The Beekeeper's Daughter by Santa Montefiore Page B

for not having told her earlier.
    ‘It turns out he knew all along that they were going away for the weekend.’
    ‘Really?’ said Belle in astonishment. ‘And he let her go?’
    ‘Apparently,’ Bill answered.
    ‘Well, there’s a simple reason for that,’ said Evelyn. ‘They’re not like us.’
    ‘How do you mean, Evelyn?’ Belle asked, knowing from Evelyn’s tone exactly what she meant.
    ‘They’ve got no class,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I wouldn’t want those boys for our daughter, but for people like the Valentines, those boys are their level.’ She spoke as if they belonged to an entirely different, and inferior, species.
    ‘I must say, I’m surprised at Freddie. I’ve always thought him a very correct man,’ said Belle.
    ‘I’ve always thought him a very cold man,’ Evelyn added.
    ‘He warms up on the golf course,’ Bill interjected. ‘There’s nothing cold about him when he hits a hole in one!’
    Evelyn rolled her eyes. ‘Right, I’ve had enough of this music. I’m going home. Bill?’
    He sighed his displeasure, but knew it wasn’t worth arguing with his wife. ‘I’ve told Lucy to be home by eleven.’
    ‘Then you’ve got no reason to doubt that she’ll be safely tucked up in bed by five past,’ said Belle.
    Belle enjoyed a good party. Her husband, John, was a great raconteur and loved nothing better than to hold an audience with his stories, usually grossly exaggerated. She wandered around the fire, talking to friends, while John held a small group in his thrall, laughing uproariously at his own punchlines. She watched the young dancing in the golden glow of the flames. They looked like savages, jumping up and down on the sand in bare feet, their naked limbs flailing about to the almost hypnotic rhythm of the drums. Her own children were in their twenties now with families of their own. She was relieved she no longer had to worry about her daughters. It was a hard time to be young, she reflected.
    She remained at the party until midnight. By then most of the grown-ups had gone home, leaving only John, with a few of his closest friends, laughing at old stories told a hundred times before. By then the music had stopped. The boys now lounged on the sand with Trixie, Suzie and a few other girls, drinking beer and smoking what smelt suspiciously like weed. Belle looked a little closer. At first she didn’t believe the evidence of her own eyes. No, surely not, she thought. It was way past her curfew. But yes, indeed, there was no mistaking the pale hair and pale skin of Lucy Durlacher.
    Belle was at heart a good person and very aware of her reputation as such. However, Evelyn had offended her tonight. She had known Evelyn all her life, they had been at high school together, and she was well aware and endlessly tolerant of her faults. Yet tonight her snobbishness had grated. Evelyn had never met those boys and the Valentines might not be ‘top drawer’, as the English would say, but they were kind, good people – Belle was particularly fond of Grace. So, instead of doing her duty as a friend to Evelyn, she walked away with John, leaving Lucy on the sand to smoke and flirt into the early hours of the morning.
    The small group of young people remained by the fire, which was now reduced to crimson embers revived every now and then by the wind that swept in off the sea. Surrounded by empty beer bottles and cigarette butts they laughed and chatted beneath the full moon, oblivious of the time that ticked towards dawn. The gentle sound of the ocean lulled them into the realm of the unreal, as the waves washed diamonds onto the beach.
    George and Lucy sat a little apart from the rest, their heads together, her hair now falling down her back like that of a sleek mermaid. She looked quite pretty in the semi-darkness, her skin having taken on a silvery translucence. They talked in low voices, punctuated by her occasional soft laughter. Trixie inhaled a spliff then passed it on to