Park Lane Read Online Free PDF Page A

have to be jolly bad news to be worse than another four days of hunting, shooting and school stories. Clemmie gave Bea at most half a dozen seconds before snatching the message from Bea’s hands. She stared at the paper as though it were an insult.
    DARLINGEST SIS , it read. AM RESCUING YOU. BE UP HERE ONE SHARP TOMORROW. PROMISE A GRAND SURPRISE. EDWARD
    Clemmie tore the paper in half and threw it on to the floor, the words rattling out of her, ‘I am going to so much trouble, Bea, all on your behalf. I give up. Enjoy life as a single woman. I mean, no wonder …’ she breaks off, and Bea feels a sharp jab in her ribcage.
    ‘No wonder what, Clemmie?’ she challenges her. ‘That John behaved as he did?’
    Clemmie takes a breath and looks away.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake get changed out of that walking dress. We’re all starving. And being late drives the servants mad. Anyway I suppose that maybe this means Edward may at last have found something to do.’
    ‘Clemmie, he’s barely been out of school for a year.’ Defending Edward is a reflex for Bea, even if she’s pushing out of her head thoughts of how he may be spending his time.
    ‘Yes, and he’s barely been home since then. A few hours between dawn and noon, and half an hour to change for the evening. He should join the cavalry. It would transform his life.’
    ‘How can you say that? What if the war comes?’
    ‘Everyone is always waiting for some war to come.’ And Clemmie turned to walk out of the hall.
    ‘Cavalry officers dance every night too, Clem.’
    ‘If only it was just dancing, and at least he would be doing something during the day. He’s hardly going to listen to one of us,’ Clem shouted back, over her shoulder.
    Bea, alone in the cold front hall, bristled. Edward, dear Edward, would surely listen to her, once she had brought herself to broach the conversation.
    The taxi turns into Curzon Street bringing Bea within spitting distance of Park Lane. She can even see the walls of Number Thirty-Five when the taxi stops. In front, blocking the width of theroad, is a coal cart which should have finished its rounds hours ago. For God’s sake, hurry up.
    Bea pulls down a window and leans out into the rain. The cart’s horse has turned, or has been turned, more like it, at too sharp an angle and the wheels are slipping on the cobbles. It can’t be just because they’re wet. Must be oil. Whatever fool left that behind will find his engine conks out jolly quick.
    The end of the coalman’s whip is reaching right up to the beast’s shoulder but the rear wheels of the cart keep slipping back into a rut between the stones. The horse whinnies, and the coalman lashes more. The rain is coming down hard now, the cobbles darkening. If Bea walks she’ll be drenched. She’ll have to dry off as well as change and that will take yet more time, and then she will have let Edward down. Oh, bother it.
    The taxi rattles and Bea’s driver grunts with displeasure alongside his engine, but he is not getting out to help. Not in this weather. However, as she waits, from the mews on her left appear a small group of men in shirtsleeves, clearly ready to be soaked and blackened.
    The men glue themselves to the back of the cart and begin to push. The motor behind Bea’s taxi is less patient, and hoots. Bea’s driver grinds his foot down on the accelerator in response. As the taxi shakes, the smell of petrol rises and Bea begins to feel nauseous. She decides to find a point, or a line of points, on which to fix her gaze to steady herself. From here she can see the north wall of the house, as far as the main bedroom floor and, across it, she notices a jagged crack pushing up and down right across the house. It is the first time it has caught her attention, yet it is already wide enough to see at fifty foot off.
    The coal cart has been pushed forwards several times and each time it has slid back, but the man counting down to the heave is again punching the air in front