Ryman, Rebecca (29 page)

Olivia
stared at her, almost laughing out her incredulity. Could any girl of
"strength" and "character" possibly agree to such a
nefarious bargain? And with what cavalier disregard the need for love had been
dismissed! As if reading her thoughts, Lady Birkhurst said sharply, "Love
passes; material compensations persist, Olivia." She leaned towards her,
the watery blue eyes hard and her voice even more matter of fact.
"Consider, Olivia, that there would be no threshold in the world over
which Freddie's wife would not be welcome. An English title, even without
money, is held in high regard also in America;
with
money it is the key
to every door. Besides, there is one compensation I have not yet mentioned
..." She paused and stared at her corpulent knuckles. "Whatever his
inadequacies, Freddie is generous of heart. He asks little of others, which is
perhaps, why he is such a fool. His wife would enjoy many freedoms not
available to others. Do I make myself clear?"

If
Olivia was shocked earlier, she was now scandalised. "Yes,
quite
clear,
Lady Birkhurst. Obviously, you do not find it iniquitous that a man should be
expected to tolerate an openly unfaithful wife!" Her mouth swilled with
distaste at the callous "compensation."

"Freddie
would not complain," his mother said drily, "if indeed he noticed at
all!"

Taking
a deep breath, Olivia rose to her feet to stand by a window. She could not
believe that she could be participating in a conversation so bizarre and so
offensive. She felt humiliated and revolted, and outraged that her aunt should
have plunged her into a situation of such monumental indignity. Her inclination
was to walk out of the room in disgust, but certainly not until she had
expressed that disgust in terms as blunt as those Lady Birkhurst had used. She
pulled herself up to her full height and turned to face her. "I am
flattered by your extraordinarily high evaluation of me, Lady Birkhurst,"
she said as briskly as she could without sounding offensive. "I assure you
that I am undeserving of such praise. And, therefore, I feel I must tell you
before you proceed any further that what you suggest is impossible! I hold
nothing personal against your son, but a cold-blooded bargain
such as this
revolts me. Since you asked me to be forthright, Lady Birkhurst, I have to say
that I find your proposition utterly unacceptable—although I have no doubt that
some others might not." Having said her piece she sat down again, her
cheeks hot with the effort.

Lady
Birkhurst appeared untroubled by her outburst as she leaned forward to pluck a
grape from the fruit bowl. "The others!" she rasped in contempt.
"They see nothing beyond the glory, the title and wealth—"

"And
are you so certain that eventually
I
too will not turn mercenary?"
Olivia cut in spiritedly. "We Americans are also snobbish about titles, as
you yourself pointed out. Also, you must be told that my father isn't—"

"My
dear child, I wasn't born yesterday! I have married off two daughters and I
know that in the marriage market there are certain permissible liberties one
takes with the truth. Frankly, I do not much care who or what your father is.
As the daughter of Lady Bridget's sister, you satisfy any requirements of
pedigree I might have. I am interested only in what and who
you are."

"But
you know nothing about me!" Olivia cried in mounting desperation.
"And if you did, you would also know that I could never barter away my
life for—"

"I
know what is necessary for me to know." She waved away Olivia's protest
almost with anger. "You are young, healthy, lovely to look at, of sound
character and mind, straightforward, intelligent, with a will of your own
and—as long as you put on some weight—excellent breeding stock. Also, let us
not forget that Freddie worships the ground you walk on." She clucked as
if in exasperation. "Not one day passes without some silly woman dragging
her pampered little brat here for my inspection, like a milch cow up for
auction. Every one of them has reduced me to nausea. They are already die-hard
mems, infantile and indolent, with no thought in their empty heads save the
next
burra khana
or cricket game or pig sticking tamasha where they can
ogle and be ogled by young men. They come here with probing, avaricious eyes
evaluating my jewels, already arranging and rearranging my furniture,
practising silently their new signatures on documents that will make them rich
overnight."

Pinned
to her chair by the needle-pointed stare, Olivia started to feel trapped even
as her temper rose. Whatever Lady Birkhurst's problems with her wretched son,
why should
she
be involved in devising solutions? But, out of
consideration for the woman's obvious unhappiness, Olivia kept her tone
controlled. "First
appearances are deceptive, Lady Birkhurst. Among those you discard there must
be at least one who will be as you wish."

Lady
Birkhurst sighed. "I am more than sixty years old, Olivia. If I have
learned anything as the wife of a gentleman farmer, it is to separate the wheat
from the chaff. When you walked in today you looked neither left nor right. You
had no desire to impress, although your aunt did. You, in fact, showed signs of
deep resentment, of anger. You still do." She chuckled softly. "No
other girl would have agreed to miss luncheon with us last Sunday. Indeed, they
would have all come leaping and bounding like spring lambs anxious to put in
their bids before others did. Even now, though you do me the favour of
listening to me, all that is on your mind is flight." She laughed again
and patted Olivia's hand. "No, Olivia. In this case, first appearances are
not deceptive, which is why I have taken the liberty of making you a
proposition that would be, to a woman such as you, iniquitous. And," she
breathed in sadly, "also a seeming paradox. I choose you because you are
not impressed by money and title, and yet these are the very inducements I use
to tempt you!"

Despite
her inner rage, Olivia could not suppress an involuntary stab of admiration for
Lady Birkhurst's courage. It could not have been easy to swallow pride and
resort to such brutal honesty. "I am sorry that my answer has not come up
to your expectations," she began gently.

"You
have made your opinion known to me frankly, Olivia, and for that I am
grateful," Lady Birkhurst interrupted, clasping her hand. Her tone was
pleading. "But I beg of you, don't say anything more yet. All I ask of you
is the favour of giving at least some more thought to what I have been bold
enough to suggest. I have opened my heart to you, Olivia, because you are too
astute to be given less. If after further thought you still refuse, as I fear
you will, I will of course be bitterly disappointed and poor Freddie will be
distraught, but I will accept your decision without either argument or rancour.
Freddie intends to speak to you soon, but he will, as usual, make a hash of it.
This is why I wished to say my piece earlier." Like a deflating balloon
she shrivelled into her chair and her shoulders sagged. "You must forgive
me, my dear, for having shocked and perhaps repelled you, but I am so tired of
pretences, so tired. I am just an unhappy, aging woman, perhaps foolish and
garrulous as well, who would like to see her only son produce an heir before he
dies." Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. "No matter what
Freddie is, Olivia, I do love him to distraction. To balance his faults he has many
fine
qualities and in his own way he deserves the best from me. In my panic to
ensure his salvation I have perhaps not been tactful, but it breaks my heart to
watch him destroy himself while I stand by unable to do anything . . ."

Olivia
would not have thought it possible to feel sympathy for anyone who could have
originated so immoral and insulting a scheme, but that was what she found
herself feeling. It astonished her to realise that, in spite of everything, she
actually liked this extraordinarily forthright woman. "I wish that I could
have comforted you in some way, Lady Birkhurst, but it would be so wrong of me
to fill you with vain hope . . ."

"All
I ask is that you
reconsider
your answer, Olivia," Lady Birkhurst
reminded her tearfully. "And I feel we must keep our little . . .
discussion between ourselves for the time being. Your aunt is a splendid woman,
Olivia, but I would be distressed if she were to pressure you into a decision
not of your liking. Come and see me when we return from the plantation. We plan
to leave within the week."

As
the rest approached from the verandah, making further discussion impossible,
Olivia was flooded with relief. "How long will you be away?"

"As
long as I can keep Freddie tethered away from the Golden Behind," Lady
Birkhurst assured her with a grim smile.

Lady
Bridget and her reluctant entourage entered noisily.
"Lids,
Mr.
Birkhurst, that's the secret of hygienic kitchen management." Flushed with
triumph, Lady Bridget settled herself comfortably in her chair. A visibly
baffled Freddie and a rudely bored Estelle did likewise on the window seat.
"All containers need lids, and Rashid Ali can easily make them out of old
kerosene tins. As for white ants, I will send you some of my own home-made
solution. All you must do is spray the burrow heads and, if possible, inside
the holes in the walls."

There
followed an energetic discussion between Lady Bridget and Lady Birkhurst about
the menace of weevils in the flour and semolina and about how much extra money
the cook and the chief bearer were making on the side, considering Salim had
recently bought two new pairs of shoes and Rashid Ali was thinking of acquiring
a third wife. Lady Bridget continued to shower Freddie with salutary
suggestions on kitchen-house economics (since his mother made it quite clear
she had no intentions of interfering in his messes), and then it was time to
leave.

As
they were about to climb into the open landau with its matched greys, Lady
Bridget appeared to have a brain-storm. "Olivia
is extremely
fond of riding and exploring the town, Mr. Birkhurst, and since it is
unthinkable for her to wander about on her own, would you perhaps oblige by
providing escort?"

Just
as Olivia's face collapsed, Freddie's lit up like a beacon. Freddie as an
escort? Olivia wailed inwardly, oh mercy,
no!
But it was too late.
"By Jove, Lady Bridget, I would be delighted,
privileged!
We leave
for the blasted plantation—begging your pardon, ladies—within the week,"
briefly he looked stricken, "but until we do, I am
entirely
and
most
decidedly
at your service."

Mortified
by her aunt's transparent ploy, Olivia glared. "I ride
very
early
in the morning, Mr. Birkhurst, I warn you."

"Er,
how early?" Freddie asked with a hint of alarm.

"Just
about the time you eventually get to bed," Estelle muttered from behind a
hand and grinned.

"No
later than five o'clock," Olivia answered, deliberately moving the time
back by an hour.

Freddie's
Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. "Oh, ah . . . splendid,
splendid.
Then shall we say five tomorrow morning?"

"If
you absolutely insist," Olivia mumbled ungraciously. With her aunt
listening and watching closely, it was hardly possible to say more, but
silently she fumed. As if her conversation with Lady Bridget hadn't been
harrowing enough, she was now faced with the diabolical prospect of the
insufferable Freddie in tow on her precious and enjoyably solitary early rides
each morning! It would be an invasion of her privacy that was unforgivable, and
Olivia determined not to put up with his presence for more than one occasion.
But for the moment there was little she could do but concur.

"What
did Lady Bridget talk to you about, dear?" The moment the carriage left
the Birkhurst compound, Lady Bridget turned eagerly to her niece. "Was she
. . . cordial?"

"Yes.
Very. We talked about London and the life there."

"Nothing
else?" Lady Bridget sounded disappointed.

"Oh,
and about America and all kinds of things," Olivia said vaguely.

"Did
she ask about your . . . father?"

"No."

Her
aunt's sigh of relief was audible if not tactful. "Well, I'm glad she was
cordial. You must go and see her again, of course, when they return from the
north."

Olivia
stared out of the window, her mind still clogged with the unbelievable
conversation she had had. Staves of pity stabbed
repeatedly at her heart. How was
she ever going to face poor Lady Birkhurst again?

"I
told you I was right, didn't I?" Lady Bridget suddenly exclaimed with
considerable exultation.

"What
about?" Estelle asked.

"I
knew
Babulal had overcharged for those alligator pears!"

"I
say, wasn't old Lady B an absolute scream this afternoon? As for your face,
darling Coz, well I thought I'd die, just
die,
trying to stifle my
giggles." Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Estelle layered her cheeks with
another generous coat of lanolin.

"Well,
I'm glad you didn't," Olivia retorted as she brushed out her hair in front
of the mirror. "If you had, who would have finished all those
biscuits?"