Spare Brides by Adele Parks Page B

identified a use for Bea and Sarah: they were from a steady, old family and they lent respectability to the Pondson-Callows’ home, something that Sarah knew Ava felt it lacked; they cushioned rumour. Whatever the motivation for her charm, Sarah was grateful for it. Ava was prepared to more than fulfil her responsibility as a hostess; besides serving lavish treats that both sisters enjoyed particularly, she had invited three single chaps to stay, none of whom Beatrice had met before. Bea would have to be made of stone not to be excited.
    Lydia, Ava, Beatrice and Sarah sat together in the drawing room. Sarah thought it one of the most beautiful rooms she’d ever been in. In many ways it resembled a number of other country manor drawing rooms she’d visited. Sir Peter and Lady Pondson-Callow had bought this place just a year after the war, but they’d worked swiftly to give the impression it had been in their family for generations. Like many of Britain’s country houses, it had been commandeered during the war and used as a convalescent home; noble and patriotic, no doubt, but disastrous for the state of the grounds and the interior. Then the family who owned it had been hit by towering death duties and had had neither the will nor the means to restore it to its former glory. Rumour had it that Sir Peter had picked it up for a song. Now there were Romneys and Raeburns aplenty hung on the walls, but the portraits were of strangers, not ancestors. On the whole it was conventional and correct, yet it was somehow
more
than similar rooms in other people’s country houses: more resplendent, more inviting. Some might be snobby and point out that the ‘moreness’ betrayed Sir Peter and Lady Pondson-Callow’s newness, but Sarah was generous. She didn’t resent their propensity to be ostentatious; she simply wallowed in the lavishness on offer. The hearth rug was a little thicker than usual, there were perhaps one too many Fabergé cigarette boxes, and the Cartier mantelpiece clock was a little larger than necessary, but the resplendent flower arrangements and generous number of small silver dishes offering up chocolates suggested a genuine desire to welcome. The plump silk cushions, the oyster shot-silk drapes and golden gilded chairs showcased the family’s extreme taste.
    Ava’s father was engaged in taking Lady Jennings and one of the highly valued single young men, Harry Fine, on a tour around the house. Two other ladies and Ava’s mother had retired to their rooms to sleep off the excesses of the previous night. The remaining men were in the games room playing billiards. Here in the drawing room the four friends could enjoy each other’s company without being disturbed. There was an enormous fire thriving in the hearth, and even though lunch had barely been cleared, the maids had brought in plates of almonds and segmented pineapple. The women lay about languidly, idly chattering and nibbling; everyone was glad that they had taken a walk this morning and were not expected to brave the bleak, chilly January afternoon. Quite naturally, as they were alone and shrouded by their long-standing intimacy, they talked about the other guests, specifically the single men.
    The previous night Sarah had established that Mr Lytton published books. He managed to do so because he was the godson of a peer who, following the Great War, no longer had a son to nurture or support and had therefore taken an interest in Lytton. He introduced him to the right sort of people and, whilst to date there had been little in the way of monetary favours granted, there was always the hope that the peer might settle a private income on him any day now. Sarah had been surprised that Ava had bothered with a working man until she ascertained that Mr Lytton knew a great many bohemian artists and writers, which meant he was always first to offer a mischievous anecdote, and this passed as brilliant conversation. He’d made Ava laugh at least four times last