Saplings

  ‘There’s somebody over there who ought to have heard you this afternoon. She has four children they tell me, and they say she lives with that American.’

  The President was interested.

  ‘Really! Who is she?’

  The Secretary lowered her voice.

  ‘Doesn’t live here. They come in by hired car. Such a waste of petrol. It oughtn’t to be allowed. I hear she’s often the worse for drink.’

  The President swung round and frankly stared.

  ‘Really! I had no idea there was all that drink to be had in this place.’

  Lindsey had shrunk back in her chair, her hand holding her cigarette across her face. How trying if Lena should see her. Why on earth could not she and her American drink in the bar, then she could get up to her room unnoticed.

  Drink in the home was scarce. Lena was not able to get hold of a great deal. Walter brought some down but he helped finish any that he brought. Lena, with the long summer holidays ahead and bad days liable to crop up at any moment, never left herself without reserves. To achieve this she and Walter had to drink out. She hired a car and met him at the station, and they came home by their favourite hotel and drank all they could buy as a preliminary stoke up before touching the home supply. Usually Lena had a drink before she started for the station, or a nip from her flask on the way there. Today she had drunk two strong cocktails before she set out. It had been a tiresome day. She had woken up feeling ill. Nannie was silent and looked, as she increasingly did, disapproving without saying why. Mustard had asked for wire, and when she had said it was hard to get, had answered, ‘You’m the only one with time ’m,’ to which, when she had retorted, ‘I haven’t much, goodness knows,’ he had replied, ‘You’ve all there is, ’m.’ Such impertinence! Lena had come indoors in a temper and for quite half an hour had considered giving Mustard, and perhaps Nannie too, notice. It was not until she had drunk some more brandy and taken two aspirins that she had calmed down. Walter hated hearing her complain of her staff. He liked all of them, and anyway they were part of the children’s home and so not to be quarrelled with. It was to put herself in a good mood in which she would not grumble that she had taken two cocktails before she met his train.

  Lena was waiting for Walter to fetch their third double whiskies when she saw Lindsey. She was not drunk but she was in that slightly gay stage when the conviction dawns that all the world loves you and would like to speak to you. She got up and came to Lindsey.

  ‘My dear! What are you doing here? It was such fun seeing John when he was on leave last year.’

  Up to that moment Lindsey had merely thought it would be an impossible situation after what had been said to be recognised by Lena. Now, at mention of John, she stiffened. John had not told her he had seen Lena. Why had he kept it a secret? Was this American the only man in Lena’s life? Coldly she introduced Lena, saying firmly sister-in-law, with all the accent on the last word.

  The Secretary glanced nervously round the lounge, not wishing to be seen talking to the scandal. The President, whose social training never failed her, drew forward a chair.

  ‘How nice. It’s so hard to see people these days, it was lucky you two ran into each other.’

  Lindsey spoke as if her question had no importance.

  ‘Where did you see John?’

  ‘He came down to see me. He was sweet.’ Lena turned to the President. ‘She’s got a perfectly enchanting husband.’ She smiled amiably at Lindsey. ‘Still writing?’

  The question, accustomed though she was to it, never failed to enrage Lindsey.

  ‘Yes. Though it’s difficult with all my other wartime duties. What are you doing?’

  Walter was hovering near with the drinks. Lena beckoned him over and introduced him. She patted the arm of her chair.

  ‘Sit here. Lindsey was asking me what I’m doing. You tell her. I’m dreadfully overworked, aren’t I?’ She turned to the President. ‘I’ve four babies.’

  The President, who though pleased with the way the afternoon had gone had not taken to Lindsey, was beginning to enjoy herself.

  ‘How nice, do tell us about them.’

  Lena took a drink of whisky.

  ‘I lost my husband in an air-raid and, though I try very hard, I think perhaps they need more than I can give them. I send them to boarding schools.’

  Lindsey had been doing some calculating.

  ‘Babies hardly describes them. Surely Laurel’s fifteen.’

  It was Walter who answered.

  ‘Last month.’

  Lindsey turned to him graciously.

  ‘Are you fond of children?’

  Walter saw the glasses on the table were empty.

  ‘Let me get you ladies some drinks.’

  The three refused. Lena felt Walter might think this ungracious.

  ‘Lindsey doesn’t need to drink, she’s not like us, she’s clever without. She writes books. I’ve told you about her, and, you remember, her husband was down last summer.’

  Lena had never mentioned Lindsey to Walter and by some odd chance she had overlooked telling him that John had been down. Because he wanted to keep off her books, which he had never read, Walter gripped on to John as a subject for conversation.

  ‘No, you never told me. When was that?’

  Lindsey, though she smiled and kept the conversation rolling, longed to get away and think. Why had John not told her he was going down to see Lena? Why had Lena kept from this American, who was presumed to be her lover, that she had seen John?

  In spite of the President’s efforts the party soon broke up. The Secretary was twittering with anxiety lest she should be seen with Lena, and Lindsey wanted to be alone. Lena and Walter never quite took in what Lindsey was doing in the neighbourhood, and Lindsey managed to keep from them that she was staying in the hotel.

  ‘It seems rather deceitful,’ she confided to the President as she said her goodbyes, ‘but she was always rather terrible I thought and now, without my brother to take care of her, she’s quite impossible. If they know I’m staying here I’ll have to ask them to dinner, and it’s more than I could bear.’

  When Lindsey came down to dinner Lena and Walter had gone, but the Secretary had come back.

  ‘Forgive me, but I had to apologise. I feel so badly saying what I did about a relative of yours.’

  ‘Only a relative by marriage.’

  The Secretary was a plain woman, especially when, as now, her face was screwed up with nervousness.

  ‘That’s not the only reason I came back.’

  Lindsey looked at her with distaste. She wanted her dinner, she had done her duty by the locals and wished to be left alone. Her inflection made her feelings clear.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s my sister. We live together. She does evacuees. She sees a woman whose mother is a Mrs. Oliver. She works for your sister-in-law.’

  Lindsey managed to express her fear that she was about to hear an impertinence.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I would never have said anything only my sister heard you this afternoon, and she said, “Niggy,” she’s always called me that, “a woman who speaks as beautifully as that about children would want to know. They’re her own flesh and blood.” ’

  Lindsey was caught. Her reputation required that she should listen. She partially disguised her boredom.

  ‘You must have dinner with me.’

  The Secretary would have protested but Lindsey was masterful. She led the way into the dining-room and beckoned impressively to the head-waiter.

  ‘A table for two. One in a corner would be nice. We want to talk.’

  XXXIX

  Lindsey hired a car the next morning and drove over to see Lena. Nannie was out shopping. It was Mrs. Oliver who opened the door. Lindsey said ‘Good-morning. Can I see Mrs. Wiltshire?’

  Mrs. Oliver’s face remained unruffled while her mind shot up to Lena. Not in much shape she wasn’t this morning. He’d only left on the early bus. Her da
ughter had seen him running for it. Mrs. Oliver had only one excuse, which tripped readily to her tongue, this was a disobliging ‘I couldn’t do anythin’, not without askin’ me ’usband,’ but that would not be suitable in this case. What did you say when a lady wasn’t up at eleven in the morning? She cleared her throat.

  ‘She’s got a nasty headache. . . .’

  Lindsey nodded in an understanding manner.

  ‘Yes, but I’m her sister-in-law, Mrs. Lawrence. Go up and tell her, would you please.’

  Mrs. Oliver had not liked Lindsey’s nod. ‘Sauce box,’ she thought, ‘thinks she knows a lot,’ but she took Lindsey into the drawing-room and went up to Lena. ‘I might ’ave guessed she was a nosey relative,’ she thought as she climbed the stairs, ‘seein’ one magpie the way I did yesterday.’

  Lena was half asleep. It took her a moment or two to grasp what Mrs. Oliver was saying. Then she sat up.

  ‘Mrs. Lawrence! Oh, bother!’

  Mrs. Oliver was kind but firm.

  ‘You’ll have to see her. She puts me in mind of one of those foot-in-the-door chaps that come round sellin’ things.’

  ‘Tell her I won’t be long.’ Mrs. Oliver was at the door. Lena called her back. ‘Don’t say I was in bed.’

  Mrs. Oliver’s face expressed a wink.

  ‘Not me. You put on that nice navy ’ousecoat. She’ll never know you weren’t washin’ your stockin’s or that.’

  Lena, when she reached the drawing-room, looked very much her poised self. She was scared at this visit of Lindsey’s, but she gave no sign. She greeted her sister-in-law graciously.

  Lindsey never felt awkward, she was too sure of herself, but she did consider two or three different openings. It was annoying that Lena should look as lovely as she still did. She had gone off a lot but Lindsey, with her novelist’s eye, could view the room and knew that however many lovers and however much Lena drank, the ten years, or whatever it was, between them made her look fresh compared with herself. It was because she knew this, and, though she valued brains and success beyond looks, felt jealous, that she started speaking on a sharp note.

  ‘I shall come straight to the point. I learned last night that you are a by-word round here. There’s talk about you and the man I saw with you, and they say you’re often the worse for drink.’

  Lena had taken some brandy before she came down but it did not help her much in the face of so direct an attack. The frail pretence of happiness that she had built over the grave of real happiness tottered. Her eyes widened. The colour faded from her cheeks leaving the rouge she had put on standing out, a pink smudge.

  ‘It’s – it’s not your business.’

  ‘Of course it is. You’re the mother of my brother’s children. Am I to hear these things and do nothing? From what I’m told you aren’t fit to have charge of children.’

  Lena swayed. That was a knock indeed. One of the more solid pieces of the scaffolding holding up her makeshift happiness began to give.

  ‘They’re happy.’ She made an effort to gather her dignity together. ‘What I do with my life is not your business. Anyway, nothing happens in this house that . . .’ she fumbled for words, ‘that Alex wouldn’t approve of. In the holidays, I mean.’

  Lindsey had not expected this quick breaking of Lena’s confidence, a quality in her that had seemed unbreakable. Power excited Lindsey.

  ‘Queer. I was told that one night at Christmas time you came home in such a state of drunkenness that the man who drove your car had to help you up the path and open your door for you.’

  Only if her sleeping tablets failed to work and she was therefore awake in the night hours did Lena let herself remember that scene. She was confused about it but she knew both Laurel and Alice had been there. She felt her legs giving under her. She sat down.

  Lindsey saw that Lena could not reply. She took a mental glance at the points she wished to make.

  ‘Now listen, Lena. You must write to that American friend of yours and tell him that you won’t be seeing him again. As for the drinking, if you have difficulty I believe there’s a splendid place where you can go for a week or two and get rid of the taste for it. . . .’ She broke off, frightened by the queer colour Lena had turned. ‘Don’t look like that, my dear. Nobody in the family knows about what’s been going on except myself. You do as I say and it will be a secret between us.’

  Lena was back where she had been before the days of Walter, before her first sip of brandy, only she had weakened morally and physically. She put her face into her hands, her shoulders shook with sobs.

  ‘I can’t. I couldn’t go on alone. Oh Alex. Alex.’

  Lindsey got up and gave the heaving shoulders a squeeze to express consolation.

  ‘Cheer up. Take a pull on yourself. It may seem difficult but you’ll manage. It’s a matter of courage.’

  Lena raised her face. She looked frightful, tears streaming, her skin blotchy.

  ‘You don’t understand. I couldn’t go on without Walter. I’m so lonely.’

  ‘Nonsense. A woman with four children can’t be lonely.’

  ‘I can’t go on.’

  Lindsey was impatient.

  ‘Rubbish. Now look, I don’t want to threaten but I must do what I think right. You must write to that man today, and . . .’

  ‘No.’

  Lindsey raised her voice.

  ‘Yes. And you must do something about this drunkenness or we shall have to make other arrangements about the children.’

  Lena choked over a sob.

  ‘They’re mine. They had lovely Easter holidays. They all said so. You can’t...’

  ‘Oh dear me, yes we can. If necessary we could invoke the law. It’s obvious that as things are at present a home like yours is unfit for children.’ Lindsey gave Lena’s shoulders a departing pat. ‘Now I must be going. I’ll be down to see you again in a day or two and by then I shall expect you to have everything tidied up.’

  Lena heard the car drive off. She got up and, still crying, began to walk about the room. Broken sentences slipped out amongst her sobs. ‘I can’t write to Walter ...I can’t see Walter . . . She can’t take the children . . . It’s not true. They couldn’t have been happier than they were at Easter . . . A drink now and again isn’t being a drunkard . . . The children . . . ’ She was facing the wall, beating it with her fists. ‘Oh God! Oh God! I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it. Alex! Alex!’

  It was some time later that she remembered the sleeping tablets. On the bottle it said it was dangerous to exceed the dose ordered by the physician. She filled a tumbler half full of brandy and with its aid swallowed the lot.

  XL

  Dot was waiting by the porter’s desk in the entrance to Lindsey’s club. Sylvia and Selina arrived together. She seized an arm of each and drew them into a corner.

  ‘Thank goodness you’ve got here before Lindsey. I sent you both a card to tell you to be a little early because there’s something we’ve got to get together about. Whatever plans we make for Alex’s children, see that Lindsey takes her share.’

  Selina looked less than her thirty-six years, and she accentuated her youthful air by buying clothes in ‘junior miss’ departments. Her straw hat was worn on the back of her head. She had quick, rather childlike movements and a light eager voice.

  ‘Lindsey! Lindsey wouldn’t look after children.’

  Dot was eyeing the entrance anxiously.

  ‘I can’t explain, there isn’t time, but please do as I say. It’s for the children’s good, I promise you.’

  Sylvia was shabbily dressed. She had pulled off her gloves and showed hands not only work-worn, but scarred with burns, cuts and other pointers to inefficiency at housework. Almost all Sylvia’s sentences, from a mixture of loyalty and pride, began or ended with ‘Andrew says’. She knew her family were sorry for her and thought Andrew a muddler. They all managed their lives so well, and her own and Andrew’s must appear a permanent mess. They did not see the Andrew she knew, the Andrew
who lived only half in this world. They saw a thin, bony man, with a shabby cassock, too big for him, flapping round his legs. She was often too tired and too dispirited to see him quite in focus herself, but she knew there lived in her husband a rare spirit, he was of the clay from which come the saints and martyrs, through eyes such as his miracles were seen. She spoke fast, her words tripping over each other, a remnant of her childhood days where her more dominant sisters seldom let her finish a sentence.

  ‘But, Dot, we must keep them together. Andrew says . . .’

  Dot gripped both their arms.

  ‘Ssh. Lindsey.’

  They sat at a table in a corner of the reception room. Dot with her back to the wall, Lindsey facing her, Sylvia on her right, Selina on her left. Lindsey, because it was her club and because she had convened this family gathering, took as a matter of right the position of chairman.

  ‘I wrote to you all fully about the distressing gossip I learned, and how I saw Lena. As I told you, she denied nothing. She became rather hysterical, but I hoped I had made her see things must change. I was going back in a day or two....’

  Dot leaned on the table.

  ‘I really know more about the recent situation than you do.’

  Lindsey took off her coat and hung it over the back of her chair. Dot was becoming more dominating as she grew older, she thought. Working in a big job was bad for her.

  ‘Do you? I thought we all knew that Lena was ill.’

  Dot looked at Lindsey, with her smart black hat, her good flowered silk dress and her pearls. She wondered, as she had wondered ever since she was of an age to think, why anyone had said that blood was thicker than water, and why what that implied was generally accepted. She had never liked Lindsey even as a child, and the grown-up Lindsey, glossy with success, she disliked. Dot had a good, quiet committee manner, she used it now.

  ‘When you went to see Lena I understand you called her a drunkard.’

  Lindsey had worried quite a bit over Lena’s sudden illness. She had been able to tell herself that she had only done her duty, but her subconscious mind had been restive. She was, however, far too poised to appear disconcerted.