Perhaps because he knew we would not be meeting for a while, he asked after Edith. I muttered that she was well and he nodded. 'I'm glad.'
'Good.'
He shook his head at me and raised his eyebrows. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Women!'
I nodded and gave him a sympathetic laugh so we parted friends. I suppose one might gauge the extent of his heartbreak from this subsequent reaction. I do not think Charles would have shaken his head to an acquaintance and said, 'Women!' like a character from a situation comedy had his wife chosen never to return. I think he would have curled up in the dark somewhere and never mentioned her name again, so I suppose we must all concede that Edith had ended up with the man who loved her most. Even so, there was no malice in Simon's eyes and I think one should remember this at least, that when all was said and done there really wasn't any harm in him. It is surely not so terrible a testimonial.
Nor did I ever betray to Edith the Eastons', or rather David's, anxiety to stay in with the family, if necessary at her expense.
Gradually even that slightly uncomfortable connection was also resumed. All in all, things went back to normal surprisingly quickly. Even the papers only gave it a couple of squibs — in the Standard, I seem to remember, and in one of the tabloids
— and then it was over.
Just once she did bring it up, perhaps because I never had. We were walking in the gardens on a Sunday in summer three or even four years after she had returned to the fold and we found ourselves down by the approach to the rose garden where they had set up our chairs for the filming, however long ago it was. The others were playing croquet and as we strolled along, the sound of balls being hit and people getting cross wafted gently over us. Suddenly I was struck by the image of Simon Russell, in his frilled shirt, stretched out on the ground in all his comeliness, as he gossiped that faraway day to a younger, sillier Edith. I said nothing of course and I was taken by surprise when she suddenly spoke into my imaginings.
'Do you ever see him now?' she said.
I shook my head. 'No. I don't think anyone does. He's gone off to California.'
'To make films?'
'Well, that's the idea. Or at least to make a television series.'
'And is he making one?'
'Not yet but you never know.'
'What about his wife?'
'She's gone with him.'
Edith nodded. We strolled on into the rose garden. Some heavily scented, dark red blooms, Papa Meilland maybe, filled the warm air with their sweet stench.
'Aren't you ever going to ask me if I'm happy?' said Edith with a provocative flick of her head.
'No.'
'Well, I'll tell you anyway.' She broke off a half-open bud and fed its stalk through the top buttonhole of my shirt. 'The fact is, I'm happy enough.'
I did not question her statement. I am glad she was and is happy enough. That is a good deal happier than a large proportion of my address book.
About the Author:
Julian Fellowes, writer, actor and film director, was educated at Ampleforth, Magdalene College, Cambridge and the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Art. As an actor he is probably best-known for his portrayal of the incorrigible Lord Kilwillie in BBC Television's series Monarch of the Glen. In the cinema he was seen in Shadowlands with Anthony Hopkins and Tomorrow Never Dies with Pierce Brosnan. His film screenplay debut was Gosford Park, directed by Robert Altman, which won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay among many other prizes. He has written and directed the film of A Way Through the Wood, based on a book by Nigel Balchin. In the theatre he has written the 'book' for the Cameron Mackintosh/Walt Disney stage musical of Mary Poppins. As well as Snobs, he has a children's story being published in 2006. He has a wife, Emma, a son, Peregrine, and a dachshund called Fudge.
'I've just got to tell your mother something.'
'Righto. I'll get the car. Be outside our entrance in five minutes. And don't worry.'
She rather loved him for telling her not to worry about an experience she had been going through once a month since she was twelve but she chose not to assuage his anxiety. With a weak smile, she watched him scuttle out of the room. In this choice of lie, Diana had judged correctly if she wanted instant action. As she calculated, Charles, like all men of his type, had the greatest possible distaste for any of the mechanics of womanhood. One hint of them and he neither needed nor wanted further explanation in order to make him act fast. As he thundered down the family staircase, she listened with the just pride of an efficient workman.
===OO=OOO=OO===
Edith had hardly reached the landing by the bronze of the slave before Lady Uckfield issued forth from a roped-off archway.
'Edith? Is that you? Why didn't you tell us you were coming?' Her mother-in-law slid her arm through hers and attempted to drag her towards the door into the family sitting room. Edith knew that the game was up, silently cursing herself for not pulling a scarf over her face and sliding in unnoticed, but even so she would not give in at once. She extricated herself from Googie's grip and started towards the library and Charles's study beyond.
'I thought I'd be a nuisance and I only want a quick word with Charles. It won't take a moment.' She was walking so fast that, to the delight of the public present, Lady Uckfield was forced to break into a sort of trot to keep up with her. They passed into the splendid library with its high mahogany and ormolu-mounted bookshelves. Above the chimneypiece, an early Broughton in a chestnut periwig gazed down, startled at the scene being played out below him. A few tourists had recognised one or other of them and since the marital split had been in half the newspapers in the country, they left off their bored examination of the thousands of gilded, leather spines and turned all their attention to the two women, thrilled by this unexpected entertainment opportunity.
'Are you staying for luncheon?' said Lady Uckfield, aware of being the cynosure of all eyes and anxious to normalise this very abnormal situation.
'Why? Would you like me to?' said Edith. She in contrast was thoroughly enjoying the exposure of her mother-in-law to the gaze of the common multitude.
'Of course,' said Lady Uckfield, grabbing and pulling at Edith's sleeve in a vain attempt to slow her progress across the gleaming floor.
'I don't think so,' said Edith. She was at the study door by now and her hand was almost on the knob when it opened to reveal the stately form of Lady Bohun. Imperceptibly, with a movement hardly visible to the naked eye, she nodded to her hostess. Edith saw it and at once knew she was too late. The bird had flown.
'Hello, Edith,' said Diana in her slowest and most mannered drawl. 'Will you excuse me? I'm just running into Lewes for something and I must get there before everything closes. Will you be here when we get back?'
'What do you think?' said Edith, and Diana had gone without further ado. Left alone with her daughter-in-law, Lady Uckfield drew her into the room and closed the door. 'Sit down for a moment,' she said, taking her own place behind Charles's desk and absent-mindedly tidying his scattered papers into neat piles.
'There's no need for this,' answered Edith. 'If Charles isn't here, I'll go.'
'Please sit down,' was the repeated request, and Edith did. 'I am sorry you see us as your enemies, my dear.'