‘Isn’t love real?’
‘Real love’s real – what I feel for Robert. When I saw how stricken he was about Baggy I knew just how he’d feel about us, if he’d known. Oh, George, let’s thank God we weren’t found out. We’ve been lucky. I could almost be grateful for Baggy’s death because it brought me to my senses.’
George said, ‘I shall always love you, June.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She spoke gently but very firmly. ‘And you don’t love me now, any more than I love you. What happened was a mixture of fondness and sudden physical attraction – just a flare-up. Perhaps it hit you harder than it hit me because you weren’t prepared for it – whereas I’ve had this silly thing about you for ages. A sort of crush, really – I told you. Well, I’m over that now and I do beg you to help me to forget it all and of course to forget it yourself. Otherwise, how can Robert and I ever come back here?’
For a moment he looked at her in silence. She was wearing a very ordinary cotton dress which reached barely to her knees. He noticed that her legs, though pretty, were just a trifle plump. They always had been, he remembered, even when she was a girl. May had inherited her mother’s admirable legs. Oh, yes, May had definitely been ‘the pretty sister’. So of course he’d made a beeline for her. Strange that it had taken him over twenty years to find out his mistake. He now knew that he loved June as he had never loved any other woman. He also knew that if he convinced her of this she would remove herself from his life for ever. Ironically, the best proof of his love he could give her was to reassure her that it didn’t exist.
He said at last, ‘Oh, my darling, sensible June. Of course you’re absolutely right. I know that, really.’
She flashed him a smile. ‘Oh, thank you, dear George. I was so afraid you might – well, pretend it really mattered, even try to turn me into one of your lady friends.’ She looked mischievous. ‘Not that I officially know anything about them. Oh, George, I’m so truly fond of you.’
He, too, smiled. ‘But I’m not your Rudolph Valentino any more?’
‘I should hope not. It was about time I outgrew that schoolgirlish nonsense.’ But she was going to miss Rudolph Valentino. Perhaps, provided George never found out, it would be all right to revive him – later, of course; though even now… She pulled her thoughts up, stopped smiling fondly at George and said briskly, ‘Well, there’s nothing more we need say, is there? I mean, Robert will be back any minute. He only dashed upstairs to find some travel book.’
George said, ‘I’ll wait and have a word with him, God bless him.’
Again she smiled her thanks. He smiled at her in return, then sat watching the firelight flickering on those very dear only slightly too plump legs.
Dinner was late, by request, May having overdone what she thought of as the funeral tea. She had also gone to town over dinner, as she invariably did when Prue and Dickon came home from school. They eyed every course with faint amusement but always accepted second helpings.
The dull day had relented to the extent of a few pale greenish-gold streaks beyond the Hall. As Hugh was dining there he and Corinna could be freely mentioned – with considerable sympathy but only Prudence thought the break was a pity. Asked why, she said, ‘Well, they looked so nice together. But I always did say they were star-crossed.’
Dickon said, ‘I gather only Hugh was star-crossed. Corinna was a star-crosser.’
‘You can’t use “star-cross” that way,’ said Prudence.
‘Why not? If you can double-cross, you can star-cross.’
Nobody agreed with him and he didn’t really agree with himself. A very foolish remark, really, on the edge of his besetting facetiousness.
After that, the main topic of conversation was the projected trip round the world. Robert now had qualms about going.
He’d had, it seemed, an extraordinary experience while hunting for an atlas. ‘I got a queer, oblique view of the Hall, through my little round window – I seemed to catch it unawares. And I suddenly knew exactly how to begin my novel. Ought I to stay here and work on it?’
‘No,’ said Fran, decidedly. ‘Let the idea run after you. I’ll tell you something about going round the world, Robert. Sooner or later you feel homesick and that’s the moment you should begin your book. You should write about things when you’re missing them.’
Robert was impressed. ‘You’re right, Fran. I’ve been too happy here to want to escape into a book. I’ve been shockingly lazy.’
‘You’ve never been lazy in your life,’ said June. ‘And kindly remember this is going to be a holiday.’ But she felt it in her bones that he would be writing like mad in some faraway hotel bedroom, while she did her sight-seeing alone. Not that she’d mind, as long as he was happy. She was still haunted by the thought of how unhappy she might have made him.
George was wondering how he could contribute to the trip. Those two mustn’t squander too much of their money. And he still hadn’t decided what he could give June for her birthday on the last day of the month. For a moment he cherished the idea of giving her real pearls and telling her they were imitation. But May took a pride in being able to recognise real pearls.
June was asking her mother about her own recent travels. Everything she was told excited her. She said, ‘I still can’t believe it’s going to happen – and it’s all thanks to dear Baggy’s wonderful generosity.’
Fran felt something approaching a shiver. It wasn’t, so much, Baggy’s generosity that had made the trip possible as Baggy’s death. She remembered his saying he’d give his life if he could prevent what lay ahead. She half thought one could get taken up on that kind of offer – by God, or Fate or one’s own innermost self. Superstitious nonsense, no doubt; and Baggy’s last thoughts had probably been about living, not dying – living in a one-room flat close to hers, God help her. But still… she hoped he wasn’t earthbound, regretting his bargain and still hankering for that one-room flat.
Robert was now telling Prue and Dickon that they ought to listen to the nightingale. ‘Though you may be too late. They stop singing around the middle of June.’
‘We’ll go tonight,’ said Dickon.
May looked anxiously at her son. Was there a budding romance? She said she would come too. But they welcomed the idea so eagerly that she decided not to bother. She really had a great deal to do this evening, planning the Dower House bedrooms Prudence and Hugh would use while their parents were away.
George got up to refill wine glasses. Burgundy tonight, to go with May’s wine-dark casserole; she had vaguely felt that a dark dinner was suitable for the occasion. June put her hand over the glass and smiled her refusal. George found this symbolic. Ah, but she would come back, and next year they would listen to the nightingale again. And he could keep his love for ever, provided he kept it to himself. He even felt a surprising satisfaction. Good God, for once in his life he was going to behave well!
He travelled on around the table and smilingly refilled his brother’s glass.
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Copyright
Published by Hesperus Press Limited
28 Mortimer Street, London W1W 7RD
www.hesperuspress.com
Copyright © Dodie Smith, 1970
First published by Hesperus Press Limited, 2015
This ebook edition first published in 2015
Designed and typeset by Roland Codd
Cover design by Anna Morrison
All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–1–78094–434–0
Dodie Smith, A Tale of Two Families
(Series: # )
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