Read Something Dangerous (Spoils of Time 02) for Free Online

horrible. This year she had the perfect excuse, the perfect escape, no one could be upset. It was wonderful. One of the happiest days in her entire life, she often thought (though of course never said, never would say, to anyone), was when she went up to Oxford, and left the huge house at Cheyne Walk to make a new home for herself, for three years at least, at Lady Margaret Hall. As she waved Celia off – for of course she had insisted on coming up with her, to help her settle in – she had felt only joy, and no regret of any kind, no nervousness even. Except for Celia’s obvious sadness, of course: and at leaving dear Wol as she had always called Oliver. She had turned back into the building, climbed the stairs to her room, and sat there for over an hour, doing nothing at all, contemplating the pure pleasure of being, for the first time in her life, somewhere that was hers by right, where she felt she truly belonged.
    And now it was nearly over; she would have to leave again and she was, as well as sad, anxious at where she could go next. Which could certainly not be Cheyne Walk: or not for long, anyway…
     
    Dinner was very much over now; the conversation running down, the early brightness of the evening fading. Venetia felt suddenly and sharply sad; she wanted the day to extend. It must, she would force it. She stood up, smiled round the table. ‘Well, shall we all go to the Embassy? It’s getting late and the others will be there and—’
    Adele stood up too. ‘Yes, let’s go. Mummy and Daddy, that was marvellous. Thank you—’
    ‘Just a moment,’ said Oliver, ‘we’ve forgotten one toast. To Cousin Maud. Come along now.’
    This was part of the tradition too: the family raised its glasses, the outsiders had it quickly explained to them.
    ‘Happy birthday, Maud,’ said Adele.
    ‘Cheers,’ said Venetia. ‘Happy birthday, Maud.’
    ‘What a dreadful expression that is, Venetia,’ said Lady Beckenham. ‘Where on earth did you pick it up?’
    ‘What, “cheers”? Grandmama, everyone says it now.’
    ‘That doesn’t make it any better. Anyway, how are those relatives of yours, Oliver?’ Lady Beckenham liked to make it clear to outsiders that any vulgarity in the family did not come from the Beckenham side.
    ‘Very well, thank you, Lady Beckenham. Yes.’ After twenty-four years of marriage to her daughter, Oliver was still unable to address Lady Beckenham by a more familiar name; as she addressed her own husband still as ‘Beckenham’, this was hardly surprising.
    ‘We were saying, Daddy, it was time another visit was arranged. Either for us or them. What do you think?’ said Venetia.
    ‘Oh – I don’t know,’ said Oliver.
    ‘But you’re always going over there. Surely you could take us with you.’
    ‘I’m not always going to New York, Adele.’
    ‘Yes you are. It’s so selfish. You and Mummy.’
    ‘True, I do go twice a year, your mother far less often, but it’s purely to visit the New York office. Not a pleasure trip.’
    ‘Mummy seems to take enough clothes for a pleasure trip when she goes,’ said Venetia. ‘Trunks and trunks of them. I don’t believe you, I think you have lots of fun. I think we should all go, Giles as well. He ought to go anyway, visit the outpost of the Lytton empire. I’m sure Uncle Robert would be pleased to see us.’
    ‘Venetia, Robert is just as busy as we are,’ said Celia firmly. She had clearly not liked the reference to trunkloads of clothes. ‘He certainly wouldn’t have time to arrange all sorts of nonsense for you and Maud.’
    ‘Mummy, Maud and us could arrange things on our own,’ said Adele, ‘you’re so old fashioned. I’m going to write to Maud and suggest it. Now look, we really must go. Come on, everyone, Boy, stop flirting with my grandmother – oh, Sebastian darling, you’ve made it. How absolutely lovely, and how dreadfully, dreadfully sad, we’re just leaving.’
    ‘Leaving? What for, work? Am I that late?’