“ Do you know a plumber? ” I asked.
“ I do,” he said. “ I’ll get my own people if that suits you. Miss France said you were in a ’urry. Well, if I get people I know on the job it saves a lot of delay.”
“ Yes,” I agreed. “ I realise that, Mr. Pendle.”
“ How much would it cost? ” asked Jan.
“ Now you’re asking! The fact is it depends on a lot of things; it depends on the papers you choose and the time it takes.”
“ Some of the rooms can be distempered,” Jan told him.
“ That’s right! But we’ve got to take all the old papers off first. It’s that what takes the time. Just you come in ’ere a minute and I’ll show you.”
We went into the sitting-room and Mr. Pendle took out his knife and began to scrape the wall. “ Two, three, four,” he said, looking round and smiling. “ Four papers to come off—all dirty and full of germs—before we can start putting on a nice clean one. It’s interesting, isn’t it? ’Ere’s a satin-striped paper, green and white, and ’ere’s one with flowers and birds. Those papers are good, but nobody would ’ave them as a gift nowadays. Shows the difference in taste, doesn’t it? ”
“ I wonder who chose those papers,” said Jan thoughtfully. “ I wonder what they were like and what sort of clothes they wore and how the room was furnished. That green and white satin stripe would take a lot of living up to. You couldn’t lounge about in old clothes with that on the walls.”
“ This would be the droring-room,” Mr. Pendle said. “ They’d ’ave those flimsy gilt chairs with satin covers I shouldn’t wonder.”
Jan nodded and then pulled herself together. “ Well, what about an estimate,” she said.
“ That’s what I can’t give you,” replied Mr. Pendle. “ I couldn’t give you an estimate for the work but I’ll do it as cheap as I can.”
“ Isn’t that rather unsatisfactory? ” asked Jan.
“ Not so unsatisfactory as an estimate which might work out too little or too much. You ask Miss France—she’ll tell you. I shan’t cheat you. I shouldn’t dare. Miss France knows what’s what and she’d be down on me like a ton of bricks. As a matter of fact I don’t want to cheat you. Any friends of Miss France are friends of mine.” He smiled as he made this statement and his smile was charming. I knew quite suddenly that I could trust Mr. Pendle.
“ Right,” I said. “ You go straight ahead.”
“ Now that’s what I like! ” he exclaimed. “ That’s the way to do business. I’ll get the pattern-books out of my van and we’ll settle everything. The sooner you start the sooner you finish I always say.”
When he had gone to get the books Jan looked at me and I nodded.
“ He’s all right,” I said. “ We’re lucky to get Mr. Pendle. You choose, Jan. You tell him exactly what to do.”
“ But, David——”
“ You saw it,” I told her. “ You saw it as it could be. I want oatmeal paper and blue curtains. That’s what I want.”
It took a long time to choose the papers, for Jan knew exactly what she wanted and nothing else would do. Her cheeks grew pink and her eyes shone and her hair became dishevelled and she looked more than ever like the eight-year-old Janet I remembered so well. As I watched her arguing earnestly with Mr. Pendle, crouching on the dirty floor and turning over the leaves of his pattern-book, my heart grew big with love. It was crazy of me not to have known before that I was in love with Jan. I had always loved her! I wondered if some day she would come here and would sit at her ease in this room with the oatmeal paper on the walls and the cream paint on the wainscotting and the blue curtains hanging at the windows … the mere idea made me feel quite dizzy. Would she? Could I ever summon up enough courage to put my fate to the test and say, “ Jan, I love you. Will you marry me and come to Green Beech Cottage? Will you, Jan? ” It seemed impossible. It was all the more impossible because we were friends, because we understood one another so well and laughed at the same jokes. How do you begin to get on a different footing with a girl who has been like a young sister, a girl you have known all her life?
“ Look, David! ” cried Jan excitedly. “ That’s what you want, isn’t it? ”
“ Yes,” I said. “ Yes, of course. That’s what I want.”
“ It wouldn’t be too expensive, would it? I mean we could save on the bedrooms. Distemper would be quite nice for the bedrooms, wouldn’t it? ”
“ Lots of people prefer distemper for bedrooms,” Mr. Pendle said. He took the book and held it against the wall to show the effect of the paper.
“ How do you like it? ” asked Jan anxiously.
“ Yes,” I said. “ Yes, that’s the one. Oatmeal.”
“ Very tasteful,” said Mr. Pendle. “ Very tasteful indeed.”
For the hall and staircase Jan chose a light grey paper with a rough surface; and again Mr. Pendle applauded the choice.
“ We’ll have a blue stair-carpet,” said Jan. “ And a big rug of persian design for the hall—at least if you think so, David.”
“ Couldn’t be better,” I told her. “ It’s exactly what I should like.”
We went up to the bedrooms; Jan decided upon pastel shades of distemper for them and washable oil paint in pale peacock blue for the bathroom—and she insisted that all the woodwork in the house must be cream.
“ A sort of butter-shade? ” asked Mr. Pendle.
“ No, cream,” replied Jan. “ Just a very light cream.”
I had thought the cream paint would be easy—cream was cream in my eyes—but the colour of the paint was more difficult to settle than the papers and eventually the exact shade was left to be decided later. Jan said she would come and see it mixed so that there should be no mistake about the amount of pink and yellow which was to be blended with the white.
“ To-morrow is Monday,” said Jan thoughtfully. “ Monday is no use … and Tuesday would be difficult. I could come on Wednesday afternoon.”
“ Just as you say,” replied Mr. Pendle who by this time was eating out of her hand. “ Wednesday afternoon it is. I’ll bring the paint and mix it to suit you.”
“ How about you, David? ” she asked.
“ I’ll be here,” I said. “ I’ll be working in the garden.”
When Mr. Pendle had gone we went upstairs and had another look at the bedrooms. The largest bedroom was to be distempered in egg-shell blue.
“ This will be yours,” said Jan, looking round. “ That alcove will make a lovely hanging-cupboard, so you won’t need a wardrobe. It will be perfect when it’s finished. You’re happy about it, aren’t you? ”
“ Yes, very happy,” I said.
“ Fancy waking up here and looking out of the window at the garden and the fields and the trees! ”
The window was dirty and we could not see through it, so I opened it from the bottom and we looked out. The view was so surprising that it took my breath away, and Jan gave a little gasp of delight. Now that the trees had been felled we could see for miles; we could see meadows and fields; we could see hedges with the green tint of spring upon them. In the distance, veiled in a tender haze, we could see the clustering roofs of London. The sun was declining in the west and its rosy beams irradiated the mist so that the big, sprawling city looked like a city in a dream, a city of enchantment.
“ Oh, David—how lovely! ” whispered Jan.
“ If it were only this it would be worth it,” I said. “ If it were only this view and nothing else at all. I had no idea it would be like this. You could see this view from the veranda if the bushes were taken away.”
“ They must go,” declared Jan. “ All the bushes must go—even the lilacs—the view must come first.”
It was late when we got back to town. Darkness had fallen and the lamps were lighted. I wanted Jan to come and have supper with me at The Wooden Spoon, but she said she was too dirty and untidy. I walked as far as her door with her and waited until she had vanished up the stairs. Then I crossed the road a
nd looked up at the windows of the flat. Presently I saw a light go on and I saw Jan come to the window and draw the curtains. The action shut me out. Jan was inside that room and I was outside in the dark. It was foolish to feel like that, of course, for she did not know I was there; she did not mean to shut me out; she had drawn the curtains without a thought. But somehow the action seemed symbolic and it frightened me. Supposing Jan shut me out of her life!
Suddenly I felt I must see Jan. I must see her now, at once. I wanted to see her face, to hear her voice, to touch her hand. The feeling was so overpowering that I started off across the street and was halfway up the stairs before I came to my senses and realised that I was behaving like a fool. How could I go blundering into the flat without any excuse? What could I say? I leant against the wall and thought about it and the more I thought about it the more miserable I became.
After a bit I went down the stairs and home to my flat.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Next day was Monday; I got up early and went out to the cottage. Noyes had borrowed a ladder and had begun on the ivy which smothered the building; he was cutting it ruthlessly. Finsbury and I set to work on the bushes which obscured the view from the veranda. I felt so wretched that I worked like a madman and by lunch-time I was exhausted and could do no more. I went back to the flat and tried to write but it was hopeless; I tried to think of some excuse to go and see Jan.
Jan had said Monday was “ no good ” but she had not said why. Perhaps she was going out with somebody else, going out to dinner or to see a film. I wandered about the flat and thought about her. I felt a sense of urgency. It was no use dillying and dallying while Jan went out to dinner with somebody else; but what was I to do? How did you show a girl that you liked her—that you loved her to distraction? How did you begin? Quite suddenly I thought of flowers. You began with flowers, of course … and Jan loved flowers. I could buy some and take them to her.
Covent Garden Market was closed, but there was a big flower shop in the Strand. I had often passed on my way to the office and looked in at the windows. I seized my hat and rushed out and down the street. The window was full of gorgeous flowers, great sprays of lilac and mimosa, huge bunches of tulips and daffodils. I pushed open the door and went in.
“ I want flowers,” I said. “ I want the best you’ve got. They’re for—for a lady.”
The girl was very helpful but all the same it took a long time to choose and when at last I came out I had an armful of flowers. People stared at me in the street as I walked along and I heard them making remarks. It was embarrassing so I hurried and I was thankful when I got to the house. I went in and up the stairs. Jan would be out, of course, so I would not see her but I could leave the flowers with Barbie. I would ring the bell and when Barbie—or Nell—opened the door I would give her the flowers and say, “ They’re for Jan with my love,” and make off before she had time to answer. It would be better that way.
I rang the bell and waited. After a few moments I heard footsteps and the door was opened. It was Jan. I was so surprised to see Jan that I was speechless. I gazed at her like a fool.
“ David! ” she exclaimed. “ I didn’t know you were coming. I told you Monday was no good. The others have gone out and I’ve been washing my hair.”
“ For you——” I said, thrusting the flowers into her hands.
She took them and stood there looking at me, her eyes wide with surprise. Her hair was still wet; it looked darker than usual and it was in little flat curls all over her head with a net over it.
“ For me! ” she said in an amazed voice. “ Oh David—what a lot—and how beautiful they are! ”
“ I thought you’d be out,” I told her. “ I meant to—to leave them for you—that’s all——” and I turned to go.
“ Won’t you come in? ” she asked.
“ No, it doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to have them.”
She put out her hand and said, “ Oh David, thank you! They’re lovely.”
A big spray of mimosa slipped out of her arms and fell on the floor and as she stooped to pick it up she dropped some of the others, so I went back and we picked them up together and carried them into the flat.
“ You like flowers, don’t you? ” I babbled. “ I just wanted to give you some because you like them. The lilac wasn’t out at Green Beech Cottage, was it? ”
“ No,” said Jan. “ No, it was just in bud. Oh David, you shouldn’t have got all these flowers for me. You shouldn’t, really.”
We took them into the little pantry and Jan began dividing them. I could see by her face and by the way she handled them that she really liked them a lot.
“ It’s nothing,” I said. “ I know you like flowers and there were so many different kinds in the shop; it was difficult to choose.”
She said softly, “ It’s sweet of you, David. Nobody has ever given me such lovely, lovely flowers.”
“ Nobody has ever loved you so much,” I said. The words burst out of me. I was amazed when I heard myself say them. I had meant to go slowly and carefully; the flowers were just to have been the beginning.
“ David! ” Jan exclaimed, looking up in astonishment. “ What do you mean? ”
“ Nothing,” I said quickly. “ I mean of course I mean it. I love you frightfully, but it’s too soon. I meant to begin with the flowers and work up.”
“ Oh David, you are funny! ” she cried, but her eyes were soft and bright.
As I put my arms round Jan a whole lot of flowers tumbled on to the floor, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered except the light in her eyes and the softness of her lips and the clean smell of her wet hair.
“ Are you sure? ” she asked when she could speak.
“ Sure! Of course I’m sure. You don’t know how unhappy I’ve been! ”
“ Unhappy? ”
“ Miserable. I’ve been wandering about like a lost soul—trying to think how I could possibly tell you how much I loved you. Darling Jan! I’ve been thinking about you all the time, remembering how you looked and what you said. I’ve been miserable ever since I saw you.”
“ But you saw me yesterday! ”
“ It feels like weeks.”
“ But yesterday,” said Jan, withdrawing herself from my arms. “ You never said anything—yesterday.”
“ I was a fool,” I told her. “ I’ve loved you for ages, but I didn’t realise that I loved you—and then suddenly I knew.”
“ It isn’t—long——” she began doubtfully.
“ Darling, don’t you understand? I’ve loved you for ages. I was blind, that’s all. I thought we were friends and then suddenly I knew I loved you.”
“ Yes, I see,” she said. “ I must dry my hair. You don’t mind, do you? ”
Jan went into the sitting-room and sat down by the rug in front of the fire. “ You don’t mind if I dry my hair,” she repeated.
Something had gone wrong and I did not know how to put it right.
“ Jan,” I said. “ We’re engaged, aren’t we? ”
“ No,” said Jan in a low voice. “ No, I don’t think so. Of course I like you very much, but—but it’s too soon.”
“ Oh Jan! ”
“ We ought to wait a little … until we’re sure.”
“ But we are sure! ”
“ It’s too soon. Really it is. We must wait. I hate people who rush and get engaged—and then find—it’s a mistake.”
“ But we’re not like that. We’ve known each other for ages! ”
“ Yes,” said Jan, smiling rather sadly. “ Yes, I know, but there isn’t any hurry. We’ll wait, David. I’d rather wait for a little.”
“ Don’t you love me? Oh Jan, you do! ”
She turned her head and looked into the fire. “ I’m very fond of you. We were both rather excited, David. It was so sweet of you to bring me all those lovely flowers. Let’s leave it for a little.”
“ But why? ”
“ There are all sorts of reasons.”
“ What reasons? ”
“ There’s my job. I can’t throw it up all of a sudden.”
“ But you needn’t, Jan. I only want you to be engaged to me, that’s all. We can get married later. Please, Jan! ”
“ And I ought to go home,” said Jan in a low voice. “ I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know what to do about anything. I feel—upset—unsettled. It’s awfully difficult.”
I went on talking and trying to persuade her but it was no use; she kept on saying we ought to wait and not decide anything in a hurry. “ It’s too soon,” she repeated. “ You said yourself it was too soon.”
“ I didn’t mean it like that, Jan! ” I cried. “ I meant it was too soon for me to tell you I loved you. I ought to have waited—but now there’s no reason for us to wait.”
“ There are all sorts of reasons,” repeated Jan.
Presently I left her sitting by the fire and went home. I felt wretched and depressed. All the time I was cooking my supper and eating it I was cursing myself for being such a fool. I had managed it very badly. I had blundered and said all the wrong things. But after a bit I began to be more hopeful about it. Jan loved me. She would never have let me take her in my arms and kiss her if she had not loved me, so it was bound to come right in the end. I should have to be patient and wait until she was ready. I should have to go slowly and make her understand how much I loved her, that was the only way.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The next day was Tuesday, of course. I had some shopping to do in the morning and an appointment with Mr. Randall in the afternoon, so I could not go out to the cottage. Mr. Randall had good news for me; The Inward Eye was selling well in America and Basil Barnes had cabled saying he liked the novel immensely and would publish it in the fall … and, as if this were not enough, the British publisher who had accepted The Inward Eye had accepted the novel as well. He wanted to publish Golden Pavements first and The Inward Eye afterwards. At any other time these wonderful tidings would have raised me to the seventh heaven of delight, but to-day I could think of nothing but Jan.
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