nodded, leaned back in her chair, filled with relief. She gave him a warm and loving smile. ‘You’ve been so good about her all these years, and good to her. Just as you’ve been good to everyone you care about.’
‘I just try to do my bit, the best way I can, that’s all,’ he answered with a light shrug of his broad shoulders, and then he turned to speak to Fenella who had asked him a question about Young Edward and his health.
With the worry about Ned now totally erased from her mind, Vicky relaxed completely, and glanced around the table. She saw that everyone was having a good time, enjoying being together. Fuller had just served the Sole Colbert a few moments before, and there were several comments about how delicious it was, and she was pleased they liked Cook’s food.
After a moment, she realized Jane Shaw was trying to get her attention, and she asked, ‘Is everything all right, Jane? You are enjoying the fish, aren’t you?’
Jane smiled. ‘It’s delicious, and I just wanted to say how special your table looks tonight, Vicky, with all your beautiful china and silver. You know how much I love your little red box, as you call it.’
‘Thank you. Everybody does – I suppose it’s cosy, intimate, rather a nice place to be on a wintry night.’
Smiling, Jane nodded, and went back to her food.
Vicky eyed the room which she had decorated about five years ago, just before the war, flattered by Jane’s comments. It was a little red box, with crimson silk brocade covering the walls and hanging at the windows, the Victorian chairs around the table covered in a deeper red velvet, the Turkish carpet underfoot a mélange of reds, pinks and navy blue. The fire burning brightly and the many candles in their tall silver candlesticks added to the warmth, intimacy and elegance of the room on this cold December night.
Vicky usually gave this dinner party every year, just before Christmas. And even during the war she had kept up the tradition. It was always the same people who came, old friends and relatives. It struck her suddenly how clannish they all were, but then the Deravenel family in particular had always been somewhat addicted to their family and oldest friends. All of their lives they had been intertwined with other branches of the family, and most especially the Watkins clan, who were their first cousins. She supposed it was because of shared beliefs and ideals, a particular philosophy, a way of life that drew them into each other’s orbit. And loyalty and friendship and constant support were essential elements in their relationship.
She thought of her sister-in-law Kathleen, not present tonight because she had a cold. She was Ned’s cousin, sister of the late Neville and Johnny Watkins, both killed in that awful car crash at Ravenscar four years ago. She missed her presence. When he had arrived tonight Will had told her that Kathleen was really quite sick. ‘But not Spanish flu,’ he had added swiftly, observing the look of apprehension crossing her face, ‘Just a heavy cold.’ Will loved and adored Kathleen, and it had always been a very solid marriage, much to Vicky’s gratification.
Fenella’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and she looked across at her old friend, who was saying, ‘How is Charlie feeling, Amos?’
‘He’s relieved he’s safely home, happy that the war’s over, Lady Fenella, and he sends his best to you, to everyone. But he has been wounded, has a really bad leg injury and he limps, uses a cane. But at least they saved his leg. Also, one side of his face is scarred. I’m afraid it was burned.’ Amos shook his head, looking suddenly worried. ‘However, he is very cheerful, I must admit, and looking forward to doing something else in the theatre, perhaps producing or writing.’
‘Is he that badly scarred?’ Fenella asked, frowning, all of her attention on Amos.
‘As I said, it’s only one side of his face that was burned. And the scars are still healing. He told me he might be able to do something about it later, once he’s really better. There are apparently new methods for treating burns.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Grace Rose interjected. ‘Actually, skin-grafting and that kind of special surgery goes back to ancient times.’
‘I didn’t know that!’ Vicky exclaimed. ‘You’re a fountain of knowledge, darling.’
Fenella had a thoughtful expression on her face when she looked across the table, said to Vicky, ‘Jeanette Ridgely made a remark to me the other day when she came to help out at Haddon House. Her son was an officer at the front, and he’s home now, also wounded. She said he wished there was somewhere wounded soldiers could go, to have some sort of relaxation and recreation, talk to other Tommies. He said that was what his men needed. A place more like Haddon House than a public house, where inevitably many of the men just got drunk.’
‘That’s an interesting idea.’ Vicky glanced at the others, raising a brow. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Stephen answered, always ready to back his wife in her projects.
Fenella nodded. ‘We could talk to her next week, if you like, Vicky, I know she’s volunteered to do two days at Haddon House. I think such a place would be quite marvellous for the wounded men who are now coming home.’
‘Like a club,’ Stephen suggested, sounding enthusiastic. ‘Not the many working men’s clubs that have sprung up all over, more like a recreation centre, don’t you think?’
Will nodded. ‘A place where they could meet up with other solders, have refreshments, play cards, read … somewhere to go, to get them out of the house, from under the feet of their wives or mothers.’
‘It’s an excellent idea, in my opinion.’ Edward addressed Fenella and continued. ‘If you decided to do it, Fenella, I’ll certainly write a cheque, give you a donation to such a cause.’
‘Why thank you so much, Ned, but I hadn’t really thought of doing it, not until this moment anyway. But we’ll see.’
‘I’ll match Ned,’ Will promised.
‘Count me in,’ Stephen announced. ‘We must show appreciation to our wounded, they risked their lives for us, and you know damned well the government won’t do much to help the returning wounded.’
‘Well, how lovely of you all,’ Fenella murmured, thinking of the way she and her aunt had started Haddon House years ago. They created a safe haven for abused women and much to their satisfaction it had done wonders in the East End, saved many helpless women from terrible fates.
Vicky glanced at the door. ‘Ah, here is Fuller with the main course.’
Fuller and two parlour maids came into the dining room, carrying large tureens of lamb stew. Once everyone was served they departed, although Fuller returned within seconds to pour the red claret into the fine crystal goblets.
‘Your dinners are always the best,’ Edward said at one moment, turning to Vicky. ‘I’ve loved this stew of yours for years.’
Vicky inclined her head, pleased. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile. After a moment she added, ‘If we did open such a place for wounded soldiers, shouldn’t we have a canteen? To serve a good lunch to them every day.’
‘I can see this project, which was only just suggested a minute ago, is growing in magnitude,’ Will murmured, staring at his sister. ‘The first thing you must do, Fenella, and you too Vicky, is sit down and figure out what such a place is going to cost. Certainly before you do anything else.’
‘Of course you’re right, Will,’ Fenella agreed. ‘In fact, I must do quite a lot of thinking first, before we get to that stage. We’re very busy at Haddon House. We’d need quite a few helpers for such a project …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘I know we’d soon have lots of volunteers,’ Vicky said in a confident voice.
Edward laughed. ‘Always the optimist, my dear Vicky.’
After dinner, when everyone was