‘With a mink coat over her arm? A very good mink, incidentally, and almost new. And what about her jewellery? Not to mention her car.’
He looked at Jane blankly. ‘Her car? Surely she hasn’t …?’
‘Of course she has. She keeps it garaged at the Swan.’
‘But she arrived in a taxi. It drove off as I let her in.’
‘Then she only took it from the village. I haven’t seen the car myself but the maids have and they say it looks expensive. She’s gone to London in it. My dear, dear Richard, Violet is victimizing you, too.’
He said firmly: ‘No, Jane. She did offer to pay. But how could I let her? My father made no kind of provision for her.’
Jane flushed. ‘We don’t know your father’s side of that matter. Anyhow, if she did pay it wouldn’t get us anywhere now. Apart from the fact that Miss Willy needs six rooms, she won’t send her teachers or pupils here while Violet remains. I’m sorry. That’s made you angry.’
‘Well, not with you. But I do think it’s outrageous. What the hell does she know about Violet?’
‘From me, only that Violet describes herself as your father’s fiancée. I can’t say why Miss Willy thinks otherwise but she does. Besides … oh, Richard, do be reasonable!’
She had been avoiding his eyes. Now she looked at him very directly and it was he who looked away. Was she aware of the situation between himself and Violet? She’d seen them together so seldom, still … Anyway, apart from Miss Willy’s prejudices, he and Violet couldn’t conduct their skirmishes in front of the interested eyes of a bunch of school teachers and schoolgirls …
He was silent so long that Jane gave up waiting for an answer. ‘Well, please think it over – fairly quickly; there is an empty house Miss Willy could rent. And do remember that if you’re driven into closing the house, Violet and your aunt will have to go anyway.’
It made sense. He said without enthusiasm, ‘I’d better write and see what Drew thinks. And suppose Merry wants to come home?’
‘We could just manage that, by putting two beds in one room. Of course there’s Clare, but one presumes she’ll get more work.’
‘She won’t need to,’ said Richard. ‘You don’t know that I saw her yesterday. I’d better tell you about it.’
He was soon to wish he had done no such thing for it became obvious that Jane was both shocked and indignant; indeed, her disapproval was so extreme that he found himself defending Clare.
‘She’s very deeply in love, Jane. She looked quite dazzlingly happy.’
‘How can she be in love with an ugly, middle-aged man?’
‘He didn’t strike me as either.’
‘Well, Miss Gifford told me he was. Oh, if only we’d done something when she warned me!’
‘Clare said it wouldn’t have made any difference. She is in love with him, Jane. And he obviously adores her.’
Jane’s tone became withering. ‘From what you say, they’d only known each other a week when – when this appalling thing began. Don’t tell me it has anything to do with love. I’m not an intolerant woman. I don’t think I’m even conventional …’
‘You are, dear Jane,’ he said gently.
‘Perhaps what you call conventionality, I call decency. Anyway, I’m so shocked that I don’t want to hear any more.’
She’d seemed quite unshocked by Merry’s adventures; indeed, he thought she rather hoped that, after four or five years, Merry might reward a gallant, faithful earl by becoming his countess. That story was romantic, but Clare’s – to herself the very essence of romance – was to Jane the most brutal reality.
‘Well, I’m partly on your side,’ he said appeasingly.
‘I should hope so. Richard, you won’t tell Cook and Edith?’
‘No fear. And heaven help me if Aunt Winifred finds out. I must invent something.’
‘You could say Clare has got a new job … as a companion.’
‘I could – with perfect truth.’
She did not return his smile. And he suddenly knew just why there would always be something girlish about her; and he knew, too, why such a sweet-faced, graceful and very kind woman had never married. Buried within her was a spinsterly core which had conditioned not only her outlook but also the events of her life. One gets, he thought, not what one wants but what one is.
‘Well, it’s time for tea.’ She spoke with unusual briskness, as if dismissing Clare from her mind. ‘Come in if you’d like some.’
‘I would, thank you. I had rather a sketchy lunch.’
At once she became her kindest self. ‘You need regular meals, Richard. Just think what it would be like to have this house properly run again.’
‘It used to be so very comfortable. Not luxurious; just comfortable.’
‘That’s the best kind of luxury. I often look back to my first day here. That wonderful steak-and-kidney pudding’s become a sort of symbol of comfort to me. We could surely achieve that again. And this could be made into an excellent bed-sitting-room; you could afford enough coke to keep your stove going.’ She shivered. ‘You can’t go on working in this ice-house. However, I mustn’t try to coerce you.’
After tea he scribbled a letter to Drew about Jane’s scheme and caught the post with it. Then he worked on what he thought of as his counter-scheme. Suppose Drew contributed a little, Violet was allowed to pay, and something was extracted from Aunt Winifred? Alas, this couldn’t compete with what Miss Willy was offering. A pity he couldn’t ask Clare to toss him a few hundred-pound notes, which she could doubtless get for the asking.
He tried to work again in the evening but Jane’s mention of an ice-house had made him fully conscious of how cold his music room was, so he went to bed early. But next morning, after his usual difficulty in starting, he got on fairly well and came in to lunch feeling cheerful; as it was Saturday, he didn’t have to get it himself. Simply because he wanted her to, he convinced himself Violet would return that afternoon. She did not, nor did she on the next day, when it rained incessantly. He got stuck with his work; obviously his impulse to create had no staying power. And when he went indoors Cook and Edith begged him to agree to Jane’s scheme. He fobbed them off by saying he must wait for Drew’s answer, then persuaded them to come in and watch television. Burly was hoisted on the sofa between them and for a while, with the fire burning brightly, there was a semblance of cheerfulness. Then he saw that they had both fallen asleep, and small wonder as they had worked all weekend at cooking and cleaning, allowing themselves no leisure at all. He couldn’t let them go on like this much longer.
On Monday he woke up in a temper. If Violet and Aunt Winifred did not return today, they could stay away for good. They couldn’t just use his house as a hotel – and anyway, people paid in hotels. Incapable of even an attempt to work, he sat in the ball all morning, waiting. Would Violet this time arrive in her own car? Good God, no wonder his father had gone broke, if he’d paid for her car, mink coat and jewellery, not to mention that most expensive flat!
After a bread and cheese lunch he decided to go for a walk. He opened the front door and was just in time to see a most impressive car coming up the drive. Violet was at the wheel with his aunt beside her. As they got out, in remarkably good spirits, he noted that they both appeared to be wearing new clothes. Aunt Winifred was in pale grey, two pink roses pinned to her coat. Violet had achieved a most expensive-looking tweed and leather outfit. It was the first time he’d seen her in clothes suitable for the country and the fact that she was in them now struck him as ominous, as did the wardrobe trunk in the car. Violet was about to dig herself in. She greeted him with a happy, ‘Richard, darling!’
‘Excuse me, I have to go out,’ he said curtly and brushed past them both. He heard Violet wail: ‘Richard, is something wrong? Do come back!’ But he strode along the drive at a terrific pace, turned away from the village and started to climb the hill. He was annoyed and hoped he’d made it plain.
By the time he reached the hill top, the annoy
ance was directed towards himself. What a ridiculous display of temper – and without real justification! Why shouldn’t they have taken a trip to London? His irritation was really due to the fact that he had been missing Violet. He would go back and make his peace with them … But not just yet.
He leaned against the signpost and looked down at his home. Under a heavily overcast sky, the dome was coldly grey; the surrounding trees were on their way towards wintry bareness. Whatever the time of year he liked this view. And as a rule, seeing the house from above made him feel pleasantly detached, even a little Godlike. He had no such feelings today and he knew they would not come to him. No view could engender any kind of philosophic peace in a mind as restless as his was now.
He would walk home along the field path, which meant sticking to the road for nearly a mile before turning into the fields behind Dome House. He remembered taking this walk with Merry on a very similar sunless afternoon when a mist – as now – was rising. It was then that she had told him about her ‘programme’ for the second movement of the Beethoven quartet he had been playing when she returned home with flaming hair and false bust. According to her, the music portrayed a lost traveller wandering through dense mist, conscious of surrounding menace. ‘He’s in a land of giants and enchanters, and castles where it would be safer not to shelter. But he never sees anything, just knows the menace is there, and sometimes he hears satiric laughter – only it’s alluring laughter, too.’ For Richard music never represented anything but itself and to invent stories about it was reprehensible, but she had created her menace-filled mist unforgettably and the memory of it haunted him as he walked across the fields.
Merry was so much in his mind that when he heard someone call his name he at first thought she must have come home. But when the voice called again he recognized it as Violet’s. He called in answer and then left the path and climbed up on a nearby gate. From there he could see her crossing a stubble field. He called again and hurried towards her.
She came running to him. ‘Oh, darling, I saw you from my window and came to meet you. And then the beastly mist came rolling at me, and I had a free fight getting through a hedge. And this stubble, if that’s what it’s called, is hell to walk on …’
‘You should have stuck to the path,’ he told her.
‘I didn’t find any path. Can we sit down and talk?’
‘Well, it’s pretty damp. Let’s talk at home.’
‘No, someone will interrupt there. And I must sit down. I’m exhausted, trying to walk in these wretched low-heeled country shoes I bought – it’s like running down a hill backwards.’ She sat down just where she was, then looked resentfully at the stubble. ‘Oh, I do hate the country.’
He sat down beside her. ‘Then why did you come here?’
‘You know why I came. You must by now, even if you didn’t at first. Oh, darling, are you angry with me?’
He assured her he wasn’t. ‘And I’m sorry I was so rude just now, dashing away like that. I ought to have got your trunk out of the car for you.’
‘Oh, that can wait till tomorrow. But why were you so cross?’
‘It was just that … Oh, never mind. If you want to talk, talk.’
She looked at him reproachfully. ‘I do think that’s a putting-off thing to say. Why can’t you be a better guesser?’
‘Because there’s too damn much to guess. Hadn’t you better clear things up once and for all, Violet dear?’
‘All right. I want to, really. I came because I liked you. I did the very first time we met. And I liked you much more when you came to see if your father had provided for me. That was sweet of you, Richard. And you’d have felt very snubbed if I’d told you he never had provided for me. I’ve never needed providing for. I’ve money of my own as well as a nice lump my first husband left me. Your father was … well, just a good friend.’
‘Do you mean there was never anything between you?’
She was silent for several seconds. Then she said loudly:
‘Nothing whatever. You just imagined it.’
He felt sure she was lying. ‘Then why was he staying at your flat that first time I came there?’
‘He wasn’t. Oh, well, he just may have been. Perhaps his own flat was being re-decorated or something. Anyway, I often ask people for weekends – it’s my form of entertaining and, believe me, weekends in London can be much more fun than weekends in the boring country. You must try them. Darling, I’m sorry I told you lies, but if I’d let you know I was well-off how could I have come down here and asked you to take me in? And, oh, Richard, I’m so in love with you. There! Am I forgiven?’
He said: ‘You would be, if you’d stop lying.’
‘But I have, truly! I absolutely swear it.’
Well, why not let himself believe her, as he longed to? He had been stirred by her declaration. And never had he seen her look so beautiful. Against the dark green of her jacket, her pale skin had an almost snowy purity. Her silky black hair was less tidy than usual and particularly becoming. And her long legs, though stuck straight out in front of her most ungracefully, were such very nice legs; the fact that she had laddered both her superfine stockings – presumably when fighting the hedge – somehow added a touch of appeal.
He moved closer to her and put a comforting arm round her shoulders. Immediately, she executed an agile swivelling movement, at the same time flinging both her arms round his neck and pulling him downwards, with the net result that she was flat on her back and he was sprawling beside her.
‘Stop it,’ he said, disentangling himself. ‘We’re in full view of a public footpath.’ He struggled to his feet and pulled her to hers.
She looked wistfully towards a ditch. ‘We’d be out of sight down there.’
‘We’d also be in a couple of feet of water. Anyway, when and if we do go to bed together, it’s going to be in a bed.’
‘Well, I’ve nothing against beds except that they’re so often not around when needed. Let’s make plans. Sit down again – just for a minute.’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You keep on your feet. The trouble with you is that you’re far too conscious of the pull of gravity.’
She laughed. ‘What a funny name for it.’
Richard laughed too, and began to feel cheerful. He could now have looked Drew in the face and said he liked her. ‘You come on home,’ he told her and steered her towards the path.
In a few minutes they were out of the dense patch of mist and Dome House was visible.
‘Stop clinging to me,’ said Richard. ‘Someone may be looking out of a window.’
‘No, they won’t. Your aunt’s taking a nap, and Jane and the maids won’t be in yet.’ Violet continued to cling. ‘Has Jane told you she wants to fill your house with schoolteachers?’
‘Yes, but who told you?’ he said, astonished.
‘I heard the maids talking. Well, why not let her? Just hand the house over and come to London with me. You can’t live with a pack of giggling females. They’ll accuse you of assaulting them. And we can have such fun in London.’
He stopped dead, in the lane outside the back garden. ‘Violet, are you seriously suggesting that I come and live with you?’
‘Why not? We might even get married. I’d just have to divorce my second husband but it wouldn’t take long. Let’s go to your music room and talk it all out.’
‘Not now,’ said Richard. ‘You’ve got to let me do some thinking. And I’m sorry if I seem brutal but could you, from now on, leave the initiative to me?’
‘Well, of course I’d adore to – if you’ll promise to take it.’
‘All I promise is that I won’t take it if you don’t lay off for a while. Now pull yourself together. Here are the maids coming home. Hello, Burly boy!’
‘Oh, blast Burly boy!’ said Violet. She opened the garden gate, banged it behind her and ran towards the house.
Richard waited for the maids. Surely they were back earlier than usual? He saw that Burly’s ear was
bleeding.
‘That black brute at the Swan bit him,’ said Edith. ‘So we downed tools and brought him home.’
‘Always shut up, that dog was, when Burly went there as a paying customer,’ said Cook. ‘Oh, Mr Richard, have you heard from Drew yet – if he thinks it would be all right for you to let the rooms?’
He noted that, though he was ‘Mr Richard’, Drew was still ‘Drew’, and would remain so until he was twenty-one, when the maids would insist on using the prefix.
‘Not yet,’ he told them. ‘But there may be something by the afternoon post. Cheer up, Burly.’
‘He’s a tired old dog,’ said Cook.
‘And we’re tired old women,’ said Edith.
He put his arm through theirs and walked them back to the house.
6
The Best Brains in the Family
He found two letters waiting for him: one from Drew and one, a very bulky one, from Merry. He opened Merry’s first, thinking it might contain an enclosure for Lord Crestover, but saw only a wad of closely written pages which he set aside to read later. Drew, in quite a short letter, gave full approval of Jane’s scheme, said he saw no likelihood of needing his own room and would be able to keep Merry with him. ‘Everyone loves her and she has agreed to try a school run by Mrs Severn’s cousin.’ He advised Richard to evict Aunt Winifred. ‘I don’t believe she’s broke – and at worst, it would pay you to send her a few pounds a week out of the rent Miss Willy pays. As for Violet, it would be impertinent to advise you, but as your letter mentions her mink coat and car (how like you not to know about them until told by Jane!) she can hardly be in need of a roof. And the Willy money does seem too good to turn down. I’ll write again when I can. Now I have to escort Miss Whitecliff to the pictures. I hope they won’t prove too much for her; she hasn’t been since talkies came in.’
He had barely finished reading Drew’s letter when Aunt Winifred, in a new sky-blue dress, with the pink roses – now slightly wilted – pinned against her shoulder, came downstairs.