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.’He smiled at her, blinking rapidly.‘Hello, old thing.What a surprise.’In a surge of affection she reached out and hugged him awkwardly.‘I say, old girl.Well, well …’ Embarrassed, he pulled gently but hastily back and patted her arm.‘You … er … keeping all right?’‘Daddy, I – ’ She looked into his face and grasped at the essential kindness behind it.‘Daddy, can I – talk to you later?’A look of alarm came over his face, one she recognized well.She knew then that it was hopeless.‘A bit overdrawn, are you, old thing? Eh? Need some new clothes? Well, don’t worry, I’ll look after it …’ He glanced away.Then, murmuring ‘There’s a good girl, there’s a good girl’, he was gone.She stood still for a moment, working hard to make herself calm, then took another drink from a passing tray.It tasted good.She made her way round the edge of the room, head down to avoid strangers, and found herself in front of some canapés.She wolfed down half a dozen, then a few more, and felt better.She found Caro and Henry still in a tight group.Someone was talking loudly about government policy on law and order and Henry was nodding vaguely, his eyes glazed with polite disinterest.Caroline was listening intently, her head inclined towards her neighbour.Victoria tugged at her sleeve.Caroline turned and broke into a warm smile.‘Tor! How lovely to see you.I was wondering where you were.Gosh, it’s been so long!’As they talked Victoria was struck, as always, by Caroline’s calm assurance.She had a rock-like core of honesty and serenity.Integrity: that was what she had.Victoria thought admiringly: She’s everything I’m not.Someone touched Victoria’s arm.It was Henry.‘Well, well, how are you?’ He kissed her warmly on the cheek.Victoria was pleased and flattered.She’d only met Henry three times, and she’d been a bit frightened of him.Yet here he was greeting her like an old friend.She smiled at him and wondered why she hadn’t realized before how very nice he was.He leant down and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Good thing for everybody that you’re here.You bring the average age in this room down at least thirty years.’Victoria laughed and lurched to one side.She recovered, flushing with embarrassment.The gin had gone to her head.Henry looked politely away.Lunch was interminable.On Victoria’s right was the old brigadier.His breath smelled of whisky and stale tobacco.‘I say, rather like the garb!’ he kept saying, as he eyed her dress.‘You a flower child, are you? Or a hippy? Never quite sure what the difference is meself.Tell me – d’you believe in all this make-love-not-war thing? I mean, it’s all very well, but people will never stop being aggressive, y’know.Take it from me! I was a soldier.’Victoria took a second, larger, helping of chocolate mousse and washed it down with more white wine.Her elbow slipped off the table and she realized she’d drunk a little too much.In a moment of self-honesty of which she was rather proud she thought: No, not a little too much, a lot too much.‘What are you up to nowadays, Victoria?’ It was a young man sitting opposite, the son of a local landowner.‘Setting up a collective farming project.’ It sounded wonderful, put like that, except that she seemed to be having trouble getting the words out in a nice tidy row.‘Is that one of these commune things?’ chortled the brigadier.‘Free love and all that? Gosh, all right if you can get it!’ He leered at Victoria.The young man said loudly, ‘I knew a chap once who went potty and gave up everything to live in a sort of commune.Because the world had too many possessions or something.But really he wanted to opt out.Couldn’t face responsibility.He was nutty as a fruit cake, of course.Quite mad.’‘Oh, I don’t know,’ hooted the brigadier.‘Got the free love, didn’t he? Can’t have been that potty!’ He turned to Victoria and winked.She stared, aghast.‘You think that’s what it’s all about! You think we – do it for that!’ Her anger flowed out, white-hot and unsteady, a long passionate jumble of justification and explanation.Words mixed themselves up inexplicably, syllables jumped out of sequence, but she rushed on.‘We try to care about each other which is more than anyone usually does.Society – is so selfish an’ money-centred.An’ people pay lip service – about caring – but they don’t.Not really.And peace.We care about peace and we make an effort to stop war.Which is more than any of the governments do.An’ as for love – yes, sex if you like – it’s open an’ free an’ kind.Better than being hidden away an’ joked ’bout an’ dirty like you think it is …’She suddenly became aware of her own voice unnaturally loud and ugly in her ears.Around her was an eerie silence.At the far end of the long table there was a frozen, if blurred, tableau.Her mother’s face, appalled and reproachful.Lady Ranfurleigh’s, averted and embarrassed.And Henry, who was looking sympathetic and a little pained.Victoria said under her breath, ‘Oh shit!’Conversations started to pick up again and Victoria stared hard at her plate, thinking: I don’t care.And knowing perfectly well that she did.After a few minutes she pushed back her chair and stumbled out of the room.Caroline found her on her bed, crying miserably, and said quietly, ‘Oh, Tor.’‘I’m sorry,’ Victoria said, with all the dignity she could muster
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