Читать книгу Elements of Chance - Barbara Wilkins - Страница 12

7

Terminal Two at London’s Heathrow Airport was jammed. All around her, Valerie heard the unfamiliar buzz of what seemed to be a hundred different languages as the crowd pushed her along to the line in front of the table marked Immigration. The name inside her passport was Valerie Jane Schuyler.

“Purpose of your visit?” the man asked.

“I’m a student,” Valerie said, thinking that he, at least, had a reassuring English accent. “I have a scholarship to the London Conservatory of Music.”

“Oh, jolly good,” he smiled. “We’ll be seeing you in the Albert Hall, I suppose, playing for the queen.”

“I don’t think so,” she said shyly. “I’m only going to be here a year.”

“Well, if you work hard, you never know what might happen,” he said. He stamped her passport and handed it back to her. “Welcome to London, then. Now, you fetch your luggage right over there. If you’ve anything to declare, get in the red line. If you don’t, it’s the green line.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, moving toward the baggage claim area. There was the big black and green plaid suitcase Max had given her as a going-away present, the matching two-suiter, its bottom stuffed with shoes and handbags, the little brown weekender, and the big beige canvas suitcase Vicki had borrowed from one of her girlfriends. Well, it took a lot of luggage to hold enough clothes for a year, Valerie thought, wondering if she needed to declare the new clothes inside the suitcases. Not the clothes, she decided, but maybe the money. She had five hundred dollars in an envelope Al had pressed into her hand as he and Vicki said good-bye to her at the airport. “And when this runs out,” he had told her, “you just write home for more.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she had said, giving him a big hug, feeling touched when she saw the tears in his eyes. Vicki had cried too, but Vicki was sentimental. Valerie had expected Vicki to cry.

“Can I help you with your suitcases, miss?” asked a voice, and Valerie turned to see a tall man in the gray uniform of a porter.

“Oh, please,” she said gratefully, wondering how much she should tip him. She had never felt quite so confused in her life.

“Do you have anything to declare?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head.

“Well, you just follow me,” he said, piling her luggage onto the cart and pushing it into the crowd, past the customs tables. Valerie followed the porter until they finally trudged up the ramp leading into the arrivals area. People in all sorts of clothes leaned over the rail above, waving at the travelers they were meeting. Nobody, though, was peering over the rail and trying to catch her eye. Suddenly a man’s voice with an English accent said, “Miss?”

“Yes?” She turned to see a tall slender man in his mid-thirties, wearing a black suit, black tie, white shirt, a black cap. Lady Anne had sent her chauffeur. Of course.

“Did you have a nice flight, miss?” he asked, taking Valerie’s elbow as he helped her into the huge black limousine.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Valerie said enthusiastically. I’m finally here, she thought gleefully, leaning back against the leather seat. I’m in England, taking my first ride in a beautiful limousine.

The highway was wet from a recent rain, and overhead, bright blue patches peeked through ominous gray clouds. When the car glided onto a long overpass, Valerie looked down on row after row of adjoining brick houses, their blue black slate roofs glistening. Behind each house was a small fenced garden blooming with flowers and neat rows of vegetables.

Soon they were passing multistoried hotels, tall office buildings, and expensive-looking shops. The morning rush hour traffic was heavy with the ubiquitous black taxis, red double-decker buses, a sprinkling of Rolls-Royces, and small European cars that Valerie had never seen before. Motorcyclists and uniformed messenger boys on bicycles darted in and out of traffic.

“We’re almost there, miss,” the chauffeur said into the speaking tube, as he made a left turn off Park Lane onto Green Street. Valerie sensed an air of quiet luxury as she noticed equestrians trotting along a bridle path rimming a huge green park. Valerie’s pulse quickened as she wondered what Lady Anne would be like.

The limousine came to a stop in front of an impressive house. Seven stories, Valerie counted, as she waited for the chauffeur to gather her luggage. Her heart raced as she followed him up the stairs to the front door.

“Oh, it’s you, Bernard,” said the portly maid who answered his ring. She wore a black uniform with a little white apron, her gray hair twisted into a bun at the base of her neck. Her blue eyes twinkled. “You’ve collected Miss Hemion.” She smiled as she turned to Valerie. “My name is Janet, Miss Valerie. You come right in.”

“How do you do,” Valerie said shyly as she stepped into the entry hall. It was as large as many living rooms she had been in, with a black and white marble floor and a high ceiling with intricate molding. On an antique table against one wall stood an arrangement of flowering branches and a silver tray, probably for the mail, Valerie thought. The giltframed mirror above the table reflected the muted rose and pink drawing room through partly open doors.

“I hope you had a nice trip, miss,” Janet said, looking Valerie up and down. “So, you come from Los Angeles, where all the movie stars live. Do you know any of them?”

“Well, no,” Valerie admitted. “But my mom used to be in movies.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Janet beamed. “Well, I suppose you’re tired, and you’d like a nice cup of tea. Maybe something to eat. Does that sound good to you?”

“It really does,” Valerie said gratefully.

“Well, Her Ladyship is out shopping. She said she’d be back in time for tea. That’s five o’clock sharp in this house. Why don’t you come down to the kitchen with me, and we’ll fix you up. Then you can go to your room and freshen up a bit, maybe take a little nap. You’re on the fourth floor. Her Ladyship’s suite is on the third.”

Sitting at the round table in the comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen in the basement, Valerie devoured the fried eggs and bacon that Janet made for her on the eight-burner stove.

“How long have you worked for Lady Anne?” she asked between gulps.

“Only a few months,” said Janet, leaning against a counter. “Lady Anne has been mostly in the south of France. She’s just opened up this house. Wanted to be in London for the season. Well, they’re like that, you know.”

“What’s she like?”

“Oh, she’s very nice, very refined. She’s quite well known in society circles, of course. There’s a lot of entertaining done here in the house.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Well, she’s been looking forward to your coming,” Janet said. “We all have. Maggie, though, is off today. She’s the cook. Then there’s Bridget. She helps me out.” She gestured toward a closed door. “Our rooms are back through there, behind the butler’s pantry. We have a nice little sitting room and telly.” She paused to pour more tea into Valerie’s cup. “Bernard lives in the mews house out in back, at the end of the garden. You know how chauffeurs are. They’re always with the motor cars.”

Four servants, Valerie thought, impressed. At home, she and Vicki did the housework, and even Max’s cleaning woman came in only a couple of days a week.

After Valerie finished breakfast, Janet took her on a tour of the house. Above the kitchen was the dining room, with tall windows and a gleaming mahogany table and chairs. Across the hall was the library, where a grand piano stood in front of a curving window. Valerie ran her fingers over its keys. The tone was pure. Wonderful, really. On the next level was the entry hall, and next to it the drawing room, running the length of the house, a blur of pinks and roses, fine antiques, handsome screens, and paintings of haughty aristocrats. There was a round mahogany table surrounded by four chairs. A crystal chandelier and bowls of flowers accented the room. Logs had been laid for a fire in the marble fireplace.

“It’s here you’ll be having your tea,” Janet said, flicking a bit of imaginary dust off one of the tables. “Sometimes Her Ladyship has her breakfast here too, at that little round table.”

The room that Valerie had been given was just above Lady Anne’s suite. She peeped in to see a fire burning brightly in the fireplace, and a double bed with a white spread, a pile of lacy white pillows, and a white canopy. Nightstands with pretty lamps stood on either side of the bed, and an oriental rug in white and blue covered most of the dark wood floor. A matching chaise longue was bathed in sunlight that filtered through the sheer curtains covering the tall window behind it. On a table sat a tall crystal vase filled with white and yellow chrysanthemums. Valerie’s clothes had been hung in the walk-in closet in her dressing room. Her bathroom was all in blue and white, with fluffy white towels on the towel racks.

“It’s so beautiful,” Valerie whispered.

“Well, it’s comfortable, I will say that,” said Janet. “I think Her Ladyship enjoyed fixing it up for you. She kept asking, ‘Will a young girl like this?’ ‘Will a young girl like that?’” Janet bustled around the room, plumping up the pillows on the bed. “I expect you’ll want a hot bath, Miss Valerie. And you can have your lie-down. There’s a little clock there on your nightstand, but don’t you bother about setting the alarm. I’ll come and wake you around four o’clock. Is that all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Valerie, hardly able to believe that this lovely room was to be hers for a year.

After Janet had closed the door behind her, Valerie ran a bath as hot as she could stand. When she had dried her body, still tanned from the hours she had spent at Max’s swimming pool, she put on the new white terrycloth robe hanging in her closet.

She crept into the bed and looked around the graceful room. Sunlight streamed through the curtains. The fire crackled cheerfully in the fireplace. All of this for me, Valerie thought. Suddenly she felt more tired than she ever had before as she drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, the room was dark, and pale moonlight filtered through the airy curtains. Somebody had covered her with a down comforter. Valerie changed to a nightgown, and crawled in between the soft white sheets. The next time she awoke, it was to Janet’s voice.

“Time to get up,” Janet called. “It’s a fine morning, and Her Ladyship is waiting to have breakfast with you.”

When Valerie walked into the drawing room fifteen minutes later, Lady Anne Hallowell was sitting at the round mahogany table reading a newspaper. In front of her was a silver tea service, china cups, and saucers patterned with pale flowers. She was in her late forties, Valerie saw, with shining brown hair in a loose pageboy. Her face was long, with high cheekbones and a generous mouth. She was dressed simply in a pale blue sweater set, a tweed skirt, and pearls. Reading glasses perched on her aristocratic nose. She glanced up from her newspaper as Valerie stepped tentatively into the room.

“Well, my dear,” Lady Anne smiled, rising and taking Valerie’s hands in her own. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. Come and sit down.” She led Valerie to the table and tinkled a little bell. “Now, you must tell me all about yourself. First, what would you like for breakfast? Eggs? Bacon? I know how it is to be a growing girl. It was a long time ago, but I remember. Let’s start with some tea,” she said briskly, pouring the tea as Janet appeared. “Bring this young lady some bacon and eggs. And maybe several patties of sausage. Toast, of course, and that wonderful strawberry jam.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship,” Janet murmured.

“You’ll love the London Conservatory of Music,” she continued when Janet was gone. “I’m sure you know its reputation. They’ve turned out some of the finest musicians. And you know about the pianists. Simply the most brilliant. Maria Obolensko, for one. I jumped at the chance when I was asked to be a patron there,” she said. “I always wished for talent, but I’m afraid it was just the usual piano lessons. But, my dear, all those competitions you’ve won. The concert tour. And your reviews. My heavens! Fire and passion, they say. And you’re such a delicate little thing.”

“Perhaps I could …,” Valerie began.

“Give me lessons? Oh, no,” Lady Anne said, waving a finger. “It’s enough for me that the house will be filled with beautiful music. You’re here to work, young lady, and I’m here to make it as easy as possible for you. Why, we’re a little family, the two of us. I want you to think of me as your aunt. And I’ll think of you as my niece. In fact, I already do. That’s just what I’m going to tell my friends. ‘This is Valerie Hemion, my American-born niece.’”

“Thank you,” Valerie said.

“Isn’t it nice that your classes don’t start for another week?” Lady Anne asked brightly. “I’ll have plenty of time to show you around London. I think we’ll have a dinner party so that everybody can meet you.”

Valerie gave a silent prayer of thanks as she managed to sip her tea without spilling it all over the damask flowered tablecloth. She didn’t know what she would do when breakfast came. Just watch Lady Anne, she decided, to make sure she was using the right fork. The right knife. The right everything.