The White Dove. Rosie Thomas

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      He was still wearing his school change coat, and his hair and trousers were soaked with rain.

      ‘I walked. From Soho, can you imagine? Tell me quickly, am I disinherited completely?’

      ‘Nothing was said. Father just gave us one of his white, silent looks when he realized you weren’t coming.’

      ‘Poor old tyrant. What about Mother?’

      ‘Worried about the table. You were promised to Lady Jaspert.’

      ‘Oh, dear God. Well, too late to worry now. And look, I’m not all bad. I’ve brought us this. The little man promised me that it was cold enough. Chilled further, I should think, by being hugged to my icy chest.’

      From the recesses of his coat Richard produced a bottle of champagne. ‘Do you have any glasses in your boudoir, Amy, or shall I nip downstairs for some?’

      ‘You’ll have to go and get some. And change your clothes at the same time or you’ll get pneumonia.’

      ‘Well now, isn’t this snug?’ Richard reappeared in a thick tartan dressing-gown that made him look like a little boy again. He had rubbed his hair dry so that it stood up in fluffy peaks. He opened the champagne dexterously and poured it without spilling a drop.

      ‘Where have you been?’ Isabel asked. ‘It doesn’t matter about the party, and I’m glad you’ve turned up for the wedding itself, but you’re much too young to be wandering about in Soho, and drinking. Don’t pretend you haven’t been.’

      ‘I wouldn’t pretend to pretend,’ Richard said equably. He had developed the habit of looking out at the world under lowered eyelids that still didn’t disguise the quickness of his stare. He raised his glass to his sister. ‘Long life and happiness to you, Isabel. And I suppose that has to include Jaspert too. May his acres remain as broad as his beam and his fortunes in the pink like his face …’

      ‘Shut up, Richard,’ Amy ordered. ‘Where have you been?’

      ‘I came up on the four o’clock train like a good little boy. I was going to have tea with Tony Hardy at his publishing house and then come home to change. You remember Tony? As a matter of fact he’s coming to the wedding. I got Mother to ask him. D’you mind him being at your wedding, Bel?’

      ‘Not in the least.’

      ‘Good. It will be a help to me, you know, to have an ally amongst the ranks of duchesses. So, I went decorously to meet Tony at Randle & Cates and we talked about an idea I have. Then Tony suggested that we go across to the pub for a drink. Somehow one thing led to another, after that. We had dinner with a jazz singer and a woman who owns a nightclub, and about twenty others. It was a good deal more interesting than school supper and study hour, I can tell you. I lost Tony in the course of it all, and when I finally decided to extricate myself I realized that I had laid out my last farthing on your champagne and had to walk all the way back here in the rain. There you are. Nothing too culpable in that, is there?’

      ‘Tony Hardy should know better,’ Isabel said.

      ‘Unlike you, Tony knows that I can perfectly well take care of myself.’

      ‘I’m jealous,’ Amy told him. ‘I’ve never met a jazz singer in my life. Didn’t you look rather peculiar, a schoolboy amongst all those people?’

      ‘I was the object of some interest,’ Richard said with satisfaction, ‘but no one thought anything was peculiar. That’s the point, you see. Everything is acceptable, whatever it is.’

      ‘It’s not exactly the conventional way to behave.’ Isabel was frowning.

      ‘I’m not conventional. Surely you can’t condemn me for that? I don’t think Amy is, either. But you are, Isabel, and that’s why you’re going to marry Peter Jaspert tomorrow in the family lace and diamonds, in front of half the Royal Family and with your picture in all the dailies.’ Richard stood up and put his glass down with exaggerated care. Then he went and put his arms around his sister and hugged her. ‘I hope you’ll be so happy,’ he said seriously. ‘For ever and ever.’

      Isabel smiled at him, her anxiety gone. ‘Thank you.’

      They drank their champagne, and Amy made them laugh by recounting the excitements of her evening. ‘Every time Peter mentioned Ramsay MacDonald or the balance of payments or anything unconnected with horses or crops, Uncle Edward would shout “What? What? Can’t understand a thing the boy says.”’

      At last Isabel stood up. ‘I’d better try and get some sleep. I think I’ll be able to, now I’ve had something to drink. Clever of you, Richard.’

      ‘Anything to help. I have to say one serious thing before you go.’

      Isabel turned back again, alarm showing in her face.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘It’s a delicate point, but … well, someone ought to raise it. Just in case it’s been overlooked. Are you quite clear on the facts of life? Bees and birds and so forth? It’s just that Jaspert might seem to behave pretty oddly tomorrow night, and you should know why.’

      ‘Richard, you are horrible. I know everything I need to know, and a good deal more than you.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ he said quietly. ‘Good night, Isabel darling.’ All three of them hugged each other.

      After Isabel had gone, Richard said, ‘Will it be all right for her, do you suppose?’

      ‘I’ve no idea.’ Amy was heavy-hearted again.

      ‘You’ll still have me, you know,’ Richard reminded her.

      ‘I don’t think I will, by the sound of things. You’re already overtaking me.’

      ‘Poor Amy. It must be harder, being a girl. You should do something. Something other than getting measured for frocks and going to lunch, or whatever it is women do all day. The world’s full of girls out there doing things. I saw some in Tony’s offices today.’

      ‘I know,’ Amy said. ‘Of course I must do something. I don’t think I’m going to find a Peter Jaspert for myself, and I can’t sit about here or at Chance for ever. The question is, what could I do? I’m not any use for anything.’

      ‘That doesn’t sound very much like you,’ Richard said gently. ‘It’s your life to live, isn’t it? Not anyone else’s.’

      Lady Lovell’s prayers had evidently been answered. The morning of Isabel’s wedding was bright, and frosty clear. When Bethan got up she went straight to the window. The pavements were shiny wet, but the sky was the translucent pearly white that would later turn to icy blue. The bare plane trees were motionless. There was no wind, either.

      ‘Let’s hope it’s the same there,’ Bethan murmured. She looked at the cheap alarm clock beside her bed and saw that there were a few minutes to spare. A quick note dashed off to Mam wouldn’t be quite the same thing as Bethan being there herself, but at least they would know that she was thinking of them.

      All ready here, at last [she wrote]. The

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