Ben nodded. Just like old times, he thought. They pushed open the tall wrought-iron gates that hadn’t yet been commandeered for scrap metal, and their feet crunched over the raked gravel as they walked up the path. He was marvelling at the beautifully kept state of the grounds when his father said, “I see they haven’t tried to convert their lawns to potato patches. The place looks positively sinful. They must still have gardeners.”
“They do,” Ben said. “I saw them working when I came here with Pamela the other day.”
“You came here with Pamela?”
Ben nodded. “She was worried about seeing Jeremy by herself. I think she was frightened he’d be disfigured or something. But he seemed his old self, apart from having lost a lot of weight and being rather pale.”
“That young man must have been a cat in a previous existence,” his father said. “He’s certainly used most of nine lives.”
Ben nodded again.
“And no doubt he’ll be back tempting fate in a fighter plane again as soon as they’ll let him.”
“No doubt.” Ben agreed.
They had just reached the front door when there was the sound of a motor engine behind them, and Lord Westerham’s ancient Rolls came up the driveway. Lord Westerham himself, not a chauffeur, got out of the driver’s seat and went around to open the passenger doors. His wife and daughters emerged one by one, smoothing out crumpled evening dresses. Ben watched Pamela step down daintily. She was wearing a pale-blue Grecian gown, the perfect shade for her ash-blonde hair and English complexion.
“Good evening, Vicar. How very nice to see you, Ben,” Lady Esme called. “Lovely evening, isn’t it? The weather has been so perfect lately, almost as if it’s mocking us, don’t you think?”
Ben’s father gave a nodding bow. “Good evening, Lady Westerham. Yes, we are having a spell of glorious weather. So essential for the crops.”
“Too bad we had a full motorcar, or we could have given you a lift,” Lord Westerham said.
“At the speed you drive, they could have walked here faster, Pah,” Dido retorted, as she emerged last from the Rolls in pale pink, making her look young and vulnerable. Ben realised that none of the girls would have had new dresses since the war started and clothing was rationed. Diana’s was probably a hand-me-down from Pamela’s season.
Pamela gave Ben a big smile as the girls followed their parents up the front steps. Ben and his father fell into line behind them after the door was opened by a maid, then they were ushered through to an elegant drawing room. Ben noticed that there were already several people in the room at the same time as Lord Westerham muttered to his wife, “I thought you said it was a small dinner party. This is a bloody great bean feast. I wish we’d never come.”
Lady Westerham took his arm and dragged him firmly forward so that he had no chance to escape before Sir William and Lady Prescott came forward to greet them. Lady Prescott was in gold lamé, Sir William immaculate in tails.
“How good of you to come.” She held out her hands to Lady Esme.
“It was good of you to invite us.” Lady Esme allowed the other to hold her hands. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since we’ve been invited out for a meal. I feel as if I’m escaping from the cage.”
“We simply had to celebrate Jeremy’s escape and safe arrival, didn’t we? I still think it’s an absolute miracle.” She extended an arm to the other occupants of the room. “I’m not sure if you’ve met everybody,” she said. “Obviously, you know Colonel and Mrs. Huntley. And Miss Hamilton. And I’m sure you must be well acquainted with Colonel Pritchard, since he now lives under your roof.”
“Of course.” There were polite noddings and how-do-you-dos from the newcomers to those mentioned. “But are you already acquainted with Lord and Lady Musgrove? Lord Musgrove has just inherited Highcroft Hall.”
Ben took in the young, stylishly dressed couple. He tried to place Highcroft Hall.
“Is that so?” Lord Westerham, turned to his wife for confirmation. “We heard old Lord Musgrove had died some time ago, didn’t we, Esme?”
“We did. We’re so glad the place is to be occupied again.”
The young man gave a glance at his wife before he smiled and held out his hand to Lord Westerham. “How do you do? Frederick Musgrove and my wife, Cecile. We were living in Canada, so it took some time to track us down. I can tell you it was quite a shock when a solicitor’s letter arrived telling me I’d inherited Highcroft and the title. Absolutely knocked me off my feet. As a son of a younger son, I never expected to inherit anything, which is why I went to Canada. But the Great War killed off the other heirs, so here I am.” He gave a boyish grin. “I’ve been earning my living by the sweat of my brow like everyone else.”
“Hardly the sweat of your brow, Freddie,” his wife said. She grinned and looked across at the company. “He’s been working in a bank in Toronto.”
“A bank? Really? How fascinating,” Lord Westerham said and received a dig in the side from his wife.
“So let me complete the introductions,” Lady Prescott went on. “These are our neighbours Lord and Lady Westerham and their daughters Olivia, Pamela, and Diana, and this is our beloved local rector, Reverend Cresswell, and his son, Ben. Ben has been our son’s dearest friend since they could toddle. And speaking of our son, where can he have got to?” She looked up and a beaming smile spread across her face. “Ah, here he is, the miracle man himself.”
There was a round of applause. Jeremy, looking even thinner and paler against the black of a dinner jacket, stood in the doorway and gave a sheepish grin as his mother rushed over to grab his arm and drag him toward the assembled guests. “Isn’t he wonderful?” Lady Prescott said. “I can’t tell you what it means to have him back with us. Against all odds.”
“Mother, please.” Jeremy gave an embarrassed smile.
“Dashed brave of you, young fellow,” Colonel Huntley said. “Took a lot of guts to do what you did. Just shows that we British have stronger fibre than the Hun. You can’t see a German doing what you did. They’d be waiting to obey orders.”
“Not quite true, Colonel,” Jeremy said. “There are some really terrific German fighter pilots. It’s a privilege to engage in combat with them.”
“Enough talk of war,” Sir William interrupted. “Let’s get down to more practical matters. What are we all drinking? Scotch for you, old chap?” he asked Lord Westerham. “Do you care for a single malt?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Lord Westerham said. “Damned good of you, Prescott. I haven’t had a decent whisky in ages.”
Sir William snapped a finger to a footman standing at a drinks’ table. “And you lovely ladies? A cocktail maybe? Or would you prefer a sherry?”
“Oh, I don’t think I know much about cocktails,” Lady Esme said, looking rather pink. “Perhaps I’d better stick to a sherry.”
“Well, I’d like a sidecar, if you’re offering,” Dido said. “Wouldn’t you, Pamma?”
Pamela hesitated, feeling Jeremy’s eyes on her, and then she said, “Why not? That would be lovely.”
As the footman served drinks, Jeremy came over to Pamela who was now standing with Ben.
“I see you’re up and walking,” she said.
“Yes, doing rather well, actually,” he said. “I’m hoping the quack will certify me ready to go back to work.”
“Surely not?” Pamela shot Ben an alarmed look.