Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 91
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‘I’m going to the ball!’ she announced loudly.
‘So am I!’ hollered Tina, her happiness much less complicated than Rosie’s at that moment, as Jake’s fumbling hands attached his coat around her shoulders.
Moray bowed low in front of the door of his Land Rover.
‘Your carriage, mesdames.’
And laughing and yelling, they took off up the hill, along the driveway of flaming torches, to the great house that was Lipton Hall.
Chapter Twenty
Turkish Delight
Turkish delight has had a bad reputation since that man C.S. Lewis – a positive genius in other ways – linked it for ever with one of the most terrifying creations in literature, the White Witch of Narnia, and that naughty, sticky, traitorous Edmund. But with the sensuous pleasure imbued in its melting, gelatinous texture, and, when made in the proper way, delicately perfumed with rose petals, flavoured with oils and dusted with sugar, it reclaims its power as a sweet as seductive as Arabian nights. The fact that it now carries with it a whiff of danger merely adds to its pleasure. It is not, truly, a sweet for children. They simply complain, and get the almonds stuck up their noses.
‘Who are these people?’ said Rosie, still nervous and exhilarated from the champagne and their snowy drive up the hill. ‘And are you sure the area’s only non-mad health professional should be stepping out of the driving seat of a car slugging from a bottle of champagne?’
‘Ask the local police superintendent,’ said Moray. ‘He’s over there.’
The place was thronged. Up close, and floodlit from below, so it could be seen from miles off, Lipton Hall was truly imposing; built in the Queen Anne style, with red sandstone, gargoyles on the upper reaches. The rows of windows were brilliantly lit with chandeliers, and loud voices and rowdy laughter poured out from each of them. Rosie felt her ebullient mood shrink a little.
‘How does she pay for all this?’ she wondered aloud. ‘I thought they were broke.’
‘Oh, she is, completely,’ said Moray. ‘People pay a fortune to come.’
‘They pay?’ said Rosie. ‘Do we have to pay?’
‘We do not have to pay,’ said Moray. ‘We are Lady Lipton’s guests. But you’ll see big tables full of the rotary club and the masons and all sorts.’
‘But why do they want to pay?’ said Rosie, completely confused.
‘To rub shoulders with the toffs of course,’ said Moray, as if talking to a slow child.
‘They pay to do that?’ said Rosie.
‘Could you just get inside, before I take you home? And if you start singing “The Red Flag” you’ll be in serious trouble.’
Inside was a seething mass of people, all hailing one another and looking slightly pink in the face. Many were at the windows, marvelling at the snow. Rosie paused at the huge door, up the long flight of steps, then hopped over the threshold. The main hall was enormous, panelled, with large animal heads attached to the walls. A huge grandfather clock, just like in Peak House, stood at the end. Teenagers in white shirts and black trousers were taking coats, or scuttling about with drinks.
‘I always wanted to do that job,’ whispered Tina.
‘Why didn’t you?’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, it’s notorious,’ said Tina, as Jake sniggered. ‘They drink all the leftovers and get into terrible trouble later on. Getting off with guests, getting off with each other. My father wouldn’t hear of it.’
Jake smiled again.
‘You did it though?’ said Rosie.
‘Oh yes,’ said Jake. Tina grinned.
‘Course ’e did.’
‘And was it as bad as what her dad thinks?’ said Rosie.
‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ said Jake. ‘With the exception of us four, those kids in the black and white are going to have the best time out of anyone at this party tonight. And they’re the only ones getting paid.’
Moray smiled nicely at one girl, wearing a black skirt that was obviously her mother’s. She went red, then immediately brought them glasses of champagne.
‘Thanks for what you said when I came in last week,’ she whispered – loud enough for the others to hear – as she brought the drinks.
‘I have absolutely no recollection of seeing you professionally,’ said Moray. ‘No one ever believes me, but it’s true. Can you keep us all topped up, sweetie?’
The girl smiled and nodded eagerly.
Looking round, Rosie thought she could see what Jake meant about not everyone having a good time. They moved to the left, where, opening off the great hall, was a ballroom, not panelled but with a parquet floor, pastel-coloured walls and, at the far end, large sets of French windows leading out on to a balcony overlooking a sunken garden. Despite the cold outside, the heat in the room was immense, and the doors were open. People stood just outside, smoking cigarettes.
There were stony-faced women in bejewelled boxy jackets over black dresses, looking disapprovingly at their red-cheeked husbands if they accepted another drink, or guffawed too loudly at a story. There were old chaps half dozing on the little antique chairs that lined the wall, jauntily patterned waistcoats stretched to bursting. Hye Evans was telling a raucous anecdote to a group of men, all of whom were laughing heartily. Next to him was a very skinny woman looking anxious in a tight column dress and lots of gold jewellery, her eyes skittering about the room.
But there were happier groups too: young farmers out for a night of frivolity; fervent horse freaks in their smart red coats huddled in groups discussing fetlocks and farriers and all sorts of technical terms Rosie couldn’t understand as her party threaded themselves through the crowd to have a look round. Tina wanted to see everywhere and everything – even the loos! She was to be disappointed in this, as there was a set of Portaloos – the most lavishly appointed Portaloos Rosie had ever seen, it had to be said, but Portaloos nonetheless – lined up discreetly in the courtyard at the back of the house. Tina scuttled off to explore, Jake close behind her. It made Rosie smile to see it. Good. Tina deserved a good man. Moray was waylaid immediately they entered the room by dozens of people he knew, and, with his affable manner, fell into conversation with some of them.
Unfussed, Rosie wandered alone out to the balcony beyond the French windows. The cold had driven most people indoors and the hubbub dimmed behind her as she gazed out at the garden, clear beneath the full snow moon. It was almost incandescently beautiful, watching the snow fall on the knot garden beneath the shadow of the house, on the hedges and the neatly trimmed borders; on the raked gravel and tumbling down the ridge of the land below.
‘So am I!’ hollered Tina, her happiness much less complicated than Rosie’s at that moment, as Jake’s fumbling hands attached his coat around her shoulders.
Moray bowed low in front of the door of his Land Rover.
‘Your carriage, mesdames.’
And laughing and yelling, they took off up the hill, along the driveway of flaming torches, to the great house that was Lipton Hall.
Chapter Twenty
Turkish Delight
Turkish delight has had a bad reputation since that man C.S. Lewis – a positive genius in other ways – linked it for ever with one of the most terrifying creations in literature, the White Witch of Narnia, and that naughty, sticky, traitorous Edmund. But with the sensuous pleasure imbued in its melting, gelatinous texture, and, when made in the proper way, delicately perfumed with rose petals, flavoured with oils and dusted with sugar, it reclaims its power as a sweet as seductive as Arabian nights. The fact that it now carries with it a whiff of danger merely adds to its pleasure. It is not, truly, a sweet for children. They simply complain, and get the almonds stuck up their noses.
‘Who are these people?’ said Rosie, still nervous and exhilarated from the champagne and their snowy drive up the hill. ‘And are you sure the area’s only non-mad health professional should be stepping out of the driving seat of a car slugging from a bottle of champagne?’
‘Ask the local police superintendent,’ said Moray. ‘He’s over there.’
The place was thronged. Up close, and floodlit from below, so it could be seen from miles off, Lipton Hall was truly imposing; built in the Queen Anne style, with red sandstone, gargoyles on the upper reaches. The rows of windows were brilliantly lit with chandeliers, and loud voices and rowdy laughter poured out from each of them. Rosie felt her ebullient mood shrink a little.
‘How does she pay for all this?’ she wondered aloud. ‘I thought they were broke.’
‘Oh, she is, completely,’ said Moray. ‘People pay a fortune to come.’
‘They pay?’ said Rosie. ‘Do we have to pay?’
‘We do not have to pay,’ said Moray. ‘We are Lady Lipton’s guests. But you’ll see big tables full of the rotary club and the masons and all sorts.’
‘But why do they want to pay?’ said Rosie, completely confused.
‘To rub shoulders with the toffs of course,’ said Moray, as if talking to a slow child.
‘They pay to do that?’ said Rosie.
‘Could you just get inside, before I take you home? And if you start singing “The Red Flag” you’ll be in serious trouble.’
Inside was a seething mass of people, all hailing one another and looking slightly pink in the face. Many were at the windows, marvelling at the snow. Rosie paused at the huge door, up the long flight of steps, then hopped over the threshold. The main hall was enormous, panelled, with large animal heads attached to the walls. A huge grandfather clock, just like in Peak House, stood at the end. Teenagers in white shirts and black trousers were taking coats, or scuttling about with drinks.
‘I always wanted to do that job,’ whispered Tina.
‘Why didn’t you?’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, it’s notorious,’ said Tina, as Jake sniggered. ‘They drink all the leftovers and get into terrible trouble later on. Getting off with guests, getting off with each other. My father wouldn’t hear of it.’
Jake smiled again.
‘You did it though?’ said Rosie.
‘Oh yes,’ said Jake. Tina grinned.
‘Course ’e did.’
‘And was it as bad as what her dad thinks?’ said Rosie.
‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ said Jake. ‘With the exception of us four, those kids in the black and white are going to have the best time out of anyone at this party tonight. And they’re the only ones getting paid.’
Moray smiled nicely at one girl, wearing a black skirt that was obviously her mother’s. She went red, then immediately brought them glasses of champagne.
‘Thanks for what you said when I came in last week,’ she whispered – loud enough for the others to hear – as she brought the drinks.
‘I have absolutely no recollection of seeing you professionally,’ said Moray. ‘No one ever believes me, but it’s true. Can you keep us all topped up, sweetie?’
The girl smiled and nodded eagerly.
Looking round, Rosie thought she could see what Jake meant about not everyone having a good time. They moved to the left, where, opening off the great hall, was a ballroom, not panelled but with a parquet floor, pastel-coloured walls and, at the far end, large sets of French windows leading out on to a balcony overlooking a sunken garden. Despite the cold outside, the heat in the room was immense, and the doors were open. People stood just outside, smoking cigarettes.
There were stony-faced women in bejewelled boxy jackets over black dresses, looking disapprovingly at their red-cheeked husbands if they accepted another drink, or guffawed too loudly at a story. There were old chaps half dozing on the little antique chairs that lined the wall, jauntily patterned waistcoats stretched to bursting. Hye Evans was telling a raucous anecdote to a group of men, all of whom were laughing heartily. Next to him was a very skinny woman looking anxious in a tight column dress and lots of gold jewellery, her eyes skittering about the room.
But there were happier groups too: young farmers out for a night of frivolity; fervent horse freaks in their smart red coats huddled in groups discussing fetlocks and farriers and all sorts of technical terms Rosie couldn’t understand as her party threaded themselves through the crowd to have a look round. Tina wanted to see everywhere and everything – even the loos! She was to be disappointed in this, as there was a set of Portaloos – the most lavishly appointed Portaloos Rosie had ever seen, it had to be said, but Portaloos nonetheless – lined up discreetly in the courtyard at the back of the house. Tina scuttled off to explore, Jake close behind her. It made Rosie smile to see it. Good. Tina deserved a good man. Moray was waylaid immediately they entered the room by dozens of people he knew, and, with his affable manner, fell into conversation with some of them.
Unfussed, Rosie wandered alone out to the balcony beyond the French windows. The cold had driven most people indoors and the hubbub dimmed behind her as she gazed out at the garden, clear beneath the full snow moon. It was almost incandescently beautiful, watching the snow fall on the knot garden beneath the shadow of the house, on the hedges and the neatly trimmed borders; on the raked gravel and tumbling down the ridge of the land below.
