quite how socialist principles could be applied to a presentation at court, but she accepted Lady Beckenham’s intervention with intense and silent relief. She knew better than to express any emotion of her own, for fear of misinterpretation; but she knew she was safe. Lady Beckenham was the only person in the world who could tell Celia what to do.
Anyway, this was different; a party to celebrate getting a First Class Honours degree in English Literature from Oxford, however terrifying and embarrassing, would at least have some point to it. Again she took a deep breath and said, ‘I think that would be lovely, Aunt Celia. Thank you.’
‘Good. Let me have a list of people you would like to invite yourself as soon as possible, won’t you? And Wol and I will take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate. I expect Giles and the twins and Kit will want to come too. Shall I tell Giles about your success, or would you rather do that yourself?’
‘I’d like to tell him if you don’t mind. Maybe when he gets home—’
‘Oh, I think you should telephone him now. I don’t think I can keep it a secret for long. What did the twins say? They’ll be thrilled—’
Barty said the twins weren’t up yet; she could hardly say what she knew, which was that they would be fairly uninterested in her success, merely annoyed at the contrast with their own lack of academic achievement. ‘But Kit is really excited.’
‘Of course he is. Tell Cook to make a special lunch. Goodbye, darling. Congratulations again.’
‘Thank you. For everything, I mean. See you later.’
She put the phone down, thinking sadly as she always did on such occasions how much her mother would have loved to hear about this, how proud, if uncomprehending, she would be, how she would cry with emotion and then tell Barty how silly she must think her. Billy would be pleased of course; she could tell him. And that was it; nobody else in her own family would understand what she had achieved, nor care. There was no point in telling any of them.
It was at such moments that Barty felt truly alone . . .
‘She’s got her beastly first,’ Venetia walked into their sitting room; Adele was painting her nails.
‘Oh God, now there’ll be trouble. Can’t you just hear Mummy going on and on about it. Did she tell you?’
‘No, Kit did. He’s very excited. They want to take us all out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’
‘Can’t we find something to do?’
‘Don’t think so. Everyone’s away, aren’t they?’ She sounded cross. Adele knew why. Boy was on a cruise in the Mediterranean. He had asked Celia and Oliver if she and Adele could go too, but they had refused, on the grounds that there were no chaperones. Venetia had pointed out that Boy’s mother and her latest lover would be there, but Celia had said briskly that Letitia Warwick, as she still thought of her, was no chaperone for anyone and that her latest lover was no better than a gigolo.
‘Moves from one rich divorced woman to the next. And he’s a dago,’ she had added, clearly feeling that entirely settled the matter.
The Lyttons were taking a villa in the south of France a little later in the year; ‘Madly fun that will be,’ Adele had said darkly, ‘no one but the family, not even Sebastian. God, it’s depressing.’
Their season over, the twins were extremely bored. Several of their friends had already put engagement announcements over moony photographs in the Tatler ; for such stars in the social firmament, they had not done as well as either they or their mother might have hoped.
‘Well, we’d better go. I suppose. I mean it is rather clever of her, we mustn’t be mean. But I don’t want to have to talk about it over lunch as well. Let’s go shopping quickly. She’s got Kit after all . . .’
Brunson came into the morning room; Barty smiled at him.
‘Telephone, Miss Miller.’
It always surprised her to hear that. She had been Miss Barty to the servants for so
Anyway, this was different; a party to celebrate getting a First Class Honours degree in English Literature from Oxford, however terrifying and embarrassing, would at least have some point to it. Again she took a deep breath and said, ‘I think that would be lovely, Aunt Celia. Thank you.’
‘Good. Let me have a list of people you would like to invite yourself as soon as possible, won’t you? And Wol and I will take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate. I expect Giles and the twins and Kit will want to come too. Shall I tell Giles about your success, or would you rather do that yourself?’
‘I’d like to tell him if you don’t mind. Maybe when he gets home—’
‘Oh, I think you should telephone him now. I don’t think I can keep it a secret for long. What did the twins say? They’ll be thrilled—’
Barty said the twins weren’t up yet; she could hardly say what she knew, which was that they would be fairly uninterested in her success, merely annoyed at the contrast with their own lack of academic achievement. ‘But Kit is really excited.’
‘Of course he is. Tell Cook to make a special lunch. Goodbye, darling. Congratulations again.’
‘Thank you. For everything, I mean. See you later.’
She put the phone down, thinking sadly as she always did on such occasions how much her mother would have loved to hear about this, how proud, if uncomprehending, she would be, how she would cry with emotion and then tell Barty how silly she must think her. Billy would be pleased of course; she could tell him. And that was it; nobody else in her own family would understand what she had achieved, nor care. There was no point in telling any of them.
It was at such moments that Barty felt truly alone . . .
‘She’s got her beastly first,’ Venetia walked into their sitting room; Adele was painting her nails.
‘Oh God, now there’ll be trouble. Can’t you just hear Mummy going on and on about it. Did she tell you?’
‘No, Kit did. He’s very excited. They want to take us all out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’
‘Can’t we find something to do?’
‘Don’t think so. Everyone’s away, aren’t they?’ She sounded cross. Adele knew why. Boy was on a cruise in the Mediterranean. He had asked Celia and Oliver if she and Adele could go too, but they had refused, on the grounds that there were no chaperones. Venetia had pointed out that Boy’s mother and her latest lover would be there, but Celia had said briskly that Letitia Warwick, as she still thought of her, was no chaperone for anyone and that her latest lover was no better than a gigolo.
‘Moves from one rich divorced woman to the next. And he’s a dago,’ she had added, clearly feeling that entirely settled the matter.
The Lyttons were taking a villa in the south of France a little later in the year; ‘Madly fun that will be,’ Adele had said darkly, ‘no one but the family, not even Sebastian. God, it’s depressing.’
Their season over, the twins were extremely bored. Several of their friends had already put engagement announcements over moony photographs in the Tatler ; for such stars in the social firmament, they had not done as well as either they or their mother might have hoped.
‘Well, we’d better go. I suppose. I mean it is rather clever of her, we mustn’t be mean. But I don’t want to have to talk about it over lunch as well. Let’s go shopping quickly. She’s got Kit after all . . .’
Brunson came into the morning room; Barty smiled at him.
‘Telephone, Miss Miller.’
It always surprised her to hear that. She had been Miss Barty to the servants for so
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