The Most Marvellous Summer. Бетти Нилс

talk it over with my mother and father,’ said Matilda in a quiet voice which her nearest and dearest would have recognised as the first sign of rage coming to the boil. ‘I shall want to consider it myself.’

      Lady Fox looked astounded. ‘But my dear girl, it is such a splendid opportunity for you to see something of the sophisticated world—you might even meet some suitable young man. If you are worried about clothes I’m sure—’

      ‘No, I’m not worried about clothes, Lady Fox. I’m not sure that I want to go to London. I really must have a day or two to think about it.’

      Lady Fox’s formidable frontage swelled alarmingly. ‘Well, really, I don’t know what to say. It is most important that Roseanne should go—she is so—so countrified and gauche. Vera and Mary are so much younger and already quite self-possessed.’

      Matilda, who disliked the two teenagers, agreed politely; Roseanne was dull and had no backbone worth mentioning, but at least she wasn’t rude.

      Lady Fox rose. ‘Well, since you seem to want time to think over this splendid offer, perhaps you will let me know as soon as you have decided? Now, will you see to the post and wash the Sèvres? I have to go in to Sherborne. I shall be back for lunch—Sir Benjamin is out so there will be just myself, Roseanne and yourself. Tell Cook, will you?’

      She hurried away, looking cross, and Matilda wandered off to the kitchen where she discussed lunch with Cook and had a cup of tea before going through the post.

      She was in the china pantry washing the precious Sèvres china when Roseanne wandered in.

      ‘Matilda, you will come with me, won’t you? I won’t go unless you do. Mother keeps on and on, if I don’t go I won’t stay here either, I’ll run away.’

      Matilda eyed her carefully. Roseanne meant it. The worm had turned, and, let loose on an uncaring world, Roseanne wouldn’t stand a chance…

      ‘I’ll have to discuss it with Mother and Father but I don’t think they would mind, just for a few weeks.’

      ‘You’ll come? Oh, Matilda, I’ll never be able to thank you enough—I’ll do anything…’

      ‘No need,’ said Matilda prosaically, ‘I dare say it will be quite fun.’

      Her parents raised no objection; she told Lady Fox the next day that she was willing to go with Roseanne and listened to that lady’s monologue about the benefits of London to a girl like Roseanne. ‘Of course you may not get invited to the dinner parties and dances her godmother will arrange, but I dare say you will be glad of that.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Matilda with interest.

      Lady Fox went an unbecoming red. ‘Oh, I have no intention of being rude, Matilda—what I mean is that you will need time to yourself occasionally and there will be no need to attend all the parties Roseanne is bound to go to. I rely upon you to see that she buys only suitable clothes, and please discourage any friendships she may strike up if the—er—young man isn’t suitable. She is very young…’

      Twenty-two wasn’t all that young, thought Matilda, and it was high time Roseanne found her own feet and stood on them.

      At home, she inspected her wardrobe and decided that there was no need to buy anything new. She had two evening dresses, both off the peg and by no means new, but nevertheless pretty. She had a good suit, blouses and sweaters enough, a skirt or two and a rather nice jersey dress bought in the January sales. She climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, found a rather battered case, hauled it downstairs and packed it without enthusiasm. London in the spring would come a poor second to Abner Magna.

      Each day she was taken aside and lectured by Lady Fox about the London visit; she must do this and not that, young men were to be scrutinised and Roseanne wasn’t to go gallivanting off…

      Matilda forbore from pointing out that the girl was the last person on earth to gallivant, and anyway with those spots and that unfortunate nose she wasn’t likely to get the chance. Let the poor girl have her fling! However timid, she was a nice girl and perhaps with her mother out of the way she might even improve enormously.

      She made suitable replies to Lady Fox’s remarks and that lady, looking at her, wished for the hundredth time that it could have been someone else but Matilda ffinch who was going with Roseanne; the girl was too pretty—more than that, that hair and those wide eyes weren’t to be ignored. She would have to drop a word in Roseanne’s godmother’s ear to make sure that Matilda attended as few dances and parties as possible; no one—no man—would look at the dear girl while Matilda was there, although give the girl her due she wasn’t a young woman to push herself forward; she knew her place, Lady Fox reflected, happily unaware of the superiority of the ffinches over the Foxes.

      They were to travel up to London in the Foxes’ Daimler driven by Gregg the chauffeur and gardener. Matilda got up early, made a tour of the rather untidy garden, ate a good breakfast and presented herself at the manor at nine o’clock sharp.

      Roseanne, wearing expensive mud-brown tweeds, quite unsuitable for the time of year, looked as though she would change her mind about going at any moment; Matilda bustled her briskly into the car with the promise that they would telephone as soon as they arrived and they drove away.

      It was a pleasant morning, chilly still but the sun shone and Matilda, chatting bracingly about the pleasures in store, wanted very much to get out of the car and walk or get on to her old bike and potter off for the day. She listened sympathetically to Roseanne’s uncertain hopes for the next few weeks, bolstered her up with the delights of London in store for her and whenever she had a moment thought about Mr Scott-Thurlow.

      The Honourable Mrs Venables lived in Kensington, in a massive red brick flat, furnished with splendour and a regrettable tendency to overdo crimson velvet, gilding wherever possible and dark, heavy furniture. She received them graciously and somewhat absent-mindedly, since she was holding a lengthy telephone conversation when they arrived. They sat while she concluded this and were then handed over to a dour-looking woman who led them down a long corridor to two rooms at its end, overlooking a narrow garden and more red brick walls.

      ‘There’s the bathroom,’ they were told. ‘You share it. My name’s Bertha.’

      ‘I’m not going to like it,’ declared Roseanne when they were alone in her room. Her lip quivered. ‘I want to go home.’

      ‘We’ve only just got here,’ Matilda pointed out. ‘At least let’s give it a try. It’s all a bit strange—you’ll feel better after lunch.’

      She was right; Mrs Venables had a great deal to say over the meal, laying out for Roseanne’s approbations the various entertainments she had arranged for her. ‘We shall have a quiet evening here today,’ she said, ‘but tomorrow we might go shopping and there’s an excellent film we might see in the evening. I shall leave you two girls to amuse yourselves during the day—there is plenty to see and do. I have arranged a dinner party or two and there are several invitations for you.’ It all sounded rather fun so that when Roseanne telephoned her mother after lunch she said nothing about wanting to return home.

      They spent the next day or two finding their feet. The mornings were taken up with shopping; Roseanne had plenty of money and urged by Matilda bought the clothes she had always wanted and never had the smallest chance to since her mother had always accompanied her. It was a surprise what a difference they made to her appearance, especially when Matilda, given carte blanche at the cosmetic counters, found a cream to disguise the spots and chose lipstick, blusher and eye-shadow and applied them to her companion’s face. ‘Don’t you want to buy anything?’ asked Roseanne. ‘Clothes?’

      Matilda assured her, quite untruthfully, that she didn’t.

      It was their third day there and they had been shopping again. It was Matilda who stopped outside an art gallery with a discreet notice, ‘Exhibition Within’, and suggested that they might take a look.

      The gallery was a series of rooms, very elegant and half filled with viewers,