Chapter 1
The night was chilly but not dark. There was a thin layer of cloud. You could just see the moon through it; small and dull, like a tarnished sixpence. I was warm enough in my father’s old army greatcoat; not exactly fashionable for a girl of course, but when you live in the country, fashion comes a poor second to staying warm and my height made it a good enough fit.
Naturally, I would be even warmer in my own bed, which at one o’clock in the morning is exactly where I should have been, rather than walking over rough grassland. Tonight however sleep wouldn’t come. This was sadly not uncommon with me. If something had been troubling me during the day I would not be able to sleep. I’d just twist and turn in bed and move to a new position, occasionally having to pull down my nightdress which in my flailing about became rucked up and uncomfortable.
I had a routine that often helped: firstly, I would try to clear my mind, dodging away from any thought that tried to form itself. Then, I would focus on each major muscle in turn, first in the legs, then in the arms. I would tense the muscle, keep it tensed for a few seconds then consciously relax it. Sleep often followed after a few repetitions of this, but not on this occasion.
After two hours of lying awake I decided to try another cure I favoured, which was to get dressed and go for a night-time walk. Our house is a large one: it’s the manor house of the village and before the war my father was commonly referred to as ‘the Squire’. It’s placed just outside the village and from a side door I could walk across turf for a furlong or so to a small wood beyond. I decided to go as far as the wood then walk along its edge until I had worn myself out a little and with luck sleep better afterwards. I tried to work out what was the matter with me this time. Maybe lack of company? Almost anything would be more welcome than the average village lads; gauche and minimally educated. There was no-one in the village for me either male or female whom I could have as a confidant or a close friend I mused glumly. Maybe it was time for me to ask my father if I could move to London and get a job there. But he was an invalid and with my mother dead for many years he would have no family about him. Perhaps if I arranged to come home every weekend it could work?
I was still considering these thoughts as I arrived at the edge of the wood. I turned to my right – slightly uphill – and walked slowly on. At the foot of a great oak I paused and looked back at my home, looming in the darkness. It was then that I thought I heard a sound, like a hoarse expelling of breath. I wrinkled my brow with puzzlement. No-one else surely could be out at this time of the morning? Perhaps a branch was being pushed over another by the wind? That might cause a similar noise. The only problem with that was that there was no wind. It was a very still night. I wear my hair long, well down to the shoulders and not a strand was being lifted. I saw a lone red leaf on a hawthorn bush nearby, hanging there still in early spring. It was suspended from a single thread and would have trembled at the lightest air, but it didn’t stir.
I walked cautiously around the enormous trunk and there to my horror saw a young woman slumped on the earth. As I watched, her shoulders heaved and she made another of the harsh gasping sounds that I had heard.
I moved forward quickly and dropped to one knee beside her. “Are you all right?” I asked: a pretty foolish question in the circumstances, but it came automatically. She was wearing a white frock, rather soiled in the places I could see, and to my alarm was barefoot. I could see twigs and leaves on her feet.
She turned her head to look up at me. I saw eyes that were large and wide-set under a high forehead. “Please help me,” she said hoarsely. I noticed that she had a slight accent.
“Of course I will,” I said. “What happened?”
“I was set upon. There’s a lane, just the other side of this wood.” She paused.
“I know it. Whom did you meet?”
“Five lads. They were coming from the village. I tried to walk past, but they surrounded me. One took me by the arm and asked me for my name. He stank of beer.”
I understood and tried to calm her. “The village boys can be rather rough, but I’m sure they wouldn’t have hurt you. Why not come with me: my home is just a short walk away.” I gently put pressure under her elbow to encourage her.
She considered this briefly. “Yes, I’d like to go somewhere safe, just for a while. Thank you. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
She began to struggle to her feet while I supported her as much as I could. She was much shorter than I – barely over five feet I guessed. When she was standing, I held her firmly under the shoulder and led the way. “It’s not far,” I encouraged her. “If you look ahead, you can see the house.”
“Yes. I can see it. Perhaps I panicked, but when they started to crowd round and laugh at me, I couldn’t stand it. I broke away and made a dash for the woods. My heels sank into the leaf mould so I kicked off my shoes and ran. I think they tried to follow for a bit, but gave up.”
“We’ll sort it all out in the morning. Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed. What’s your name?”
“Geraldine, but I’m always called Gerry.”
“I’m Chris. It’s actually Christabel,” I confessed, a little embarrassed, “but I never use it.”
Although the distance back to the Hall was fairly short, we had to travel slowly to spare Gerry’s bare feet; but eventually we arrived at the side door I had left by. It was rather narrow and I tried to guide her ahead of me over the threshold, but robbed of my support she began to collapse and I had to lift her physically to get her inside: it was just within my strength fortunately. Holding her close I noticed that she smelt, not unpleasantly, of the earth and leaf mould on which she had been lying. Once secure in my own home I felt much calmer. I bolted the door and said, “We’ll go to my room. It’s this way, across the hall and up the stairs. Can you manage the stairs?”
“I’ll try.”
In fact, we went quite well. We crossed the hall in darkness. A fire had been laid in the hearth during the day. It had burned to embers, but as we passed it a tongue of flame leaped up; no doubt the heat had just reached some volatile material. I saw an answering gleam in Gerry’s eyes. I kept us close to the opposite wall, because our mastiff, Freya, was sleeping on the rug before the fire. She was a very large dog, weighing more than I do, but very gentle. I was concerned that she would smell a stranger and wake and make a noise; in fact, she stirred and made a harsh groaning noise as we went by, but did not wake. She was now very old: English mastiffs have a very short life span, often dying as young as seven years old, and Freya was well past that and almost toothless.
We came to the stairs, which are very wide and we went up side by side, with me gripping the banister. On the landing, we turned left and here I walked slowly and cautiously. We had to pass the door to my father’s room and his illness meant that he did not sleep well, and I was anxious not to make a sound.
The room next door was mine and with relief I helped Gerry to seat herself on the spare bed. It was once used by my nurse and still occasionally needed when we had relatives to stay. She looked around curiously. My room, like many in the house, was panelled floor to ceiling and quite large. “You can sleep here for tonight,” I told her. “You’ll want to wash your feet at least – I’ll bring a basin.” I left to visit the kitchen and returned in short order with warm water and a flannel. I had also collected a small bottle of elderflower cordial from the pantry.
“Here we are!” I said, placing the basin on the floor. “I also got you some home-made elderflower wine. Would you like a little to revive yourself? Or I could give you water if you prefer.”
“The wine sounds lovely,” she replied. I poured a good measure into the water glass at my bedside before handing it to her and kneeling down to begin carefully cleaning her feet. I noticed how beautifully small and neat they were: very white, with visible blue veins. There were some small cuts and scratches, but surprisingly few after a run through the wood. She took occasional sips of her drink and sat docilely while I worked.
“There!” I said at last. “That’s good enough for tonight. I’ll get you a nightdress.” I pulled open a drawer and handed her one of mine. “Let’s get to sleep. In the morning you can meet father.”
Turning away, I pulled off my clothes and reassumed my own nightgown. I got into bed and turning onto my side and lifting myself by an elbow, looked anxiously at Gerry to make sure that she was coping.
She had taken off her white dress and laid it to one side. Her skin was light amber. Underneath she wore a camisole and as she removed that, I saw that she wore no brassiere. One of her breasts was visible – small and high. I looked away quickly, hoping she had not noticed my gaze.
When she was underneath the bedclothes, I switched off the light. “Good night, Gerry. Try to sleep and we’ll sort everything out in the morning.”
“Thank you, Chris,” came the reply. “You’ve been so kind.”
We were both silent and very soon, despite the whirling of my mind, I fell asleep at last and this time did not dream.
I woke up at 8 o’clock, my usual time, and immediately remembered the adventures of the night. I looked across at Gerry’s bed and saw her awake and sitting up and smiling at me. “Good morning!” I said, sitting up myself. “I hope you’re feeling better?”
“Much better thank you. A good sleep was exactly what I needed after last night.”
“Your clothes are badly stained. Can I lend you some of my things?”
“That would be very kind. If you’ve got something that will fit me,” she added doubtfully.
“I’m sure I can find something, but first let’s have a cup of tea.” I put on my dressing gown and went down to the kitchen. Ten minutes later I was back with two mugs. “Here you are,” I said.
“Just the ticket!”
We both sat on our beds and drank. I decided to keep the conversation general for a while and not ask too many questions.
“Now,” I said, “let’s see what I have.” Nothing of mine would fit her well, but after some rummaging about I found a favourite blouse that I had grown out of but never had the heart to throw out and a kilt skirt, which could be wrapped around a smaller waist size.
“These should work,” I said, handing them to her.
“Yes, I’m sure I can manage. I’m afraid I panicked last night. Probably if I had just yelled at the boys, they would have left me alone.”
“Probably, but I understand that you didn’t want to take a chance. Anyway, I thought you’d like to take a bath. When you’re ready we’ll have breakfast and after that speak to my father. He’s an invalid and usually keeps to his room. He’ll help us decide what to do.”
“Is your mother not with us?”
I shook my head sadly. “She died from loss of blood giving birth to me. It was a few years before the war, and they didn’t have blood banks everywhere in those days.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Well of course I never knew her, so in that sense it’s much easier to bear. I know her from photographs and my father’s stories.” Nothing more was said on the subject and we drank our tea companionably.
“The bathroom’s this way,” I said, when we’d finished. “I’ll find you a towel.”
While Gerry was bathing, I dressed myself and went back to the kitchen to see what could be done for breakfast.
Our cook-general, Ann, had arrived and I explained the situation and asked her advice.
“You don’t want nothing greasy if you’ve had a shock, Miss Woodstock, no eggs or bacon. How about a bowl of porridge? That’s filling and with golden syrup it’ll give her energy.”
“That sounds wonderful, Ann. Shall we come down in about half an hour?”
“That will do nicely Miss. I’ll see you later.”
I returned to my room to find Gerry fully dressed and looking curiously about her.
“What a lot of wonderful carvings you have!” she said.
“Yes, my mother was German, from Bavaria, where they have a long woodcarving tradition. She brought these over when she married my father and they’ve passed to me.”
“This one is interesting.” She indicated a large model of a beautiful but dazed-looking young girl dancing with a grinning skeleton.
“Yes. It’s a totentanz, the dance of death. It was a very popular theme in Germany after the Black Death killed so many of all ages and degrees.”
“It looks very old.”
“It’s estimated to be three hundred years old: it’s the oldest carving I have.”
Gerry continued to stare at the sculpture. “I’m fascinated by death,” she said evenly. “It takes away those we love and admire one by one. It ends all our hopes and fears. In the end we all die and are forgotten.”
I smiled nervously. “Let’s not be morbid; we’re both very young and have got lots of time. Take a look at this – it’ll cheer you up.” I indicated my looking glass hanging on the next wall.
“Oh yes, it is clever – mocking us.”
“We call it the ‘Queen’s Mirror’ because I suppose it was meant to illustrate the fairy tale.” We looked at it together: the frame was oval and elaborately carved with ugly little imps or devils, intertwined and clutching at each other with mirth. Some of them were covering their mouths to hide their glee and looking sidelong, while others pointed their fingers straight at the observer and openly laughed in their face. “It used to have a distorting glass fitted, but it became too old and foxed and we didn’t know where to go for a replacement, so we had to replace it with a plain one.”
“A pity – but it’s still fun.”
She moved away to admire another carving, but I remained a little while staring into the mirror, which I had been told my mother had also loved. As I looked, the glass seemed to grow dimmer. I blinked and looked at the window to see if the sun had gone behind a cloud. When I looked back I saw, very indistinctly, a face looking back at me that was not my own. I moved my head side to side a little but the image did not change. I continued to stare and it came to me that it was my mother’s face – a face that I knew well from the many photographs that my father treasured and had shown to me. But in the photographs she was almost always smiling. Now she looked terrified. As I gaped, dumbfound, she raised a hand in warning. “What is it?” I whispered.
“Did you say something?” asked Gerry from across the room. I looked at her quickly, then back at the mirror. The glass was clear and the image had gone.
“Nothing,” I said, trying to stop myself from stammering. “Why don’t we go and have breakfast?”
“That’s just what I need!” said Gerry, slipping her arm through mine.
“You’ve been so kind to me!” she added earnestly. “You’re a very good person to help a total stranger. I’m so grateful.”
I wrenched my thoughts back to the present. “Oh, I just did what anyone would do,” I said dismissively, although even through my distraction I was able to be secretly delighted that she was so affectionate. I wondered if it were possible to ask her to stay for at least a while so we could get to know each other well.
I led the way to the morning room, my mind still reverting to what I had seen, or thought I had seen. Already it seemed as if I had imagined it. I decided to look into the glass again later when I was alone.
We used the morning room for most meals, as well as for sitting around during the day. It had large leaded windows facing the rising sun and was decorated in moss green with white woodwork so had a light and cheerful aspect. A row of pewter tankards was arranged on a shelf: their leaden hue contrasting well with the green walls. There was a large deal table near one end and I led Gerry to a seat. Ann bustled in with a tray containing two large bowls of porridge and a tin of Lyle’s golden syrup.
“Gerry, this is Ann, our very competent cook,” I said.
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss,” Ann replied. “I’m told you’ve had a nasty shock and I’ve brought you some nice porridge.”
“What would you like to drink, Gerry?” I asked. “We have orange juice, or you could have another cup of tea.”
She pulled a mock face, “I know all about English orange juice – you pour it out of a bottle and dilute it. Is that right?”
“Well, yes. It’s Kia-Ora.”
“Ugh! No, I only like fresh juice and it’s impossible to get in England. Do you have coffee? That’s really what I like best in the morning.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, delighted that I could give her something she wanted. “Ann. Could we have two cups of coffee, please?”
“Right away, Miss”, she said, helpful as ever. A couple of minutes later, I heard the kettle boil again and shortly afterwards Ann brought the coffee to table.
Gerry looked at her cup doubtfully, added milk from the jug and raised it cautiously to her lips. She then pulled a face and set the cup carefully back down on the table.
“No good?” I asked.
“Can I see how you make it?”
“Yes, certainly.” I got to my feet and in a moment was back with the bottle.
Gerry stared at the label. “Camp coffee?”
“It’s coffee essence. It’s very popular. You just add boiling water.”
“I see.” We both studied the label. It showed a Scots officer in a kilt sitting outside a tent, drinking a cup of coffee, while an Indian servant stood nearby.
“You don’t like the taste?” I ventured.
“It’s awful. But you must understand, I come from South America, where we only make coffee from beans.”
“South America?” I said, surprised. “I would never have guessed, although I did notice that you have a slight accent.”
“I’m Colombian by birth, but a civil war has been going on there for years, so when my father was appointed ambassador to Britain he took me with him to get me to a place of safety and also to get me a good education. So I’ve grown up in England and now only see Colombia for a few weeks each year when we go back for my father to report to the Foreign Affairs ministry and we holiday by the sea.”
I studied her more closely. Her hair was a dark conker brown and worn short. Her eyes were very large and of a curious dark blue, almost purple in fact.
“You don’t look very Spanish,” I said, “Not that I’ve met many, but I always thought they were darker than you are and with brown or black eyes.”
Gerry chuckled. “Just to make things more difficult, although I’m a Colombian citizen, I’m mainly of French blood. My family name is de Vaux. A lot of French people emigrated to South America in the middle of the last century when the countries there were becoming independent from Spain. Because they were generally better-educated than the local people, they often got responsible jobs. My grandfather became boss of a large engineering company. He decided to send my father to be educated in England, because he admired the public school system, so we have good connections in this country and that helped my father get the ambassadorship.”
At that moment Freya padded in. I reached over to pet her – I didn’t need to bend down because she stood well over two feet high at the shoulder. But instead of rubbing herself against me as she usually did and allowing me to run my fingers through her coat, she faced Gerry and stiffened her legs, making a low growling noise deep in her throat. As with all mastiffs, her mask was black and together with her great size she made an intimidating sight. Gerry faced her stonily.
“Freya!” I scolded. “Gerry is our guest! I’m sorry,” I said to Gerry, “she’s not usually like this although of course she doesn’t see many strangers.”
Gerry smiled rather thinly. “That’s quite all right. Dogs often take a dislike to me. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it’s something to do with my scent.”
“I’m sure she’ll get used to you very quickly, but I’ll just put her outside for the moment.”
Getting to my feet, I grabbed Freya by the collar and dragged her out of the opposite door, shutting it on her.
“Now,” I said, “Father will be awake; shall we go and talk to him?”
“If you think it would be a good idea. I wouldn’t want to distress him and of course I wasn’t hurt.”
“I think he should be told. He is the magistrate for the village, although he hasn’t actually been able to sit on the bench for a long time.”
I led the way back to my father’s room and knocked. “Come in!” he called. I turned to Gerry. “Could you wait here for a few moments, and I’ll explain how I met you. Then I’ll call you in. It would be better at first to call him Sir Leonard.”
She smiled in agreement and I entered the room. My father was sitting in his favourite armchair, but still in his dressing gown. “Good morning, my dear,” he said. “You’re visiting me very early today, glad as I am to see you.”
“I’ve come on a serious matter, Daddy,” I said. “I had an adventure last night. I was walking by Pike’s Wood and I met a girl.” I thought it better not to say that it had been at one o’clock in the morning. “She was distressed and as far as I could make out she had met some local boys who mocked her, and she ran away and collapsed where I found her.”
“This is dreadful, my dear,” he exclaimed. “I hope you did your duty and brought her home?”
“I did. She’s waiting outside if you’d like to see her.”
“Of course.”
“Gerry,” I called. “Can you come in?”
Gerry entered, looking very young and demure in my blouse and kilt. My father stretched out his hands to her. “You’re very welcome, young lady. May I ask your name?”
“Geraldine de Vaux, Sir Leonard. Thank you for accepting me into your home.”
My father started. “That is an unusual name. I was at school with a Roland de Vaux. Are you by chance any relation?”
“My father.”
“Good grief! He was my best friend at school but then we had a foolish quarrel. Another boy told Rollo untruthfully that I had called him a foul name, mocking his origins. Your father was very sensitive about that matter and came and shouted at me. I became angry and refused to deny that I had insulted him. After that we avoided each other until the end of the year, which happened to be when we finished our education and so did not meet again. I have always regretted that I could not heal the quarrel. But now by the grace of God I hope that after all these years I shall be able to restore our friendship through his daughter. But we shall discuss that later. For the moment, please be seated by me and tell me all about the fright you had yesterday evening.”
Gerry told her story again, but this time with more detail. She was staying in the village at the Swan and had gone for a late-night walk. She didn’t say why she was in our small Buckinghamshire hamlet, or why she was walking so late at night. Perhaps she too had disturbing dreams, I conjectured. On her way back she had met five youths, who from their behaviour and strong smell of ale had been spending the evening at the pub. Seeing a pretty young girl in a white dress walking by herself they had gathered round her, making suggestive remarks. She had tried to brush them off, but one of them had grabbed her by the arm. Terrified by the assault and the smell of his beery breath in her face she had twisted free and run into the woods.
“Because I’m rather short, I like to wear raised heels,” she explained, “and they sank into the leaf mould so I had to kick them off and run for it. I heard some crashing about so I suppose they chased me for a short time, but I got to the other side of the wood and collapsed. I’m not sure how long I lay there, but sometime later Chris found me.”
My father was obviously growing more and more angry as her tale went on. Now he burst out: “This is outrageous! We will find those youths and inflict serious penalties on them. I do not rule out imprisonment. I am the local magistrate, although my deputy has been sitting for me in recent years due to my poor health. Fortunately, this is not a large village. I will write a letter to the landlord of the Swan asking him to name any group of five or more young people who were drinking until the end of licensing hours last night. There will not be many candidates and I am confident we will identify the culprits in a short time.”
“This is very good of you, Sir Leonard, but after having slept on the matter I believe I over-reacted. I can’t imagine that the boys meant me any serious harm, and I would not want their young lives ruined by a criminal record. I beg you to let the matter drop officially. I expect to remain in the village for a few weeks and no doubt I will meet one or more of them on the street. Then I will give them a good talking-to, telling them how close they came to the magistrate’s court. I’m sure they will be better behaved in the future.”
My father looked rather dubious at this, but finally conceded: “That is very generous of you, my dear and if it really is your wish that we take things no further we can let the matter drop, although I shall still write to the landlord and trust that he will pass on the message to the youths. I see that you are as kind and thoughtful as your father was.” Impulsively – and my father was very rarely impulsive – he stretched out his arms to her. Gerry immediately joined his embrace with a radiant smile.
I should have been delighted to see this scene, but somehow I was not. Somehow I felt a chill come over me. Was I simply jealous, I wondered? That was ridiculous – I was my father’s only child and he loved me dearly. My emotions must have shown on my face, because he said, “Is something troubling you Christabel?”
“No, nothing Daddy,” I forced out. “I’m so happy that Gerry is safe and delighted that you can renew an old friendship.” But despite my words, I felt fear grow within me, strong enough to make me feel sick.
“Indeed. Now, Geraldine my dear, I wonder if you would like to stay with us for the remainder of your visit? It would be a kindness both to me to hear of the later life and career of my friend, your father, and to Christabel who has few companions of her own age.”
“That is immensely kind of you, Sir Leonard, I’d be very happy to accept,” said Gerry with another wide smile.
“That’s settled then and please call me Leo.”
“Thank you Leo,” she said demurely.
I felt my father had had enough excitement for the moment and, as importantly, I wanted to be alone to think about what had come over me, so with some final good wishes on all sides, I led the way out of the room.
“Why are you holding your tummy?” asked Gerry as we walked back down the passage.
“I feel a little unwell,” I said. “I don’t know why. I think I’ll go and lie down for a while. Would you like to take a rest? If you like, you could go back to the morning room and make yourself comfortable in the armchair. There’s a rack of magazines there; Punch and Horse and Hound and so on. Just ask Ann for anything you need”
“I’m so sorry. I hope it’s just a passing thing. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be perfectly happy reading a magazine for a few hours.”
“I hope it won’t be that long. I’ll see you later”
I walked to my bedroom and lay down, staring at the oak beams above me. What could possibly be the matter? I had just found a friend of my own age and class who was going to stay for a while. I should be delighted. Abruptly, I sprang to my feet and went over to the Queen’s Mirror. I stared into it: only my own troubled face looked back. Had I seen an illusion earlier that morning, my eyes still hazy with sleep? But it had seemed so real. I lay back down on my bed, closed my eyes and tried to relax.
The time wore on and eventually I felt I had to make a move. My sickness was now just a vague ache. I got up and went downstairs to find Gerry reading the Listener.
“I feel much better now,” I said brightly. “Why don’t we go and collect your things from the Swan?”
“An excellent idea, but I’ll need shoes.”
“Of course – I’d forgotten that you’re barefoot. My shoes won’t fit you but I’ll see what I can do.”
Luckily, Ann was also rather short and readily allowed me to borrow the shoes she used when she went into the garden in muddy weather. I took these to Gerry and although she raised her eyebrows comically at the sight of them, condescended to put them on.
We left the house and walked companionably down the road towards the village – a matter of a quarter mile or so. Just before we reached it we came to our local church, St. Margaret’s. “Would you mind if we visited my mother?” I asked. “I like to pop in when I’m passing.”
“Yes, of course,” said Gerry.
We climbed the few steps up to the level of the church grounds and I led the way to my mother’s grave. It is simple but dignified: just a great slab bearing her name, years of birth and death and the verse – ‘Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ I saw Gerry look appraisingly at the grave – perhaps, I thought, South American memorials are very different. I stood for a while thinking of my mother. I wished so much that I could have her love, even now when I stood at the age of independence. I made a silent and impromptu prayer to wherever she was: let me and Gerry be good friends and help each other.
I raised my head and looked over the grave to check that everything was in order. I was pleased to see that the stone was clean and swept and the grass mowed about it. Our sexton was a good man and conscientious in his work. I noted that a number of what seemed to be wild flowers were beginning to push themselves up either side of the slab. I hoped they would be left and perhaps make a brave show in a few weeks.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said to Gerry and we skipped back down to the road and on to the Swan.
We found the landlord’s wife behind the bar and she looked surprised and relieved to see Gerry. “I’m so glad to see you’re safe, Miss de Vaux,” she said. “The maid told me this morning that your bed hadn’t been slept in and I was that worried.”
“Very good of you, Mrs. Dodwell, but I was quite all right. I spent the night at Christabel’s home.”
“And we’ve become good friends,” I chipped in, “and I’ve invited her to stay with us at the Hall. So if you’re agreeable, we’d like to collect her belongings.”
“Of course, Miss Woodstock. I’m afraid we’ll have to charge you for today in any case, Miss de Vaux,” she said apologetically, turning to Gerry.
“Of course, that’s only fair,” responded Gerry. “If you could make up the bill I’ll pay it when we come back down.”
Gerry led the way up to her room, where her first action was to change into a pair of her own shoes. I helped her to pack and in the end we had two suitcases: a large one and a small. I took the larger, although as they held mainly clothes neither was particularly heavy. We made our way back to the bar and Gerry produced her chequebook. A few moments later with thanks on both sides we were making our way back home.
We hauled our suitcases up the stairs and I said, “Now we must find a room for you. There’s several to choose from so we’ll go round and see which you like best.”
“Oh no,” said Gerry, taking my arm. “If you wouldn’t mind too much, I’d much rather stay with you. It would be company and I’d feel much safer.”
I was a little flustered, but said immediately, “Yes, of course you can stay with me. It’ll be wonderful having someone to talk to last thing at night.”
“That’s settled then,” smiled Gerry.
We unpacked her things and made room in the drawers and cupboards.
“What shall we do now?” I asked when we were done.
“Do you have a car?”
“Yes. It’s hardly ever used now that my father is unwell. Did you want to go somewhere?”
“How about London? We can get coffee beans there and I’ll show you how to brew a real cup of coffee.”
This was surprising, but I was very taken by the idea. London was not all that far away - less than two hours if one cut across country to meet the trunk road; nevertheless, we very rarely went there. It would be a real adventure. And all to get some coffee beans! I felt admiration for Gerry that she could be so serious about such a trivial matter.
“I’ll ask George to get the car out,” I said. George Chetwode was our general handyman. Most of the time in good weather he busied himself in the garden and in the colder times, such as at present, caught up with all the myriad bits of carpentry and repairs necessary in any large old house.
Half an hour later we were ready to go. The big green Wolseley stood outside the main door. George was at the wheel wearing the peaked cap he always assumed when driving in order to make it clear that he was not at that time a gardener. Gerry and I climbed into the wide leather bench seat at the back.
“Do you know Charlotte Street?” asked Gerry.
“No, Miss.”
“Tottenham Court Road?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Fine. Go to Tottenham Court Road and I’ll guide you from there.”
We set off through the narrow lanes and very shortly reached the Aylesbury road. George turned to the south, away from the town, and got us onto the highway to London.
I was in high spirits as we bowled along. I was so pleased to have a friend of my own age and standing and I’m afraid that I chattered a great deal. Gerry bore it all with an indulgent smile and a word or two.
At last we came into the sprawl of London. Our pace slowed considerably due to the presence of many other vehicles and the number of traffic lights, but finally we were driving along the Marylebone Road, past Baker Street station and then turning right into the Tottenham Court Road. From there Gerry took charge and directed George along a couple of narrow streets.
“Here we are,” she said at last. “Please park about here, George. We won’t be more than half an hour.”
We stepped out and I found myself outside a small and dingy shop with ‘J. T. Walsh: Tea and Coffee Merchants’ inscribed above the door in faded lettering. Entering, it was very dark and cramped. Behind the mahogany counter were shelves with rows of large Chinese-style jars having labels describing the types of tea they contained. I recognised many, such as Assam, Darjeeling and Lapsang Souchong; but there were others I’d never heard of such as Broken Orange Pekoe and Nilgiri. In one area were large jute sacks with long numbers stencilled on them in blue. Behind the counter stood an old and wizened man. He gave us a smile which I did not find entirely respectful, while not being definite enough for me to raise any objection.
“Good day, Miss de Vaux. How pleasant to see you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Walsh. This is my good friend Miss Woodstock. We’re after some Colombian beans – just one pound weight.”
“Green, I presume?”
“That’s right. And we’ll also need a small moulin à café.”
“Certainly, Miss. Now today, from Colombia I have my usual mountain-grown Typica and also a very flavoured Caturra.” Behind him stood a row of small open wooden bins. He took a metal scoop and extracted a few beans which he put into two tiny piles on the counter in front of Gerry. I was a little surprised to see them a dull green in colour, I had always somehow thought they would be dark brown. Gerry took a little time to rub a few between her fingers and inhale the aroma.
“The Typica will do,” she said at last.
“Certainly, Miss.” Walsh took a stout paper bag and filled it using the scoop, then weighed it on an old-fashioned cast iron balance, shaking in a few extra beans to make up the weight. He placed the bag before us then turned back to a cluttered shelf which held the paraphernalia associated with his trade, such as teapots, milk jugs, strainers and so on, and took down what looked like a wooden box, six inches to a side, topped with a metal dome out of which protruded a shaft attached to a handle.
“Here you are, Miss, your grinder. A very useful little unit for home use.”
“It will do,” said Gerry with a cursory glance. “How much do I owe you?”
“Four shillings and sixpence, Miss de Vaux.”
Gerry produced her purse and paid. With a smile of thanks from me and a low bow from Mr. Walsh, we left with our goods.
“Let’s not start back straight away,” suggested Gerry. “There’s a Corner House just at the end of this road where we can sit down and have a rest.”
I agreed at once and after a word to George we walked the short distance to Oxford Street where stood a majestic Lyon’s. Again, I felt a sense of adventure. It was a rare treat for me to be in any kind of restaurant.
We ordered tea and cakes from a smart young Nippy and chattered happily together while the tea brewed.
“Do you usually live in London?” I asked. “You seem to know it very well.”
“Yes. The Colombian embassy is near Knightsbridge and I lived there for some time, but it is very small and we share the building with Ecuador and of course at my age I wanted more freedom, so I moved to a flat in Chelsea.”
“That sounds wonderful!” I sighed. “I’ve been thinking of moving to London myself, but I can’t leave my father when he’s so unwell. He really does need me at home and of course if I went he’d have no-one to talk to.”
Gerry nodded sympathetically. We spent another half hour or so in generalities and when we agreed that we were sufficiently rested, Gerry called for the bill.
“Oh, let me get this!” I said. “You paid for the coffee.”
“No, no. I insist on paying. After all, it is your family car and petrol.”
I gave way and Gerry settled the bill after which we returned arm-in-arm to where the Wolseley waited for us in Charlotte Street. We settled back in our seats and let George drive us smoothly home.
We dumped the coffee beans and grinder in the kitchen. It was still early evening so I said, “Why don’t we go and relax in the family room? It’s where daddy and I used to sit every evening and have a chat. It’s very comfortable.”
“Sounds cosy!” said Gerry, happily.
I led the way. Ann had made up a fire and it was nice and warm, which is always a problem in the Hall in the cold seasons, it being very large and rather draughty by modern standards. We slumped onto the big leather sofa, Gerry looked around curiously.
“I see you’ve got a television,” she remarked.
“Yes,” I said proudly. “It’s got a 14 inch screen. We watch all sorts of things.”
“Shall we watch something tonight?”
“Let’s see what’s on.” I opened the Radio Times that was beside the sofa and with Gerry peering over my shoulder turned to today’s page.
“There’s a play written by and starring Peter Ustinov on in half an hour or so, how about that?”
“That sounds fine. He’s always good.”
We made ourselves comfortable on the sofa which was old and soft enough to shape itself to our bodies and chattered about the day’s activities.
At the right time I turned on the telly, we snuggled together in our leather nest and watched Ustinov play his role of a once heroic, but now old and senile military man who was used as a puppet by a cynical set of politicians.
“Nothing like Churchill, then,” sniggered Gerry as the outline became clear.
I was rather shocked, but said nothing. I supposed French cynicism as to everyone’s motives was part of her upbringing.
The play finished at ten o’clock and I went into the kitchen and toasted some crumpets, lathered them with butter and brought them in with mugs of Horlicks. We went up to bed not much later.
On her return from the bathroom Gerry again stripped naked to don her nightgown, but this time I averted my eyes.
