My first attempt to do a ‘serious’ novel rather
than a thriller. Though as the below except shows, it’s rather light-hearted at
times and the influence of PG Wodehouse still looms large. The likes of Paul Scott and Victoria
Glendinning were just as important, though, and it’s largely just about people
trying to build some sort of satisfactory life. Still probably the favourite of my books. The full work can be bought from lulu.comBranwen sank into an armchair in the sitting room, mentally composing her next passage. She only dimly noticed the doorbell ringing, but eventually a maid intruded a timorous head to announce a visitor. A second later, the newcomer pushed past her into the room. She was an elderly and immensely fat woman. Extreme obesity often causes bashfulness but the lady carried her frame with pride. She utilised it, aware that it allowed her to display larger broaches, grander necklaces and even more imposing bracelets than those cursed with leaner bodies. She even enhanced it, through the puffed-out sleeves and bodice of her striking brocade dress. Always attracted by audacity, Branwen looked up at her with mild interest. She was answered by a single welcoming nod, as if they were old friends. The maid announced the visitor's name in a terrified soprano and fled.
"Do excuse me, Miss Arlat," the lady began. "I had assumed you would be dressed by this hour." She glanced significantly at the clock, which was indeed close to announcing noon. "You are not unwell, I trust?"
Branwen still did not move. "Not physically, at least. Opinions vary as to the other."
Her visitor frowned. "Then surely you should be dressed," she asserted.
"Hm. Unfortunately I'm too busy to leave the house right now, so it hardly seems worth it. Especially as my father's out all day, we don't seem to have any male servants - accident, not design - and though my brother should be arriving any day now, he's been delayed by a bridge going down at Ballrach."
"But what if there were to be any unwelcome callers?"
"I think the maid keeps a club under the stairs. Incidentally, are you an unwelcome caller?"
"My name, in case you missed it, is Lady Hyrena Brightson. I am the wife of Lord Holan Brightson, the cousin of Elak Griegson and the unchallenged queen of high society. My calls are never welcomed. By the way, there is no bridge at Ballrach. The river is forded there."
"I know. And if carrier pigeons could speak, no doubt they'd bring a dreadful tale of nameless orgies in coaching inns. For now, the bridge is the official story. Have a seat." Lady Brightson carefully arranged her long, pleated skirts and lowered her great frame into a chair. Having sat back with her hands behind her head, Branwen remarked, "We seem to have missed seeing your visiting card, Lady Brightson."
"I am a tyrannous queen, Miss Arlat. I can't be expected to obey the rules I make for others."
"I see. Will you take refreshment?"
"Not willingly. Though that rarely makes a difference. Miss Arlat, I will come straight to the point. You're aware that your father owes his current posting in Huwdone House to my husband?"
"How sweet. That almost makes us related."
"Holan told me one factor which secured your father his job was that his past life is, to all extents and purposes, stainless. Why that should be a criteria for his employment at Huwdone House is beyond me. Possibly they wanted him for novelty value. Be that as it may, his apparently impeccable record was a strong point in his favour."
"Yes, he inherited a family flaw there, believe it or not. Only it's skipped a generation coming forward and was pretty much catapulted over many Arlats going back."
"That's rather my point. Your father has been commendably open about the indiscretions of his ancestors, so that's no problem. But if any of his surviving family were to be in any way notorious, it might have a bearing." Lady Brightson sighed. "No doubt you're aware of how my husband can behave when he sets his mind to it. Before you furnish me with any of his nick-names, I already have the full set. Holan sees you as a potential trouble spot and asked me to run an eye over you." Branwen raised her eyebrows and leant forward alertly. "I'm afraid I've offended you, Miss Arlat."
"No, but you have interested me. Do you always wreck your husband's subtle schemes by disingenuously confessing them up front?"
"Only when I have a morning free. I must admit, Miss Arlat, I'm also interested in you for my own purposes. My interests as queen, you understand."
"I'm afraid I emigrated from your country a long time ago, your highness."
"The borders stretch out further than you might imagine. We have met before, haven't we, at assorted country functions? Sir Mapplefield's must be the most recent. You always struck me as a disappointingly normal young woman. So I find it hard to reconcile my impressions with the stories which circulate you."
"Stories, m'lady? I blush."
"I gather you've visited the Cities before? And created a small amount of trouble on your first stay?"
"Well, its short duration limited my impact."
"And are the rumours true that you intend causing some sort of scandal this time around?"
"They ought to be. I started them."
"I assume you aren't entering commerce or politics, so this scandal will be of a social nature?"
"It will probably be more a series of small outrages than a large explosion. I find it hard to focus."
"I understand. Does that mean you'll sleep with everyone you meet or merely be rude about them to their faces?"
"People will be more advised to keep their ears closed than their legs, Lady Brightson."
"I quite approve. Promiscuous women are only ever able to talk about themselves. The scope is far more diverse with harridans. I understand you used to work, Miss Arlat? Teaching posts and so forth."
"You're doing this without a notebook. I'm impressed."
"Is this a subject you're usually evasive about?"
"Certainly on a first meeting, yes."
"Then I will be sure to be a regular caller. I will of course ensure your family is included on invitations for dinners and other suitable social occasions. Will you yourself be accepting these? Or do you intend becoming a scholastic hermit?"
"Oh, I'll come whenever I hit a brick wall with my book. When that happens, I'm bound to turn up in a filthy temper."
"That is the best way. Always arrive at a party in a state of complete misanthropy. It's the only way to stop your illusions being shattered. What exactly is your book about?"
"Exactly what hasn't been determined. I can give you an overview but it might take some time."
"Then please don't bother. Naturally, what I really want to know is whether I will feature in it."
"If you do, Lady Brightson, you probably won't recognise yourself."
"That's hardly very reassuring but I will let it pass." With an equally laborious motion, Lady Brightson rose. "I shall not take up any more of your time, Miss Arlat."
"Oh, is that it?" Branwen asked with surprise. "And what will you report to your husband?"
"He has already received my answer. I informed the silly old goat that Huwdone House keeps a perfectly serviceable regiment of spies should he need them. I merely wanted to put you on your guard."
"Thank you for that. Oh, Lady Brightson, you might do me another favour. If my father ever asks, please assure him that I showed you every hospitality and wore full formal costume. Tell anyone else what you want, of course, up to and including actual nudity. But my father's rather terrified of you. I'd hate him to think I made the wrong impression."
"You've made a most favourable impression on a twisted old woman, my dear. I don't recall having ever met your father. It seems absurd when we must have attended the same events."
"I know. It's called hiding. It's a terrible male habit."
Smiling, Lady Brightson approached her and held out a hand. "We must meet again very soon, Miss Arlat. I'm sure we are going to be friends."
Branwen shook the hand and returned the smile. "Yes, that would be easier wouldn't it?"
