Francis said, ‘Well, I haven’t been letting the grass grow. I’ve been mowing.’
Jonty whistled, ‘Who with?’
‘I am not sure I shall introduce you.’
‘Is she pretty?’
‘Not very, but she has good legs.’
‘Mystery?’
‘No mystery, no.’
‘Pity.’
‘Mystery wasn’t much help to us that other time.’ Francis set his empty glass on the table. ‘But perhaps you’d better meet her. I think she’s an amateur tart, very spritely, I learned a lot.’
Jonty said, ‘Oh. You make me envious, curious anyway.’
Francis said, ‘Actually I’ve made a date, want to come? For Saturday if we can both get off.’
‘Won’t she mind?’
Francis said, ‘Of course not, she’ll bring a friend. It’s all right, I’ve met her, she has good legs too.’
Jonty said, ‘Oh.’
They sat silent while Jonty finished his beer and Francis watched him, then Francis said, ‘London is the place to spend our leave. A night at home to soothe parental feelings, then London.’
Jonty said, ‘You may well be right. I had set my heart on getting home but it’s not the same, everything’s changed. It’s not just the war, there is something missing.’
Francis said, ‘Juno.’
‘Juno?’ Jonty glanced quickly at his cousin, then looked away.
Francis said, ‘She was part of the furniture.’
Jonty raised his voice, ‘What a horrible thing to say.’
Francis said, ‘But it’s true,’ and presently, as they drove back to their billet, he said, ‘Didn’t she have an aunt in London? One could ask.’
And Jonty snapped, ‘Ask what?’
Francis said, ‘Ask how she is I suppose,’ but he sounded uncertain.
Jonty said, ‘And where does this aunt live?’ When Francis admitted that he did not know, he remarked sourly that their mothers would not know either and enquired whether Francis knew the aunt’s name, and when Francis admitted that he didn’t, he shouted something to the effect that Canada was a large country, so what was the use?
TWENTY-SIX
MEETING ANN COMING OUT of the village shop, Priscilla Villiers stood in her way. ‘Oh, Ann, I am glad to see you. It will save me telephoning.’
Ann said, ‘Good morning,’ shifting her shopping from right arm to left, indicating that she had no time for chat.
‘I’ve had a letter from Anthony,’ Priscilla said. ‘He is coming in two weeks’ time to work my garden, and he is bringing a friend, Hugh Turner. I thought you would like to know. They could come on to you when they have finished with me.’
‘We are not as short-handed as we were, now John is back for the garden. He gives Bert a hand on the farm and his wife Lily is helping me in the house.’ Ann was aware, as was Priscilla, that Anthony had originally been sent by Evelyn to help his father. Priscilla was poaching.
Priscilla said, ‘I thought Robert would appreciate help with the haymaking, all hands to the pump, that sort of thing.’
Ann said, ‘Probably.’
‘Of course he should have contacted Robert, but he seems rather to have adopted me,’ Priscilla pressed on.
Ann said, ‘So it seems.’
‘And you have wonderful Juno, such a pretty girl. Is that arrangement working? Is Robert finding her useful?’
Ann said, ‘Yes.’
‘I have not seen her for months except in the distance. Has she heard from her mother? She was so bothered about not joining her in Canada. I helped her sort that one out. She was determined not to go,’ Priscilla said, ‘and I do see her point; in Canada she would have been away from the war, missed all the action.’
Ann said, ‘Copplestone is pretty isolated.’
‘But you did have a bomb,’ Priscilla exclaimed.
‘Unexploded.’
‘But excitement and drama after, I was quite envious, but where were we? Oh yes, Juno’s mother. Has she heard from her? Was she upset by the change of plan?’
Ann said, ‘Not so you’d notice.’
‘Oh?’
‘It appears she got married.’
(‘It slipped out,’ Ann later told Juno, ‘the woman’s such a gossip it’s infectious.’ They were sitting at supper.)
Priscilla said, ‘Goodness! Then there’s hope for us all. What does Juno think about it?’
Ann said, ‘It came as no surprise.’
Priscilla persisted, ‘Really? And you say she is happy? That’s good. As you say, Copplestone is terribly isolated for a young person. I expect Anthony and his friend will make a nice change.’
Ann said, ‘I dare say. I must be getting on. I will give your message to Mr Copplestone.’ She was disinclined to discuss Juno’s happiness with Priscilla or, since it was not yet public property, its cause, but recollecting Juno’s cartwheels she chuckled, surprising Priscilla and leaving her perplexed.
‘Oh,’ Priscilla said, following Ann from the shop, ‘I see you have Millicent in harness, pulling a trap. What a good idea. I had forgotten there was a trap at Copplestone, we used to use it for picnics in our youth. Millicent looks splendid but is she safe in harness? She is such a frisky pony.’
Ann said, ‘Perfectly,’ and began stacking her shopping under the seat.
Enviously Priscilla said, ‘I wish I had a pony trap, it would save so much petrol.’
Ann said, ‘It does.’
‘Let me help.’ Priscilla came forward to snatch at Ann’s parcels. ‘Knitting wool, I see, what are you knitting?’
‘Socks.’
‘For Robert?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you have baby wool here.’ Priscilla peered into the parcels. ‘You can’t knit socks from baby wool, Ann, it won’t wear five minutes.’
Ann said, ‘No.’
‘So it’s baby clothes, too. Is somebody having a baby?’
Ann said, ‘Yes.’
‘Anyone I know?’ Priscilla pried. ‘Not John’s wife again? They have three, haven’t they? Surely that’s enough.’
‘No.’
‘Then who?’ Priscilla persisted.
‘I didn’t answer that,’ Ann told Robert and Juno. ‘Millicent chose that moment to tread on her foot.’
‘Which is what her namesake would have done, those two girls never got on.’ Robert was amused. ‘Poor Priss, she has always been a prier, she loves to know other people’s business.’
Ann said, ‘She certainly does.’
But Juno surprised them. ‘I don’t mind her prying. She helped me with the cable to my mother, and that’s given me a happy breathing space.’
Robert said, ‘Happy?’
Flushing, Juno answered, ‘I don’t believe I was ever so happy before,’ but was unable to enlarge.
Possibly the day would come when she would be able to tell Robert how happy she was, but sitting at supper that evening she was unable to elaborate. Nimbly changing the subject from personal feelings to work on the farm, she asked Robert when he would be cutting the hay, so setting him off on a dissertation on the quality of the grass in the top and bottom meadows, his hopes for fair weather, the time the hay harvest would take if all went well, how large a haystack would be the end result, that if Anthony and his friend came to help Bert and John, the whole enterprise would be accomplished within a week.
‘What we need is hot sun and a stiff north breeze.’ Robert let his eye rest for a moment on Juno, grateful that she was happy.
Juno met his eye. ‘And the orchids?’ she asked.
‘Seeded by now. They will flower again next spring.’
Juno said, ‘Good.’
Ann, getting up to gather the dishes and take them to the sink, said, ‘I dearly love the smell of new-mown hay.’
Juno murmured, ‘Smells,’ aware that scent, beginning with the first primrose, had contributed much to her happiness in recent months—grass after rain, freshly tilled earth between rows of vegetables, the s
harp tang of box, the stuffy smell of hen where an obstinate fowl laid a daily egg in Millicent’s manger, horse shit, cowpats, the stink of fox in the wood, cows’ breath, the warm smell of pig, the tang of sheep, the crazy mix of lilac, roses, honeysuckle and wisteria which drifted in at her window as the wall of the house cooled, the secret whiff of bluebells under the beeches in the wood, the sharp tang of freshly chopped logs and the salt breeze on the cliff where she had sat with Robert and, in the house itself, wood smoke, Ann’s cooking, the reassuring comfort, if he was near, of Robert’s shaving cream and Pears soap.
As she got up from the table to help with the dishes, Juno wondered what, when it was born, her child would smell like? For that evening when she had come up the hill from the farm, pausing to sit on the seat in the porch, pull off her boots and look at the view, she had felt the first quickening of her child, a secret intimation of life.
Juno put her arms round Ann’s thick waist as she stood at the sink, her bare arms bubbled with suds. ‘Did anybody ever call you a saint?’ She squeezed the older woman’s thick middle.
Ann said, ‘Don’t be daft, you nearly made me drop the pie dish.’
‘And Robert? The seigneur of Copplestone?’ Juno squeezed harder.
‘Oh, that one needs his head examined. Now let me go, girl, get a drying cloth or we’ll be here all night.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘SO WHO IS THE father?’ Priscilla came up to Robert as he stood by the gate of the hayfield. The hay had been cut, raked in lines, heaped into haycocks, loaded onto wagons, tossed up to the rick which now stood at the side of the yard, the result of four days’ hard work in blazing sun.
Bert and Juno had gone to their milking, John to the walled garden to water his vegetables; Anthony and Hugh mopped sweaty brows and stretched aching limbs as they watched the horses drink at the trough before letting them loose in their field; then they would trudge up to the house, hoping for a bath. It had been a good day. The harvest was excellent; all the workers weary, satisfied, content. Robert swung the gate towards him. A few days’ rain and the grass would grow again but the rick must be thatched first.
‘So who is the father?’ Priscilla was at his elbow, her arms filled with baskets full of empty thermoses whose contents had soothed the thirsty workers.
‘Gadfly.’ Robert closed the gate.
‘I asked.’
‘I heard you.’
‘I should say four or five months. It’s no secret, is it, even under that loose shirt? Was it one of Evelyn’s or one of yours, the shirt?’
‘Evelyn’s.’
‘So who—’
‘Observant.’
‘It’s obvious, Robert, one can’t help but notice.’
‘Yes.’
‘So?’
‘I don’t know, Priscilla.’
‘You don’t know!’
‘No.’
‘Haven’t you asked?’
‘No.’
‘Has Ann? Surely Ann …’
‘No.’
‘Honestly, Robert!’
‘What?’
‘Do you mean to tell me—’
‘I wasn’t telling you anything, Priscilla. Let me help you carry those baskets.’ They had started the climb up to the house.
‘No, no, it’s all right, they are quite light. Robert?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that girl, that pregnant girl, going to have a baby here at Copplestone?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Robert, you are mad.’
Robert laughed.
‘It’s no laughing matter, Robert.’
‘No.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘What would you advise?’ Robert took the basket from Priscilla. ‘Your young men have been a great help,’ he said, ‘buckled to, both of them. I fear their townees’ hands will be blistered, poor fellows.’
‘Don’t change the subject, Robert.’
‘Are you staying for supper?’
‘If I am invited.’
‘Could you call off your Mosley, he is rogering my bitch.’
‘And you don’t want unwanted puppies! Mosley! Come here, my lovely boy. Mosley, leave her alone!’
‘Thanks, Priss. Perhaps you could leave him in your car while we eat?’
‘All right, but he was only doing what comes naturally.’
‘Yes.’
‘And I take it—’ Priscilla returned to the attack.
‘Priscilla, you can take it whatever way you please, but I would be grateful if you would curb your curiosity and if necessary choke.’
‘My goodness, Robert, you can be nasty! All right, I won’t ask her.’
‘Thanks.’
‘It will be a severe test of our lifelong friendship.’
Robert said, ‘If we have any energy left after supper we could all troop to the cove and go for a swim by the light of the moon, as we did in our youth.’
Priscilla said, ‘Does she? Swim? The expectant mother?’
‘Regularly.’
‘Are you sure, Robert, that you are not losing your marbles?’
‘No.’
‘And you allow her to swim?’
‘It’s good for her. She also milks cows, feeds pigs, makes hay—’
‘She has certainly done that!’
‘One more snide cheep, Priscilla—’
‘And I am out on my ear, lifelong friendship over. Sorry, Robert, sorry.’
‘Then let’s see whether I can find you a drink before supper,’ Robert suggested more amiably. ‘We have masses of rough cider if you can make do with that, but please shut your animal in your car. I don’t want him in the house.’
Priscilla called, ‘Come along, my lovely boy, get in,’ and shut Mosley in her car.
Robert said, ‘Leave a window open or we might have a happy event.’
‘Such as?’
‘Suffocation.’
Priscilla said, ‘In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you so touchy and disagreeable,’ and quietly, as if to herself, ‘I shall ask her if I get the opportunity.’
‘I—do—not—think—you—will.’
‘Do not frighten me, Robert.’ But Priscilla was frightened, and choking back further questions, fell temporarily silent and accepted a tumbler of rough cider, a drink she abhorred. Presently, drinking some more, she joined loudly in the conversation at supper which, following a question from Hugh Turner, veered towards the namesakes of Robert’s farm animals, the carthorses Horace and James, the pony Millicent, the sow Eleanor, and cows with rather grandiose names such as Constance, Victoria, Elizabeth, Penelope and Maud.
‘Horace and James were Robert’s uncles,’ Priscilla informed Hugh. ‘Horace was a director of the Bank of England and James made a fortune in jute, but it’s the girls you should be interested in. They are much more amusing. Can I have a little more cider?’ She pushed her empty glass towards the jug which Hugh, with a glance at his host, poured. ‘Tell us about the girls, Mrs Villiers.’
‘They were all Robert’s girlfriends at one time or another. Am I not right, Robert?’ Priscilla looked at Robert sitting at the head of the table. ‘We thought for a while he was serious about Millicent, but in the end she married a merchant banker. Constance, Victoria, Elizabeth and Maud came and went after raising expectations; they married masters of hounds, people in the Foreign Office, gents in the city, didn’t they, Robert? One still comes across them shopping in Fortnum’s or Harrods. Then there was Eleanor, she seemed a serious proposition, not only sound but sexy. Back me up, Robert, she was very sexy, had lots of what our mothers called “it”. I rather liked Eleanor, in fact I believe it was I who introduced you. I’d met her at a house party in Norfolk.’
‘True.’ Giving no change, Robert watched Priscilla drink her rough cider. ‘You are going to have a terrible head in the morning,’ he said amiably.
Priscilla cried, ‘Oh, I know. God help me, I loathe this stuff, it’s lethal,’
and drained her glass. ‘Makes me talk too much, say things I regret,’ she exclaimed. ‘But all those girls, every which one, they fell in love with him, but oh dear me, he is not the marrying kind. He went to bed with them and that was it, their quota, their lot, and only their memory lives on in his farmyard. Oh gosh, I shall regret saying this, but they all said the same thing in later life; having an affair with Robert spoiled them for anyone else!’
Sitting at the end of the table, Ann said, ‘You have forgotten the turkey called Priscilla, Mrs Villiers. We ate her.’
And Robert, laughing, said, ‘Priss, I think I should drive you and Mosley home.’
‘We should have swum, it’s a lovely night.’ Anthony came into Hugh’s room; he was naked except for the towel turbanning his head, ‘I’ve washed my hair, it was full of grass seed.’
‘Here, let me rub it.’ Hugh reached up to his friend. ‘Sit down.’ He took the towel and rubbed Anthony’s hair. ‘Such lovely hair.’ He teased the hair with the towel, then combed it with his fingers. ‘There, nearly dry.’ He kissed his friend’s neck. ‘We can swim tomorrow if the weather’s still good.’ He leaned with his arms round Anthony’s shoulders looking out into the dark garden. ‘What an enchanted night. I am almost inclined to feel grateful to Hitler; if it were not for him I should never have developed such a liking for the country, certainly not for anywhere as isolated as this. Would you?’
‘No, I should have stuck to the pavements and kept my hands soft. I have blisters from the pitchforks, look at them.’
‘So have I,’ said Anthony. ‘They will heal. Which bed shall we sleep in tonight?’ He rubbed his jaw against Hugh’s cheek. ‘I don’t think for one minute Ann is deceived.’
‘What about Lily?’ Hugh returned the caress.
‘She wasn’t born yesterday. Every bed in the house is double. They know and we know we sleep in them turnabout. It’s just happier all round if both are rumpled. But since you are here, let’s get into mine.’ They got into the bed.
Presently Anthony said, ‘There are not many hosts as tolerant as Robert.’
Hugh said, ‘Or as discreet. Do you think he knows about Juno? It’s interesting.’
‘He must, it’s obvious.’ Anthony propped himself up on an elbow.
‘So the baby is Evelyn’s?’ Hugh yawned.