Abdication: A Novel by Juliet Nicolson Page A

with which he had teased her about her hat. Had he been flirting with her? She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. How did that sort of kiss work? Would he remove his glasses or would she have to duck beneath them to reach his mouth? Her lips puckered at the thought and she felt a flutter of curiosity. That experience, mouth-to-mouth kissing, that she had read about so often in books, seen so often in movies and watched so often when courting sugarcane workers who were unaware they were being observed, remained for May frustratingly mysterious.
    A year ago her mother had spoken to her about the nature of happiness. One evening Edith had suggested that they sit on the terrace together and have what she called “a coming-of-age talk.” The conversation had assumed an air of finality about it as if Edith was making the most of a last chance to tell her daughter everything she held to be wise and precious.
    “The first thing I want to say, my darling,” Edith began, taking her daughter’s delicate hands in hers, as she had done ever since May could remember, “is that there is no man on this earth who can fulfil all the requirements of a wife. A sense of humour and a passion for books are strong bonuses, I would suggest. There will always be a few tolerable minuses: snoring, or a lack of interest in flowers, for example.”
    May smiled. She had lost count of the times she had heard her mother complain to her unresponsive husband about the roseintolerant earth of the West Indies. The whole family had grown used to Edith’s yearning for the sweet-smelling bushes that she hadcoaxed into growth against the odds in the small garden of her Scottish childhood home.
    “But if one is lucky,” her mother had continued “one will find enveloping love, even if it is only for a short time. And if one is luckier still, one will find someone to cherish and be cherished by for a lifetime. Oh yes, and it is important to marry someone who listens, and of course you must listen too, not just hear. There is a big difference between the two. I want you to learn to listen so that you make choices about the way you lead your life rather than falling for any opportunity that presents itself.”
    A knock at the door interrupted May’s thoughts. A child of about ten years old was standing in front of her using both unsteady hands to balance a cup and saucer from which steam was rising. A good part of the liquid had already slopped over the edge.
    “Mum heard the floorboards creak and said you might like a cup of tea,” the freckled-nosed girl said, and continued without giving May a second to say anything. “So I said I would like to take it to the new lady driver. I am Florence and I wanted to have a look at you. Do you mind?”
    “Of course I don’t mind,” May said, reaching out to take the wobbling liquid. “And a cup of tea is what I would like more than anything else in the world.”
    Florence looked pleased.
    “Have you been in the sun?”
    “Yes, I certainly have,” replied May, a little surprised.
    “I thought so,” said Florence. “You look browner than everyone else. I’m not allowed to go in the sun. Well, actually, there isn’t any at the moment but if there were I wouldn’t be allowed in it. I have to wear a hat even though I am nearly ten. My mother says my freckles are bad enough already and the sun would make me have even more.”
    May was intrigued.
    “Perhaps you could tell my mother the sun won’t hurt me? I’m always being made to do things I don’t want to do and ,” and here Florence allowed her voice to become very low and quiet and ominous, “keep secrets that I’m not meant to tell.”
    May tried to conceal her smile.
    “I think your freckles are lovely.”
    “No one else thinks so, except Mr. Hooch. Do you like Mr. Hooch? He comes to our school sometimes to tell us about the tigers and elephants he used to see when he was growing up in India. And he reads us stories by Mr.