The Darkest Evening

in charge, calm and capable, and Juliet felt a rush of gratitude. She wasn’t quite sure now what she’d do without the woman.
‘Dorothy, we’ve got a bit of a crisis.’
Dorothy turned away from the pan she was stirring. Real custard made with eggs and cream. ‘Just give me a minute. I don’t want this to catch or separate.’ It was just a minute, then she looked at Juliet. ‘Sorry about that. What can I do for you?’ She was wearing jeans and a hand-knitted jersey. Her long hair was tied back with a red cotton scarf. Dorothy didn’t need to frock up, because she never went front of house, except in an emergency. That was part of the deal.
‘This is Vera, my cousin. Sort of. She’s found a baby in an empty car that ran off the road. We think the parents might have gone to find help. But he definitely needs changing. Do you have a spare nappy we might borrow?’
‘In the cupboard in the hall.’ And because Dorothy was efficient, there was also a changing mat and lotion and wipes. Juliet came back into the kitchen with the bag. She still had the child on her hip. Dorothy smiled. ‘Shall I do it?’
‘No,’ Juliet said. ‘You’ve got enough to do. I’ll manage. I’ll just take him upstairs.’ She was aware of Vera watching her.
‘Can I use your phone?’ Vera said. ‘Let the office know I’ve got an abandoned child in tow. See if we can track down the parents.’
‘Of course!’ Dorothy nodded to the extension on the dresser.
Juliet saw that the baby was awake, staring at her. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
She walked past the drawing-room door but it seemed that still nobody had noticed that she was missing. Mark had a crowd around him and she heard him give a sudden guffaw, head back. Either it had been a very good joke or he was trying hard to impress. She looked at her watch. Another half an hour and they’d all go through to dinner.
Upstairs she put the changing mat on their bed and the child on the mat. She wished again it wasn’t quite so cold. She would have liked to take her time over this. She took off the boots and snow suit and then a pair of dungarees, pulled off the nappy. She’d been right, it was a boy. When the child was dressed, she lingered again, standing by the window, the boy in her arms, looking out at the snow which had started to fall again, silent and relentless. It occurred to her that Vera wouldn’t get out now, even in the old Land Rover, and that the baby would be hers for the night.
‘Jules! Where are you, darling?’ It was Mark, shouting up the stairs. That false, loving voice he put on for strangers. The actor in him made it entirely credible to his listening audience, but she knew him well enough to hear the irritation. She set the thought aside. Mark was tense, that was all. He’d put so much effort into this evening. It mattered to him and she couldn’t spoil it.
‘Just coming! We’ve got rather a mysterious guest. Look, everyone!’ She was halfway down the stairs and through the open door; they all stared at her, at the child in her arms.
‘Where did you get that?’ The question hadn’t come from Mark, but from Harriet. Juliet’s mother had got up from her chair and moved out into the hall. Even in her late sixties, she was the most beautiful woman in the room. Silver hair, immaculately cut. Eyes icy and blue. A dancer’s grace and a model’s instinct for the clothes that most suited her. She was looking up at Juliet. ‘Is there something you haven’t been telling us, darling?’ The bad joke took the edge off her original question and the tension in the room dissipated.
‘Nah.’ It was Vera, who’d emerged from the kitchen and was standing on the edge of the crowd in the hall. ‘It belongs to me. Sort of.’
‘He.’ Juliet turned to Vera and smiled. ‘It’s definitely a boy.’
‘Well, why don’t you hand him over then, pet? You don’t want your dinner spoiled. Dorothy and I can take care of him. I’ve put the word out. We should have the car owner traced in no time and your mystery will all be sorted.’ Vera turned to face Harriet. ‘You probably don’t recognize me. I was just a bairn myself last time I was here, or not much more than.’ Vera smiled. ‘Vera Stanhope. Hector’s daughter.’
For a moment Harriet didn’t move. Juliet even wondered if there might be a scene, or as close to a scene as her mother could ever contemplate. A snide and disparaging remark about Hector, perhaps, or some comment about Vera’s appearance. Instead she decided to be gracious and reached out her hand. ‘Vera, what a lovely surprise. No, I didn’t recognize you, though I should have done. There’s definitely a family likeness. Something about the chin and the forehead. Will you join us for dinner?’
Juliet thought Vera might do the unforgivable and accept the invitation, just to be mischievous, but the woman shook her head. ‘I need to find out what happened to this little one’s mother. It’s not a night for anyone to be traipsing around outside.’ She sounded genuinely concerned.
Mark took over then and led the guests into the dining room, where there was another fire. Juliet handed over the baby and followed them in. It did look magnificent. Shadows thrown by candlelight and firelight hid the shabby corners, and the heavy curtains kept out the draughts, which made their way through the ill-fitting sash windows even on the warmest of days. The tablecloth was starched and white and the silver heavy and gleaming. Dorothy had hired in a couple of sixth-formers, daughters of a tenant farmer, to wait at table, slender young women in black dresses and black ballet pumps. According to Dorothy they were Goths during