The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(60)

Leonora adored her sister with the same fervour that Audrey had once adored Isla. She rarely took her eyes off her and admired everything she did, for Alicia was a quick learner and extremely gifted. Nothing was too much of a challenge for Alicia; with her beauty and ability she could conquer anything, anything, that is, except herself and it would take her a lifetime to learn that the most testing demon was the one within her.

Leonora on the other hand was gentle and sensitive like her mother but without Audrey’s physical allure. She was plain with thin brown hair the colour of parsnips and ears that stuck out but it didn’t matter, for she was kind and good natured and loved by everyone except Alicia who despised weakness. The more she tormented her sister the more Leonora admired her and it was that doe-eyed devotion that brought out the worst in Alicia. Their Mexican maid, Mercedes, who herself was not blessed with great beauty, would shake her head made heavy with too many superstitions and claim that good looks were the work of the devil. ‘A face like that will be the ruin of many a good man,’ she predicted gravely, ‘but Leonora will find happiness because her features won’t deceive anyone.’

Mercedes hid her stout legs beneath long skirts and her recipes under the parrot cage where Loro learnt to imitate her voice to perfection. So convincing was he that when Oscar, the chauffeur, appeared at the kitchen door claiming that she had summoned him for ‘café’ she would waggle her brown finger at him accusingly without realizing his innocent mistake was due to the parrot’s brilliant impersonation. Furiously she’d shuffle him back out into the yard while Loro sniggered quietly in his cage the way Oscar did when he spied on Mercedes taking a pee in the small lavatory behind the pantry.

Mercedes loved children. She had many of her own fathered by the porters, gardeners and chauffeurs of Hurlingham so that they ran wild about the streets like mongrel dogs not really belonging to anyone. With great pride she would entertain the twins for hours, unlocking for them the mysteries of the kitchen but she learned very quickly that while Leonora enjoyed the whole culinary process from pastry to presentation, Alicia bored easily and only liked the icing and the decoration. Mercedes didn’t hesitate to shake her brown finger at Alicia when she attempted to spoil her sister’s creations while Loro squawked ‘mala niña ja ja ja mala niña!’ at the back of the room with glee, watching through ebony eyes as Alicia retaliated by turning on her astonishing charm and throwing her arms around the maid’s thick waist, feigning love; Alicia loved no one but herself.

Much to the relief of many people in Hurlingham Phyllida Bates passed away in April 1960. Only a small number of people attended the funeral and only because they felt they should, or, as in Charlo Blythe’s case, because they sensed their own mortality lurking in the lengthening autumn shadows and believed that by proving themselves virtuous and pious they might hold it at bay for a little while longer. Phyllida’s decrepit body had finally succumbed to the corrosion of her venomous blood, collapsing into a heap of leathery skin and dry bones. There was so little of her left that the coffin carrying her was unusually small and light. Phyllida’s passing interested no one except the six-year-old Alicia who was fascinated by death and the dark allure it exuded. She hovered by the gate in her school pinafore, her eyes wide with curiosity as the sombre procession left the church. She sniffed the thick scent of lilies that mingled with the sweet smell of death and felt a cold thrill tingle her spine. ‘Come away, darling,’ hissed her mother, who held Leonora tightly by the hand, ‘let them mourn in peace.’

‘They’re not mourning,’ she said and grinned without taking her eyes off the solemn scene being played out before her.

‘Of course they are, Alicia,’ replied her mother indulgently.

‘Then why is the Colonel stroking Mrs Blythe’s bottom?’ Audrey raised her eyes into the churchyard and saw, to her horror, that her child was right. The Colonel’s withered hand was unmistakeably caressing the skinny behind of his wife.

‘He’s not stroking it, darling, he’s rubbing it better. She fell on it,’ said Audrey hastily, striding over and pulling her mischievous child away from the fence.

‘Well then, it’s working,’ she said and giggled. ‘Because Mrs Blythe’s smiling.’

To Cecil’s dismay Alicia’s teachers were constantly complaining about her behaviour. They claimed she was too clever for her own good, that she disrupted the class and that she was unkind to the smaller children. In fact, they declared in exasperation, shrugging their shoulders, they weren’t able to cope with her at all. Consequently Cecil decided to involve himself more in the disciplining of his daughter and even resorted to smacking her once or twice when she answered him back with a defiance that astounded him. Such boldness in a child of six was inexcusable. But nothing seemed to work, she was spoilt beyond repair. Her charm might work on her mother and aunts, he thought, but it won’t work on me.