The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March

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      ‘Listen here, old chap—’ the Colonel began to remonstrate about his youthful tutor, but he was cut off mid-sentence by the Brigadier.

      ‘Sasha, I wonder if I might have a word?’

      ‘Of course, Papa.’ She rose from her seat, with obvious haste and relief.

      ‘Won’t be a moment, Colonel.’

      ‘But listen here—’ exclaimed the Colonel and then muttered, ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ What was the point? he fumed inwardly. He might have the advantage of age over Packard, but he was damn well outranked by him!

      In a quiet corner of the library, between the heavy curtains and a potted palm, the Brigadier confronted his daughter in his usual direct manner.

      ‘What on earth is going on between you and Georgia?’ he asked in a soft voice, his bright blue eyes catching her firmly in their spotlight.

      ‘Nothing, Papa.’ Sasha turned her face away and stared out of the window, her eyebrows raised a little defiantly.

      ‘Oh, come now.’ Her father was not convinced by this nonchalant denial. ‘Something’s afoot, you are not speaking a word to each other.’

      ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

      ‘Sasha, tell me at once what is going on!’

      ‘There’s nothing going on, Papa.’

      ‘Is it because of that young Felix Westfaling?’

      Sasha turned to look at him then, with her dark, soulful eyes so like her mother’s, and assured him truthfully, ‘No, Papa, it is nothing to do with Felix.’

      ‘Aha! I knew it, there is something afoot.’

      ‘Papa, I really must get back to Colonel Bellamy, he looks fit to burst like a Christmas cracker, and liable to pounce on poor Lieutenant Liptrott at any moment.’

      Her father turned then, and with a sigh hurried off to rescue the young cavalryman from a nasty verbal volley. The Brigadier realised that nothing more could be achieved on this afternoon when thoughts were wandering to the Christmas festivities and goodness knew what else. He dismissed the class, with a stern reminder to practise their vocabulary and to return in the New Year. As the three gentleman left, the Brigadier called out, ‘Georgia, wait a moment, if you please. Close the door behind you, Sasha.’

      Sasha did as her father asked and turned to find Captain Bowen hovering, and he fell into step with her as they walked to the front of the house. He spoke a few faltering words of farewell in Russian, and she turned, with a smile, answering him in the same language. In the hallway, as Lodge handed him his coat and hat, Captain Bowen bowed to Sasha.

      ‘Your Russian is much better than your sister’s.’

      ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She smiled, her hands clasped as she waited for him to depart, but he seemed in no hurry to go. He was quite tall; she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and the late afternoon sun beaming in through the glass fanlight above the front door gilded his blond hair and shone a light in his dark blue eyes. He was certainly a most handsome man, she sighed inwardly, watching as he shrugged on his coat over broad shoulders.

      ‘I shall see you all tomorrow evening, then.’

      ‘Oh?’ Sasha frowned, puzzled.

      ‘Christmas Eve,’ he reminded her.

      ‘Of course.’ She felt her cheeks heat with a pink blush, and wondered why she always made the impression, with this man, of being a ninny.

      ‘Goodbye, Miss Packard.’

      ‘Goodbye, Captain Bowen.’

      He bowed and walked to the door, and then turned back and called out in Russian, ‘Until tomorrow.’

      She smiled and nodded. ‘Da.’ Her heart was aflutter, hardly daring to believe that a man like Captain Bowen would even look at her. Not when Georgia was about.

      Christmas was always a special occasion in the Packard home, and that afternoon on the Eve the four sisters spent a happy few hours decorating a magnificent tree in the hallway, despite the frosty relations between Sasha and Georgia, who, beneath their father’s watchful, frowning gaze, made the pretence that all was well between them. The house smelled pleasantly of pine, roasting turkey and plum pudding, and great boughs of holly and ivy were strewn in garlands about the walls and stairs and over the mantel of the fireplace. The girls had decorated oranges with cloves and ribbons to make fragrant pomanders, and hung them all about the drawing room and hallway. Presents had been wrapped and placed under the tree and by four o’clock they had hurried to their rooms to dress for the evening’s festivities.

      When Sasha came downstairs, wearing an emerald-green, off-the-shoulder evening gown and her hair swept elegantly up, she went into the drawing room and checked that all was ready for their guests. A great silver punchbowl with mulled red wine steamed gently by the dancing flames of the fireplace, and a table covered with a snowy white cloth was being stacked by one of the maids with plates of fresh-baked mince pies, and small silver dishes of dried figs, nuts and pink Turkish delight.

      The Brigadier carried his wife downstairs and settled her on the chaise longue near the fire, with a rug over her lap. If it was up to him he was quite content to spend the evening with just himself and the girls. Yet he knew how Olga loved company and so he had invited a dozen friends to dinner, including Avery Westfaling, to whom he was distantly related, although he had little liking for his wife and offspring. Lady Westfaling had a doubtful pedigree and he considered her to be a loose woman, and her son certainly seemed to have inherited her less attractive traits, being fickle and vain. Why, the boy would squander his inheritance before he was thirty and no daughter of his was going to get involved with a fellow like that!

      The guests began to arrive, bearing gifts, the sisters taking turns to receive these and place them under the Christmas tree in the hallway. The drawing room was warm and noisy with the gathering, the hubbub of chattering voices interspersed with laughter. Olga was surrounded by her favourite friends, who remarked on how well she looked and would she soon be out in the park taking the air? The Brigadier and Sasha hovered nearby, anxious that she not be overexerted by the evening. When Lodge came in to announce that dinner was served, Olga refused to be carried, insisting that she could manage to walk the few steps down the corridor to the dining room.

      The long table was beautifully set, with a white tablecloth, silver candelabra, sparkling cut-crystal wine glasses, and a splendid centrepiece of winter fruit, berries and flowers. Olga had deliberated long and carefully over the seating, and she had placed herself and the Brigadier at either end, with Sasha sat next to Felix, Georgia next to Captain Bowen, Philippa beside the son of a Scottish friend, and Victoria, still very young, between Percy and another friend she knew well. They were eighteen sitting down, and Olga looked down the table as she sat at one end, her gaze pausing on each of her daughters, a proud glow adding to her satisfaction.

      Sasha was disgruntled about the dinner partner she had been placed with, but she enjoyed herself far more than expected. Felix was in a good mood and she could not help but laugh at his jokes and silly conversation; really, he was such a featherbrain that it was no wonder he and Georgia were so drawn to each other. Like two peas in a pod, they were. She glanced down the table at Georgia as she sat next to Captain Bowen. She thought her sister seemed a little pensive, СКАЧАТЬ