‘Why not drop the subject?’ he said, slamming the brakes on the conversation. He felt she had a whip in one hand and a chair in the other and was backing him into a corner from which there was no escape.
She must have heard the terse warning in his voice and hesitated. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Forget it,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I’ve been insulted by better people than you.’
‘I really didn’t mean anything I said as an insult.’
‘Accusing me of not being authentic, sounds pretty much like aput-down from where I’m sitting. You might go in for a lot of hokumself-analysis, but you can count me out. Just accept that I fall well short of your expectations.’
She sat perfectly still just staring at him until, and with great precision, she placed her knife and fork on the plate in front of her. ‘Seeing as I’ve offended you so greatly, perhaps it would be better if I went.’
‘Yeah, perhaps you’re right.’
ChapterTwenty-Five
Meadow Lodge, Melstead St Mary
October 1962
Ralph
On arriving at Meadow Lodge for the party, the last thing Ralph wanted was to get stuck with his father and stepmother for the evening. He’d had enough of their company, in particular his father who had spent most of the day lecturing him about taking responsibility for himself.
‘Good God, Ralph!’ Arthur had spluttered into his kedgeree at breakfast that morning when Ralph had broached the subject of his father increasing his allowance. ‘Can you never come home without asking for money?’
Ralph had done his best to assure the old man that he’d soon be gainfully employed.
‘What evidence do you have to support such an outlandish claim?’ his father had demanded.
‘Have you so little faith in me, Dad?’
‘What else do you expect when you spend most of your time fecklessly enjoying yourself?’
‘Didn’t you when you were young?’
‘When I was not much older than you there was a ruddy war on and nobody was enjoying themselves!’
God, the way the bloody old fool went on you’d think he’d taken on the Jerries singlehandedly. Whereas the nearest Arthur
Devereux had come to danger was giving himself apaper-cut at the War Office.
And it wasn’t as if his father had actually worked for the vast wealth he now hugged tighter to himself than a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its victim. Marriage had secured his fortune, not hard graft.
The trouble was the old man enjoyed making Ralph, and others, grovel. It gave him a pathetic sense of superiority knowing that he had the power to make others do what he wanted. He was a bully at heart. And no doubt he bullied Julia. Really the woman should get a backbone and stand up to her husband. When the time came for Ralph to marry, he’d be sure to choose a woman who had some spirit to her.
A woman more like Isabella, he thought as he looked across the dance floor to where she was dancing with thatpuppy-dog, George Minton. On impulse, and stubbing out his cigarette, then dumping his now empty wineglass, he decided it was time to start enjoying himself. He went over and tapped George on the shoulder. ‘Mind if I cut in here?’ he said.
George looked disappointed, but sensibly he didn’t contest the challenge. There was a pecking order to these things after all.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Isabella said, once Ralph had taken her in his arms and was expertly leading her round the dance floor, and performing a nifty foxtrot.
‘And you, sweetheart, should know better than to dance with the local baker’s son. What will people think?’
‘What a dreadful snob you are!’
‘And what a tease you are leading that poor boy on.’
‘I was doing no such thing.’
