Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,55
There was also a lot of valuable china scattered around the place in display cabinets. It smelt like a museum. I found it cold in spite of the central heating; but then, I wasn’t predisposed to like it.
Charles handed me over to Mrs. Green, a black-clad housekeeper, who showed me to a luxurious guestroom where I might wash and brush up. Unasked, she found me a new pair of tights, since my own were in shreds owing to the rough treatment they’d received that day. Her manners were almost perfect, but I felt she was making an inventory of my clothing and would report to the other servants on everything she saw.
Drinks were dispensed in the vast Blue sitting-room, with J.B. jocularly presiding, and Mary Ashton alternately laughing and crying with joy. The phone rang, and it was David, wanting to hear all the details. Mary Ashton couldn’t sit down, she was so happy.
“Susan — our little heroine!” she cried, when she saw me. She almost ran towards me, with arms outstretched. It was beautifully done and possibly even genuine. I tried not to resent being called “Susan” or “little”. She pressed her scented cheek to mine, and introduced me to Jane, whose wan face and big brown eyes were also showing both tears and smiles. I liked Jane on sight, because she was as plain as I. She had heavy eyebrows which needed thinning out, and she wore the very minimum of make-up. When she spoke, it was in such a shy voice that you had to bend over her to catch her words. I felt we were going to get on well together.
We processed through a gallery hung with blue-green tapestries to the panelled dining-room, lit with great clusters of candles in massive silver-plated stands. This was the smaller of two dining-rooms, J.B. told me, and used for intimate, family affairs. The silverware was Georgian, the plates hand-painted and the glass Waterford. I thought the food elaborate and over-rich, and it occurred to me to wonder whether J.B. ought to be eating it, if he were on a diet... didn’t diabetics have to diet? I decided it was none of my business, anyway.
Charles was treated as the son of the house already. He hardly touched his wine, and ate nothing. He couldn’t share his mother’s delight. He’d paid too high a price, personally, for his success, to be able to laugh with her. And she did laugh; she talked the whole of dinner, wittily, bubbling over; then catching up her handkerchief to dab at her eyes as tears spilled, and laughing at herself for crying. She chided Charles for being lumpish and stupid. I stiffened, and noticed that J.B. did, too. Charles and I were sitting one on either side of J.B., and now I saw that J.B. was watching Charles as closely as I.
“Make an effort, Charles!” cried Mary.
Charles did his best to rouse himself. He joined in the chatter for a moment or two, and then fell silent again. J.B. turned to look at me, in calculating fashion, and I stared back at him. We didn’t exactly declare a truce, but in that exchange of glances each admitted that we were worried about Charles, and would do our best to protect him until he had recovered his usual spirits. And it seemed, oddly enough, as if Charles did need protection. His mother seemed to think he was incapable of looking after himself. For instance...
“John dear,” she was saying to J.B., “That foolish boy of mine — has he got terribly in debt with you over this business of buying back the firm? He said something about having earned the money, but of course I can’t believe that...”
“Charles is not a moron!” snapped J.B., and then softened into a smile for her. “No, my dear. He’s not in my debt. In fact, I believe I owe him three weeks’ salary as of this minute.”
“I suppose you mean to cancel his debts because he saved your life, but of course we will repay you...”
“Nonsense! Charles — will you explain, or shall I?” Charles shook his head. Now and then he looked across the table at me, as if he wanted to ask me something, but couldn’t in front of the others.
“Well,” said J.B., firmly drawing attention back to himself, “When Charles first approached me for a job he was in something of a dilemma, because the scheme he’d evolved demanded my active co-operation, and he didn’t think he