the sound of a key in the lock and Mike’s voice, light with happiness and welcome, called out:
‘I hope you two girls haven’t finished the cake.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ said Ming quietly as he came in, his bowler hat and neatly rolled umbrella still in one hand. He looked at his wife and his sister-in-law, and then at the untouched cake.
‘What’s happened?’ he said quietly.
Ming opened her mouth to try to produce an answer, but Gerry got there first. In a voice brittle with self-control she said:
‘Jack Hazeldene, who was killed at Port Said, left two orphans. Ming thought we should adopt them.’
There was a clatter as Mike dumped his umbrella with his hat on the floor. He stood behind his wife and wrapped her in his arms, stroking her fair hair over and over again.
Over her head he looked at Ming. She had expected to see anger there, but there was only regret. She tried to show him how much she, too, regretted what she had done.
After a while he sat down on the sofa beside Gerry and cut the luxurious cake into three enormous slices.
‘What about a fresh pot of tea, Gerry?’
‘I’ll make it,’ said Ming, pleased to be able to do something for them.
When she returned with the hot tea, the other two were discussing Christmas plans and Ming joined in. They ate the cake and when she got up to go Gerry managed to smile at her. Ming did not risk any reference to the children.
Later that evening she rang up and when Mike answered she apologised for upsetting them both.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Gerry minds much more than I do, and I’ve learned not to raise the subject any more. You weren’t to know.’
‘But it was insensitive of me.’
‘Don’t beat yourself, Ming. You’re having a beastly time yourself, aren’t you? I wish I could help.’
Ming was about to say bitterly that it looked as though no human being could ever help another Without causing worse trouble when she remembered something that Mike might be able to do.
‘You can, actually. I’ve heard a suggestion that Mark Sudley was sacked from the Ministry of Defence because of what I wrote about Suez. Could that be true?’
‘Absolutely not. Who on earth told you anything so malicious and stupid?’
When Ming did not answer, Mike went on: ‘Mark has been restive ever since the Suez business began; the reason he went on that long holiday was because he couldn’t bear it but didn’t think it fair to resign in the middle of the crisis. Once it was over, he did resign and left as soon as they’d let him go. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.’
‘Mike, this is too important for you to tell me comforting lies.’
‘I know, and I’m not,’ he said seriously. Then his voice lightened: ‘Don’t worry about it, Ming. They say that you’re never sacked for indiscretion – just sent to the Min. of Ag. and Fish.’
Ming laughed dutifully.
‘Thanks, Mike. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Gerry.’
‘I will. Goodbye.’
Ming buried all thoughts of the children and of the misery she had caused Gerry under her concerns about the magistrate’s summons. With Connie and Mr Ratterley she went a few days later to Julia’s chambers to hear her advice about their chances of acquittal.
Unlike Ratterley’s offices, Julia’s room in the Temple was small and dingy, overlooking a dusty light-well, although from the front the building looked charming and beautifully proportioned. As they climbed the stone stairs Ming and Connie saw various large, elegant rooms, but Julia’s was different, almost completely filled by her big masculine desk and the three cramped visitor’s chairs.
On the shelves behind her head were stacked innumerable dusty briefs tied in pink tape and there were even more piles of typescript and books in lopsided heaps on the floor than in Max Hillary’s cottage. Julia’s long black gown hung on a hook on the back of the door and there was a battered black tin wig box perched on a pile of new-looking briefs on her desk.
Julia laid out for them what they faced if they were to plead guilty before the magistrate, if they were to defend the action there, and if they were to opt for trial by jury as was their right. She told them that she thought their chances of an acquittal in the High Court were good, but that for safety she would advise them to plead guilty in the magistrates’court and pay their fine.
‘Only you can decide what to do now,’ she said at the end. ‘If you do decide to defend in the High Court, I’ll do everything I can to fight the case, but there is no guarantee that I shall be able to win. You would be risking a great deal of money – not to speak of your reputations and your liberty.’
‘Is the risk of that much greater than in a magistrates’court?’ Ming hoped that her voice was businesslike.
‘The sentence would be longer,’ said her Counsel dryly.
Chapter Ninteen
Flixe Suvarov gave a dinner party for her two sisters on Christmas Eve, the day before they were due to drive down to their parents’ house. Connie Wroughton had already left London, telling Ming that they should wait until after Christmas to decide on their strategy about the case, and the only other guests were Mike, the Wallingtons and Tibor Smith.
Flixe and her children had spent most of the day decorating the house and wrapping up Christmas presents, so that by the time the first guests came the drawing room sparkled with baubles, beribboned presents and the dancing light of dozens of candles. A huge, dark green tree had been dressed with red and gold glass balls, iridescent birds with spun-glass tails and tiny white lights. It filled the entire room with a resinous, nostalgia-evoking scent.
While Ming was putting on a new evening dress of wonderfully gleaming dark green velvet, she wondered how Gerry would greet her and whether she should make any kind of direct apology. Eventually, as she was stroking a little mascara on her eyelashes, she decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore the misery she had caused Gerry and try to be as normally cheerful as she could.
Ming collected up the presents she had bought for Flixe and the family, which were wrapped in gold paper and tied with green ribbons, and drove round to Kensington. Flixe opened the front door herself and admired the dress.
‘You’re all so Christmassy. Gerry’s wearing pillar-box red.’
Her own lavender silk dress was the one she had worn for the ill-fated dinner party when she had introduced Ming to Charles Bederley. Flixe had still not quite got back her figure and she had decided to buy no new clothes until she was slimmer.
‘The children are all agog. I couldn’t bear to send them to bed,’ she said, taking Ming’s fur.
‘I should hope not. The whole point of Christmas is that it’s for children,’ said Ming, with a smile.
When she walked into the drawing room, her hands full of glittering packages, the two elder children shrieked with delight and bounded across the pale carpet towards her. They were bundled into matching red dressing-gowns and their faces were almost the same colour with excitement.
Ming handed them the presents, which they took to add to the vast heap under the tree, and then went straight across the room to where Gerry was standing.
She was looking well and there were no signs in her face of resentment or sadness. As Ming leaned forward to kiss her, Gerry put an arm round her sister’s shoulders.
‘You’re not angry with me, are you?’ Gerry said. ‘I was a bit upset and said things that I regret.’
Ming did not trust herself to speak and so she merely shook her head. Gerry gave her shoulders a slight squeeze and then let her go. ‘That’s a wonderful dress,’ she said on a lighter note.
‘So’s yours,’ answered Ming sincerely. She thought that Flixe’s slight sneer was unjustified. Unlike the coat and skirt she had worn for the christening, the dress suited Gerry and made her look much less serious than usual, and younger, too.
‘I bought it a couple of years ago,’ Gerry smoothed the heavy red silk down over her slim thighs. ‘But I’ve only worn it once. It seemed a suitably cheerful colour for Christmas.’
Behind her Mike, looking particularly handsome in his barathea dinner jacket, grinned at Ming and sketched a victory sign.
‘Will you have one, Auntie Gerry?’
Andrew Suvarov held out a big silver tray. Gerry obediently took one of the squares of brown bread and smoked salmon.
‘Fiona’s being very lazy,’ said Andrew crossly as he lifted the tray towards Ming.
She looked over her shoulder to see Fiona earnestly talking to Tibor Smith who was perched on the edge of the dub fender. Ming smiled at Gerry and moved a little closer to find out what they were discussing.
‘Yes, it was difficult, because I’m not very good at blanket stitch yet and for needlebooks you have to sew the back and front together with blanket stitch as well as doing lazy-daisy on the front.’
‘And these daisies, they are easier?’ Tibor’s voice with its plummy Hungarian accent sounded quite as serious as Fiona’s.
‘Oh, yes, lazy-daisy’s lovely.’
‘I wish I could see the book, but I expect you’ve already wrapped it up. What colours have you used?’ Tibor might easily have been talking to another adult about some subject of considerable importance.
Fiona looked hastily round to make sure that her mother could not overhear and then said:
‘The felt is purple, because that’s one of Mummy’s favourites, and Mrs Irons lets us have three colours for the embroidery. I’ve used green for the blanket stitch and the stalks and leaves of the daisies, and pink and orange for the petals.’
‘That sounds like an exciting mixture.’
‘Yes, it is, but I wish it was painting, because sewing takes so long,’ said Fiona. Suddenly remembering her duties, she offered Tibor the plate of smoked salmon. He took a piece.
‘Painting takes a very long time, too, if you’re doing it properly. Perhaps one day your mother will bring you to see my studio and I can show you how long it takes. Amanda Wallington often comes. You could come together. Would you like to do that?’
‘Yes,’ said Fiona definitely. ‘But Amanda’s older than me.’
‘Yes, thank you, Uncle Tibor,’ prompted Flixe, who passed the little group just in time to hear her daughter. ‘And have you said hello to Auntie Ming?’
A mulish expression banished the eagerness from Fiona’s face, and Ming did what she could to retrieve the situation.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, Fiona,’ she said formally, ‘but I hardly know Mr Smith. Will you introduce us?’
Smiling once more, the child performed a creditable introduction, chose a piece of smoked salmon for Ming and went on her way, leaving the Hungarian to say:
‘That was clever – and kind.’
‘Not really,’ said Ming. ‘I just have such vivid memories of the frustration I used to feel when adults – and my sisters – refused to take me seriously at that age that I wanted to help. And she’s such a nice child.’
‘Better than “nice” I think,’ said Tibor, his face creasing around his smile. ‘But with such parents, she would be.’
‘Have you known them long?’ asked Ming, thinking that it was odd that she had never met him before the christening.
‘Some time, yes. Julia introduced us at her wedding, I think. I’ve heard about you from all of them, but Felicity seemed determined to keep us apart until the other day.’
Thinking of all the dull, suitable young men Flixe had invited to meet her over the years, Ming could not help smiling. Flixe might not think Tibor a suitable candidate for her younger sister’s affections, but she would have been much happier talking to him than to the others.
‘And we only just managed to meet then,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a conscience about that.’
Tibor smiled faintly, but he said nothing and so Ming plunged on: ‘I wanted to say something about Budapest, but I was afraid of being clumsy. You must be very sad. I know so little … Do you still have family in Hungary?’
‘Some, but I haven’t seen them for many years, not since I left in the war and letters are difficult. I know that one of my nephews was killed in the fighting, but I haven’t heard about any of the others. Life for them all will be even worse now than it was before the revolution.’
Tibor’s lined expressive face seemed to say so much more than his words that Ming was at a loss.
‘But we cannot help them,’ he said, spreading his hands in a gesture that seemed to accept fate and disclaim responsibility for it at the same time, ‘and it is Christmas, and Flixe has taken very great trouble for us.’
‘And so we should enjoy ourselves,’ said Ming. ‘That’s very sensible.’ It seemed to her that if Tibor could banish thoughts: of Russian tanks rolling through Budapest, destroying both the city and its inhabitants, and the relentless punishment of doctrinaire Communism being imposed on the survivors, she ought to be able to forget her own anxieties. ‘Where are you spending Christmas itself?’
‘With Julia and David,’ he said, reaching out to take a champagne bottle from Peter Suvarov and refilling Ming’s glass and his own. ‘Thanks, Peter. They are very good to me, always.’
‘They are wonderful, aren’t they? I don’t know what I’d have done without Julia these last few weeks.’ Ming’s voice was heartfelt enough for Tibor to look curiously at her.
Hers, was a prettiness that he found rather uninteresting, but he could see why it frightened Julia. Many men would respond to that mixture of fragility and sparkle. What he had not expected from Julia’s descriptions was the sensitivity Ming had displayed towards her niece or her gentleness towards himself, who after all had no claim on her.
‘How …?’ he was beginning when he caught sight of Julia’s tall figure in the doorway. ‘Here they are,’ he said instead and waved.
Julia walked across the room towards them, looking magnificent in a straight, low-cut frock of wine-coloured velvet. She kissed Tibor. Keeping an arm around her, he said:
‘Ming here has just been telling me how much she depends on you, Julia.’
‘That’s sweet of you, Ming,’ she said, holding out her hand. Ming shook it. ‘She’s been having a horrible time, Tibor,’ she added.
He raised his shaggy eyebrows and Julia hastily added one word, ‘professionally’.
Thinking that he must be puzzled, Ming explained about the magazine and Roger Sillhorne’s action, and the difficulty she and Connie were having in deciding whether or not to defend it. As she described the article to which Roger had taken such exception, she was relieved to see a flash of real anger in Tibor’s eyes.
‘Oh, the English!’ he said. ‘Such terrible hypocrites.’
‘We probably are,’ said Flixe from the other end of the room, ‘but we’re brought up to it, Tibor. You will have to forgive us. Shall we dine?’
They followed her into the dining room, where Ming almost gasped as she took in the magnificence of the long mahogany table. Not only had Flixe got out and polished all the silver that was usually kept swathed in plastic bags out of sight in the basement, but in front of each place was a pile of small parcels wrapped in silver paper and tied with red ribbons. There were scarlet candles in the silver sticks and in the centre of the table, between a pair of antique silver pheasants quite ten inches high, was a large silver bowl of luxuriantly-berried holly.
‘Flixe, it looks glorious,’ said Gerry. ‘You are a dear to have gone to so much trouble.’
‘Well, since we can’t all be here for Christmas itself, I thought we’d have a sort of dress rehearsal,’ she said. ‘The children and I got every last piece of silver out of the strongroom last night and spent most of the afternoon polishing it.’
‘And Sophie got herself blacker than all the other rags we used,’ said Andrew with a smile that showed a great resemblance to his sardonic father.
‘Now chicks,’ said his mother when everyone had finished laughing, ‘you’ve seen all there is to see, so off to bed. Andrew, make sure that Fiona gets upstairs safely.’
