Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Lady Primrose laughed as Lord Freddy entered the drawing room unannounced. He strode across the room, beaming, hand outstretched. ‘Charlie, Charlie, good to see you... looking handsome as ever, Primmy, how are you, darling one?’

Lord Carlton kissed Lady Primrose’s hand. She giggled girlishly, and introduced Edward as a friend of Charlie’s staying for the vacation. Lord Freddy hardly gave him a look, he was already pouring himself a drink, completely at home in the castle.

‘Where are the girls, darling?’

As if on cue, and with a shuddering of the floor, Lord Carlton’s wife appeared. Lady Heather was a thickset woman, her short, stocky legs set rather wide apart to support her weight. She wore a terrible, motheaten silver fox cape, the head of the fox jumping up and down on her ample bosom.

She wore her greying hair in an unflattering wartime style, rolled around her head. ‘Charlie, you’re home, jolly good... How are you, Primrose? Good God, you’ve got a fire at this time of year? Aren’t you hot? It’s frightfully hot in here, isn’t it?’

No one introduced Edward, and Lady Carlton showed no interest in him. Her husband handed her a large gin and tonic as their daughters appeared, standing shyly at the door. ‘Now, gels, let me introduce you to a lovely, eligible young man, bound to need partners for all the summer dances, this is Edward... Charlie you both know, of course, and... oh, one martini, Edward, and one gin and it.’

Edward had not said a single word. Charlie, in fine form, had already taken Lady Carlton’s fox fur, and was doing impressions with his hand inside the fox’s mouth. Humphrey announced dinner, and the next moment Charlie leapt on the two girls with the fox.

‘Charlie, that will do, don’t have any more to drink. Edward, make sure he doesn’t drink too much, he gets out of control.’

The dining room was even more medieval in style than the sitting room, with a long refectory table and heavy, carved chairs, a throne covered in worn red velvet at one end. The walls were decorated with shields and ancient guns, and deer heads leered down at them. On the far wall was what looked like an African shield with two spears. The main source of light was an iron chandelier, with more candles scattered along the table. Lady Primrose told everyone to sit where they liked, and she herself sat to the right of the throne with Lord Freddy opposite and his wife at his side. The party did not fill the table and Edward noticed that the far end of it was unoccupied and rather dusty.

‘I’m afraid the dinner will be the usual hotch-potch... Oh, darling! There you are!’

Captain Collins, wearing an immaculate dinner jacket with a rose in the buttonhole, walked slowly down the room, using his silver-topped cane. He didn’t even acknowledge his guests, but seated himself on the throne, which Humphrey moved closer to the table. Out came a clean silk handkerchief, and he carefully picked up each piece of cutlery at his place and cleaned it. Each prong of the fork was treated to a careful inspection as he slid the handkerchief between them. That done, he wiped the table carefully around where he sat — fussy, tidy movements, without saying a single word. No one paid him any attention, apart from Edward, who watched, fascinated, until he got a nudge from Charlie, who twiddled his finger at his head to show that his father was ‘up the wall’.

The first course was a thin, gravy-like soup, and it wasn’t very warm, but no one seemed to mind. The clatter of spoons as they ate covered any embarrassment.

‘Eddie, old chap, I think you’ve just eaten my bread roll.’

Edward had forgotten his side plate was to his left, and he had indeed eaten Charlie’s roll. He offered Charlie the other one, apologetically.

‘Well, I don’t want it now you’ve had your sticky fingers all over it, chuck it away... here, give it to me.’

Charlie hurled the bread roll down the table. It hit Captain Collins and bounced off. He appeared not to notice. The conversation continued.

After that, Edward did not eat anything until he had seen which plates and cutlery everyone else used. He sat quietly, listening. Charlie started a general conversation when he denounced Somerset Maugham as a futile, irrelevant writer, and gradually they all joined in. Lord Freddy disagreed, and his wife nodded her head in agreement with him. Lady Primrose told Charlie he was being ridiculous.

‘I say he’s very competent, I give him that, and don’t suppose I am actually criticizing him. Ma, good God, I am far too conscious of the difficulty of constructing even the most simple paragraph myself... I simply said that I do not think he is a writer of great importance because he doesn’t have anything of importance to say.’

Lady Primrose laughed and said that now he was backtracking, and they began to discuss authors they liked and disliked. Lord Carlton pounded the table as he talked about Lockhart’s Life of Scott ; he had found it invigorating. Lady Carlton turned to Charlie and asked if he enjoyed Byron, and this was greeted with a typical Charlie-type yawning howl. ‘Enjoy? Enjoy? The cumulative effect of that cripple’s style is stupefying.’

Lady Carlton turned to Edward. ‘Are you reading the same subjects as Charlie?’

Edward’s mouth was full and so Charlie answered, saying that he was a brilliant scholar. The girls tried to continue the literary conversation, asking if Edward had read Amurath to Amurath by Gertrude Bell. It was exceedingly interesting, about travel and archaeology in Asiatic Turkey.

‘Sounds utterly boring to me, what on earth are you reading garbage like that for, dear gel?’ asked Charlie. ‘You should be buried in Virginia Woolf, much more your type, and such a life! Did I tell you she was a lesbian?’

Lady Primrose threw her bread roll at Charlie, and he thanked her because Edward had eaten his.

Throughout the meal David Collins ate like a bird, chewing each mouthful carefully, wiping his mouth after every swallow. He sipped a watery, milky-coloured drink that Humphrey topped up from a decanter kept separate from the other bottles. He seemed unconcerned with anything at the table, and paid no one the slightest attention, keeping his eyes on his plate.

Charlie launched into another anecdote. ‘Did I tell you, Ma, the bomber pilot brought down near Cambridge is supposed to have been a German ex-undergraduate, jolly good example of those bastards’ thoroughness.’

Lady Primrose looked puzzled and turned to Lord Freddy for assistance.

‘Mother, you really are unbelievable. No need for sir to deliberate, bugger tried to pass himself off as one of us.’

Suddenly the whole table went quiet as David Collins spoke. ‘I hate the place, caught a devastating cold there.’

Charlie had to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself bursting into a fit of giggles, and Edward noticed his mother doing the same.

‘Are you referring to Germany or Cambridge, old chap?’

David looked blankly along the table as if he hadn’t spoken and sipped his cloudy drink.

They were about to leave the dining room when David did it again. His voice was clear as a bell, but this time he was pointing at Edward. ‘Why is that fellow wearing Clarence’s cufflinks?’

Everyone turned to Edward and then back to David. He seemed very lucid, and his pale blue eyes were staring hard at Edward. He pointed again, and his face was tight and angry.

‘You must be mistaken, darling, now come along, we are all going into the drawing room, and it’s time you went to bed, come along everyone, Edward, Charlie.’

They trooped out, leaving David sitting at the table. Lady Primrose was the last to leave, and she turned when she reached the door. ‘Go to bed, David, you’re tired.’