Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘And the art itself – well, it makes you boggle, it really does. All the fine family portraits have been stored in the attic and replaced by the most hideous paintings. Most aren’t even fit for a lady’s eyes. There’s one true shocker – a stark naked man not even trying to cover himself – and they’ve hung it bang above the mantelpiece so you can’t blooming miss it!’

  Ella only paused for breath to sip her tea. Aunty was so absorbed in the conversation that she didn’t notice I was listening at the door, otherwise I’m sure she’d have sent me away. The more Ella went on about the refurbishment, the more I was desperate to see it. Mr Benjamin had such style and elegance – he couldn’t seriously wreck the house, could he?

  Aunty and I tried going for a walk up to the manor the next day, wanting to see for ourselves – but the cheery workmen were gone, and a bossy man in a beret and smock fluttered his fingers at us when he saw us approaching.

  ‘Shoo, shoo!’ he said, as if we were riff-raff. ‘I don’t want any gawpers here. This is private property!’

  ‘We’re friends of Mr Benjamin!’ I said indignantly.

  ‘A likely story,’ he said.

  I was all set to argue, but Aunty pulled me away.

  ‘We’re not going where we’re not wanted, Mona,’ she hissed to me. ‘I’m not having that creature telling tales about us to Mr Benjamin. We’ll simply have to wait until we get a proper invitation.’

  I couldn’t wait. I woke early on Sunday morning, before Aunty was stirring. I was pretty certain that no one would be working at the manor at the weekend. I decided to go and have a look by myself. I scrambled into my clothes and ran off.

  The grounds seemed so silent without the roar of the lorries and the shouts of the workmen. I stole up the gravel driveway, blinking at the flower borders. Before, they had been planted in straight rows, all the blooms standing to attention like soldiers. The beds were empty now, apart from a few broken stalks and scattered petals, as if giant badgers had been digging there all night.

  I stood there, shaking my head, when I heard light footsteps coming round the side of the house. I turned on my heel and started running.

  ‘Mona! Is that you? Come back, sweetheart!’

  It was Mr Benjamin, wearing an old-fashioned nightshirt that was much too large for him. His feet were bare and he had a couple of ox-eye daisies stuck decoratively in his black curls. I gawped at him. He smiled back, unabashed.

  I bobbed him an awkward curtsy. He laughed merrily and curtsied back, holding out his nightshirt.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Benjamin, sir. I didn’t know you were going to be here this weekend,’ I said, hanging my head.

  ‘I didn’t know myself until three in the morning,’ he replied. ‘I was at the most utterly boring soirée, and then I went on to a nightclub and danced until my ears were ringing and my poor feet ached. I suddenly longed for the peaceful delights of the manor, so I drove down and let myself in the back door with my own key. I don’t think the servants have a clue I’m here yet. My delightful new silk pyjamas are at my London flat, so I had to dig out one of my father’s old night-shirts. Isn’t it a scream! Still, it’s rather a lark wearing such voluminous skirts. Do you think it suits me, Mona?’

  ‘I think anything suits you, Mr Benjamin,’ I said. I did think he looked wonderful, though if he was spotted by the village lads they’d shriek with laughter.

  He happily accepted my compliment. ‘However, I have to admit I’m becoming a little chilly. The wind does rather blow up one’s nightgown, and although I enjoyed the feel of soft grass underfoot, my poor toes are now blue with cold.’ He wriggled them at me and I giggled.

  ‘I think I had better go back inside,’ he continued. ‘Would you care to accompany me?’

  I hesitated. ‘I don’t think I’m allowed inside, Mr Benjamin.’

  He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Who owns the inside of Somerset Manor, Mona?’

  ‘Well – you do.’

  ‘Precisely. And I take great delight in allowing you there. In fact, when I move in – pray God, only a matter of a week or so now – you are very welcome to come calling at any time.’

  We walked back towards the manor, Mr Benjamin keeping to the grass beside the empty flower beds and avoiding the sharp gravel.

  ‘Did all your flowers die, Mr Benjamin?’ I asked.

  ‘I had them all dug up. I can’t stand formal gardens. I intend to have cottage flowers running riot, and wild meadows full of these delightful daisies.’ He picked one out of his hair and stuck it behind my ear.

  We reached the large wooden front door. ‘Ah!’ said Mr Benjamin. ‘My key is in the pocket of my trousers. Oh well, I shall have to bother the servants after all.’

  He knocked loudly. We heard a scurrying behind the door, and then thumps and muffled cursing as someone struggled with the bolts. The door opened, and there was Ella in her cap and apron, eyes goggling at the two of us.

  ‘Mr Benjamin! Oh my goodness, we didn’t even know you were here!’ She turned away, going pink at the sight of his nightgown, though he didn’t seem at all embarrassed himself. ‘And what are you doing here, Mona? I’m so sorry, Mr Benjamin. I’ll send her home immediately.’

  ‘No, no, Ella. Mona is my guest. We will take a light breakfast and then I will give her a guided tour of the house. I can’t wait to show off my refurbishments,’ said Mr Benjamin.

  Ella gave me a sidelong glance, but rushed off to order breakfast. I wasn’t quite sure what a light breakfast was. I hoped it might be more than a cup of tea and a biscuit. I was feeling really hungry, but for once I forgot about my empty tummy. I was amazed by the house.

  Somerset Manor had always been such a gloomy place, with thick damask curtains at the windows, shaded lights, and huge, dark brown pieces of furniture looming everywhere. There had been dozens of occasional tables cluttered with wax flowers in glass domes, and ornate vases, and fancy pillboxes, and little silver knick-knacks, and photographs of Somersets past and present in elaborate frames. The wallpaper pattern had been obscured by portraits of older Somersets looking plain and grim, with not a smile between them.

  Mr Benjamin had swept all these away, and installed a huge light shaped like a sun in the hallway. It shone a golden glow on the high white ceiling, and the primrose-yellow painted walls echoed the sunny effect.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Mr Benjamin, taking a cloak from the coat stand and wrapping it around himself like a dressing gown.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘The most beautiful room ever.’

  ‘Ah, wait till you see the drawing room. Come, come!’

  It was pink – but not the bright, sugary shade I’d pictured from Ella’s description. It was painted a wonderfully subtle, deep rose, with cream curtains patterned with pink and blue circles. The two sofas and the armchairs were a soft blue, and the rugs were cream, so pristine that I walked round them carefully just in case I marked them. And there was the painting of the naked man, so huge it was almost life size! It was a back view, so you only saw his bottom. He was pink and cream, with blue shadowing, perfect for the room’s colour scheme.

  ‘You’re right, Mr Benjamin! This is the most beautiful room ever!’ I declared.

  ‘Oh, Mona, you’re a little treasure,’ he said delightedly. ‘You have an artistic soul.’

  I felt very proud. I sat on the edge of a blue armchair, crossing my legs in what I hoped was an artistic manner. Ella sniffed at me when she put her head round the door to say that breakfast was served.

  Mr Benjamin had worked wonders in the dining room too. It was painted apple green, with huge paintings of apples and pears and flowers on the walls. At one end there was a big yellow dresser with carefully arranged willow-pattern plates, and a long table with a yellow cloth, set with orange and blue and green patterned plates.

  ‘I wanted it to have a workaday country cottage look,’ said Mr Benjamin.

  I thought of the Higginses’ home. It certainly didn’t look anything l