or three spells of heavy rain: the Hundreds well was saved, the milking ran smoothly for the first time in months; and Rod’s relief was so palpable, it was almost painful to observe it. His whole mood lightened. He spent more time away from his desk, and began to talk almost brightly about making improvements at the farm. He brought in a couple of labourers to help in the fields. And because the house’s already overgrown lawns had sprung into life with the shift in season, he set the estate’s odd-jobber, Barrett, to go over them with a scythe. They emerged lush and trimly textured as a newly shorn sheep, making the house look more impressive—more, I thought, as it was meant to look; more as I remembered it having looked on that childhood visit of mine, thirty years before.
----
M eanwhile, at that neighbouring manor house, Standish, Mr and Mrs Baker-Hyde were now quite settled in. They began to be seen more in the neighbourhood; Mrs Ayres ran into the wife, Diana, on one of her rare shopping trips to Leamington, and found her to be just as charming as she had hoped. On the strength of that encounter, in fact, she began to think of hosting a ‘little gathering’ at Hundreds, as a way of welcoming the newcomers to the district.
This must have been in late September. She told me all about it while I was sitting with her and Caroline after treating Rod’s leg. The thought of the Hall being opened up to strangers unsettled me slightly, and the feeling must have shown in my expression.
‘Oh, we used to throw two or three parties a year here, you know, in the old days,’ she said. ‘Even during the war I managed to put together a regular supper for the officers billeted with us. It’s true that one’s points went further then. I couldn’t manage a supper now. But we have Betty, after all. A servant makes all the difference at that sort of thing, and she can just about be trusted to go around with a decanter. I thought, a quiet sort of drinks party, no more than ten people. Perhaps the Desmonds, and the Rossiters …’
‘You must come too, of course, Dr Faraday,’ said Caroline, as her mother’s voice tailed away.
And, ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Ayres. ‘Yes, of course you must.’
She said it warmly enough, but with the briefest of hesitations; and I couldn’t blame her for that, for though I was now such a regular at the house, I was hardly a family friend. Having invited me, however, she gamely saw the thing through. My only free evening was a Sunday; I usually spent it with the Grahams. But she said Sunday evenings were as good as any other, and she promptly brought out her engagement book and suggested some dates.
That was as far as we got with it, that day; and when there was no further mention of the party on my next visit I wondered if, after all, the idea had fizzled out. But a few days later, taking my short-cut across the park, I saw Caroline. She told me that, after a flurry of correspondence between her mother and Diana Baker-Hyde, an evening had finally been settled on, three Sundays ahead.
She spoke without much enthusiasm. I said, ‘You don’t sound very excited.’
She turned up the collar of her jacket, drawing the tips of it across her chin.
‘Oh, I’m simply bowing to the inevitable,’ she said. ‘Most people think Mother’s awfully dreamy, you know, but once she has an idea about something it’s no use trying to talk her out of it. Rod says throwing a party with the house in the state it’s in now will be like Sarah Bernhardt playing Juliet with one leg; and I must say, he has a point. I might just stay in the little parlour on the night, with Gyp and the wireless. That sounds much more fun to me than getting all glamoured up for people we don’t even know, and probably won’t much like.’
She seemed self-conscious as she spoke, and her tone did not ring quite true to me; and though she continued to grumble, it was clear that she was looking forward to the party to some
----
M eanwhile, at that neighbouring manor house, Standish, Mr and Mrs Baker-Hyde were now quite settled in. They began to be seen more in the neighbourhood; Mrs Ayres ran into the wife, Diana, on one of her rare shopping trips to Leamington, and found her to be just as charming as she had hoped. On the strength of that encounter, in fact, she began to think of hosting a ‘little gathering’ at Hundreds, as a way of welcoming the newcomers to the district.
This must have been in late September. She told me all about it while I was sitting with her and Caroline after treating Rod’s leg. The thought of the Hall being opened up to strangers unsettled me slightly, and the feeling must have shown in my expression.
‘Oh, we used to throw two or three parties a year here, you know, in the old days,’ she said. ‘Even during the war I managed to put together a regular supper for the officers billeted with us. It’s true that one’s points went further then. I couldn’t manage a supper now. But we have Betty, after all. A servant makes all the difference at that sort of thing, and she can just about be trusted to go around with a decanter. I thought, a quiet sort of drinks party, no more than ten people. Perhaps the Desmonds, and the Rossiters …’
‘You must come too, of course, Dr Faraday,’ said Caroline, as her mother’s voice tailed away.
And, ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Ayres. ‘Yes, of course you must.’
She said it warmly enough, but with the briefest of hesitations; and I couldn’t blame her for that, for though I was now such a regular at the house, I was hardly a family friend. Having invited me, however, she gamely saw the thing through. My only free evening was a Sunday; I usually spent it with the Grahams. But she said Sunday evenings were as good as any other, and she promptly brought out her engagement book and suggested some dates.
That was as far as we got with it, that day; and when there was no further mention of the party on my next visit I wondered if, after all, the idea had fizzled out. But a few days later, taking my short-cut across the park, I saw Caroline. She told me that, after a flurry of correspondence between her mother and Diana Baker-Hyde, an evening had finally been settled on, three Sundays ahead.
She spoke without much enthusiasm. I said, ‘You don’t sound very excited.’
She turned up the collar of her jacket, drawing the tips of it across her chin.
‘Oh, I’m simply bowing to the inevitable,’ she said. ‘Most people think Mother’s awfully dreamy, you know, but once she has an idea about something it’s no use trying to talk her out of it. Rod says throwing a party with the house in the state it’s in now will be like Sarah Bernhardt playing Juliet with one leg; and I must say, he has a point. I might just stay in the little parlour on the night, with Gyp and the wireless. That sounds much more fun to me than getting all glamoured up for people we don’t even know, and probably won’t much like.’
She seemed self-conscious as she spoke, and her tone did not ring quite true to me; and though she continued to grumble, it was clear that she was looking forward to the party to some
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