Katherine Wentworth (The Marriage of Katherine Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  Chapter Seven

  Simon came home from his first batting lesson literally steaming with excitement. Alec was marvellous, there was nobody like him. Alec had said this and Alec had said that; Alec had made him loosen his shoulders and alter his stance; Alec had shown him a cut to leg . . . it had all been simply smashing.

  ‘Who said you could call him Alec?’ I inquired.

  ‘He did,’ replied Simon, chuckling. ‘And it was quite easy because he wasn’t a bit sidey—or anything—he was just like another chap.’

  ‘Did he bowl?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he got the man to bowl to me while he stood and watched. He didn’t say a word for ages. Then he began to tell me things. Gosh, Mums, he knows what’s what! You should have seen him when he got his bat and had a go himself! He said he was rusty but the man said there wasn’t much rust about him. (The man’s name is Nottingham—he’s English—an awfully good chap.) Well, Nottingham kept on saying he ought to come back and play for the club, but Alec said he had no time for cricket nowadays; he could get a game of golf whenever he liked—at short notice.’

  ‘Were you the only people there?’

  ‘No, there were several other fellows—much older than me, of course. Alec introduced me to them: he said. “This is a young friend of mine, Simon Wentworth.” I was proud, I can tell you! Two of them hung about and watched for a bit, but it made me nervous so Alec sent them away. He said he’d take me again on Wednesday at the same time. You see he doesn’t get away from his office until five. That’ll be all right, won’t it? Oh, and Mums, listen! Alec said I was to tell you not to mention it to Zilla in case it upset her. Who’s Zilla and why should it upset her?’

  ‘Zilla is his sister.’

  ‘Well, why should it upset her to know he’s coaching me?’

  I hadn’t the slightest idea but I had to say something. ‘She’s rather highly-strung.’

  ‘She sounds batty,’ declared Simon. ‘But anyhow I’ve given you the message. You won’t let on, will you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Gosh, I’m tired,’ said Simon, sitting down suddenly. ‘And hungry,’ he added.

  Fortunately I had some cold meat to give him and there was plenty of bread and butter. He devoured the meal ravenously, still talking of all that had happened. When he had finished he insisted on fetching his bat and, having moved the table out of the way, demonstrated the famous leg cut.

  By this time it was ten o’clock so I persuaded him to have his bath and go to bed. I, too, went to bed feeling happy for Simon but slightly worried about the message.

  *

  2

  Tuesday afternoon was wet and gloomy so I suggested that Simon should take the children to the pictures. They wanted me to go with them but the sitting-room was still waiting to be turned out so I sent them off by themselves.

  The tiresome job was just finished when the door-bell rang and I found Mr. Maclaren standing on the mat.

  ‘Goodness, I thought it was to-morrow!’ I exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘It is to-morrow,’ he replied.

  We both burst out laughing.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ he said. ‘To-morrow is the day I arranged to take Simon to the club. I’ve called in on my way home from the office because I wanted to see you.’

  ‘Come in and have tea,’ I suggested.

  ‘Better not; Zilla is expecting me. Did Simon give you the message? Perhaps you thought it a bit strange but—but I think it might upset her if she knew I was coaching Simon, so if you don’t mind——’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘It’s most awfully kind of you; Simon is absolutely thrilled.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m “thrilled” too. Simon is good and he’s going to be very good indeed. He just wants some practice and a few hints. Nottingham agrees that he’s outstanding. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased isn’t the word! How good of you to bother, Mr. Maclaren!’

  ‘Simon calls me Alec.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, I noticed that: Alec is marvellous—there’s nobody like him; Alec knows what’s what; I ought to have seen Alec when he got out his bat and had a go himself—and so on and so forth.’

  ‘And I shall call you Katherine,’ said Alec, smiling. ‘Simon says that’s your proper name.’

  ‘Simon seems to have given you quite a lot of information.’

  ‘Yes, quite a lot.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup of tea? I’m just going to make some.’

  Alec hesitated and glanced at his watch. ‘No, I’d better go,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Zilla is expecting me. You understand, don’t you?’

  *

  3

  The days passed very quickly. Simon had half a dozen batting lessons and was reported to be doing well. ‘He’s a bit erratic,’ Alec said, ‘but that’s natural. When he settles down and gains confidence Simon will be a very fine bat.’

  We went to lunch with Aunt Liz and we made several expeditions, taking sandwiches and having a substantial meal when we got home.

  It was Gerald’s idea that when you went for expeditions into the country each person should carry his own food (Gerald would have nothing to do with picnic-baskets) and I was determined that Gerald’s family should follow in his footsteps. I got four small knapsacks, so we each had one; the children took it for granted that this was the right thing.

  One day we went to Fairmilehead in the bus and walked up a path which led over the Pentland Hills. We sat in a sheltered hollow and enjoyed our light lunch. I looked at the three, lounging comfortably on the sheep-bitten grass—smooth and green as velvet—and wondered what Gerald would think of them. Would he be pleased with his children? Would he think I was bringing them up on the right lines? Quite honestly I thought he would be satisfied; they were frank and fearless, they were sufficiently disciplined to be obedient when obedience was necessary, but within limits they were free to follow their own sweet will. Freedom had been so important to Gerald that he had given up his family and his home to obtain it.

  When we had finished lunch the children folded up their sandwich-papers and put them in their knapsacks with the banana skins. They did this quite naturally without thinking.

  ‘I’ll tell you something,’ said Daisy, who often prefaced her remarks with this promise—or threat! ‘When I went a picnic with the Fishers they had a big basket full of food and cups and plates: it took two people to carry it—there was an awful fuss about who was to do it—and when we had finished lunch they left a lot of rubbish on the grass.’

  Simon chuckled. ‘I bet you told them off properly.

  ‘Of course,’ said Daisy. She rose and ran off to explore a pile of rocks. Den followed.

  ‘She’s a scream,’ said Simon. ‘It makes me feel very old to think I used to give Daisy her bottle.’

  ‘Poor old man!’

  Simon moved nearer to me. ‘What were you thinking about when we were having lunch, Mums?’

  I looked at him sitting beside me on the grass. He had always been like Gerald and, now that the soft contours of childhood had disappeared and the bones of his face were more visible, he had become even more like Gerald . . . and Gerald used to smile like that, suddenly, with a wide mischievous grin which showed his beautiful white teeth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. It might almost have been Gerald sitting beside me; the thin face, the clear grey eyes, the dark eyebrows and the unruly lock of dark hair which strayed on to his forehead.

  ‘Come on, Mums. What were you thinking about?’ he repeated.

  ‘I was wondering what Dad would think of you; whether he would be satisfied with his family. Then I thought about freedom. Dad valued freedom so highly that he broke away from his family and his home. He gave up comfort and wealth. He had to work hard to make a living . . . but you know that, Simon.’

  ‘Freedom,’ said Simon. ‘Yes, it must have been terribly important to Dad; or do you think he didn’t love his family very much?’<
br />
  I didn’t want to answer this. I said, ‘Freedom is important but it can be misused. If you want freedom you must discipline yourself. Remember that.’

  ‘It’s like cricket,’ said Simon thoughtfully. ‘You see a ball coming and you feel like having a good old slosh, so you step out and slosh for all you’re worth . . . and the next thing is you see it soaring straight for somebody’s hands. So that’s the end of you and you find yourself walking back to the pavilion (and, gosh, what a long walk it is!) trying to look as if you didn’t give a damn.’

  ‘You’ve missed the point——’ I began.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Simon with his sudden wide grin. ‘No, I haven’t missed the point. The point is that if you haven’t got freedom there’s no scope for you to discipline yourself.’

  Simon had put it the other way round but the two ways made one truth.

  He rose and stretched himself. ‘That hill wants to be climbed,’ he said and set off with long strides to climb it.

  I was about to call out and remind him that he must be back in time to catch the bus, but Simon knew as well as I did that the bus left at five o’clock. He would discipline himself and be back in plenty of time.

  The thought amused me.

  *

  4

  The holidays were nearly over now and for weeks I had seen nothing of Zilla. She had rung up once or twice and asked me to tea but I had explained that it was difficult for me to get away while the children were at home. It was difficult, of course, but if I had really wanted to go I could have managed it. The fact was I shrank from the thought of having tea with Zilla; I was afraid that in the course of conversation I might let out the secret. We were seeing quite a lot of Alec (he came to fetch Simon two or three times a week and sometimes had tea with us before they went off to the cricket club). Zilla was clever, she would pounce upon me at once: When had I seen Alec? Where had I seen Alec? Why had I begun to call him Alec? Then I should have to tell lies about it. I didn’t like lies and I could see no reason for secrecy. I could not believe that Zilla would mind her brother coaching Simon. Why should she mind? But Alec did not want her to know, so the secret must be kept. When Simon went back to Barstow and Alec ceased to call at the flat it would be easier.

  Simon’s train left at ten o’clock and we all went to see him off. When we came out of the station Daisy was in tears and Den was as grumpy as a bear. I felt bereft; the three months of term stretched before me like a desert—three whole months before I should see him again!

  We were walking along Princes Street when we ran straight into Zilla. If I could have avoided her I would have done so; I was in no mood for a friendly chat.

  ‘Hallo!’ exclaimed Zilla. ‘You look a bit down in the mouth.’

  ‘Simon’s gone!’ wailed Daisy. ‘We shan’t see darling Simon for months and months and months!’

  ‘Shut up, you silly ass!’ growled Den.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter with them?’ asked Zilla.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied brightly. ‘We’ve just been seeing Simon off to school.’

  ‘Oh, is that all? I thought something must have happened. When are you coming to see me, Kit? What about lunch on Saturday?’

  I was about to accept the invitation when I remembered that Aunt Liz had arranged to lunch with some friends on Saturday so I should have the children on my hands. I explained this.

  ‘You had better bring them,’ Zilla said. ‘Alec is going to Muirfield so we can have a good chat.’

  ‘Couldn’t we arrange another day? I mean the children will——’

  ‘No, Saturday,’ said Zilla firmly. ‘I hate being by myself all day. One o’clock—or sooner. You’ll come in the bus, of course.’ She turned as she spoke and the next minute she was lost in the crowd.

  Chapter Eight

  The idea of taking the children to lunch at The Cedars did not fill me with enthusiasm; on Saturday morning I woke with the feeling that something horrible was going to happen to-day . . . yes, of course, lunch with Zilla! I was so reluctant to go that I almost wished one of the children would develop a cold—a slight one, of course—to provide me with an excuse, but they both seemed in the best of health though not in the best of spirits. They missed Simon; I was glad that they would be starting school on Monday.

  The bus went at twelve. I was busy getting the children ready and telling them about The Cedars:

  ‘Miss Maclaren isn’t used to children, so you must be very good. You must behave like grown-up people. Don’t forget to shake hands—your right hand, remember. You’ll be able to play in the garden but you mustn’t pick the flowers.’

  ‘We can pick the daisies, can’t we?’ said Daisy.

  ‘There won’t be any daisies.’

  ‘Funny garden with no daisies!’

  ‘Daisies are weeds,’ said Den.

  ‘They aren’t!’

  ‘They are. People poison them.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I’m really a marguerite. They aren’t weeds.’

  ‘You’re a daisy and you’re a weed,’ said Den mulishly.

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Don’t argue,’ I said.

  There was a thundery sort of silence.

  ‘Do be good,’ I said earnestly. ‘I want Miss Maclaren to see how nicely you can behave. Surely you can be good and nice just while we’re there.’

  ‘How long have we got to be there?’ inquired Den.

  It was at this moment that the door-bell rang. I left them and went to answer it and discovered Alec, waiting outside.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked. ‘I thought I’d pick you up. The bus is always crowded on a Saturday.’

  Den and Daisy had followed me into the hall and welcomed Alec with delight. They were even more delighted when they heard of the treat in store. There were no more arguments and we were all ready to go in ten minutes. As he climbed into the back seat and settled down beside Daisy, Den heaved a sigh of sheer bliss and remarked that he had never been in a Rolls before.

  It was only half past eleven—too early for lunch—so Alec took us for a spin to Queensferry. The children clamoured to ‘go fast.’

  ‘Not here,’ replied Alec. ‘Wait till we’ve passed the limit.’

  I glanced at him and saw that he was smiling so I kept a careful look-out for the sign and was not surprised when the car suddenly bounded forward like a greyhound released from the slips. Den and Daisy had been looking at two gipsy caravans so they were unprepared and were flung backwards in a tangle of arms and legs. There were shrieks of laughter and delight at this gorgeous joke.

  ‘Too fast for you?’ asked Alec, slowing down a little.

  ‘Faster, faster!’ cried Daisy, like the Red Queen.

  ‘Pass that car in front, Mr. Maclaren,’ cried Den. ‘You can—easily.’

  We did—easily—with Daisy leaning out of the window and waving frantically at the somewhat astonished occupants.

  Alec was silent, intent upon driving, but there was a good deal of chat in the back seat; Den and Daisy always had a lot to say to each other.

  Presently Daisy leant forward and said, ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Whose name?’ asked Alec.

  ‘Your car, of course. Den says cars are always girls, so I wondered what she was called.’

  ‘Oh—er—Clara,’ said Alec solemnly.

  The name seemed to give satisfaction and the subdued chatter in the back seat continued until we arrived at Queensferry, where we got out to walk about and stretch our legs. I had been here often, of course, but every time I came the railway bridge astonished me by its immense size. We watched a line of cars driving on to the ferry which was about to cross the Forth. The children were very anxious to go in ‘the boat’ but there was not time, so Alec promised to bring them some other day instead.

  *

  2

  It was about twenty minutes to one when we got back and turned in at the big gates of The Cedars. Ellen had be
en on the look-out for us and was waiting on the doorstep.

  ‘Here’s Ellen!’ said Alec. ‘She’ll look after you. I’ll just take the car round to the garage.’

  The children jumped out and shook hands with Ellen in their best ‘party’ manner. It was a slight error in etiquette, but Ellen was delighted; she whispered to me that they were ‘dear wee things—such nice manners, too.’ Then she took our coats and hung them on pegs in the hall cupboard.

  I had liked Ellen before, but to-day I liked her even better; she was comfortable and kind. I chatted to her for a few moments and admired a large bowl of beautifully arranged flowers in the hall.

  ‘Yes, they’re nice,’ she agreed. ‘I do all the flowers for Miss Maclaren. There’s such lovely flowers in the garden and Mr. Maclaren lets me pick whatever I like—so it’s quite easy.’

  ‘Why, Ellen, you’re an artist!’ I exclaimed. It really was surprising to discover that this plain, square, matter-of-fact woman had such a flair for arranging flowers.

  There was no time to say more; the drawing-room door opened and Zilla appeared.

  ‘Hallo, here you are!’ she said. ‘I thought I heard talking. How nice to see you, Kit! I’ve been looking forward to a nice long chat. Come into the drawing-room.’

  We followed her into the drawing-room and again the children shook hands very politely indeed. I was just congratulating myself upon their good behaviour when Daisy spoilt the effect.

  ‘Were you really at school with Mums?’ she inquired, fixing Zilla with wide-open eyes. ‘Mums said you were—but you look much too old.’

  Zilla was displeased and showed it; she was not inured to home-truths delivered by the young and innocent.

  There was an uncomfortable silence; I could not think what to say—it would be useless to disagree with Daisy for I knew she was quite capable of sticking to her point and arguing, which would make things ten times worse.