Fran could have told him but she wasn’t going to. It would be handing over another stick to beat Mildred with. But unfortunately he was already on the track himself.
‘I suppose,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘she practises deflation of others in order to inflate her own ego. Quite interesting, psychologically.’
Yes, of course that was it, Fran was sure; she was equally sure that Mildred didn’t know what she was up to and was quite unconscious that her ego hadn’t got all it needed. Indeed, she often infuriated Fran by her intense self-satisfaction. Still, there must be some basic lack, and Fran now saw a chance of enlisting sympathy for her sister. She said, ‘Well, starved egos can be pretty tragic. Don’t grudge her a little extra ego-food.’
‘You’re breaking my heart, Mother,’ said May. ‘We shall have to make a rule to ask each other, “Anyone fed Aunt Mildred’s starving ego today?”’
Fran laughed, but ruefully. She suspected that feeding Mildred’s ego might become a family joke.
June said, ‘Let’s hope that some of our general happiness rubs off on her. And it ought to help that she’s coming at such a perfect time of the year. Lilac, laburnum, hawthorn, chestnut candles – and some of the fruit blossom’s still out. In a way, I wish they didn’t all come together; I’d like to spread them out over the whole summer. And there’s the nightingale too. We must take Aunt Mildred to hear that.’
‘She’ll addle its eggs,’ said May.
Fran looked at her curiously. It was unusual to see such a grim expression on her pretty, delicate features. Her dislike of Mildred was far more intense than anyone else’s and Fran had never understood why. She had once asked May point blank and been put off with a noncommittal answer. Fran sighed. It was obviously impossible to enlist May’s sympathy. Still, she was in her way, as good a hostess as George was a host.
‘We’ll go and hear that nightingale tonight,’ Hugh said to Corinna. ‘And we’ll take Penny – on the leash, of course. It’ll be quite safe.’
‘Let’s hope the nightingale doesn’t make her feel any more sentimental,’ said Fran. ‘I’d forgotten how emotional bitches get at times like this.’
‘She’s unusually sensitive,’ said Hugh, with a touch of pride.
After supper there was something on television that May wanted to see and Baggy and Fran joined her. The others strolled around outside, watching the last of the sunset, which for some time had been flooding the Long Room.
George, remembering June’s remark about happiness, said, ‘I wonder just why we’re all so happy in this place.’
‘Oh, we’re just country starved and lapping up nature,’ said Robert.
June said nothing. With one arm through Robert’s and the other through George’s, she knew exactly why she was happy.
The nightingale began to sing even before the sun was set.
Next morning it was finally agreed that Fran, May and June should all go to the station to meet Mildred. May tried to get out of it but her mother persuaded her – ‘Do let’s start off on the right foot, May darling. I wonder if Baggy and Robert would care to come?’
‘Damn it, she doesn’t need a whole reception committee,’ said May. ‘And there wouldn’t be room in the taxi.’
‘I do hope it will be on time,’ said Fran anxiously.
It was early and they arrived at the station ten minutes before they needed to. A surprisingly cold wind was blowing and the train was late.
‘Mildred, of course, has bewitched it,’ said May and then mentally rebuked herself. Bitchy remarks of this kind were pointless and they upset her darling mother.
‘Here it is!’ said Fran enthusiastically.
A dozen or so people got out of the train, most of them fairly young women, hatless and mini-skirted. Certainly none of them was Mildred.
‘She hasn’t come,’ said June.
‘No such luck,’ said May. ‘Look!’
Mildred was descending at the far end of the long platform. She was wearing a large white straw hat trimmed with green ribbon and a white cotton frock printed with buttercups and daisies. It had a tight bodice and a full skirt which reached to her ankles. On her small feet were green leather ankle-strapped shoes.
June said, ‘Mother, she can’t dress like that – not in this day and age.’
‘Wait till you see her latest evening outfit,’ said Fran.
‘Well, evenings are different. I wouldn’t mind wearing that dress in the evening. It’s really very pretty.’
‘She hasn’t seen us yet,’ said May. ‘Trust her to walk in the wrong direction.’
‘I think she’s going to the guard’s van,’ said June. ‘Yes!’
A large trunk was being lifted on to the platform.
‘My God, she’s come for life,’ said May.
Mildred now turned, saw them, and came running towards them swinging a little white wicker basket which looked as if it might house a dove. It was her handbag.
Fran thought, ‘Well, she runs better than I do. I suppose that’s the difference between being sixty-nine and seventy-two.’
June said, ‘Ought we to run too?’
‘A brisk walk will suffice,’ said Fran.
They met her less than halfway and there was much embracing. Then June managed to get in, ‘Aunt Mildred, how pretty you’re looking.’
‘Yes, it’s not a bad little cotton dress,’ said Mildred, spreading out her skirt and hitting May with her wicker handbag.
‘I meant you, too,’ said June, with sincerity. No one could have denied that Mildred Lane was pretty. Her white hat, worn on the back of her head and suggestive of a halo, revealed her still genuinely fair hair, bobbed and hanging against her cheeks. (So had she worn it in her youth, so would she always wear it.) The blue of her eyes was barely faded. (It was her habit to hold them very wide open. At their best they looked starry; at their worst, just a little mad.) Her unlipsticked mouth had a childish softness. Only in profile was her jawline revelatory of age.
She said, ‘Dear June, how well you’re looking – and so plump. May needs to put on weight. Your face is far too thin, May dear.’
‘I’ll get a porter,’ said May.
Mildred’s trunk was too large to go into Tom’s taxi but it was eventually lodged in the open boot, where it stuck out precariously. By this time Mildred had annoyed Fran by saying, ‘How funny it is to see you in the country! I always think of you as a very towny person.’
But at least Mildred was in a good mood. On the drive home she became quite lyrical. ‘Oh, the woods, the lovely woods! How one longs to plunge into them! Is there a dog I can take for walks?’
‘Not in woods,’ said May. ‘Some of them are full of pheasants and strictly preserved. Anyway, Penny’s out of action.’
Penny’s condition was then explained by Fran, very fully. Mildred said, ‘Poor sweet lamb. Well, I must keep her amused.’
Fran instantly decided Mildred should have nothing to do with Penny. Then she pulled herself up. Why shouldn’t Mildred have a share of Penny? Perhaps she was fond of dogs? If so, Fran didn’t know of it but she did vaguely remember a puppy they’d shared as children, quite amicably. How exquisitely pretty Mildred had been as a child. And surely she had then been… perfectly normal? Anyway, I got her asked here, thought Fran, and it’s up to me to make her visit a success. She smiled warmly at Mildred and said, ‘What fun it’s going to be, having you here. I shall enjoy showing you the village. And we can take some trips, to several nearby towns.’
‘Let’s leave that till later,’ said Mildred. ‘What I need most now is solitude, solitude under a wide sky.’
At the Dower House, Baggy and Robert came out to greet Mildred, Baggy having decided to please Fran by what he thought of as ‘doing the civil’ and Robert having been asked, by June, to be on hand. Mildred, her blue eyes at their widest, said to Baggy, ‘Why, Mr Clare!’ (Baggy afterwards told Fran, ‘She seemed amazed that I was still alive.’) To Robert she said brightly, ‘How’s the writing?’ so
mehow making it sound like a hobby, not a profession. Although she favoured the Dower House with a long look she made no comment on it, and that very fact was somehow an adverse comment.
Robert and Tom, the taxi driver, tackled the job of getting the trunk upstairs while Mildred was shown the two front rooms. She said she found them gloomy. Shown the Long Room, she said it must get very hot. (Damn it, thought Fran, the front rooms are gloomy and the Long Room does get hot. There’s usually some truth in what she says – but why say it? I suppose she’s ultra-honest, and most of us aren’t.)
May excused herself, to get busy with lunch. ‘You show Aunt Mildred her room, will you, Mother?’
Fran was glad to; May would be spared Mildred’s comment – which was ‘Quite pretty but what a small wardrobe.’ Well, one could hand on the ‘Quite pretty’ – improved to ‘How pretty’. Fran left Mildred to do her unpacking.
Downstairs, Baggy, Robert and June were talking – of course about Mildred. ‘Oh, stop it,’ said Fran. ‘And that goes for me, too. We’re all working it up. She hasn’t done or said anything outrageous.’
May, coming in from the kitchen, said, ‘She will. Let’s all take to drink.’
‘Not for me,’ said Fran. ‘I’m going to give the creature some exercise.’ She knew that the conversation over pre-lunch drinks would continue to be about Mildred, and everyone, including herself if she stayed, would get a kick out of it.
Walking Penny, she tried to take her mind off her sister and, finding this impossible, concentrated on charitable thoughts. There was no doubt Mildred was much loved at her Bayswater boarding house; Fran had seen that for herself. Two elderly gentlemen paid gallant attention, a twittering spinster acted almost like a lady’s maid, the proprietress could not do enough. Unfortunately Fran was convinced that they all had an eye to the main chance; Mildred had twice saved the boarding house from bankruptcy. And charitable thoughts about Mildred’s generous behaviour at her boarding house came up against Fran’s distinct resentment that Mildred should be so rich. Their parents, knowing that Fran was well provided for, had left all their money to their younger daughter. Fran had fully acquiesced in this but felt entitled to be a mite peeved that, while her annuity remained exactly the same (with the cost of living perpetually rising) Mildred’s investments had gone up and up. And no credit to Mildred, who considered money barely mentionable. George had for years handled her affairs.
Fran took Penny to the end of the lane, then returned her to safe keeping, refilled her water bowl and fed her a few comforting chocolate biscuits. Penny, who had already had a very good breakfast, ate them as if famished. Fran fed her some more, then came out and firmly closed the door on her. A loud rustling of tissue paper could be heard from Mildred’s room. No doubt unpacking was still proceeding.
Fran rejoined the group in the Long Room. May was standing with a billowing sheaf of dresses over one arm. She said to Fran, ‘I went to take your dear little sister a drink and she handed me this lot for “someone to press”.’
‘Oh, dear! Can Mrs Matson do them?’
‘I can’t let her loose on these materials – some of them are lovely.’ May might dislike her aunt but pretty materials deserved to be protected. ‘Oh, I don’t really mind ironing them. It’s just the calm way she takes it for granted that infuriates me. Do have a drink, Mother, and get your strength up to face her at lunch.’
Fran said, ‘Let’s all make up our minds that there’ll be nothing to face. May, dear, you will control yourself?’
But when Mildred eventually sailed downstairs it was Fran who had to control herself for, accompanying Mildred, was Penny.
Mildred said, ‘The poor baby was whining piteously so of course I had to rescue her.’
‘But I told you –’ Fran broke off. Penny was already out of the French window and into the lilac grove.
Robert, as well as Fran, went after her, only managing to catch her because she misguidedly ran into the little sundial garden.
‘Idiot creature,’ said Fran lovingly, picking up the now grovelling Penny. ‘Robert, will you go back and explain to Mildred fully? If have to do it again I shall lose my temper. Tell her about Penny’s delicacy and – oh, everything. I’ll go and shut the creature up.’
Fran took her time, soothing Penny with more chocolate biscuits and then going to wash melted chocolate off her hands. Returning to the Long Room she found Penny still under discussion.
Mildred was saying, ‘In spite of all you’ve said, Robert, I still think Nature knows best about these things.’
Robert, with noticeable patience, said, ‘Well, setting aside Penny’s special case and the difficulty of finding homes for mongrel puppies, let me remind you that she’s Hugh’s dog and it’s up to him to decide when she mates.’
‘“Hugh’s dog”,’ said Mildred. ‘What ominous words! I well remember his misery over the last one.’
‘But that was when he was a little boy,’ said June.
‘People don’t change, dear.’ Mildred turned to greet Fran. ‘Well, has the poor prisoner been shut up by her jailer?’
Fran was exasperated. ‘Damn it, Mildred…!’
‘Lunch!’ said May loudly, opening the door to the kitchen. ‘We’re ready, Mrs Matson.’ It would have been a pleasure to hear Fran lose her temper with Mildred, but May knew how upset her mother would be about it afterwards.
Lunch began. May, June and Robert addressed polite questions to Mildred who answered with chilly brevity. Fran said nothing; she was too annoyed with Mildred, and annoyed with herself for being annoyed. Baggy, deciding that he had not yet lived up to his intention of ‘doing the civil’ to Mildred, said, ‘I believe you live in a boarding house – or should I say a private hotel? (He was pleased with that touch of civility.) My wife and I spent nearly a year in one, once, when we were between houses. I hope you find the food more satisfactory than we did.’
‘Oh, I expect so,’ said Mildred. ‘But I never notice what I’m eating.’ She continued to spoon up one of May’s most exquisite cold soups.
Baggy shot a quick glance at May and caught her eye. She gave him a fractional wink, to which he responded with a feeling of great pleasure. In spite of the fact that May was unfailingly kind to him he found her, as he had never found June, a little formidable. The exchanged wink gave him a sense of assurance, somehow incorporated him more fully into the Dower House family, made him an accredited member of the gang, as opposed to non-gang Mildred. So warmly happy did he feel that he again treated her to ‘the civil’ and at last succeeded in getting a conversation going. Mildred, in fact, became slightly coy, and there was a general easing of tension.
Still, Fran was glad when lunch was over and Mildred went to get ready for her walk. She returned swinging a very small silk handbag by its drawstring. Fran, whose irritation had been dwindling, now softened completely. With genuine – if momentary – affection, she said, ‘Oh, Mildred, we used to have little bags like that when we were children. Didn’t Mother call them “Dorothy bags”?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Mildred coldly.
Fran sighed. Probably her remark about the Dorothy bag had been taken as an implication that the bag was old-fashioned. Well, it was more than that; it was archaic.
‘We’ll start you on your way, Auntie,’ said June. ‘And you can see our cottage.’
‘Just at the moment I only need woods, dear,’ said Mildred.
‘I’ll show you how to get to them quickly,’ said Robert. ‘And then go back home and do some work, June.’
They all escorted Mildred out.
‘Isn’t our lilac lovely?’ said June.
‘Just past its best, isn’t it?’ said Mildred, then sneezed delicately.
‘Perhaps it gives you hay fever,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll take you through the park.’
May called after Mildred, ‘Tea’s at four-thirty.’
Mildred called back to May, ‘Oh, I never know the time. Watches won’t go on me. I’ve too much electri
city.’
Fran called, ‘Well, come back sometime.’
‘If only she wouldn’t!’ May whispered. ‘Mother, she’s worse than ever. She’s impossible.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Fran. ‘But I give you my word that nothing she says is intended to annoy. She simply speaks what comes into her head, like a child.’
‘She’s not in the least like a child,’ said May. ‘Children can be brutally frank but they can also be enthusiastic. They like lots of things. She never praised anything at all. My God, she even sneezed at the lilac.’
Fran laughed. ‘I don’t think that was intended as a comment.’
‘I hadn’t realised the lilac was past its best,’ said June. ‘How I shall miss it when it’s over.’
‘It’ll come again next year,’ said Baggy kindly.
May put her arms through his. ‘How marvellous you were at lunch, Baggy. You’re as good as George at stringing old Mildred along. Well, we’re free of her for an hour or so, though it’ll take me all of that to press her dresses. Come and talk to me while I do it, June.’
Fran went to see Penny. Baggy went to his room intending to take a nap. Settling in his armchair – he seldom lay on the bed during the day – he felt pleased with himself. What was that phrase May had used? Ah, yes, he remembered it. He returned the wide grin of his felt frog and mentally told it, ‘George and I will string her along together.’ He would not have admitted that he talked to his frog, even mentally. He merely thought thoughts at it.
Upstairs Fran, having brought ‘the creature’ into her bedroom, stood at the window looking out. She could see Mildred, minus Robert now, tripping gaily through the park. At least, Fran hoped she was tripping gaily, undistressed by the contretemps before lunch. She was certainly tripping, and swinging that absurd Dorothy bag. What would she be thinking about them all? But here Fran pulled her thoughts up. Mildred would only be thinking about Mildred.
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