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'Like modelling, then,' Pippa said drily and Liza laughed.
'I suppose that applies to all skills; whatever you do you have to practise and learn all the tricks of the trade, and it's never as glamorous as it looks.'
'Is it hot out there?' Pippa asked, gathering up the leaves and twigs she had discarded and pushing them into a wicker trug she had ready, i think I may sunbathe later, but first I'm going to have coffee with my mother. Why don't you join us?'
She was being much more friendly and Liza followed her into a small room full of neatly stacked boots and raincoats and sticks. Pippa emptied the trug's contents into a metal bin and stacked the trug among some others, then washed her hands in a basin on the wall opposite the door.
'This is a handy room,' she said and Liza blankly said she supposed it must be, which made Pippa laugh.
'No, I mean that that is what we call it. The handy room—we put all sorts of things in here, mostly to do with the garden. If you don't have somewhere special for them they get everywhere and litter up the place. My mother has a very tidy mind; it was her idea to use this old butler's pantry for all these things. Years ago this was where the butler kept his decanters and decanted the port and stuff like that—there's an old bell up above the door, in case he was urgently wanted while he was in here, which probably means he spent a lot of time in this room. He probably drank the port as well as decanting it, got a little drunk and slept it off! There was once an old armchair in here, but all the old stuff went when my mother had the room redecorated as a handy room.'
She loved the house; Liza heard it in her voice. How had she felt when her family had disowned her because of her marriage? Did she still nurse a lingering bitterness, or had time wiped it out?
They found Mrs Gifford in her private sitting-room, drinking coffee and listening to the radio. She leaned forward to turn it off as they arrived, smiling.
'I was beginning to think you had forgotten, Pippa. Hello, Liza, did you sleep well?' She patted a small, pink velvet chair. 'Sit down. Do you like your coffee with cream or black?'
Pippa relaxed in another chair and took her own coffee, nursing the bone china cup as she told her mother what a lovely day it was, adding, 'Our guests are all outside, exploring the gardens—except Miss Thurston, of course.'
'Liza,' Mrs Gifford said gently.
'Liza,' Pippa accepted, as though she still found it difficult to relax with Liza; she hadn't yet quite forgiven her for Bruno's dismissal to the States. Liza could understand that—mother and son were very close.
'What were you listening to?' Liza asked Mrs Gifford, who said it had been a music programme.
'You're fond of music?'
'Very fond—are you, Liza?' Mrs Gifford watched her with smiling interest as Liza nodded. They all talked of music for quite a while; then Pippa looked at her watch and said she had to fly, she had to meet somebody for lunch and must change.
'See you later, Liza,' she said, in quite a friendly voice, and as she left Liza stirred in her chair, realising that she ought to go too, but Mrs Gifford leaned forward and patted her hand, shaking her head.
'No, don't go, stay and talk to me, Liza. We may not get another chance!' Her smile was mischievous, amused. She had a criss-cross of fine lines in her face; yet her skin had a soft warmth which from a distance contradicted the fact of her age, and her smile was spontaneous, charming. Liza felt her heart contract as she admitted that she liked in Mrs Gifford what she recognised in Keir: the human warmth, the cool, calm intelligence, the charm, the humour. All Keir's qualities were there in the old woman's face; he was very much her son.
'Tell me about your childhood,' Mrs Gifford said, taking her by surprise.
'My childhood?' Liza repeated, eyes incredulous.
Mrs Gifford laughed. 'Don't you think a childhood makes an adult? When anyone talks about their childhood they tell me so much about themselves!'
'How unnerving! I think I'd be wiser not to tell you a thing!' Liza made a joke of it, laughing, but she was half serious—she did not want to betray anything to Keir's mother.
'Are you very secretive?' Mrs Gifford thought aloud, watching her. 'Or just wary of anyone knowing you too well?'
Liza smiled without answering, realising that the other woman was thinking aloud; it was a rhetorical question which needed no reply.
'You never told me which part of Wiltshire you came f
rom?' Keir's mother asked.
'You probably wouldn't know it, it's just a small country town, half an hour away from Bath. Lovely country around there, very hilly; of course Bath is ringed with hills, it's that sort of countryside. You can see for miles from a hill just outside my old home, I used to walk up there on summer days with a few sandwiches and stay all day, lie on the grass and stare out over the woods and fields. They were such different colours; dark green trees and yellow corn and here and there splashes of scarlet poppies—like an enormous patchwork quilt.' She was talking very fast, burying the subject beneath a tidal wave of words, her voice restless, distressed. She hated remembering; she didn't want to think about her home, her family, the past.
'Which do you prefer, living in the town or the country?' asked Mrs Gifford quietly and Liza relaxed a little.
'Oh, the country, every time—that's why I have a cottage down on the estuary in Essex. I have a flat in town, too, but my home is in the countryside and I love it there. I sail and walk and ride whenever I'm at the cottage, but in town the most I can manage is an hour or two in the gym or the swimming pool.'
'Keir says you've been very successful with your agency. Are you still ambitious? Do you want to achieve other things?'
'I haven't really thought about it,' Liza said casually, then got up. 'I 'd better go and find the others again, they'll be wondering where I am. Thank you for the coffee and the chat, Mrs Gifford. I enjoyed both very much.'
