smelt it in the air of her clean and functional bedroom, which would never be stained with the musky scent of lovemaking. She heard her lack of value in every word of her polite and regular conversations with her married friends as she asked after their husbands and their children, because of course she was duty-bound to enquire, to be relentlessly cheerful. But she was not cheerful. She was an aberration to the law of nature and the expectations of society. Not that one must allow self-pity; after all, she wasn’t alone. There were a million women like her. But the vast number did little to soothe; instead, the volume of disappointed and broken hearts seemed threatening, almost horrifying. She imagined them, these lonely women, piled up in a huge heap; a scrapheap. It would tower.
It was not enough. This loaned life, in which she borrowed clothes, homes and children – it was not enough. But what more was there? Where was her life?
10
L YDIA MUCH PREFERRED the London house, sitting gracefully on the south side of Eaton Square, to Dartford Hall, which spread out over a sizeable chunk of Hampshire. She delighted in people and shops and therefore adored having vast quantities of both on her doorstep, although she told everyone that her overwhelming attraction to London was that she couldn’t live without the galleries and theatres. It was fair to say she was fond of both, but largely her appreciation was for the splendid audiences that one found at such places, rather than the art itself; she liked to be shoulder to shoulder with others who were equally fashionable, excitable and impressionable. Besides, there was something about the symmetry, modernity and compact stoutness of the London home that appealed to her in a way that the sprawling, draughty country manor did not, and as she was not the one who had to worry about carrying coal up and down the four flights of stairs, she could see nothing inconvenient about it at all.
Technically, Eaton Square did not belong to Lydia and Lawrence yet. The property belonged to Lydia’s in-laws, but the earl had generously offered the young people free rein, and Lydia had taken up the offer with enthusiasm. In the London home she tried to stamp a more informal approach on all proceedings. She had an open-house policy and warmly welcomed guests with a cocktail whenever they chose to drop by. She refused to adhere to enforced visiting hours, or rituals such as consuming copious amounts of strong tea and cucumber or pâté sandwiches just because it was four in the afternoon. She operated with a skeleton staff, completely happy not only to mix her own cocktails, but also to arrange the flowers for the drawing room; in London she did not expect the silver to be polished more than once a week. She had even tried to sit next to Lawrence at the dining table, rather than hold their positions at opposite ends, but Lawrence had said he found it disconcerting and preferred to look at her face on, rather than have to turn to his side.
Although usually a generous hostess, Lydia was relieved that Sarah had caught the train back to Seaton Manor and that no one had popped by, out of the blue, this evening. She had turned down three invitations to soirées, so nor were they expected anywhere. She had reasoned that if Dr Folstad had anything marvellous to convey, they might spend the night celebrating together, and if – as she had expected and dreaded the case would be – he had little or nothing new to say, she would not be able to muster a public face and instead would need to be cosseted by Lawrence and their home. Naturally, she still dressed for dinner. Lawrence expected such things, and the servants would be disturbed if she sat down to dinner in a day dress, but if she closed her eyes now she probably wouldn’t be able to say if she was wearing teal or midnight blue. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure what was on the menu, although the housekeeper had checked it with her this
It was not enough. This loaned life, in which she borrowed clothes, homes and children – it was not enough. But what more was there? Where was her life?
10
L YDIA MUCH PREFERRED the London house, sitting gracefully on the south side of Eaton Square, to Dartford Hall, which spread out over a sizeable chunk of Hampshire. She delighted in people and shops and therefore adored having vast quantities of both on her doorstep, although she told everyone that her overwhelming attraction to London was that she couldn’t live without the galleries and theatres. It was fair to say she was fond of both, but largely her appreciation was for the splendid audiences that one found at such places, rather than the art itself; she liked to be shoulder to shoulder with others who were equally fashionable, excitable and impressionable. Besides, there was something about the symmetry, modernity and compact stoutness of the London home that appealed to her in a way that the sprawling, draughty country manor did not, and as she was not the one who had to worry about carrying coal up and down the four flights of stairs, she could see nothing inconvenient about it at all.
Technically, Eaton Square did not belong to Lydia and Lawrence yet. The property belonged to Lydia’s in-laws, but the earl had generously offered the young people free rein, and Lydia had taken up the offer with enthusiasm. In the London home she tried to stamp a more informal approach on all proceedings. She had an open-house policy and warmly welcomed guests with a cocktail whenever they chose to drop by. She refused to adhere to enforced visiting hours, or rituals such as consuming copious amounts of strong tea and cucumber or pâté sandwiches just because it was four in the afternoon. She operated with a skeleton staff, completely happy not only to mix her own cocktails, but also to arrange the flowers for the drawing room; in London she did not expect the silver to be polished more than once a week. She had even tried to sit next to Lawrence at the dining table, rather than hold their positions at opposite ends, but Lawrence had said he found it disconcerting and preferred to look at her face on, rather than have to turn to his side.
Although usually a generous hostess, Lydia was relieved that Sarah had caught the train back to Seaton Manor and that no one had popped by, out of the blue, this evening. She had turned down three invitations to soirées, so nor were they expected anywhere. She had reasoned that if Dr Folstad had anything marvellous to convey, they might spend the night celebrating together, and if – as she had expected and dreaded the case would be – he had little or nothing new to say, she would not be able to muster a public face and instead would need to be cosseted by Lawrence and their home. Naturally, she still dressed for dinner. Lawrence expected such things, and the servants would be disturbed if she sat down to dinner in a day dress, but if she closed her eyes now she probably wouldn’t be able to say if she was wearing teal or midnight blue. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure what was on the menu, although the housekeeper had checked it with her this
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