The Good Plain Cook (14 page)

· · ·  Twenty-two  · · ·

‘All in, all in,’ called Mrs Steinberg, waving to Kitty from the driveway. Her hair was, for once, settled in neat, shining
waves around her head. In her halter-neck top and wide linen trousers, her shoulders broad and tanned, she actually looked
quite handsome. Kitty smoothed her lily-print dress and climbed into the back of the car.

Mr Crane, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, turned to face her. ‘Glad you could come, Kitty. Glorious sunshine, isn’t
it? Perfect day for an outing.’

Kitty hadn’t thought she’d any choice about coming, but she nodded and smiled, trying not to look at the exposed base of Mr
Crane’s neck. He’d unbuttoned his collar and was not wearing a tie. Unlike her mistress, he still looked pale, although his
nose, Kitty noticed, had caught the sun and was rather pink.

‘Here comes trouble,’ he said, turning back to face the windscreen.

Geenie and Diana clambered in beside her, forcing her up against the car door. Geenie had on the long white robe she’d worn
on Kitty’s first day, and had drawn black lines around her eyes. Diana was wearing red shorts and a cream blouse, and was
holding a book, but she also had lines drawn around her eyes. Both girls looked up at Kitty and blinked.

‘What’s in your bag?’ Geenie asked.

‘Embroidery, Miss.’

‘You mean sewing?’

‘Yes, Miss. Except you sort of make pictures with it.’

‘Are you good at it?’

Kitty gripped the sewing bag tighter. She was about to say ‘not bad’, but she saw Mr Crane incline his head slightly towards
her, as if waiting to hear the answer, and she changed her mind. ‘Yes, Miss. I’m quite good. But mostly at dresses and that.’

Geenie kicked her foot into the back of the driver’s seat but Mr Crane did not turn around.

‘Does that mean you could make
outfits
?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, Miss.’

The girl grasped both her knees and sat up very straight. ‘Could you make me and Diana Pierrot outfits?’

‘I – suppose I might…’

‘Ellen!’ shouted Geenie. ‘Kitty’s going to make us Pierrot outfits so we can do a proper show!’

‘Where’s Arthur got to?’ Mrs Steinberg was standing outside the car on tiptoe, looking around.

‘It isn’t quite eleven yet,’ said Mr Crane. ‘Give the fellow a chance.’

Mrs Steinberg got into the passenger seat and sighed.

‘Can we ride donkeys?’ asked Geenie.

‘If there are donkeys, you can ride them,’ said Mr Crane.

‘There are always donkeys on English beaches, aren’t there, Ellen? It’s because the British don’t know what to do with themselves
by the sea.’

Mr Crane gave a short laugh.

‘They’re for poor people who can’t afford horses,’ corrected Diana. ‘Aren’t they, Daddy?’

Kitty remembered the donkeys at Bognor: stinking, insect-ridden animals that Miss Weston had warned all the children to stay
well away from.

Mr Crane looked round then, frowning. ‘They’re for anyone who wants to ride them, darling.’

‘There you are!’ Mrs Steinberg trilled. ‘Put the deck-chairs in the boot, would you, Arthur?’

Arthur did as he was told, then sat beside Diana. The girls moved along the seat so Kitty was now crushed against the car
door, and Geenie was almost in her lap. He was wearing a pair of twill shorts, boots, a soft shirt and tie, and a knitted
tank-top. His knees were red and knobbled. When he glanced in her direction, Kitty looked out of her window.

‘We’re so glad you could come.’

‘My pleasure, Mrs Steinberg.’

‘Kitty’s going to make us Pierrot outfits,’ Geenie said to Arthur.

‘Is she now?’

‘You did promise, didn’t you, Kitty?’

She could feel all three of them staring at her. Looking round, she smiled at the girl’s hopeful face. ‘I did, Miss,’ she
said.

‘Blotto! Come on!’ The dog jumped onto Mrs Stein-berg’s lap. ‘Let’s go, then, Crane! To the beach!’

. . . .

Mrs Steinberg strode ahead with Blotto; Mr Crane carried the picnic basket; the two girls dawdled behind him. At the back
of the line, Arthur was puffing with two deckchairs and the rug, and Kitty followed, cradling her sewing bag.

A heat haze was distorting Wittering beach. A few families were sitting on the sand, legs bared, heads under newspapers or
handkerchiefs, their bodies seeming to bend and buckle. A greasy shine had settled on the sea, which swelled lazily forward,
then back. It wasn’t at all like Bognor, where there was a narrow strip of gravelly sand, striped deckchairs for hire, Punch
and Judy, fortune tellers and ice-cream parlours. Here it was all ridged sand and grassy dunes, no entertainment, and not
a donkey in sight. And everything wobbling in the heat.

Arthur stopped to wipe his brow and Kitty had no choice but to catch up with him. They walked a little way together in silence,
Kitty sneaking sideways glances at Arthur, whose face was now brick red and sweating. His arms were covered in pale ginger
freckles that seemed to get bigger the further up they went.

‘All set for Friday?’ he said, looking straight ahead. ‘I hear it’s going to be cracking. There’s a new band coming.’

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can’t get the time off.’

He stopped, resting the deckchairs in the sand. ‘You can’t?’

‘She needs me Friday.’

‘What for?’

‘His sister’s coming.’

Arthur looked at his hands. ‘Well. That is a pity.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and began walking again.

He caught her up. ‘You do want to come still, though?’

Ahead, Mr Crane had stopped and was looking back. His hand was raised to his eyes, but she could tell he was looking directly
at them.

‘We’d better catch up.’

‘Kitty. Wait.’ Arthur gripped her arm tightly and she almost gave a yelp. ‘I want you to come with me. Say you’ll come.’

She glanced at Mr Crane, who was now sitting on the picnic basket, watching her, his image trembling in the heat.

Arthur pulled her towards him. ‘Kitty…’ ‘ His hand was warm, and softer than she’d expected. ‘Say you’ll come. If not this
Friday, then next.’

His eyes were searching hers, his mouth, with its setback teeth, hung slightly open. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

Then he put his other hand on her behind, and let it rest there. ‘We could dance together all night.’

A hot pressure shot up her back.

‘What’s the hold-up?’ Mr Crane was standing now, shouting, his hands cupped around his mouth. ‘Get a move on, Arthur. We’ll
need that rug.’

‘I’ll try,’ Kitty said, tugging free of Arthur’s grip and walking towards the rest of the group.

. . . .

Geenie pulled the white robe over her head, revealing an orange bathing costume with an anchor motif. With her smudged black
eyes, gangly limbs and fuzz of blonde hair, the effect was pretty peculiar. A little like an overgrown doll, Kitty thought.
Carrying Blotto in her arms, she ran down the sand. Diana followed, slowly, still wearing her shorts and blouse and holding
her book, picking her way carefully through the seaweed and stones which edged the shore.

Mrs Steinberg was also undressing, bending over and using Mr Crane’s shoulder as a balance as she stepped from her slacks.

Kitty stood for a moment, watching the woman’s long legs appear.

Arthur removed his empty pipe from his mouth and cleared his throat. ‘I’ll go and fetch the rest of the chairs,’ he announced,
heading back for the car.

‘Sit down, Kitty,’ said Mr Crane, offering her a deckchair beside him.

She did as she was told, trying not to stare at Mrs Stein-berg’s naked thighs. The woman was wearing a very small black-and-white
spotted bathing costume with a thin red belt around the waist. In it, her body looked as though it had been flattened: her
chest and hips were wide rather than full. But her legs, every inch of them now revealed, were astonishingly long and thin.
Kitty thought of the emu she’d seen in a picture book at school.

‘Wonderful thing, isn’t it, to be near the sea?’ Mr Crane stared out at the water. ‘So refreshing.’

She wasn’t sure if he was expecting an answer. Mrs Stein-berg, who was now lying on the rug, having placed a large pair of
sunglasses on her face, was certainly ignoring him.

Kitty shifted her feet. Her shoes were full of sand and her toes were cramped and hot, but she could not think of a way to
remove them without drawing attention to herself.

After a while, he said, ‘Have you been on any walks lately, Kitty?’

‘Not lately, Mr Crane.’

‘No. Well, you’ve been busy. Looking after us. That’s real work.’

Mrs Steinberg lowered her sunglasses and shot him a look, but said nothing. Above them, gulls were screeching like knives
on china. In the distance, Kitty could see Geenie throwing Blotto into the waves, and Diana sitting in the shallows, reading.

‘There’s a lovely one, you know, if you don’t mind hills. Straight out of the cottage, through the farmer’s gate on the left,
cut across the wheat field. You know there’s a little patch of woodland there?’

Kitty nodded, trying to picture it, but failing.

‘Well, there’s a path right through the trees and up to the top. First-rate views all round.’

She said nothing. She was watching his bare wrists move as he gesticulated.

‘Kitty’s more interested in dancing, George.’ Mrs Stein-berg’s glasses flashed. ‘She’s got real
swing
.’

Kitty brushed some imaginary sand from her lap.

Mr Crane turned to her. ‘I didn’t know you were a dancer, Kitty.’

Not in the way you think, she thought. Not like your ballerina wife.

‘She has what you might call natural rhythm.’ Mrs Stein-berg kicked a leg in the air, scattering sand over the rug. ‘Quite
the showgirl,’ she said, pointing her toes and wiggling her lower leg back and forth.

‘Is that so?’ He was smiling now, his left eye almost winking at her.

‘Oh no, I—’

‘Don’t be modest, Kitty! Isn’t it infuriating, Crane, the modesty of the working classes?’ Mrs Steinberg’s leg waved frantically.
‘Why must they always bow their heads and mutter? Why do they never
admit
to anything? Take responsibility for themselves? In America, a working man’s just proud to be alive, and to hell with the
rest of them.’

Mr Crane ran a hand across his mouth. Kitty sat very still, staring at her mistress’s slim leg as it swung back and forth.

‘I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that, Ellen.’

‘What’s complicated about it? You either hold your head up, look the world in the eye, or you don’t.’

Mr Crane shook his head and gave a short laugh. ‘You can’t compare the two in any level way. In America,’ he said, his voice
becoming louder, ‘there isn’t a long history of oppression. There isn’t the same – ah – insidious class system, ingrained
into the minds of the masses from birth...' He rubbed vigorously at his eye. ‘It’s not the same at all!’

‘But nothing will ever change, will it, if the workers can’t hold their heads up. They’ve got to do that, at least. They’ve
got to say,
I’ve got swing, and to hell with the rest of them!
’

She hitched herself up on her elbows and grinned widely, but Mr Crane was scowling. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

Mrs Steinberg looked at Kitty. ‘Why don’t we ask Kitty what she thinks? I’m sure she has an opinion.’

Kitty had taken her embroidery out of her sewing bag, and now she sat, clutching the frame, staring at her stitches, thinking
of the way her mother went to the pub every night and left her and Lou to put themselves to bed. To hell with the rest of
them had certainly been her motto. And, thought Kitty, it was Lou’s too.

‘Kitty? Am I being ridiculous?’ Mrs Steinberg had taken off her sunglasses and was pointing them in Kitty’s direction.

‘Ellen…’ Mr Crane pulled on his collar, as if it were suddenly too tight. ‘Perhaps we should drop this—’