The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,61
Besides, Andrew knew it was pointless to argue with his mother.
Since he’d been away at Sandhurst on military training, he suspected Lydia had been turning to the sherry bottle even more than usual. Minnie was becoming more forgetful and so a worry to his mother, and Dickie Mason had gone to stay with relations in the south of England over Christmas and hadn’t yet returned. Andrew wondered if his mother’s sudden ‘fever’ was an excuse to avoid going to a party without Dickie on her arm.
His mother and Dickie had been close companions for over two years now, and Andrew liked the amiable captain but was fairly sure that Dickie had no intention of marrying Lydia. He was obviously quite happy with his casual frequent visits to Templeton Hall, the occasional winter foray to the south of France and periods of absence when he needed a break from Lydia’s smothering attention. His mother had forbidden him to mention Dickie to his father and Andrew still felt a little guilty for doing so in his letter. But he’d been hurt by his father’s scathing rejection of his decision to join the army and thought that mentioning Dickie’s support might help his cause.
Andrew stood up. ‘I’ll go and get changed.’
Lydia smiled. ‘You’ll have a marvellous time. Wear your tartan trews, you look so handsome in your mess kit.’
By ten o’clock, Andrew was feeling bilious at the amount of sickly ginger cordial he’d consumed along with the wedges of fruit cake and slightly stale shortbread that had been handed around. The Murrays, a cheery couple who had recently bought a Victorian mansion on the outskirts of Ebbsmouth, were gaining a reputation for throwing lively parties.
The downstairs drawing room and adjacent dining room were packed with guests drinking cocktails and champagne, their glasses being constantly topped up by the ever-present servants. The chatter was loud and the laughter raucous. The Murrays, it would seem, thought a good party was measured by the amount of alcohol served rather than the food. Andrew thought wryly that his mother would have loved it.
He glanced at the clock and wondered if it would be impolite to slip away. His face ached from smiling and his voice was hoarse from having to talk loudly to make himself heard to a series of people he hardly knew. He didn’t much care for parties. Even mess dinners could be boring – it was the side of the army he least enjoyed. Noel thought it amusing that he, a Scot and a Lomax, had no taste for whisky.
Andrew decided to go. He searched around for his hostess but could see no sign of her. He wouldn’t be missed and would write a note of thanks tomorrow. He made for the entrance. As he stepped into the cold air, a hand on his sleeve stopped him. He turned to see a tall young woman in a tartan silk dress smiling at him.
‘Hello, Andrew.’
There was something familiar about her. She had a slim face framed by wavy fair hair and regarded him with hazel eyes – pretty eyes.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
Andrew flushed. ‘Sorry, I don’t,’ he admitted.
She laughed. ‘At least that’s honest. You came to play at my house years ago, when you first came back from India. You were so exotic – I’d never known anyone from that far away before.’
He still had no idea who she was. His mother had dragged him all over the county that summer when he’d rather have been spending it with Stella.
‘Oh, yes.’ He tried to sound convincing. ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to remind me of your name.’
‘Felicity.’
This was becoming embarrassing. The name meant nothing to him.
Her smile turned into a pout. ‘You still don’t remember, do you? I made you play with my dolls and you spent half the time in the loo – I thought you had tummy trouble ’cause you’d been in India, but afterwards I realised you were probably hiding from me.’
Finally, Andrew remembered. ‘Flis-Tish!’ he exclaimed.
She gave him a quizzical look.
He laughed bashfully. ‘It’s the name I called you because I couldn’t remember Felicity.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m glad I made some sort of impression on you.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Felicity Douglas. Pleased to meet you, Andrew Lomax.’
Andrew shook hands. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Douglas.’
‘So, why are you leaving?’
‘I – er – my mother’s not well and I don’t want to leave her too long on her own.’