Last Voyage of the Valentina(26)
Cook bustled in with a large, steaming treacle pudding. Lavender raised her head expectantly then dropped her narrow shoulders in disappointment. “I thought we were having figs,” she said indignantly.
“Figs?” said Margo with a frown.
“Figs,” came the reply.
“It’s steamed pudding,” Margo explained. “Why doesn’t everyone help themselves?” She nodded at Cook who put the plate on the sideboard.
“I definitely smelled figs in the hall. Didn’t you?” She turned to her son.
“No, I didn’t,” Thomas replied. But he knitted his eyebrows in bewilderment because in the last couple of weeks he could have sworn he had smelled that desperately familiar, fruity scent. It brought back memories he had shelved long ago. Of the war, of Italy, of a beautiful young woman and a terrible tragedy.
“I’m most disappointed,” she wailed. “I haven’t had a fig in years!”
“I’m terribly sorry, Lavender,” said Margo, her chest expanding in a deep breath. “I’ll find you a fig next time I’m at Fortnum’s. I promise.”
Lavender placed her thin hand on her son’s but stared down at the table. “I did smell figs. I’m not losing my mind!”
Alba double-blinked at Fitz and smirked. However, Fitz was no longer amused. The old woman’s confusion aroused nothing but pity.
After lunch they settled into the drawing room, where coffee was served with little shortbread squares. Margo’s dogs lay down at her feet, but Hedge took his usual place of privilege on her lap. Lavender retired for a rest, and laughter once more returned to the group. Thomas suggested a rubber of bridge. Alba sat on the sofa smoking while Fitz settled down with her family. It was all part of the plan and, as much as she wanted to draw him away, she knew it would be unwise; after all, he was an excellent player and it was one of her father’s favorite games.
Caroline arrived once the game was over. Margo and Fitz were enjoying a detailed postmortem, analyzing where they had gone wrong and what they should have done. She hurried in with a large grin. “Oh, it’s so lovely to be home,” she enthused, kissing her parents and patting the little dogs excitedly. She hugged Miranda and Alba and extended her hand to the stranger.
“I’m in love!” she beamed, flopping into a chair and crossing her legs beneath her long skirt. “He’s called Michael Hudson-Hume. You’ll love him,” she gushed to her mother. “He went to Eton and then Oxford. He’s very bright. Now works in the City.”
Margo looked pleased. “Darling, how lovely. When are we going to meet him?”
“Very soon,” she replied, flicking the hair off her shoulder with a pale hand. “His parents live in Kent. He goes there most weekends. He’s a terrific tennis player, Daddy, and is going to teach me to play golf. He says he can already tell that I’ll have a good swing.”
“Good,” said Thomas, chuckling good-naturedly.
“Is his mother Daphne?” Margo asked, narrowing her eyes and mentally placing Michael Hudson-Hume in a nice tidy box with Proper Person written on it.
Caroline’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “Yes!” she enthused. “And his father’s William.”
Margo lifted her chin and nodded. “Daphne was at school with me. We did pony club camp together. She was a terrific horsewoman.”
“Oh yes, she still is. She’s an eventer,” said Caroline with pride. Margo didn’t feel it appropriate to mention that Daphne had also been very keen on the boys and had acquired the nickname “Lapin” because, as they crudely put it, “she went like a rabbit.”
“I do look forward to seeing her again.”
“Oh, you will,” said Caroline. “Very soon!”
Alba sensed that Michael was about to propose. Knowing the Hudson-Hume type he would drive down to ask her father for Caroline’s hand. He would do the right thing as he had no doubt done all his life. Just like Caroline and Miranda. She inhaled her cigarette and blew the smoke out in a long puff, while her eyelids grew heavy with boredom. She was jolted back to wakefulness by Fitz squeezing her hand.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested in a low voice. Before they ask me if I know the Hudson-Humes, he thought, knowing that he’d find it irresistible to lie and say that he did, brewing up all sorts of trouble for the future. Then he frowned. If he succeeded in giving Alba what she wanted they wouldn’t have a future, not together at any rate.
That evening while he changed for dinner Fitz realized, as he tried to subdue his windblown hair, that he wasn’t charming the Arbuckles solely in order to dupe them, but because he sincerely wanted them to like him. It wasn’t an act at all. So he had lied, which had been fun, and played with the Buffalo’s weakness for surrounding herself with people from her own world. But he genuinely wanted them to think well of him. He wanted Alba to think well of him too. A part of him hoped that by helping her discover her mother he would make it all right with her father and that she would reward him with love.