The Girl in a Swing

I didn't know he was gone. I'm sorry. Was he chasing your

  sheep?'

  'No, you're lucky. I'm not a farmer. But it's a point to

  watch.'

  'I reckon it is an' all,' said Mr Death, untying the dog

  and gripping it by the collar as he shut the back door of the

  car. 'You bugger, I won't half skin you one of these days!

  Go on, Rastus, get in the shed and stay there!'

  The dog slunk off as it was told.

  'Rastus - that's because he's black?'

  'Well, that's just what we call him, kind o' style. It was

  my daughter named him, actually. She's studying Classics

  at Cambridge, you know,' said Mr Death with modest and

  proper pride, 'and she christened him "Orestes".'

  He laughed deprecatingly. I wanted to be off, but did not

  wish to seem unmannerly. So.

  'Why that?' said he that took it upon himself not to conceive.

  'Well, apparently Orestes was some bloke in Greek mythology

  who didn't stick at anything to revenge his family. So

  238

  Susie, she says that's the right name for a good house dog.

  But it's a bit highfalutin, don't you think? So we just

  shortened it to "Rastus". A dog needs a name he can recognize

  when he hears it. He certainly can be a bit nasty at

  times. 'Hope he didn't give you any trouble?'

  'No, not really. He looks quite a lad, though, doesn't he,

  when you come on him roaming in the gloaming?'

  'Well, it's a lonely place, this, and it doesn't hurt to have

  a dog that looks a bit of a sod, as you might say. I'm sorry

  you had the trouble. Care for a cup of tea?'

  'Can't stop now, thanks all the same. Some other time.

  Good night!'

  When I returned in the last light, Kathe was sitting on the

  grass with her back against the foot of the Gibbet, looking

  out across the darkened Kennet valley. She jumped up and

  ran across to the car.

  'You were quick, Alan! Oh, I'm ready for a huge supper

  after all that, aren't you?'

  'Yes, I certainly am. How was Dorothy?'

  'Oh, she asked if I wasn't frightened all alone by her

  Galgen, and I told her I had nerves of steel. We're great

  friends now.'

  19

  FROM Newbury to Faringdon by road is not thirty miles, but

  for Kathe's enjoyment I drove slowly and made the most of

  it - up the Lambourn valley to Great Shefford and over the

  White Horse downs to Wantage. She was the most rewarding

  companion, taking pleasure in everything she saw - the

  thatched brick cottages, the dog roses and elder bloom in

  the hedges and the glimpses of the shallow little river itself hardly

  more than a brook - slipping between its pollarded

  willows.

  'You say it's good fishing? But it's so small!'

  'Small is beautiful. It's a chalk stream - strictly dry fly

  and no wading - one of the nicest bits of water in the south

  239

  country. The trout come about half a pound if you're lucky

  - nice, one-man size, I always think.'

  'Well, when I'm a ceramic modeller I'll make a figure of

  Mr Desland with his great long rod and his landing-net;

  oh, and a trout, of course. "Ritterlich befreit' ich dann die

  Prinzessin Fisch."'

  ' "Und ihr Kuss war Himmelsbrot.

  gluhend wie der Wein." That's you, you wonderful girl!'

  Where the road crossed the Ridgeway I stopped the car.

  We walked a little way along the crest and I pointed out to

  her the line of the Combe downs, fifteen miles south across

  the valley.

  'Look - that's where we were last Wednesday.'

  'You say these are the White Horse downs? Why are they

  called that?'

  Til show you why in about an hour from now.'

  We stopped in Wantage for a drink at 'The Bear'. Kathe

  was as full of questions as a six-year-old.

  'Why's it called "The Bear"? What's a ragged staff? Who

  was the Earl of Warwick? Is that King Alfred - the statue?

  You say he fought the Danes?'

  Driving westward down the White Horse Vale, I stopped

  again for her to see the Blowing Stone. I had never been able

  to get a sound out of it all my life, and was no more successful

  this morning, but Kathe, catching the knack immediately,

  produced its low, booming note three or four times before

  standing back, flushed and triumphant, to be congratulated

  by myself and the good lady in charge.

  'Well, if that brings them running over the hill,' she said,

  Til lead them in a chariot with knives on the wheels.'

  We bought Mars Bars at the little shop and ate them as

  we drove on and up to Uffington Castle. There was no one

  about and we disregarded the notice about not walking on

  the Horse.

  'I don't see why I shouldn't,' I said. Tm a Berkshireman;

  and there never used to be any damned notice when I was a

  little boy.'

  Tm going to stand in his eye and wish, like you said.'

  240

  About to step forward, she suddenly hesitated.

  'Could he - could he harm me, do you think?'

  'How d'you mean?'

  'Well, this is his place, isn't it? For me to come into his

  own place -'

  Taking a coin from her bag, she knelt and pressed it edgeways

  into the ground.

  'Versohnung! What d'you call that?'

  'Propitiation?'

  She stepped into the eye and stood there silently, looking

  down at Dragoa Hill and out towards the octagonal tower

  of Uffington church beyond.

  'It is old, the church?' And then, without waiting for

  an answer, 'What was that rhyme you told me for the for

  the scouring of the Horse? Something about setting to

  rights ?'

  ' "Th" old White 'Arse wants zett'n to roights,

  An' the Squire 'ave promised good cheer -" '

  She heard it through, then suddenly sprang out of the eye

  into my arms, almost knocking me over.

  'I've wished -'

  'Stop! If you want it to come true you musn't tell anyone

  - not even me!'

  She pouted. 'Well, all ihe same, I have wished. And if the

  Horse is up to his job - and I'm sure he is - you're in for a

  shock, my dearest. Last one back to the car's a cuck-oo!'

  She turned and ran. I called after her, 'It's too hot and too

  far! I'll give it to you!' She stopped and we walked back together,

  holding hands, round the vallum of the Castle.

  The house where the sale was to take place stands a little

  way south of Faringdon - a Queen Anne mansion of red

  brick and white-painted sash windows, tile-roofed, with a

  deep, plastered cornice overhung on one side by a magnolia

  tree. A policeman was directing cars into a meadow opposite

  and a considerable number of people were coming and going

  through the high, wrought-iron gates. There were smells of

  azalea, trodden grass and here and there a cigar.

  'I quite wish it was ours,' I said to Kathe as we crunched

  241

  over the gravel and stopped to admire the columned and

  pedimented doorway.

  'Ach, nein! Of course you don't! We'd have to leave
Bull

  Banks!'

  'It's worth a lot more money than Bull Banks.'

  'It may be. But I'd never feel so happy or safe anywhere

  else. Bull Banks ist mein Schlossl'

  The sale was to be conducted by a local firm of auctioneers

  who had put up a marquee on the lawn to one side of the

  house. Here, everything except the largest items of furniture

  had been set out for viewing. People with catalogues and

  pencils were walking between the tables and groups of lots,

  conferring and making notes, while in one corner two

  cheerful-looking, grey-haired ladies in check aprons were

  selling tea and coffee. Altogether a jolly, traditional English

  scene. I couldn't help wondering who was going to buy the

  house itself. At least that couldn't be taken abroad.

  There was no particular hurry for Kathe and me to get

  down to serious work, and we spent some time wandering

  among the furniture, the silver, linen and bedding and garden

  equipment, before applying ourselves seriously to the pottery

  and porcelain.

  'You know, some of this kitchen stuff's rather nice,' said

  Kathe, looking over the job lots of mincing machines, rolling

  pins and sugar castors, lumped together with lidded and unlidded

  saucepans, brass salvers, iron door-stops and chipped

  bowls containing darning-eggs, old fairings, sepia picturepostcards

  and worn strings of beads. 'I'd love a tea-cosy

  made like a cottage.'

  'Gemutlichkeit.'

  'I like Gemutlichkeit. I'm gemutlich myself.'

  'Never!'

  'Well, before we go I may have another look round these

  - what did you call them -?'

  'Job lots.'

  'Job lots. I might even bid for one or two, tomorrow.'

  'Well, don't get carried away - it's all too easy at a sale.

  Remember the impoverished Deslands. Incidentally, I see

  all these have got high lot numbers. That means they won't

  242

  come up for some time. You'd have to stay over lunch to bid.'

  'Well, I may, so. Oh, look, a clockwork flies' tfap, cornplete

  with broken spring! Lovely!'

  The china section was fully as exciting as the catalogue

  had led me to expect. The first thing I saw was a Worcester

  blue-scale tea-service, circa 1765.1 stood reverently before it,

  noting each detail - the hexagonal teapot stand, the sparrowbeak

  milk jug, the lidded sugar-box - and decided to go up

  to ?1,600. Kathe, who always liked china birds and animals,

  had moved on to a pair of owls, backed up by a hawk and a

  whip-poor-will.

  'Oh, Alan, they really have stolen my heart - thanks to

  you and your books! You can't say I haven't learnt anything-'

  'I never would -*

  'What are they?'

  'Chelsea Red Anchor, mid-eighteenth-century. Mr Sprimont's

  best. The owls'll go for God knows what, but if you

  like we can have a shot at the hawk. We'll go to ?800 for

  him, shall we?'

  'And then we have to sell him?'

  ' 'Fraid so. Beezness is beezness.'

  And indeed there were all too many ladies and gentlemen

  present to whom it clearly was. I heard French spoken, and

  German. There was a nasty, ruthless atmosphere which

  boded, I felt, no good to the honest one-man dealer of

  limited capital. As I was meditating on the improbability of

  doing much good as a light armoured car amongst all this

  heavy panzer, I heard myself greeted by name and turned to

  see a Reading dealer called Joe Matthewson, a somewhat

  rough diamond whom I had known for several years past

  and rather liked. I gave him a wry grin and shrugged my

  shoulders, jerking my thumb at the Red Anchor.

  'Not a bloody hope, old boy,' said Matthewson cheerfully.

  'These buggers, they're all into the ackers - swamp us tomorrow

  before we can make two bids. 'Don't know why I

  bother to come to these do's, I really don't. Frogs, bloody

  Germans comin' over, I dunno -'

  'Never mind, Joe; it's a day out. By the way, can I intro243

  duce my bloody German wife? Kathe, this is Joe Matthewson,

  a fellow pirate.'

  'You know, I don't think I would call her a bloody German

  exactly,' said Mr Matthewson, shaking hands without the

  least embarrassment. 'You mustn't mind me, m' dear, it's

  only my proletarian style, y' know. I saw your picture in

  the Newbury News week before last, but I don't think that

  really did you justice, did it? How are you getting on in the

  porcelain racket, eh? Is Alan teaching you all about it, or are

  you bored stiff?'

  'I'm certainly not bored stiff,' answered Kathe. 'Anything

  but. I'd just like to buy it all and not have to sell it again.'

  'Oh, you're one of those, are you?' said Mr Matthewson.

  'You'll have to grow out of that, m' dear. What you need

  for this game is the mentality of a Circassian slave trader.

  It doesn't matter how beautiful she is; if getting rid of her's

  to your advantage, then get rid of her and never turn a hair.

  How much has he really taught you, eh? What's that, I

  wonder? No, don't you go telling her, Alan. I want to see

  how much this beautiful lady of yours knows.'

  He pointed to a Miles Mason dessert service which I had

  already spotted. It was a real beauty, with four shell dishes,

  four square dishes, twelve plates and a centre dish on corner

  legs, decorated with botanical specimens named on the backs.

  There were a few chips, but nothing to signify. Kathe, taking

  her time, looked at it carefully.

  'Well, it is English,' she said. 'I woulds say quite early

  nineteenth century -'

  'Well done! And what d'you reckon it'll go for?' asked Mr

  Matthewson. 'That's all that matters in this game, you know,

  ducks.'

  'Fifteen hundred pounds, perhaps.'

  'I'd say two bloody thousand's more like it,' said Mr

  Matthewson, 'with this lot we got in the ring tomorrow.

  But you're comin' on very well, love. Alan knows his onions in

  more ways than one, I bet.' He squeezed Kathe's arm.

  'You know, Joe,' I said, 'if you fancy it, we could pool our

  resources over a few items tomorrow and split the profit

  later when one of us sells the thing, whatever it is.'

  244

  'Yeah, good idea, old boy. I'm game. Let's 'ave a crafty

  shufti round with that in mind, shall we?'

  We agreed to try for a Bow polychrome imperial shepherd

  and shepherdess, which I thought we might get for about

  ?1,500, and a pair of Chelsea Gold Anchor Ranelagh dancers.

  'But they'll be all of thirteen hundred, you know,' said Mr

  Matthewson. 'In fact, I'd say we'll be lucky to get them at

  that.'

  We conferred for some minutes longer until I, looking

  round for Kathe, found that she seemed to have disappeared.

  'You've lost her, old boy,' said Matthewson. 'Not safe to

  take yer eye off a girl like that in a place like this, y' know.

  No, don't worry,' he added paternally, as though he thought

  I might. 'There she is, look, over there in the rough stuff

&n
bsp; section. Funny 'ow women can't resist the rubbish, isn't it?

  She'll be the ruin of you, you see if she won't. Only my joke,

  ha ha.1

  Kathe was again moving down the job lots table, peering

  into jugs and bowls, holding cracked cut-glass vases up to

  the light and lifting the lids of saucepans with concentration

  and a kind of poker-faced nonchalance.

  'Well, I reckon I've seen all I need to, Alan,' said Mr

  Matthewson. 'What about a jar or two up the road, eh, and a

  spot of something for the inner man? What say we put a stop

  to your missus wastin' 'er time and repair to some salubrious

  hostelry in the vicinity?'

  We returned after lunch, but not for long. I had already

  made my plans for next day, but for interest's sake accompanied

  Joe in his inspection of the furniture, of which

  he had better hopes than the ceramics. The house itself

  was as beautiful inside as out - though in a sad state of disrepair

  - and included a fine oak-panelled drawing-room, with

  heavy, folding shutters recessed into the window embrasures.

  A Steinway grand was standing by the south window and

  Kathe, having coaxed consent from a somewhat detached

  lady wearing an orange sash as a sign of authority, sat down

  and played for a few minutes, attracting a little crowd.

  'Is ze lady for sale wiz ze piano?' inquired a tubby, finickylooking

  gentleman with pince-nez and a pointed black beard.

  245

  'For zis I am pay!' His companions laughed sycophantically.

  On the way back we drove through a shower, and one of

  the windscreen wipers stopped working. I left the car at the

  garage in the village, to be picked up in the morning, and we

  strolled home along the lane and up through the shrubbery.

  'I love the wild bits of this garden,' said Kathe. 'How tall

  the grass is! Who cuts it, Alan, or do you just leave it?'

  'Jack'll take his swap to it when he's got a moment. If he

  doesn't, I'll have to. I never order him about if I can help

  it: fatal with a jobbing gardener as a rule - especially one

  who's known you since you were three.'

  'What's that, in the grass over there? Oh, it's a tap! Does

  it work?' She turned it on. 'Yes, it does, how lovely! Look,

  there's a kind of little hollow in the grass underneath it.'

  'When Flick and I were small, we were sometimes allowed

  to fill that up from the tap on hot days and lie in it.'

  'You had a happy childhood, didn't you?'

  'Didn't you, my darling?' She made no answer and I

  added, 'You've never told me.'

  To myself, tired from the day's work and the drive, my

  voice seemed to contain a touch of petulance, and inwardly

  I drew back from what I had just asked.

  Kathe paused for a few moments. Then, with deliberation,

  she turned and faced me in the long grass.

  'Very well. I'll tell you all about myself if you like. Everything.

  Before I met you.'

  I returned her gaze uncertainly, and she stood laughing,

  saying nothing more to help me to a reply; teasing me, aware

  of the flooding of my hesitation and confusion even before

  I had recognized them in myself.

  'Come on,' she said. 'Let's sit down. Here, on the grass.'

  And she knelt at my feet, reaching up her hands to take mine

  and draw me down beside her.

  Suddenly I understood that the ignorance with which I

  had always been content rested not, as I had vaguely supposed,

  upon my indulgence of her reticence, upon delicacy,

  good manners or even upon that special wonder, shot with

  awe, which filled me even when I lay dominant in her embrace.

  These had indeed played their part; but deeper still,

  246

  and far stronger, was plain jealousy. I was not indifferent to

  her past: I hated it as an intruder, a rival. I wanted to remain

  untaught where she had lived, what she had done,

  whom she might have known - much less loved - before we

  met. I had supposed that I was magnanimous in refraining

  from questions; but that bluff - that self-bluff - she had now

  called. And she already knew what I was going to reply.

  'fto!' I said quickly. And then, realizing that I had spoken

  sharply, almost harshly, like someone trying to deny bad

  news or an accusation, I laughed in my turn and went on,

  kissing her up-stretched hands, 'You were foam-born at

  Paphos. I know - I was there. You haven't got a past, my

  Kathe.'

  'Ach, nein, but I will tell you! Come on, Alan, you're not

  frightened ?'

  'What on earth could I be frightened of? Well, then, perhaps

  later to-night, darling - or even some other night. But

  look, just let me turn the tap off. 'Mustn't have all that water