Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘I think perhaps I do, dear Miss Watson,’ Mr Benjamin murmured. ‘Why don’t you let me drive her over to Hailbury this morning? I already have connections with the school. My mother endowed an entire new wing, so the governors think kindly of the Somersets, as well they might. If I take little Mona into the school, they will treat her kindly too, and I will personally vouch for her. I’m sure there won’t be any problem with her birth certificate. How about that?’

  Aunty looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Would you really do that?’

  ‘Of course I would.’ He looked at his gold pocket watch. ‘We still have a little time. Mona, why don’t you come and take Nigel for a five-minute walk with me, and help me start his training. Then you can come back and get changed into a fresh dress and tidy your pigtails. Is that all right with you, Miss Watson?’

  I looked at Aunty, who had taken off her glasses to dab her eyes. She nodded. I hugged her – and then I hugged Mr Benjamin too.

  ‘Mona!’ said Aunty. ‘Mr Benjamin doesn’t want you hugging him!’

  ‘Oh, yes I do, Miss Watson. I’m very fond of Mona. I like to think I’m her token uncle now.’

  I skipped off with Mr Benjamin and Nigel. The puppy gambolled in delight at the end of his lead, running round and round us so that sometimes we were tied together, helpless with laughter. Mr Benjamin kept issuing fierce instructions, telling Nigel to get down, to walk to heel, to stop rolling in the grass. Nigel took no notice whatsoever, but when I patted my hip, barely knowing I was doing it, he came running over and trotted along beside me.

  ‘My goodness, Mona, you’re a miracle worker! What a magnificent animal trainer! Perhaps you don’t need to get yourself properly educated. A career in the circus beckons. Madame Mona and her troupe of wild wolves, her trained tigers, her courageous camels, her elegant elephants …’

  I burst out laughing as his suggestions became more and more ridiculous, and yet I suddenly saw myself in a circus ring wearing a spangled dress and ballet pumps. I flung out my arms as if inviting applause, and Mr Benjamin understood and clapped heartily, his diamond rings flashing. I swept him a curtsy, holding out the skirts of my creased dress, and he curtsied back gracefully.

  ‘If I’m going to be an animal trainer, you can be a ballet dancer,’ I said.

  ‘There’s nothing I’d like better! Oh, to be the principal dancer in a Diaghilev ballet! How I’d leap and twirl!’ He demonstrated, and Nigel leaped up, barking excitedly, thinking it a grand game.

  ‘Well, my dear, I suppose we’d better get you back to your aunt’s and then whisk you off to the school,’ said Mr Benjamin.

  ‘I hope she hasn’t changed her mind,’ I said.

  ‘Just so long as you haven’t changed your mind …’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do extremely well – you’re an astonishingly intelligent child. God bless Mr White for discovering this himself. But just supposing everything goes wrong and you fail the examination – it’s easily done, because I’ve failed many an exam in my time – then promise me you won’t brood about it and go into a nervous decline as your aunt fears,’ he said, sounding serious for once.

  ‘I promise,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing in life should be taken too seriously, my dear. Don’t waste your time striving for wealth or possessions or power, it rots the soul. Enjoy each day, and live for art and culture and beauty – and sheer glorious fun!’ he said, taking my hand and twirling me round.

  I thought that was a bit rich, seeing as he already had great wealth and a huge house full of beautiful possessions, and possibly enough power to enable me to sit the entrance exam without the appropriate documents – but I nodded and solemnly repeated his last sentence word for word.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, and then we ran back to the cottage, Mr Benjamin, Nigel and me.

  The lady with the clipboard came chasing after us.

  15

  Aunty had ironed my daisy dress and polished my shoes until they looked like new.

  I ran upstairs to get changed. When I was ready, Aunty unravelled my straggly plaits, brushed my hair vigorously, and parted it with the pointed end of her comb. When she’d finished both plaits she added neat satin bows, and then inspected me gravely.

  ‘There! I think you’ll do,’ she said. Then she suddenly kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Good luck, dear,’ she said.

  I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I was rude to you, Aunty,’ I muttered.

  ‘And I’m sorry that you felt I was standing in your way, Mona. Please believe I only want the best for you,’ she said.

  Mr Benjamin beamed at both of us and then held out his hand to me. ‘Come along then, my dear.’

  We walked up the long driveway to the manor, and round the back to the stables, now converted into a garage twice the size of our cottage. The chauffeur and the gardener were sitting at an old ironwork table playing cards, but both jumped to attention when they heard Nigel’s eager barks and Mr Benjamin’s black-and-white brogues crunching on the gravel.

  ‘Playing Poker first thing in the morning! How very dissolute, gentlemen,’ said Mr Benjamin.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I’m just teaching the lad the intricacies of the game,’ said the chauffeur. ‘We’re still on our breakfast break, sir.’

  ‘Ah, breakfast! Have you eaten breakfast, Mona?’

  ‘I’m not really hungry, Mr Benjamin.’

  ‘But you must eat all the same! You can’t sit an important examination on an empty stomach, you’ll faint dead away. We’ve got plenty of time. Come and have a little bite first,’ he said persuasively.

  That breakfast! It was three times the size of the breakfast I’d had before. Mr Benjamin lifted the lid of each silver tureen in turn to show me the contents: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried potatoes, a strange rice dish with smoked haddock and eggs … enough to feed half the village.

  ‘Have you got many guests staying with you this weekend, Mr Benjamin?’ I asked, my tummy going tight at the thought of another encounter with all those strange sharp-tongued people, especially Lady Arabella.

  ‘No one in particular. Ambrose is here – he seems to have taken up permanent residence now that his London flat is being renovated. But he won’t be down for breakfast. He frequently doesn’t surface until lunchtime,’ said Mr Benjamin. ‘He’s turning into a serious rival to Rip Van Winkle.’

  ‘Who’s Rip Van Winkle?’ I asked. ‘Is he another painter?’

  ‘No, my dear, he’s an American folk character who slept for twenty years,’ said Mr Benjamin, piling bacon on a plate.

  ‘Sleeping Beauty slept for a hundred years,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, you read fairy tales too, Mona! How delightful. I must show you my library some time. I have an entire bookshelf of fairy tales. I tried to interest Barbara’s brood, but Esmeralda and Roland declared they were too old for fairy tales, Marcella took a polite interest but preferred Dr Dolittle, and Bruno turned the pages himself and tore one in the process. Here, Nigel, lovely bacon! Do you think he’d like a sausage too, Mona?’

  ‘I think he’d love one, but perhaps only a tiny bit? And just one piece of bacon, chopped up. He’s still a puppy,’ I said. ‘He might be sick otherwise.’

  ‘How sensible you are!’ said Mr Benjamin, adjusting Nigel’s breakfast. ‘And what about you? Might you be sick if you eat a few rashers of bacon and a sausage?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, watching him give the dog his portion on beautiful pink china edged with gold. ‘I don’t think you should give Nigel his breakfast on that plate either.’

  ‘Yes, it is pretty hideous, isn’t it? Mother did have such conventional taste. Don’t you prefer my marvellous rustic peasant-ware from Portugal?’ Mr Benjamin asked. ‘Help yourself then, Mona.’

  ‘I don’t know which to choose,’ I said, dithering.

  ‘Then take a little of everything and see which tastes best,’ he said.

  I never knew if h