Page 97 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘That’s enough of that, Lady Brigid.I’ll tell you what, though.’She leaned in.‘He’s an odd fish, make no mistake.’
‘Was Chips very cross about the bicycle?’Brigid lost interest in Albert.
‘Very.Came right down to the kitchen to apologise.Poor Clara was mortified.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Honor
It was unusual for Chips to be openly angry, Honor thought.He never shouted, rarely even raised his voice.He could be irritable, peevish, critical, but had very little temper.He was a schemer and a plotter, but not a ranter.For that, at least, she was grateful.But it made his rare outburst all the more surprising.
‘When is the last time you saw Paul?’he demanded, coming into her bedroom without knocking.
Honor was in bed.Not a nap, exactly, she had told herself.Just a rest before the ordeal of dinner.Something that might help subdue the growing agitation brought on by so many nights spent awake and needlessly watchful.She had lain down for an hour, and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep so that, now, she struggled to catch up to where Chips was.
‘Yesterday.’She sat up.Was it, she wondered?‘I was about to pay a visit to the nursey now.’She wasn’t.Or hadn’t been.But now she supposed she’d better.
‘I’ve just come from there.’
‘And?What of it?Is all well?’
‘All is not well.Our son is becoming bumptious and even a touch impossible.He was very rude.I nearly smacked him.’
‘Perhaps you should have.’She didn’t really mean it – she remembered, far too well, being smacked as a child.The humiliation that was almost stronger than the rage.The way the nursery-maid would snap, ‘What have you to cry about when I hardly touched you and it couldn’t have hurt a bit?’How impossible it had been to explain, or even understand, that it wasn’t pain that brought tears, but shame.That someone could reach out a rough hand and lay it upon you because they were bigger and stronger and wanted to, and there was nothing you could do to stop them – that was what the tears had been for.So no, she didn’t mean it, but really, Chips was so righteous, so full of bristling indignation.And she was so tired.Her head ached dully.Anyway, what was it to her if he had nearly smacked Paul?It wasn’t her who had.
‘How can you say such a thing?’Chips was clutching the post at the end of the bed so hard that his knuckles were white, contrasting with the meaty red of the rest of his hand.‘He should not be smacked.I have always said it, and you have always agreed.He is a darling, but recently I have seen a change in him.He is more wilful and inclined to tantrums.’
‘It’s the age,’ Honor said vaguely.And perhaps it was, she thought.
‘I don’t believe it is.I think it’s more than that.A question of character.And I cannot help think that if you saw more of him, spent more time with him, showed him more affection, he would be more tractable.’
‘So it is my fault that you nearly smacked our son?’
‘That’s not what I said, but Honor, you must see …’
‘Why must I?Because you wish it?’
‘Because it’s true.You never take the least trouble with him, and it’s beginning to affect his character.’
‘Do go away, Chips.You are here to berate me over something that is none of my concern, and I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘None of your concern?How can you possibly say so?’
‘Because it’s true.Now, go away so I may get up.It’s time to dress for dinner.’
‘That you are an indifferent wife I can accept, but an indifferent mother I cannot.’He moved to the window and pulled viciously at the cord that looped the curtains back.‘I—’ He broke off, leaning forward.‘Good Lord!’
‘What is it?’
‘Diana, and Mosley.’
‘What of them?’
‘They are outside, getting out of a rather fine motorcar.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes, here.Did you invite them?’
