Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

‘Eh, there’s a big bird yonder with a long feathered tail!’

Two more of the boys scrambled up to stare out of the windows. They were becoming a trifle rowdy, having discovered that there were spirits to drink. Evelyne excused herself, she could feel her dress sticking to her body and could hardly breathe in the heat of the room.

There were several couples standing outside the gilded doors that opened on to a flower-strewn balcony overlooking the gardens with steps that led down either side to the velvet lawns. Evelyne was grateful for the cool night air and breathed deeply; no smoke, no soot here, the air was fresh and clean. She wandered down the garden, bending to smell the perfume of the roses, pure sweet fragrances in comparison to the ladies’ scents.

The peacock screamed and it made Evelyne jump, then the bird swung its head and turned. As if dancing for her, it spread its tail, the colours shining in the twinkling lamplight. She laughed, thrilled by the sheer beauty of the bird, and moved closer and closer, and was suddenly knocked right off her feet by the most enormous dog she had ever seen. She sprawled face down, and the dog licked her cheek.

A small, rotund gentleman in rather ill-fitting evening clothes came rushing round the rosebushes. Red-faced, puffing with exertion, he made a grab for the dog’s trailing lead and landed with a thud next to Evelyne.

‘I apologize profusely, Madam …’

The dog stood over him and licked his face, making the gentleman’s snow-white hair stand on end. Evelyne was on her feet first, and helped the gentleman to his feet. He bowed, and with one hand holding the dog’s lead he apologized again, but his eyes twinkled and his arm was jerked back and forth. He whispered that he was just giving his friend a spot of exercise before he had to parade like the peacock he’d just scared off.

The gentleman’s manner was so warm and friendly that Evelyne found herself automatically linking arms with him, and together they walked around the wonderful gardens. He pointed out various flowers to her, he knew almost every one by name. He asked her name, repeated it, and then wanted to know all about her and where she came from. Evelyne told him, and when she started to explain about her gown, and Bertha and Minnie, the laughter shook his whole body, his right arm still constantly being jerked by the massive St Bernard.

‘But you can polka, is that right? Well then, may I ask you to give me the honour of a polka, or would you like me to give you the fastest dancing lesson? I’m not what you might call a light one on my feet, but by God I can and would love to waltz with you.’

There on the lawn, with his dog tied to a privet hedge and instructed to sit, the white-haired gentleman began to teach Evelyne the simplest one-two-three waltz step. He kept up a funny commentary about ‘Now you move back, now you come forward, not on my foot, young lady, turn yourself around, that’s a girl, by God you’re light on your feet, just like a fawn … round you go again …’

The strains of the orchestra drifted down to the lawn as they danced, the old gentleman with his head full of white hair, and the tall skinny girl in the old-fashioned gown.

The St Bernard was then dragged off, and Evelyne returned to the house. She examined her face in the powder-room mirror. Her skin was shining, her cheeks rosy from the fresh night air, and Bertha’s coiffure about to tumble down from its hundreds of pins. The orchestra stopped playing, and two girls rushed out of the room. The attendant peeked around the door.

‘He’s here, he’s here himself, be quick or you’ll miss him.’

Evelyne rushed to the door, not really knowing who it was she might miss.

A crowd had gathered at the ballroom doors. Sybil Warner was on the bandstand, and to thunderous applause she introduced Lloyd George himself. Evelyne could just see his shock of white hair above the heads of the group listening by the door. He gave a short, rousing speech, thanked Sybil for her efforts, and toasted ‘The Boys in Uniform’, wishing them God’s luck and telling them to enjoy themselves while they could. Then he turned to the waiting orchestra, and in his enormous, mellifluous voice, demanded to know if they could play a polka, he was exceedingly fond of the polka…..

Lloyd George stepped down from the bandstand, and searched the faces of the guests. He caught sight of Evelyne and gave her a bow, held his hand out to her as the orchestra struck up a polka. He led the blushing Evelyne to the centre of the ballroom, whispered to her that she was doing just fine, and they danced. For the first few bars they danced alone on the huge floor, then other couples joined them. Lady Sybil complained to David, her nose completely out of joint, that she should have opened the dancing with Lloyd George, it was outrageous. David didn’t seem to hear her, he just stared at Evelyne. How in God’s name had that come about? Captain Ridgely passed David and whispered to him from the side of his mouth.

‘Old boy certainly can pick ‘em, what? Stunning-looking gel.’

David glanced at Evelyne and raised one eyebrow slightly.

‘Takes all tastes, old chap, but then he is notorious for his rough side, gel’s an orphan from the valleys.’

Captain Ridgely murmured that Lloyd George wasn’t the only one who liked a bit of rough. He nudged David and winked.

‘I did a good turn for you, what you say you arrange something for me with that delicious redhead, is it a deal? What you say?’

David glanced at Evelyne; she made no impression on him whatever, the common touch left him cold. However, David wanted to keep on the right side of Ridgely, and he gave him an equally lewd wink and returned the nudge.

David could see Lady Primrose talking quietly with Freddy Carlton. Now there was someone who really interested him. Not only was she virginal, beautiful and wealthy but, to add icing to the already delicious cake, she was titled. David leaned close to Ridgely and whispered. They both glanced at Evelyne and then put their heads together again.

The dance seemed to end all too quickly, and Lloyd George moved off towards the soldiers, sat with them and talked and listened earnesdy. As he got up to leave he touched the top of the sad-eyed boy’s head. He didn’t look back at Evelyne until he reached the main doors, then he smiled to her, and with a wave of his hand he was gone.

The orchestra began to move out of their seats, and a band of colourful gypsy men and women entered the ballroom. The women wore bright skirts and headbands, and were decked out in gold jewellery. They smiled and ‘entertained’ their audience, but their eyes were unfathomable. Smiling lips, friendly gestures, and yet there was an untouchable air to them. They remained aloof, distant.

The fiddlers played well, walking around the room while waiters served tea and brandy. Some guests were already departing, others sat talking. A large group, mostly women, moved into the cardroom, where two gypsy women prepared to read fortunes from palms and Tarot cards. There was no need to cross their palms with silver, as Sybil had settled an overall price with them before their arrival. The soldiers were leaving, returning to their barracks, hospitals and rest homes.

Evelyne searched in vain for David, and strolled out on to the balcony. It was very late now, almost eleven-thirty. She was tired, and her mind was full of the events of the evening. She kept biting her lip to stop herself smiling. She had danced with Lloyd George himself! In actual fact, Evelyne had not the slightest idea who he was but she, the outsider, had been the centre of attention for one moment… she wished Lizzie-Ann or her Da could have seen her. There was so much to tell them, they wouldn’t believe it. She wondered if she would be allowed to keep her frock. If so, she’d give it to Lizzie-Ann. Evelyne just knew it was her style, she’d just die for it.