A Tale of Two Families

  May came in with morning coffee for Baggy. ‘You’re to have yours with June, Mother, and you should go now or it’ll spoil your appetite for lunch. I’ll start you on your way.’

  Fran found herself whisked to the Long Room and out through the French window. Ah, there was the lilac grove. She’d better go to town about it. ‘But it’s enormous, May. I never saw so much lilac.’

  ‘And there’s going to be every shade of mauve – it’s not fully out yet. You could get to the cottage through it but you might get lost – I haven’t time to take you. I’ll show you how to skirt it.’

  She led Fran into the park. ‘There! You can see the cottage. That’s the Hall, over there. Now I must get lunch started.’

  Fran thought the Hall impressive but gloomy. Strolling along the edge of the lilac grove she turned her attention to it. Well, she could admire it even if she couldn’t feel emotional about it. Actually, this wasn’t the kind of lilac she’d ever been emotional about. Her kind had been white, not mauve, and had had long stems with all the leaves stripped off. Flower-shop lilac. But this lilac probably smelt the same. She pulled a spray towards her. It didn’t smell as she’d expected it to – indeed, it mainly smelt like Baggy’s tiles, cold. Well, it wasn’t fully out yet.

  Ah, here was the cottage. Some small, stiff tulips were growing against the black weather-boarding. Fran laughed delightedly as June came out to meet her. ‘Darling, it’s enchanting – like a Toulouse Lautrec can-can dancer, throwing up black skirts to show her frilly white drawers. Now I see why you had to have this exquisite black-and-white dog.’ She stooped to pat Penny who had followed June from the cottage.

  ‘Oh, she wasn’t chosen deliberately. And I rather wish she was less exquisite – I mean, tougher; I’m so afraid something will happen to her. I also wish Corinna hadn’t chosen a bitch; they’re murder to lawns. Look at all the brown patches.’

  ‘They’ll recover – and come up much greener than the rest of the lawn. Dear Corinna! Are she and Hugh still wasting their heaven-sent opportunities at the flat?’

  ‘Mother darling! You don’t deserve idealistic grandchildren.’

  ‘Well, I’m in favour of the young getting experience before they settle down.’

  ‘Let’s go in.’ June was apt to feel shocked by her dearly loved mother’s permissiveness – no, not shocked exactly; embarrassed. And she was thankful that Fran, though she would hint at the permissiveness of her own youth, never volunteered details. Robert could never understand June’s feelings about this. He would have been fascinated to hear about Fran’s goings-on in the twenties.

  Penny was now looking up hopefully. ‘The creature wants me to carry her,’ said Fran, picking her up. ‘How nice she feels! It’s such ages since I let myself have a dog.’

  ‘You hardly could, the way you dash about.’ June steered her mother into the cottage. ‘Of course you mustn’t expect it to be as grand as the Dower House.’

  ‘Your red stair carpet’s pretty grand.’

  ‘May gave us that. I love seeing it through the open front door. This is the sitting room.’

  Fran took her time before pronouncing. ‘It’s a great success. How well all your small pieces have fitted in.’

  ‘Yes, the scale’s right but they’re pretty cheap – they were all we could afford when we first married.’

  ‘They don’t look cheap. And I like your handwoven curtains. This room would be too pretty if you’d used chintz.’

  ‘May gave us the curtains – she’s been wildly generous. George too; he won’t accept a penny of rent.’

  ‘That must make things easier.’

  Actually, it didn’t, as they’d lived rent free in Baggy’s house too. But the cottage cost less to run, largely because May paid for so many things: repairs, cleaning… and they had so many meals at the Dower House. ‘Oh, everything’s easier here,’ said June happily. ‘Come and see the kitchen while I get the coffee. And put that dog down. She’s heavier than she looks.’

  ‘But she loves being carried. She’s gone all limp.’

  Fran nursed Penny while drinking coffee and praising the kitchen, but relinquished her before going to see the upstairs rooms. Those red-carpeted stairs looked steep.

  She found the bedrooms a little bare. Some of May’s frilliness wouldn’t have come amiss here. But June had never been a frilly girl and, very possibly, simplicity was best in these tiny rooms. Fran continued to praise everything.

  ‘Are you equal to the stairs to Robert’s study?’ said June. ‘I’m afraid they’re really only a glorified ladder.’

  Not particularly glorified, thought Fran, tackling them on all fours, but she was enthusiastic about the loft. ‘I’m sure Robert does wonderful work here.’

  ‘Well, he will. At present he’s apt to work in the garden. He’s still only thinking – apart from his reviewing.’

  Fran, eyeing the piles of books on the floor, said, ‘As he hasn’t room for those on his shelves, couldn’t he lend some to Baggy?’

  ‘He offered to, but Baggy said there was no point in having books around that he didn’t read.’

  ‘They’d make his room look less bare. So would pictures.’

  ‘He didn’t bother to bring any. I must say the ones in his house were pretty frightful. Marcus Stone and Maude Goodman and the like.’

  ‘Mabel’s taste, probably. Poor Mabel – and poor Baggy.’

  June looked worried. ‘You don’t think he’s unhappy?’

  Fran, remembering all the years June had coped with Baggy, said hastily, ‘As far as I know he’s blissful. Is that the creature whimpering? Isn’t she allowed upstairs?’

  ‘She won’t face them – unless she’s carried.’

  ‘Let’s take her for a walk. You can show me that lilac grove. May said I’d get lost in it.’

  ‘So you easily could.’

  They went down and Fran again picked up Penny, with considerable pleasure. Really, one had been dog-starved.

  There was still the dining room to see and admire. Fran said, ‘Again your early-married furniture has fitted in splendidly. I’m beginning to think of you as a couple of newlyweds.’

  ‘I said, the night we moved in, that it was like being on our honeymoon.’

  They went out into the sunshine. Fran, setting Penny down again, said, ‘Will she follow?’

  ‘Until she gets tired – which will be pretty soon. You’ll soon learn to find your way about our lilac maze. I must show you the little hidden garden.’

  Walking along the narrow, tunnel-like paths, Fran could see little except the twisted green trunks of the ancient lilacs and a network of branches overhead. Scarcely a head of lilac was visible from below. But once they reached the grassy central space around the sundial the lilac was all around them, some of it fully out.

  ‘This really is lovely,’ said Fran. ‘And all the more so because one feels one’s enclosed in a world of lilac.’

  ‘May and I knew you’d love it – and so do we. Lilac’s part of our childhood. Father used to bring you such masses and masses.’

  Fran felt belatedly guilty. She must, then, have told the poor man it was her favourite flower – as indeed it had been but for a reason she wouldn’t have liked him to know. She ought to have kept her fondness for it to herself. Still, she’d made him pretty happy, she believed – deservedly happy, good, kind man. And there was no point in feeling guilty towards a man who’d been dead all of thirty years.

  June continued, ‘I always feel this is somehow a secret garden, which makes it more fun. And it’s completely sheltered from the wind. That garden seat’s surprisingly comfortable. It’s an old one. May had it painted white.’

  Fran was admiring the graceful, intricate pattern of the iron-work when a gong boomed from the Dower House.

  ‘May’s installed that to call people in for meals,’ said June. ‘You can hear it as far off as the cottage. We needn’t hurry, though. She gives us fifteen minutes’ grace.’

  They re
turned to the maze-like paths and came out into the sunshine. ‘Well, this certainly is a delightful place,’ said Fran. ‘The house, the cottage, your miraculous sea of lilac. I don’t wonder you’re all so happy here.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,’ said June. ‘Mother, do you remember Rudolph Valentino?’

  Fran stared. ‘Now what in the world made you mention him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. His name just flashed into my mind.’ June, feeling herself blushing, was thankful her mother had stooped to pat Penny, who had collapsed on the grass, indicating exhaustion.

  ‘Isn’t it extraordinary the way things do that? You’ve probably seen some photograph of him recently.’

  June clutched at this. ‘Yes. It was shown on television.’

  ‘Wish I’d seen it – though I was disappointed when I saw a bit of one of his films not long ago. Such a smooth, blank face. A wonderful smile, though.’

  ‘Funny I should suddenly mention him. I suppose I remembered that you admired him.’ Really, one must be more careful. She’d mentioned Valentino simply because she was thinking of George, thinking of how much he had to do with her present happiness. But no harm had been done and it was a useful warning. Her darling mother was, as a rule, both observant and intuitive.

  A pleasant smell of asparagus floated towards them. They went in to May’s truly magnificent lunch.

  9

  Life at the Dower House, Fran discovered, could be at the same time full and leisurely. She talked, ate, walked, explored the locality in Tom’s taxi and, when the sun shone, put in a good deal of time lying in the hammock now installed on the lawn outside the Long Room windows. ‘The creature’ usually lay on top of her; after a few disasters their joint hammock technique became masterly.

  As her first weekend approached Fran became worried in case Penny showed too much devotion. Hugh might resent it. But Hugh had nothing to resent as Penny instantly transferred her allegiance. (Fran, though relieved, was also slightly piqued.) And Hugh was grateful for his grandmother’s interest in his dog.

  ‘You’re doing her good, Fran,’ he said. ‘She’s far less nervous.’

  ‘And I really believe she’s grown since we saw her on Monday,’ said Corinna.

  Fran, seeing Hugh and Corinna together, reconsidered her views about them. June had been right in considering them idealistic, and idealism obviously suited them. And though, in Fran’s opinion, Corinna’s goodness was merely that of a sweet, pretty, harmless girl, there was something positive about Hugh’s goodness – he was good, as it were, from strength, not from weakness – rather the opposite to his father. Fran considered Robert’s vagueness a sort of weakness; only in a famous writer would she have found it completely excusable. She thought him a distinguished writer but not an exciting one and she found his occasional novels difficult to read. Still, she was proud when they received such critical acclaim, she liked him, appreciated his many good points, and greatly admired his good looks. But he never attracted her as much as George did.

  George, in Fran’s opinion, was wildly attractive, all the more so because he was not noticeably good looking. She thought of his very ordinary brown hair and eyes, rather round head and face, childish nose (quite a good mouth, though) as simply a background waiting to be lit up by his charm. Indeed, the charm lit up more than George’s personality; it lit up his surroundings. When he came home in the evening the atmosphere at the Dower House became that of a house where a party is due to start.

  And he never missed an evening – or, for that matter, his train. Day after day he returned, apparently untired, to hand round evening papers and – as often as not – small presents, dispense drinks and have a pleasant conversation with Fran before they all settled down to one of May’s dinners.

  Fran was alarmed about the amount of food she was eating. Her first lunch had been asparagus, grilled sole, and strawberries; her first dinner, smoked salmon, roast chicken, and crème brulée. She had said, while tucking into the crème brulée, ‘Darling May, a month of food like this and I shall have to slim for a year. Surely two courses would be more than enough?’

  George said, ‘It’s no use, Fran. We all have to give in to May’s ruling vice, which is vicarious gluttony. She loves seeing people eat.’

  ‘You need a good dinner, George,’ said May firmly. ‘But you can refuse anything you don’t want, Mother. I shan’t mind.’

  ‘It’s a case of lead us not into temptation,’ said Fran. ‘Oh, well.’ She accepted a second helping of crème brulée.

  But after a couple of weeks, having put on a skirt that was suspiciously tight, she decided she must seriously watch her weight. And there were no bathroom scales. She mentioned this while having morning coffee in the Long Room, with May and Baggy.

  ‘They got left behind in London,’ said May. ‘I’ll buy some.’

  ‘No, I will. I’ll go shopping this afternoon. There are several things I want to get and I shall enjoy poking around that nice old town.’

  May, who had already poked round their nearest town as much as she cared to, said she would be tied up that afternoon but she’d order a taxi for two-thirty. Baggy, then, in a very tentative tone, asked Fran if he might come with her. He added hastily, ‘I only mean in the taxi. I won’t bother you while you’re shopping. It’s just that I’ve some shopping to do myself.’

  ‘But of course, Baggy,’ said Fran heartily, having noticed his tentative tone. There was no doubt about it; Baggy was very often tentative and she was less and less sure he was happy. ‘I shall love having you.’ She had rather fancied an afternoon on her own but must certainly jump at this chance of giving him an outing.

  ‘Time you started for your walk, Baggy,’ said May briskly, as she carried the coffee-tray to the kitchen.

  Baggy, when the door had closed behind her, said he would like Fran’s advice on his shopping. ‘But it’s a secret from May for the moment,’ he whispered.

  Anything said in the Long Room was liable to be overheard in the kitchen. ‘Then I’ll come to your room,’ said Fran.

  She accompanied him and prepared to be very interested in his secret. She waited until he had settled her in his armchair and then said, ‘Now, Baggy.’

  ‘Remember that first lunch you had here when there was asparagus? May asked you if you’d had enough and you said you’d never in your life had enough asparagus.’

  ‘Did I, Baggy?’ said Fran, slightly bewildered.

  ‘Of course May offered you more but you said what you meant was that, as asparagus was a first course, one always had to save some appetite for what was to follow – so one never, really, had enough asparagus.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Yes, I remember now. It’s something I’ve often felt.’

  ‘And you said it was much the same with strawberries because they come at the end of a meal when one hasn’t enough appetite left to eat a lot. I was very much struck because that’s how I feel and I’m sure lots of people do. So I thought… you see, I want to give everyone a treat.’

  He then plunged into explaining that he had often given June and Robert treats – ‘It was easy, then, because there were lots of expensive things they never had. But it’s difficult with May and George as they have expensive things at almost every meal. And I do want to buy them something special for next Sunday, to make a celebration!

  ‘It is somebody’s birthday?’ May’s was over, June’s not yet – how she’d once disliked those names her husband had fancied, but she’d long ago got fond of them. ‘May’ was so old-fashioned that it was positively distinguished. ‘Perhaps it’s yours, Baggy?’

  ‘It’s nobody’s. It’s in honour of me being still alive. You see, I made Rosehaven over to Robert to save him death duties but I had to live seven years or he’d still have had to pay them. I was a bit afraid Fate might bump me off just to spite me but now it looks as if I shall make my bet – that is, if I can hang on till Sunday.’

  Rosehaven? Of course, it was his singularly ugly suburb
an house. She said, with feeling, ‘How kind and sensible of you to make that plan. It’s sad I shall have so little to leave. I’ve often wished my husband hadn’t tied up so much in my annuity.’

  ‘No doubt he wanted to make sure that you’d always be safe. Still, it’d have been a bad investment if you’d died young.’

  ‘I’d never have done anything so wasteful,’ said Fran. ‘But about this celebration…’

  ‘I’d like to give them all an asparagus feast for Sunday lunch – a real glut of asparagus, and then a glut of strawberries.’

  ‘It’s a marvellous idea.’ Fran meant it. She couldn’t imagine a more delightful meal. But would May settle for a lunch without a middle course?

  ‘We shall need dozens and dozens of bundles. There’ll be eight of us and May likes those women in the kitchen to have what we have. I’d say we’d need four dozen bundles.’

  ‘Baggy, dear!’

  ‘Yes, really. And baskets and baskets of strawberries.’

  ‘I wonder if we can get them, Baggy. Strawberries must still be fairly scarce.’

  ‘There’s a good shop May patronises. They’ll be able to order them – and enough asparagus.’

  ‘You don’t think we ought to discuss it with May?’

  ‘If we did, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Oh, I know it can’t be a complete surprise because she’ll have to cook the asparagus, but the surprise will be when we tell her it’s ordered.’

  ‘Of course it will,’ said Fran heartily. She found his desire to give this treat extremely touching – and really rather clever and original. May must be made to see the cleverness and originality. ‘That’s settled, then. I won’t say a word. Now oughtn’t you to start your walk?’

  But he said he would skip his walk and she realised he wanted to go on talking. She didn’t mind, except that talking to him usually meant that one had to call the tune, start all the subjects, and it wasn’t too easy to find ones that interested him. There was no more to be said about her flat as she’d not yet had an answer to the letter he’d drafted for her. However, she managed to keep the conversation going for an hour or so and then said she must dress for their outing. ‘I’ll change before lunch so that I shan’t keep the taxi waiting.’