Page 32 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘You needn’t worry,’ Brigid said, ‘I bet I’ll hardly speak to her.Apparently I shall have dear little Kathleen Kennedy to keep me busy.’She sighed.‘Not to mention Prince Fritzi.Of all the … I don’t know why Chipsdoessuch things … When all I wanted to do was play tennis and walk and swim and ride, and try to forget all about London and parties and who wore what.’
‘What a funny child you are,’ Maureen said.‘At your age, it was the tennis and riding I wanted to forget, the better to think only of parties and who wore what.’
They were finally clear of the city – even the trailing fingers of small, dirty houses and narrow streets that lingered so long after the city proper was wound up, were gone now.Around them, the landscape grew broad and the air settled to a thick yellow glow.
‘It’s like driving through custard,’ Brigid said.
The car purred along, eating through miles and miles of road, fields of cropped golden stubble stretching out on either side, bordered by trees already leaking copper into the green leaves.The harvest was in early, Honor’s father had told her, almost with the pride of a man whose livelihood depended on the safe gathering of a few small fields.No wonder there was an air of dreaming over the countryside, she thought.A feeling of quiet celebration.She imagined the setting right of houses and barns, the mending of fences, all the chores that would have been left undone in the great rush to take in the hay.And the voluptuous sense that there was time, finally, to do these things.She thought of pies baking, fruit pickled safe into jars.She sighed happily.
‘Did you bring your gas mask?’Brigid asked.‘I almost forgot, only Minnie ran out after me to remind me.I said she should take it in their car with the luggage, but she insisted that, no, I must carry it with me.’She patted the bulky black case beside her.‘I cannot get used to them.They make me think of poor sweet elephants with their trunks cut off.Too sad.’
‘Chips says there will be no need of them,’ Honor said.‘But I confess, I had Molly pack mine anyway.’
‘Duff says there will be need, but not yet.He wants me to go to Clandeboye if things get worse,’ Maureen said.
‘Will you?’Honor asked, curious.
‘Certainly not.To be buried in the Irish countryside would be even more terrible than anything that could happen in London.In any case, nothing will happen.I know Duff.He likes to “look life in the eye”, as he puts it.Prides himself on not taking the easy road.Only it can make him pessimistic.He’s so busy not swallowing easy lies that he hunts down difficult ones.All will be well, I’m sure.’
‘I should like to join the Women’s Voluntary Service if there is a war,’ Brigid said vaguely.‘Or drive a truck.But Mamma says I may not.’
There was silence then, all faces turned towards the windows, watching the steady unfolding of fields and hedges, small copses and winding rivers.It was, Honor thought, like a film reel, something that felt both near and distant, real and imagined.She tried to imagine it all torn up, ploughed not by farm machinery but by guns and the tramping feet of soldiers; the gold turned to black, the green scorched to brown.But she couldn’t.And there was no need.There would be no war.Chips had said it.She no longer had the habit of believing what he said of himself – where he had been, who he had seen – but in this, how could he be wrong?He spent so much of his time, both in the House and out of it, talking about what would happen.Talking to Chamberlain, whom he adored; to Rab Butler, who after all was deputy foreign minister; to von Ribbentrop, who had the ear of the Führer, and Mussolini’s man Dino Grandi.How could he be wrong about this?
‘So, did Chips want Kelvedon because of how it sounds so like your own dear Elveden?’Maureen asked after a while, breaking the silence.‘Perhaps he sees himself as another Lord Iveagh?’
Brigid sniggered and Honor gave her a cross look.‘I’m just glad he settled on somewhere at last.You have no idea the pain of these last few years, looking at country house after country house, only for him to find fault with everything.’
‘Like the Three Bears,’ Brigid piped up.‘Too big, too small, too shabby, too old …’
‘Not old enough,’ Maureen joined in.
Honor stirred irritably.‘Must you?’
‘Yes,’ Maureen replied.‘I must.When it comes to Chips, everyone must.His bumptiousness can only be kept in check if all who know him tease him mercilessly.And now that his political career is finally taking off …’ She smirked at Brigid as she said it, but it was Honor who answered.
‘Parliamentary private secretary to Rab Butler.Hardly a career taking off.’She spoke dismissively.
‘Not by the standards of your family, maybe,’ Maureen said, with a curious look at her.‘But all the same, not nothing.’
‘And he is terrifically pleased,’ Brigid chipped in.
‘Of course he is,’ Maureen said.‘I’ve seen Chips receive a passing remark on the size of his dog as though it were the most delicate personal compliment.’She began to laugh.‘He really is able to spin gold out of the drabbest of metals.’
‘Dear Bundi …’ was all Honor said.‘Chips talks of getting a second dog, but I do not know how I could ever love another as I love Bundi.’She fell silent then, remembering the background to this talk of another dog.
‘Where is Paul?’Maureen asked, as though reading her mind.
‘At Kelvedon already, with Nanny.And Sheridan?’
‘At home in London.With the Nanny.Duff wanted to bring him …’
‘Oh, how sweet,’ Brigid cried.‘I wish you had.’
‘Don’t be silly, Brigid,’ Honor said.‘Babies aren’t puppies, you know, to be dragged around and played with.They need routine, order, discipline.’
‘Exactly,’ said Maureen.
It was late into the afternoon by the time they arrived at Kelvedon Hatch, a village of pretty cottages that lay beyond the walls of Kelvedon Hall.The motorcar drew up to the front gates, black and very new, with, in the centre of each, a hefty wreath-shaped crest painted in silver.
