The drawing room, which she and Kim had always thought looked barren and cold, acquired a wholly new appearance when the grubby ivory walls were washed with a dark coral paint that was almost terra cotta in tone. Her only purchases, other than the paint, were yards and yards of moss green velvet for new curtains and slipcovers in the drawing room, white damask for the dining room curtains, various pieces of coloured silk for cushions, and new shades for the lamps.
Francesca’s father had a great sense of fair play, and when he at last viewed the finished results he was quick to congratulate her on the miracle she had performed, and his pride in her knew no bounds. The family heirlooms were shown to advantage for the first time in years, and he also had to admit that her improvements had given the house a new graciousness, whilst enhancing its actual value as well. The Earl conceded it was more valuable than ever before, and could readily be turned into cash, being neither entailed nor part of the trust. It struck him that Francesca had shown great foresight, and he determined to repay the thousand pounds as soon as possible. That May, on her nineteenth birthday, he presented her with the gold filigree and topaz necklace which had been made for the Sixth Countess of Langley in 1760. However, this was only on loan to her until his death, when it would pass to Kim, since it was part of the trust.
Now, as she stood in the doorway of the drawing room on this Saturday evening in February, a year later, Francesca smiled with pleasure. The room looked truly beautiful. Kim had lighted the fire an hour earlier and the logs were crackling brightly in the huge carved oak fireplace, the sparks flying merrily up the chimney. He had also drawn the curtains to shut out the depressing drizzle and dampness of the cold evening, and turned on the leaf-green Chinese jade lamps shaded in cream silk.
The atmosphere was inviting and the lovely old furniture gleamed in the refracted light. The coral-tinted walls made the perfect backdrop for the classical Hepplewhite Pembroke tables, a large Sheraton bookcase with glass doors, made of mahogany inlaid with fruitwoods, and for those bucolic English landscapes brushstroked in variegated greens and blues. These were now most effectively set off by their newly-gilded wood frames, enterprisingly touched up by Kim with a pot of gold-leaf paint. Rafts of the new moss-green velvet rippled at the three stately windows, and covered two large sofas and four armchairs, and this verdant colour added to the richness of the scheme. The green sofas were enlivened with cream, coral and blue cushions, which Francesca had made from the remnants of silk, whilst her great-grandmother’s collection of Meissen and Wedgwood ornaments introduced additional fragile colour accents on the wood surfaces.
After another admiring glance, Francesca moved briskly across the Aubusson carpet, heaped more logs on the fire, plumped up the cushions, checked the cigarette boxes and then hurried back to the dining room to finish the table she had started earlier that evening. She took four white linen napkins from the Hepplewhite sideboard and placed one at each setting, put out several silver ashtrays and a silver condiment set, and added wine and water glasses, moving rapidly around the long oval table. When she stood back to regard her handiwork she suddenly wished she had some flowers for a centrepiece. But they were so expensive at this time of year and quickly died, and the two four-arm silver candelabra were certainly elegant with their tall white candles. She decided the table looked quite beautiful as it was and did not need any further embellishment.
Francesca turned to go into the kitchen just as Kim walked in, humming under his breath. He stopped, let out a long low whistle of surprise, grabbed her hand and twirled her around, continuing to whistle in a wolfish tone.
‘You look positively ravishing, old thing,’ he said, stepping away from her, his eyes bright with approval.
‘Thank you. But are you sure I’m not a bit too dressy?’ she asked anxiously.
He shook his head. ‘No, you’re not, and I’m certain Katharine will be dressed up.’ He scrutinized her, his head on one side, an appraising expression on his face.
Francesca smiled at him tentatively and twirled around again on her elegantly shod feet. She was wearing her favourite shoes, a pair of black silk evening pumps, in the smartest new Italian style, with the thinnest, highest heels and extremely pointed toes. Doris had bought them in Rome for her as a Christmas present, and Francesca knew they were exactly right with the outfit she had chosen – a long-sleeved grey wool top with a boat neckline and a silvery-grey taffeta skirt she had sewn herself. The skirt puffed out like a bell flower over the buckram-and-tulle crinoline petticoat Melly had made for her, another Christmas gift. This type of stiff petticoat was all the rage, and Francesca loved the bouffant effect it created because it was flattering to her legs, which she considered to be too thin.
Coming to a standstill after a final twirl, Francesca peered at her brother. ‘You’re frowning, Kim. Is there something you don’t like about my outfit after all?’
‘It’s fine, and you do look lovely, but you know, with your hair piled up in that pompadour thing your neck seems longer than ever. Don’t you have some beads, or something?’
Her hand went to her neck. ‘Not really. At least, not anything suitable. Unless I wear the antique necklace. What do you think?’
‘That’s a super idea. I’m sure it’ll do the trick.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Gosh, I’d better be going for Katharine.’
They went out into the hall together, where Kim grabbed his old raincoat from the cupboard and strode to the front door. He opened it and then slammed it shut immediately. ‘It’s raining cats and dogs all of a sudden. I was going to walk to the theatre, but I’d better take the car. And a brolly.’ He lifted an umbrella out of the stand, gave her a quick kiss, grinned and left, whistling jauntily between his teeth.
Francesca ran upstairs to her bedroom, unlocked the bottom drawer of her dressing table and took out the worn and rubbed black leather case containing her great-great-great-great-grandmother’s necklace. It was fragile and she lifted it out carefully, gazing at it with admiration. The intricate web of slender gold chains was inset with topazes that gleamed with mellow colour and threw off myriads of golden prisms in the lamp-light. How beautiful it was. But to her it was so much more than a lovely piece of jewellery. It represented an unbroken line of generations of Cunninghams and her own heritage, and as always she was assailed by an almost awesome sense of history. After fastening it around her neck she glanced in the mirror. Kim had been correct. The necklace did do the trick, adding the perfect finishing touch to her outfit. She tucked a stray curl into place and hurried back to the kitchen to finish her chores.
At one moment Francesca paused in her tasks, staring out of the small window, trying to visualize Katharine Tempest without success. Knowing her brother as well as one could ever truly know another person, Francesca was convinced Kim was already deeply involved with Katharine, perhaps more than he himself comprehended. She thought of their father, and her heart sank. Although he could be vague and absentminded, and was easy-going and good-natured, he was, at all times, conscious of class, background and breeding. He had always made it absolutely clear that he expected Kim to marry a girl who was properly endowed with all of the suitable qualities required in the future 12th Countess of Langley. Although her father was not a snob per se, he did believe Kim should select a wife from their echelon of society, one who had a similar family background and upbringing, who understood her duties and responsibilities as keenly as Kim did. Francesca sighed. An actress hardly seemed a likely candidate for this particular real-life role, and she knew instinctively that her father would be disapproving. If Kim was indeed as serious about the girl as she felt he was, then he was exposing himself to a great deal of heartache, not to mention their father’s anger. Again she wondered what Katharine Tempest was like, riddled with curiosity about her, and concerned for Kim. She found she could not even hazard a guess.
