"Why didn"t Clifford have any children?" Ann asked.
"Ah. He drank himself into impotency, childlessness, and despondency. He died of a liver disease in the early fifties. Not, unfortunately, before enduring the disgrace of having to sell Everly. It had been in the Paxton family for eight generations." Kathryn sighed deeply. "A shame. A terrible shame."
More to release her grandmother from painful memories than out of true curiosity, Catherine asked, "Was it the Boxworthys who bought Everly from your brother?"
"No. It was the Thorpes. A good family, but unfortunately they found it too expensive to keep as a private home. They sold it to the Boxworthys in the early sixties. Mr. Boxworthy had been a surgeon, much loved and overworked. He died much too young, in his fifties, leaving Madeline to shoulder the financial burden of Everly herself. That"s how Everly became a bed-and-breakfast, although I must say under Madeline"s care it has more the atmosphere of a private club."
Kathryn"s voice weakened then, and she sagged. "I"m tired, girls. I think we should go and sleep off some of this jet lag."
Catherine and Ann shared a lovely old high-ceilinged room with a fireplace and cas.e.m.e.nt windows. Except for a few discreet notes about check-out time, tea time, and fire escapes printed on fine-quality bond paper and left on the desk under a vase of l.u.s.ty red French roses, this could have been a room in any elegant private home. The twin beds were high and hard.
"We might as well be back home," Ann wailed, throwing herself on her bed. "I mean at least Grandmother is talking to us, but everyone here is a thousand years old and nothing fun"s happening."
"Don"t be a pill, Ann. You haven"t met everyone here. Mrs. Boxworthy has three children, and I think one of the girls is your age."
"Yeah, and the boy is your age, lucky you. But it"s so dark here-it"s creepy!"
"Wait till the rain stops. And you"re tired. Let"s take a nap. I"m exhausted."
"Oh, there"s something wrong with you. All you ever want to do is sleep," Ann said petulantly.
Catherine looked over at her sister. Ann was fourteen. Of course she had boyfriends and crushes on boys, but she was still innocent and impressionable. If Catherine told Ann about Kit, it would make her sad, and that wasn"t what they had come here for. Catherine slipped out of her clothes, which were wrinkled from traveling, let them fall on the floor, then climbed between the sheets. Burrowing her head in her pillow, she was surrounded by a faint sweet scent: lavender. She fell asleep.
She awakened thinking of Kit. Something about the state between deep sleep and consciousness, the slumberous fluidity of her body and mind, recalled vividly to her just how Kit had made her feel. Now always when awakening, and often when falling asleep, her body would bring up, like a blush on a plum, rosy memories of their time together. What she had shared with Kit had been as deep and possessive as sleep. Her body could not forget him. Her mind could not believe that he was gone.
The pain of losing him was still a sharpness, but the memories of their time together were strangely soothing. Because of Kit she knew sorrow, but he had taught her many other things, too. He had opened her up to an awareness of the world. So now she lay among the lavender-scented sheets, listening to the streaming rain, feeling very much alive and oddly desirous.
A tapping came at their door. Their grandmother looked in.
"Girls? Tea time. Get dressed and meet me in the library, will you?"
Ann grumbled at being awakened, then immediately said, "I"m starving. I hope at least the food"s decent here."
They slipped into dresses and sweaters, for it was cool even though it was August, and hurried downstairs.
Wide doors had been opened between the library and the front drawing room. Both rooms were full of people and dogs. Catherine counted five gawky spotted hounds curled up on overstuffed chairs or patroling the room for dropped crumbs.
"Catherine. Ann." Their grandmother beckoned them to join her in a corner of the library. Madeline was seated on a long sofa next to Kathryn. As the Eliot girls approached, a young man unfolded his long legs and stood up politely.
"h.e.l.lo. I"m Ned Boxworthy."
Ned Boxworthy was so gorgeous, Catherine had to keep herself from gawking, but fortunately his sisters jumped up to introduce themselves. All three Boxworthy children were good-looking, but Ned was thrillingly handsome in a sort of British World War I pilot way. Tall, slender, he had sleek black hair, violet-blue eyes, and a ravis.h.i.+ng smile. He was exactly her age, Catherine remembered, sinking onto a chair next to him.
Mrs. Boxworthy handed her a cup of smoky Hu-Kwa tea in a tiny cup as fragile as an eggsh.e.l.l. On side tables were silver platters of tiny sandwiches filled with watercress or cuc.u.mber slivers, fish or foie gras paste, thin slices of ham or beef with mustard, crisp crackers and white breads with an a.s.sortment of cheeses, shortbreads, cheese biscuits, Dundee cake, and hot scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. Catherine was famished and wanted to try everything; at the same time she wanted to appear slightly civilized in front of the marvelous Ned. She glanced sideways to see how Ann was faring. Her sister"s plate was full, and her eyes were huge as she looked from the Boxworthy sisters to Ned and back down at all the wonderful food.
"This was Kathryn"s home," Madeline was telling her children. "She grew up here. She hasn"t visited Everly since we took it over. It will be interesting to see what she thinks of all the changes. And Catherine and Ann have never been here before."
"Well, I might as well warn you, it"s the most boring place on G.o.d"s earth," Hortense announced.
Catherine looked at Hortense, amused by her boldness. She was the youngest of the children, only fifteen, and Catherine could see Ann"s expression light up as Hortense talked.
Hortense was still speaking. "Well, really, Mummy, it"s true, you know. That"s even part of its advertisable charm. People come here for the quiet. For the feeling of old England. It"s old all right. If you"re very good, Ann, we might persuade Ned to drive us into the nearest town for a movie, but other than that, nothing goes on around here."
"No movie tonight," Kathryn said. "We"re all much too tired."
"Hortense is just whining because it"s raining," Elizabeth said. She was nineteen, a pale, watercolor version of her older brother, with soft curling brown hair and gray-blue eyes. She was plump in a pleasant, feminine way and gracious, in sharp contrast with skinny Hortense, whose brown hair was clipped back carelessly with barrettes while her eyes were hidden behind thick gla.s.ses. "Hortense is our gardener. She knows people come here to see the gardens, and she"s piqued because no one can go out today."
"All my children help here," Madeline Boxworthy said. As she spoke she looked at each of them with an odd sort of pride glinting from her eyes, as if they were hounds or horses she had bred and trained especially well. "Hortense helps in the gardens, as Elizabeth says, and she is very capable. Elizabeth helps me with the baking. In fact, she"s in charge of the kitchen and the daily girls who come in to help. And Ned keeps the books. I couldn"t manage without them." Her gaze softened when it fell on her son.
"Mum, we"ve had tea, let me take Ann and show her the house."
"Darling, they"ll be here all week. And perhaps Kathryn would prefer to give them the tour."
"Do you know where the old dogs are buried?" Hortense asked Kathryn. Before the older woman could answer, she rushed on, "Because I have a theory about where the spot is. Out by where the forest begins, right?"
Kathryn smiled. "The dogs loved the forest. Because of all the game they could chase, rabbits and so on. Yes. How clever of you. But really, Madeline," she said, turning to the other woman, "it"s fine with me if Hortense takes Ann around. I won"t want to move from this spot for hours. It"s so comfortable by the fire."
Madeline nodded then, and Hortense jumped from her chair, grabbing Ann by the hand.
What luck, Catherine thought. She noticed with surprise, however, that as Ann left the room she cast a long, rather covetous look at Ned. Catherine had to admit she was perfectly content to stay by the fire with the staid, boring adults. The Eliots and the Boxworthys talked late into the evening, about the American Everly, and Vanderveld Flowers, and the British Everly as Kathryn had known it.
When Catherine went to bed that night, she decided to make herself dream of Ned, but it was Kit"s face, voice, body, that floated up to her. Her love for him had become part of her, and it would be a long time before she could release the thought of him from her heart"s hold.
The first few days at Everly, Catherine watched her grandmother carefully. She thought it must be hard to see her childhood home so changed. But far from being distressed, Kathryn seemed quite happy. The gardens had been kept up; that was the most important thing, and as soon as she saw that, she settled in to enjoy her stay.
It rained most of the first week they were there. Every morning Catherine and Ann rose, dressed, and went down for breakfast in the dining room, one of the major events of the day. Guests were invited to help themselves from the silver platters and chafing dishes arranged on the mahogany sideboard. Catherine hovered greedily, plate in hand, over hot fat sausages, crisp bacon, salty ham, stewed prunes, creamed mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, a kedgeree of flaked smoked fish and rice, broiled kippers, and eggs scrambled and fried and hard-boiled. The toast, m.u.f.fins, b.u.t.ter squares, jams, and marmalade were set on the table, along with the large silver urns of coffee and tea and the silver cream and sugar bowls. She filled her plate high.
So much food, and the weight of the Boxworthys" sterling silver, made breakfast a serious occasion. There were also all the guests, and the four Boxworthys who came and went, everyone smoothly sliding in and out of the conversation. It was easy to linger at the table, chatting over one more cup of coffee, and then another. For once in her life, Catherine was in no hurry. It was luxurious.
After breakfast she and her sister walked with Kathryn through the house or, if it wasn"t pouring, out in the gardens. In the silvery mornings of that rainy week, Catherine and Ann followed their grandmother through the shadowy corridors and up and down the various stairs at Everly. Mrs. Boxworthy had given them carte blanche to roam. This British Everly was much larger, darker, and even colder than Kathryn"s Everly at East Hampton, which at least had central heating. The attic rooms, which in the new Everly had been given over to a nursery and bedrooms for Catherine, Sh.e.l.ly, Ann, and their governesses, were here cheerfully wallpapered, decorated and turned into guest rooms. Kathryn could find no trace of any wallpaper from her childhood on the walls. But signs of her mother"s reign were everywhere outside, in the wonderful gardens, which Kathryn"s own mother had overseen.
By afternoon Hortense was free of her duties in the gardens. She"d take Ann off to some secret part of the house to play darts or cards or simply to talk. Kathryn and Catherine took naps in the afternoon. Catherine"s body craved sleep. She fell eagerly into oblivion each afternoon and always struggled to awaken.
In the afternoons Catherine joined her grandmother and the others for high tea, which was served with the ceremonial cadence of ritual. In the evenings she read or played bridge with the guests. Fires were lit in all the downstairs rooms that first week to fight off the chill the rain brought. Catherine was content and glad Ann had Hortense to entertain her.
One night a couple arrived who had just been touring the Lake District. Somehow a discussion among the Boxworthy family about British poets erupted.
"Coleridge is the best," Hortense said. " "Beware! Beware! His flas.h.i.+ng eyes! His floating hair!" "
"Coleridge was a drug addict, my dear," said Ned.
"Coleridge was a genius," Elizabeth said.
"He was a drug addict and a sot and a lunatic. All that Lake District lot you"re always mooning over were loony. Coleridge was so drunk at a dinner party that he thought his s.h.i.+rttail had come out of his trousers. He kept tucking it in and tucking it in. Really it was the gown of the woman seated next to him." Ned"s laughter rolled through the room.
"That was Coleridge"s father, I believe," Elizabeth said.
"What"s the difference? It runs in the family. All these literary families you wors.h.i.+p were nuts."
"The Wordsworths were wonderful gardeners," Mrs. Boxworthy said.
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "Dorothy used to bring wild mosses home from the fells to plant around her house. She even transplanted wildflowers. I"ve always thought that such a lovely idea."
"Have you visited the Lake District?" Madeline asked Catherine. She shook her head.
"Oh, but you should!" Hortense said pa.s.sionately.
"You"ll become drunk with joy," Ned cried in a mincing falsetto.
Catherine watched and listened, entranced. She and Ann and Sh.e.l.ly could no more sit arguing about American poets" lives than fly to the moon. Had her family ever sat around conversing like this? The most similar occasions in her memory were holidays, Christmas or Easter, when circ.u.mstances forced them to be together. Even then her parents would have fortified themselves with a gla.s.s of liquor clutched in their hands. Why couldn"t her family be as charming as the Boxworthys, full of clever conversation and literary gossip? She tried to envision her family taking over her grandmother"s East Hampton Everly, working together to run it as a bed-and-breakfast. Impossible. Her parents would drink and sleep late, her brother would disappear with his rowdy friends, and Ann would complain bitterly that the work was too hard.
"Children," Madeline Boxworthy announced the fourth night the Eliots were at Everly, "I"ve heard the rain is going to continue for several more days. We"ve had some cancellations here because of it."
"Oh, bad luck, Mummy," Hortense said.
"No, good luck, I think, dear. I"ve decided it might be a good time for us all to go to London. With Kathryn and her granddaughters."
"Oh, smas.h.i.+ng!" Hortense cried, and ran to hug her mother.
"I suppose Mrs. Frame can manage without us." Elizabeth looked worried.
"Of course she can! Come on, Elizabeth, a little jaunt will do you good!" Ned said.
Catherine watched with amazement and envy as charming Ned urged his serious, dutiful sister to join them. What a family this was! She wished it were hers.
In London Madeline and Kathryn went their way, leaving "the children" to go off on their own. During the day, Ned acted as their tour guide, rus.h.i.+ng them through Trafalgar Square, St. Paul"s, Westminster Abbey, Hyde Park. He and his sisters encouraged Catherine and Ann to buy bright-colored boots and Mary Quant clothes on Carnaby Street. The Boxworthys loved London, and as they rushed Catherine and Ann here and there, they seemed as proud and possessive as if they"d created it all themselves.
For Catherine, New York was a million miles away. New York was a dark dream. Kit and Piet, Sh.e.l.ly and her mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderveld, all were enclosed in a glistening balloon that Catherine tossed in the air and watched float away until it disappeared from sight. She was among clever new friends. She was relaxed. She was intoxicated by the Boxworthy family. She was almost happy.
It rained during the drive back to Everly. But the next day the sun came out blazing. At last the Eliot women could have a thorough, leisurely tour of the Everly gardens. Hortense had to get back to work weeding and picking fresh flowers and vegetables for the house, and for the pleasure of her company, Ann helped. Ned had to catch up on the paperwork and Madeline and Elizabeth on the baking, so Catherine and Kathryn meandered together through the formal boxed hedges down to the gurgling stream or sat on a marble bench next to a brick wall engulfed by plumy spills of wisteria. The air was warm, the sky a rapturous blue. Delphiniums, phlox, daisies, hollyhocks, sunflowers, and roses dappled their vision, while birds chirped from fruit trees and made rustling raids on gooseberries and currants.
Which Everly do you love best, Grandmother? Catherine longed to ask, but never did. In the gardens of the British Everly, Kathryn was at her most aloof. Her very carriage declared: Stand back. Don"t intrude. The American Everly was less formal, more inviting, Catherine decided, if only because of the rambling house and the wild superabundance of the gardens, which Kathryn didn"t have the time or money to control. Upstarts at the American Everly, seeds that had drifted in on air currents or birds, often managed to take root and grow, causing startling and cheerful combinations.
One lovely day they went on the excursion Kathryn had been longing for-to Sissinghurst in Kent, to see the elaborate gardens Vita Sackville-West had designed. None of the Boxworthy women could go; they were too busy. But Ned came along, insisting on driving them in his father"s old, immaculately cared for Bentley.
"It"s good for the old thing to get some fresh air," he said, fondly stroking the silvered gray of the hood.
Catherine was surprised that Ann chose to join them rather than spending the day at Hortense"s side. Then she noticed as the day pa.s.sed how Ann"s eyes brightened each time she looked at Ned. Ann had a crush on him, and Catherine didn"t blame her. He was beautiful, and clever, and kind. Catherine left Ann to herself with Ned, a romantic afternoon young Ann would remember all her life, Catherine thought. She looped her arm through her grandmother"s and strolled with her along a brick path, under an archway of white roses so abundant, they looked like a foaming cataract of blossom. They climbed the steep spiral staircase to the turret room where Vita Sackville-West used to write. At the top of the tower they stood looking down at the flowers, divided by hedges and glowing with color like stained-gla.s.s windows, surrounded by the rolling meadows of Kent.
That evening Catherine showered and dressed for tea. She had just stepped out into the dark upstairs hall when Ned appeared so suddenly that he startled her.
"I"ve got something for you!" he whispered. "Come up to my room a minute."
"The others-"
"Won"t notice if we hurry!" he said.
She had never been to his attic room. It was charming, entirely masculine, furnished in dark heavy oak and rough green plaids, the ceilings low and slanted, shadows striping the floor.
"Here," Ned said without preamble. "I brought you a present."
He handed her a package. She tore off the paper to find an exquisitely decorated book about the Sissinghurst gardens and the life of Vita Sackville-West.
"How lovely! Ned, thank you!" Catherine"s face warmed with pleasure and surprise.
She was even more surprised when he pulled her against him and folded her in an embrace. At first she resisted, but his kiss was very pleasant. He smelled like summer gra.s.ses. His body against her was warm, animal-hard, masculine. His breath, tongue, teeth, and lips were as sweet and dazzling as strawberry jam and clotted cream.
"Come up here to me tonight," he whispered into her ear. "Please."
Catherine realized she was kissing him, pressing herself against him at the same time knowing she should push him away. "I don"t know," she replied. "Oh, I don"t know."
"I know," he said. "You should come."
Fl.u.s.tered, she moved away from his embrace and rushed down to her room to smooth her hair and fix her lipstick. What should she do? What did she want to do? She thought Ned immensely handsome, and she liked him, too, but something about him amused her. She was able to observe him from a distance, to remain separate from him, while with Kit she had instantly felt bonded, completely at home. Well, with Kit she had been tricked, by him and by herself. Perhaps Ned was the cure. It was obvious that Ned wanted only a fling with her, nothing more; that was what she wanted, too.
In the library, Madeline Boxworthy was working on a needlepoint cus.h.i.+on cover. Kathryn was looking through the books on the shelves. Various guests were playing bridge or just milling around. Catherine could not settle down to any one thing. They would be going home in two days, she and Ann and Kathryn, and perhaps that was why Ned had waited until now to invite her to his bed. That way, the offer clearly involved nothing more than enjoying themselves. Now Ned was gently teasing Elizabeth, who was reading a book of poetry. Suddenly Hortense said, "Ann, sleep in my room tonight, will you! We"ll eat pastries in bed and stay up all night telling ghost stories." Ann agreed at once. Catherine stared at Ned. She could not tell if he had orchestrated Hortense"s offer or not. But at least now she did not have to consider what to tell Ann if she wanted to slip out of their room.
What an odd summer this had been. After three years of grinding routine, she"d been to Paris in June and now to England in August. She"d made love for the first time in her life and fallen in love for the first time in her life. And had her heart broken for the first time, too. d.a.m.n Kit!
Perhaps she only thought she loved him because she had made love to him.
She would go to Ned"s room, after all.
Ned had the courtesy to seem happily surprised when she knocked on his door at midnight.
"I was afraid you wouldn"t come," he said, drawing her in.
"I don"t know what I"m doing here," she began, suddenly confused, but then he wrapped himself around her and kissed her. He was still dressed in a soft white s.h.i.+rt and slacks, while she wore a light summer nightgown and robe. His hands moved down her body. When his mouth moved to hers, his kisses inspired a need in her, like a thirst. Together, they went to his bed. He turned off the bedside lamp.
She was pleasantly surprised by how playful Ned"s lovemaking was. He wasn"t intense as Kit had been; he wasn"t in need. Ned teased Catherine, tickling her with his tongue, tasting her, testing her to find her most sensitive, susceptible spots. He smiled; he chatted.
"Do you like this?" he asked her several times. The first time the question embarra.s.sed her, but eventually his tenderness broke through her shyness.