The Thursday between Christmas and New Year arrived with a threat of snow from a low sky which thickened and curdled from morning to mid-afternoon, when the pallid light swiftly succumbed to a ghostly darkness.
The guests began to arrive at Kupton Hall with the failure of the miserable day. Car headlights swept one after the other along the winding drive, passengers were disgorged and the cars were parked near the stables at the side of the house, except for two, the drivers of which had good excuses for not staying.
It was tedious greeting people in the hall. There was a blast of wintery air and then one had to be welcoming and jolly, shriek at people to take off their coats and deposit them in the first bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs, which most of them would have done anyway, having been guests there many times before. Georgia thought it her duty to be one of the reception group, even though she had invited no one and hardly knew a soul except the Beldrons. She stood well back from the icy draught that blew in with each new arrival. Her daughter Janet stood next to her. They made a regal pair, both smiling with an air of affability and condescension, which let it be known that the party was not their idea, but that everyone must have an enjoyable time in their house. It was not Alicia’s house, she was merely the indulged daughter-in-law, tolerated for the sake of her husband, who was the essential and only son, and their children, the required next generation.
Alicia stood just within the door, looking pretty with anticipation. She was flanked by her husband, Curtis and Aphelandra. Lionel had his hand gently but firmly on the back of his daughter’s neck, to make sure she did not disappear. She had given them hell all morning, sulking and moaning about the absurdity of this particular sort of party, with one age group getting in the way of another and spoiling the fun. She knew, she just knew, she had wailed, that she would end up in charge of the little kids, who were always wanting to drink orange juice or go to the bathroom. Nobody would make Curtis do anything. It was not fair. Affle wriggled under the firm pressure of her father’s hand and glared at her brother, who was welcoming his mates like mad, all fired up to rampage about the house with them.
As one lot of guests trooped upstairs to divest themselves of their outdoor clothing and comb their hair, another lot arrived. The last ones to come were the Beldrons in their scruffy Range Rover. At the sight of them Affle perked up. She welcomed them with genuine delight, especially Justin, with whom she exchanged expressions of disgust at so much enforced jollity. He was lucky, at seventeen he had a choice, either to be with his parents in the drawing-room or with the young people everywhere else. Actually, he would rather have been at home, reading some of the books he had received as presents.
Alicia noticed that Oliver Wenston had arrived with the Beldrons. He was standing behind Spencer, looking sulky. She took him to be a dear, shy little boy with few material advantages and smiled at him warmly to show how welcome he was to share in anything the evening offered. He did not smile back.
“We nearly knocked him over,” Tom Beldron explained. “He was walking along the drive in the pitch black and we had to pull into the bushes pretty sharply to avoid one of your escapees. Luckily, Dinah spotted him.”
“You walked?” Alicia said, regarding Oliver in wonder. “I wanted to,” he replied defensively. “On your own?” She could not get over it. Wild horses would not drag her out on her own after dusk. She kept the house well-lit at all times, fearing the dark more than Lionel’s anger at the huge electricity bills.
“Of course,” he said.
Alicia bent down and began to unbutton his school coat and unwind his black and white Newcastle United scarf, ignoring his obvious distaste at being helped.
“So you’re Oliver,” she said, smiling at him again with her face so close to his that the difference in their complexions was remarkable, hers so pink and creamy, his uniformly sallow. Clear blue eyes smiled into hooded brown; one pair eager to enchant, the other surly with resentment…
Barbara Masterton, “Snapshot Smiles”
