Wild Lily (4 page)

Antony’s initial rapture with his new aeroplane faded quite quickly when he learned that the parents of both Simon and John forbade them to go up in it. Only the cheerful farmer Mr Butterworth and his equally cheerful wife thought it great for their Cedric to have a bit of fun.

But there was not much entertainment to be extorted from Cedric, whose greatest joy came in counting the cattle in the neighbouring farms and: ‘Come a bit lower, Ant – I do believe old Harper’s breeding red Devons – that’s a bit weird, must tell Dad.’ Antony knew what fun he would have had with Simon, skimming low over Bognor beach spotting bathing beauties. At least he managed to perfect his landings and amused himself by trying his hand at a few aerobatics, enough to frighten himself but not too much.

The parachute lay under his seat, untouched; one day he knew he was going to persuade Lily to try it, but not to mention it yet. He knew she would do anything for him, nut that she was. He privately thought it would be great fun to give the
job to Squashy, who did anything you asked him, but he didn’t think Lily would allow it.

The summer hols were nearly over and Simon and John kept reminding Antony about his planned party in the grotto, but there were problems.

‘We can’t do it unless my father’s away, obviously, and he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere soon. Next summer he’s going to South America, I think, so we could plan it for then. This time next year. It’ll take a bit of organizing, especially if Helena is to come.’

Antony knew that Helena’s presence would be a great enticement for all his Eton friends, not to mention his home friends. She held a magical attraction for them, seen fleetingly, very beautiful, mysterious, locked away in her private rooms like the mad Mrs Rochester. When pressed, Antony had to admit that he didn’t see much of his sister himself.

‘Her keepers – nurses – are horrible. Two of them, they think they own her. They don’t like me going in. She does, though, so we could have a bit of fun if they would let her out. They’re terrified they’ll lose their jobs if anything happens to her.’

‘How do we get rid of them then?’ John asked.

‘I’m sure we can think of something. Get them drunk – I think they do drink, actually, I’ve seen sherry bottles – or bribe them, even. Or get them locked in somewhere. I’ll think of something. But you can see what a lot of planning it will take.’

‘We could start now – the planning. Let’s have a look in the
grotto and see how it could look for a party. You can get the key, can’t you?’

‘I’m not allowed.’

‘What difference does that make?’

Antony laughed. ‘Not a lot. I’ll get it.’

Lily was determined not to miss out on this opportunity to view the grotto again. She knew it gave her the creeps, but it was worth it. Antony had not offered to take her flying again, although he kept promising, and she felt bitter when she knew she had been the only one brave enough to volunteer initially, but of course got no thanks for it. She was only the gardener’s daughter after all, and only hung in there with the gang by dint of her own persistence and rhinoceros hide.

They were snobs, these Eton boys, she thought, but at least they suffered her, perhaps even respected her, although they wouldn’t admit it. Cedric was a bit at the same level in the hierarchy as herself, but at least he was a male and useful in that his father had a fair bit of clout about what they could get up to on the estate. Lily could see that he was slightly outside the three others, who shared upper-class jokes that he missed out on.

She was quite familiar with the home lives of both Simon and John, the vicar’s son, because she sometimes did cleaning there when their regular ladies were ill or having babies. It was amazing what one picked up. The vicar, the Rev Simmonds, John’s father, was a pompous boring old codger and his wife
twittered over her good works and ladies’ circles and was disturbed by her son’s friendship with the maverick Antony.

‘I really don’t trust that boy. I don’t know what it is about him. Having no mother, I suppose, and the father letting him have an aeroplane, for heaven’s sake! He has no guidance.’

‘He’s not got into trouble so far,’ her husband pointed out. ‘And without his father’s largesse, the church tower would have fallen down by now, so we need the Sylvesters’ goodwill, you must see that.’

‘Yes, of course. Money talks. Where does it all come from, I should like to know?’

‘It’s politics and suchlike. He’s up in Whitehall a lot of the time.’

‘They say he’s an arms dealer.’

Lily absorbed all this as she scrubbed and polished and cleaned out the grates. When she was in his house, John treated her like the servant she was. With parents like his he couldn’t help being such a nitwit, but Antony seemed to bear with him quite amicably. She realized that Antony got on with everyone, however stupid or unsuitable. Squashy loved him too, but he only glowered at John.

Simon was a different kettle of fish, far more intelligent but hard to make out; unkind, but attractive in person. Lily was nervous of him. But his parents were very nice, wrapped up in their own lives, he with his writing and nature watching and she with her craftwork, embroidering curtains in wool as in the William Morris circle, or out in her shed throwing pots and fiddling with her kiln.

‘She’ll blow up the whole village one day,’ they said of her.

But they liked her. There was a married sister somewhere, and a circle of intellectual friends who came to dinner and talked a lot. Lily was sometimes employed to wash up, and saw Simon in his best clothes behaving in an Etonish manner, very smooth. He ignored her as if he had never seen her before in his life.

Antony’s father went up to London in his Rolls-Royce and Antony collected the grotto key from the drawer in his office. It was a hot summer day and the lake lay serene and inviting below the gardens where Lily and Squashy were supposed to be working. Lily saw the boys come down from the house laughing, Antony tossing the key, and approached them from the rose bed.

‘Can we come with you? Please!’

Simon and John gave her their usual snobs’ look and Simon said, ‘No room in the boat, gel.’

Lily looked at Antony, who said carelessly, ‘Yeah, there is. Why not?’

‘We can come in a separate boat!’

‘No. Come in ours. The more the merrier. We’ll take the punt.’

‘We’ll sink it, all of us,’ Simon said.

‘You take another one, if you want.’

But Simon, put down, looking angry, got into the punt
where it lay against the jetty. There was an assortment of boats, some smart, some half-sunk, and a tangle of oars stacked up against an overhanging willow. Nobody looked after them. The boys always used the same one and haggled over who was to use the quant. Antony and Simon were very good at it and John and Cedric useless, but Antony didn’t mind them trying. Farther out the water was too deep and they had to use the paddles that lay under the thwarts.

Lily lay nose down over the bows looking into the deep water, fascinated. She loved going on the lake, but didn’t dare take a boat without asking, however idly they lay. Her father had a heavy old dinghy that he sometimes used for carrying heavy stuff across the lake, or down to the end, and both Lily and Squashy were confident rowers, but being in the punt with the boys was something quite different. Elegant! she thought. Like in the photos in the smart magazines. She imagined herself lying on cushions, with a parasol and a beautiful dress of chiffon and a straw hat.

She put her hand in the water and trailed it dreamily, watching the sun spearing down into the mysterious depths. They said it was very deep and dangerous. Not for a good swimmer, she thought. I would never drown, nor Squashy either, whom she had taught to swim almost before he could walk.
Never stand up in the boat
– she knew the mantra from her father’s insistence – and had taught Squashy. Punting was different, of course, but then the water was shallow if the quant reached the bottom and so no danger of drowning if you tipped in. How lucky they were to have this beautiful lake
to hand. And beautiful Antony to go with it … she laughed as he came forward and knelt beside her with the front paddle.

‘Who are you? The Lady of Shalott?’

‘Who’s she?’

‘A lady in a poem. “
Down she came and found a boat, beneath the willow left afloat … da di da, di da, di da … She loosed the chain and down she lay, The broad stream bore her far away
” and so on and so on. She was in love with a gorgeous knight whom she saw from her window.’

‘The knight is you?’

‘Of course. “
His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed, From underneath his helmet flowed, his coal-black curls as on he rode
,” et cetera, et cetera.’

Lily laughed. ‘And she was very beautiful too, I hope?’

‘Of course. That’s what reminded me.’

‘You are a nut. Is that what you learn at Eton?’

‘I learned that at my mother’s knee.’

‘Lucky old you. I can’t remember my mother.’

‘No, I don’t remember much of mine either. She was always with Helena.’

‘Are you sure you’re going to get Helena to this party?’

‘It’s for her, the party. Yes, I will. The whole point.’

‘Why can’t she come out with us sometimes? Doesn’t she ever go out?’

‘She has her own garden behind the house. She goes there. But she never meets anyone.’

Lily tried to imagine being blind and deaf, but couldn’t. Neither to see nor to hear … how did you make contact with
people? ‘She would like to be in the punt, like us, wouldn’t she?’ she said. ‘Feel it, smell the lake, put her hands in the water like I’m doing. And wouldn’t she sense the other people, somehow? She could feel their faces, is that what they do?’

‘She strokes my face when I go in there. And smiles. She knows me. She hugs me.’

‘Can I come one day?’

‘Why not? If the harridans will let you in.’

‘They can’t be so awful?’

‘Not to her, I suppose. They are two sisters, living up there like royalty. My father gives them whatever they ask for. Salves his conscience, I suppose. But what can he do, otherwise? He’s a useless dad, even to me.’

‘He gave you an aeroplane!’

‘Yes. That’s his way. He thinks you can buy love.’

Lily wondered if that were true, and if so if it were true for other parents too. She wondered if her father loved her and Squashy. He never displayed any symptoms of loving, but on the other hand he never beat them. He never said please or thank you like Simon’s parents, but then he never threw his dinner at her if her cooking went wrong. He ate it stoically just the same. No comment. He was very protective of Squashy, which surely meant he loved him, even if he must have longed to have had a strong and hearty son like Cedric.

‘All my schoolfriends will come to the party and Helena will be queen. That’s the idea.’

‘Can I come?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Squashy?’

‘Yes.’

If all his schoolfriends were coming, Lily thought that she and Squashy would melt into the crowd and not be noticed – what a relief! Her contact with Antony’s Eton friends in the past had not endeared them to her. None of them had treated her like a human being. That’s why she loved Antony so; in spite of all the teasing she knew he respected her.

‘Will you ask Melanie Marsden?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I hate you.’

He laughed.

The punt approached the high rocks of the grotto and the boys paddled for the opening of the tunnel between them. The water was too deep for the quant and went dark as the punt drifted into the shadow of the overhanging trees. It was cold suddenly to Lily’s hands, and she withdrew them and sat up with a shiver. It was creepy, this approach, no sun ever penetrating this entrance. She had never come by boat before. The sun shone on the other side.

The punt scrunched up against the landing and they all piled out. Squashy tied the mooring rope onto a tree trunk and Barky peed on it. They all laughed.

‘Bags you cast off, Squashy!’

‘I don’t want to go in.’

‘You needn’t, Squashy,’ Lily said quickly. ‘You can wait here in the sun. Look after the boat.’

‘Yes, we’d rather.’ Squashy sat down on the landing with his
arm round Barky, and Antony fished for the key in his pocket and unlocked the grille.

The boys had brought torches so the entrance was well lit by the stabbing beams, a large arched cave quite high at the front, lined entirely with silver shells that twinkled in the torchlight. From the roof stalactites hung down, spearlike, also glistening with that looked like pearls, and on one wall water ran down into a large basin where stone mermaids lay intertwined round the rim.

The sound of the dropping water was magnified by the acoustics and echoes, it seemed, from a far distance.

Antony’s torch picked out the opening of a passage at the back of the cave. ‘This is the way.’

Lily wished she was out in the sunshine with Squashy and Barky, but she hadn’t the courage to back out in front of the boys who were pressing eagerly into what looked to Lily like the entrance into Hades. It did in fact run downhill. Are we under the lake, she wondered, where the water was so deep and dark and creepy? It was all she could do to force her steps to follow them. The gritty silver walls grazed her arms; she kept her eyes on the rays of the torchlight ahead of her.

The passage opened out into what was obviously the heart of the grotto, a large round room positively glittering with the silver shells that covered every bit of rock and all the ornate fountains and niches that lined the walls. Strange stone statues leered from the niches, half-saint, half-monster, with gargoyle faces, swathed in cloaks of coloured stones and with hollow eyes that stared unseeing at this crude invasion. More
fountains played against the walls and fell into basins, again occupied by mermaids and grotesque fish. The torches flashed here and there making the figures seem to move, coming forwards and retreating into darkness, and the hollow noise of the falling water drowned their voices which – Lily was pleased to note – were stifled with unease.