The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(57)

‘Blythe,’ corrected Cecil with a laugh.

‘Charlotte Blythe, the Honourable Mrs Blythe,’ Thomas added with emphasis, ‘had the radiance of a young bride.’

‘She did look quite beautiful,’ breathed Emma in admiration.

‘The devil has many disguises,’ Cecil interjected humorously.

‘I agree with Emma,’ said Audrey, grinning at her. ‘Charlo is a beautiful, elegant woman. If I look half as good as her when I’m an old lady I’ll be very contented.’

‘Darling, your beauty comes from within and will never wither,’ said Cecil seriously.

‘Thank you,’ Audrey replied, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks.

‘That’s what I always say to Emma,’ Thomas said. ‘Why don’t they ever believe us?’

Cecil shrugged his shoulders. ‘You two have a lot in common, don’t you?’ he said.

Emma looked across at Audrey and gave a knowing smile. ‘Yes, we do,’ she replied. Audrey said nothing. She linked her arm through her husband’s and lowered her eyes, aware that they had more in common than Thomas and Cecil would ever know.

‘I want to say a few words about my new wife,’ began the Colonel, swaying slightly, one hand on the stand for support, the other holding a newly topped-up flute of champagne. It appeared as if his bursting belly would topple him over, but he leant back and used the balls of his large feet for balance. He winked at Charlo and his whiskers twitched with sentiment. ‘We’re old,’ he stated, raising eyebrows that resembled two mangy cats’ tails. ‘There’s no doubt about it. Charlo and I are well into our twilight years but for me life has never been better. I thought the rough fields of the Somme were as much excitement as I would have in my life. But then I met Charlo. I had retired from the army and thought my fighting days were over. But Charlo was one territory I couldn’t leave unconquered. She doesn’t know this, so don’t tell her, but she’s the greatest victory of my career. It took all my reserves, all my energies, all my courage to win her and never have I held such a prize. She’s beautiful, she’s elegant, she’s wise and she’s strong enough to save me from myself. Charlo,’ he said, his small eyes twinkling at her with emotion brought on by the alcohol and a strange magic. ‘I didn’t shed a tear when young Jimmy MacMannus was shot down in the winter of 1916 although I wanted to with every nerve in my body and I didn’t shed a tear when Old Bernard Blythe, my late father, died of pneumonia when I was but a wee lad of thirteen, but you, old girl, have the power to make me weep with gratitude that you have chosen to share your final years with an old battle-weary dog like me. I’ll make you happy, by God I will and, Charlo, old girl, I’m hanging on here for a good many more years. Life is beginning to get interesting and you’ve made me feel like a young man of twenty again. Let us raise our glasses to Charlotte Blythe, Charlotte Hamilton-Hughes-Fordington-Blythe and in case you’re all wondering, this is about as many names as one woman can carry. There will be no more funerals and no more weddings in the life of the new Mrs Blythe because when I go, old girl, I’m taking you with me.’ He raised his glass then added with a smirk, ‘We’re bloody lucky with the weather, it’s snowing in London!’ When the applause died down the music began to play and he swept his new bride onto the dance floor where he pressed his sweating cheek against hers. Charlo noticed that his hands were shaking and her thin lips curled into a tender smile.

Aunt Hilda looked across at Nelly and wondered whether she’d ever find a husband. She wasn’t getting any younger and there were now few young men available for marriage. Nelly wasn’t getting any prettier either; she had never had the luxury of choice, not like Audrey who had had every man in Hurlingham longing to court her. Nelly had to wait until she was approached and at the moment there wasn’t a decent young man within fifty miles of her. She watched her husband dance with Emma Letton’s little sister, Victoria, and swallowed her resentment as he pressed himself up against her in the most inappropriate way. Poor Victoria visibly cringed and smiled helplessly over his shoulder. Hilda remembered how he had always had an unsuitable fascination with Isla, but now Isla was gone he grabbed the opportunity to dance with any young girl he could lay his hands on. Disgusting, she thought wearily, tragic old man.

‘Why don’t you dance?’ she said to her daughter when Nelly wandered over, bored and tired and desperate to go home.

‘Because, Mummy, no one’s asked me. Besides, I don’t want to dance with Daddy, he’s drunk too much and is sweating like an old pig.’