1976, THE LONG HOT SUMMER

The ground is parched and cracked. The reservoirs are running dry and there is talk of standpipes. Edward’s Labradors churn up swathes of dust as they accompany him on his tours of the estate. The crops are failing, only the aphids and ladybirds thrive.

Edward is sitting in the wood-panelled office of the Manager of Elland’s Bank in Portglas. He is gazing at the shiny globe of the manager’s head which is bent over the accounts. There is an odour of stale sweat in the airless room. A bumble bee butts against the window, in a futile bid to escape. The buzzing is loud in the otherwise silent space.

The manager removes his half-moon glasses and leans back in his chair, his paunch straining against his waistcoat. Edward marvels that the man can bear to wear a waistcoat in this heat. Bank regulations, he supposes.

‘I’m sorry to say that it’s not looking good Mr Clemens.’

Edward looks at the wood paneling beyond the man’s head. ‘I may need to sell more land.’

‘I am afraid that may be the case.’

‘That land has been in my family for hundreds of years.’

The manager removes a handkerchief from his top pocket, to wipe away the beads of sweat that are gathering on the dome of his head. ‘It is very hard, I know.’ He stands and holds out his hand to Edward; the man’s palm is warm and damp. The meeting is at an end. ‘I know a chap who can help with the sale…’

‘Thank you,’ says Edward, seizing his panama from the edge of the desk. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

*

In the dining room, Margaret inspects the table which is laid for eleven guests. All the French doors onto the terrace are open, but there is no breeze to provide respite. She has had floor standing fans set up to alleviate the heat, they turn lazily from side to side, humming continuously, but only benefit those standing close by. Margaret will not do that; she wishes to preserve her chignon.

She is studying one of the place cards when Edward appears in the doorway.

‘New frock?’

She lifts one side of her skirt with her free hand and turns on the spot. ‘Do you like it? I got it in Selfridges.’

The dress reaches to the floor, an intricate floral fabric of pinks and blues, with lace trimmings at the deep oval neckline and at the cuffs of the capacious sleeves. Pearl buttons decorate the bodice.

‘You look like that girl in the chocolate advertisement.’

She pauses. ‘I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.’

‘I don’t suppose we chaps could be excused ties given this heat.’ He runs a tanned finger around the inner edge of his collar.

‘Certainly not Edward. The Lord Lieutenant is coming.’

‘I expect even Lord Lieutenants feel the heat.’

She turns away, returning her attention to the place card. ‘I’m wondering where to seat Emily. It’s tricky her not having a plus one.’

‘I am sure you will sort it out my darling.’

Edward saunters over to the cocktail cabinet and opens the doors to survey the bottles of spirits and mixers, the crystal glassware, ice bucket and silver tongs. He reaches for the cocktail shaker and unscrews the lid.

‘Perhaps she’d get on with Arthur. He and his wife have just bought a cottage in the village. He works in London.’

Edward looks at his watch. ‘I think there’s time for a snifter before the guests arrive.’

‘Not for me, thank you.’

‘I’ve got a new cocktail to try out.’ He takes a booklet from his pocket and flicks through the pages.

Margaret goes over to him and brushes an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulder of his cream cotton jacket. Her oval nails are perfectly manicured in delicate pink. ‘Please don’t overdo it this evening darling. This is a good time for…’ She pushes the booklet to one side and leans up to kiss his lips.

He pulls his head back and puts his hands on her shoulders to push her gently away.

Her cheeks colour. ‘What have I done wrong?’

Edward walks across the room to stare out at the terrace and the fields beyond. ‘Intimacy according to your cycle – rather destroys the romance.’

Margaret’s eyes fill and she retrieves a lace handkerchief from her sleeve to catch the unshed tears. ‘I’ll go and check on the caterers.’

By ten o’clock the guests have moved to the drawing room with coffee and brandies. The guest of honour is telling stories about the antics of the royal Corgies, laughing enthusiastically at his own jokes. By ten o’clock the guests have moved to the drawing room for coffee and brandies. Edward makes his excuses, picks up his cigar and heads out onto the terrace where he leans against the granite parapet, blowing smoky rings across the dark countryside. To the left, beyond the east wing, the overgrown cedar tree is silhouetted in the moonlight. Bats are flittering and the cry of a vixen can be heard from the woods beyond the ha-ha.

‘Are you ok Eddie?’

He turns, his reverie broken. ‘Emily – come and join me. I hope you haven’t found the evening too much of a bore.’

They sit together on an aged metal bench seat. ‘It’s been fascinating. I’d no idea you’d become Commodore.’

‘Got to do one’s bit, though sometimes I wonder why…’ He sighs.

The looks at him with a furrowed brow, saying nothing. They settle into the comfortable silence of long-standing friends. After a few minutes she inhales deeply. ‘I love the smell of cigars. It always reminds me of you.’

‘You’ve known me longer than anyone.’ His voice breaks and he pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses it.

‘I think you might suffer in the morning Eddie,’ she gently returns her hand to her lap.

‘I’ll be fine, nothing a lungful of air on the open sea can’t cure.’

‘Will Margaret go with you?’

Edward shakes his head. ‘Margaret prefers to be on land. Anyway she is being very careful at the moment.’

‘I noticed she wasn’t drinking. Is she…?’

‘‘Fraid not. We’re trying. It’s become a bit of an issue.’ Edward pulls deeply on his cigar. ‘She’s lost three you see.’

Emily puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Eddie, I am so sorry.’

‘Best not to dwell on things, look forward not back … and all that.’

‘Edward.’ Margaret stands at the French doors to the drawing room. Her face is in darkness, her tone measured. Emily wonders how long she has been standing there. ‘Our guests are preparing to leave.’

‘Ok darling – on my way.’ He crushes his cigar on the arm of the bench and ushers Emily back into the house. ‘Stay on for a bit Em, it would be nice to catch up.’

‘If Margaret doesn’t mind?’

’Of course you must stay, Emily. I’ll organise some more coffee.’

Once the other guests have left, Margaret and Emily sit on the sofa nursing their cups, whilst Edward sprawls in the winged armchair nursing a further balloon of brandy.

Emily says to Margaret, ‘You are certainly transforming the place. I can remember when this room was a cool grey, the orange is very different. Very …vibrant.’

Margaret corrects her. ‘The colour is peach, Emily. It is a nod to orange.’

‘I see.’

‘I want to respect the classic design of the house but introduce contemporary accents.’

‘Margaret’s tastes are nothing if not expensive,’ Edward says, staring into his brandy glass.

Margaret folds her arms and purses her lips before turning back to Emily. ‘The next project is the bathrooms, they need major refurbishment.’

‘Margaret seems to think that money grows on trees,’ muses Edward.

Margaret’s legs are crossed at the knee and one of her feet is pumping up and down. ‘You know very well Edward, that I am covering this from my Trust Fund.’

Edward drains his glass and stands. ‘There are other priorities my darling.’

Emily places her cup on the table and reaches for the large boxy black handbag at her feet. ‘I should be going. I’ve a long journey back tomorrow. Thank you both for a lovely evening.’

Margaret stands and rests her cheek briefly against Emily’s. ‘Don’t be a stranger. I wish we could see more of you.’

‘Funny you should say that, I was talking to Arthur earlier. I quite like the idea of buying a little cottage in the area.’

‘Don’t leave yet Em,’ says Edward, pouring another brandy from the decanter. ‘I might have just the cottage you need.’

Chapter 32