Giant's Bread

by Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott, Agatha

  ‘It’s even fashionable,’ said Jane laughing.

  ‘And yet, do you know, Jane, I always have a queer feeling that Joe really likes me?’

  ‘Perhaps she does. She’s the wrong age for you, Sebastian. That Swede at your party said something wonderfully true – about being separated in time being worse than being separated in space. If you’re the wrong age for a person, nothing keeps you apart so hopelessly. You may be made for one another, but be born at the wrong time for each other. Does that sound nonsense? I believe when she’s about thirty-five, Joe could love you – the real essential you – madly. It’ll take a woman to love you, Sebastian, not a girl.’

  Sebastian was looking into the fire. It was a cold February day, and there were logs piled up on the coals. Jane hated gas fires.

  ‘Have you ever wondered, Jane, why we don’t fall in love with each other, you and I? Platonic friendship doesn’t usually work. And you’re very attractive. There’s a lot of the siren about you – quite unconscious, but it’s there.’

  ‘Perhaps we should under normal conditions.’

  ‘Aren’t we under normal conditions? Oh! wait a minute – I know what you mean. You mean “the line’s already engaged.”’

  ‘Yes. If you didn’t love Joe –’

  ‘And if you –’

  He stopped.

  ‘Well?’ said Jane. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. You don’t mind talking about it?’

  ‘Not in the least. If a thing’s there, what does it matter if you talk of it or not?’

  ‘Are you one of the people, Jane, who believe that if you want a thing enough you can make it happen?’

  Jane considered.

  ‘No – I don’t think I am. So many things happen to you naturally that it keeps you busy without – well – looking for things as well. When a thing’s offered you, you’ve got to choose whether you’ll accept it or refuse it. That’s destiny. And when you’ve made your choice you must abide by it without looking back.’

  ‘That’s the spirit of Greek tragedy. You’ve got Electra into your bones, Jane.’ He picked up a book from the table. ‘Peer Gynt? You’re steeping yourself in Solveig, I see.’

  ‘Yes. It’s more her opera than Peer’s. You know, Sebastian, Solveig is a wonderfully fascinating character – so impassive, so calm, and yet so utterly certain that her love for Peer is the only thing in Heaven or earth. She knows that he wants and needs her though he never tells her so, she is abandoned and deserted by him, and manages to turn that desertion into a crowning proof of his love. By the way, that Whitsuntide music of Radmaager’s is perfectly glorious. You know – “Blessed is he who has made my life blessed!” To show that the love of a man can turn you into a kind of impassioned nun is difficult but rather wonderful.’

  ‘Is Radmaager pleased with you?’

  ‘Sometimes he is. Yesterday, on the other hand, he consigned my soul to Hell and shook me till my teeth rattled. He was perfectly right, too. I sang it all wrong – like a melodramatic stage-struck girl. It’s got to be sheer force of will – restraint – Solveig must be so soft and gentle, but really so terribly strong. It’s like Radmaager said the first day. Snow – smooth snow – with a wonderful clear design running through it.’

  She went on to talk of Vernon’s work.

  ‘It’s almost finished, you know. I want him to show it to Radmaager.’

  ‘Will he?’

  ‘I think so. Have you seen it?’

  ‘Parts of it only.’

  ‘What do you think of it?’

  ‘I’ll hear what you think of it first, Jane. Your judgment’s as good as mine any day where music is concerned.’

  ‘It’s crude. There’s too much in it – too much good stuff. He hasn’t learnt how to handle his material – but the material is there – masses and masses of it. Do you agree?’

  Sebastian nodded.

  ‘Absolutely. I’m more sure than ever that Vernon is going to – well, revolutionize things. But there’s a nasty time coming. He’ll have to face the fact that what he’s written isn’t, when all’s said and done, a commercial proposition.’

  ‘You mean, it couldn’t be produced?’

  ‘That’s what I mean.’

  ‘You could produce it.’

  ‘You mean – out of friendship?’

  ‘That’s what I meant.’

  Sebastian got up and began to pace up and down.

  ‘To my way of thinking, that’s unethical,’ he said at last.

  ‘And also you don’t like losing money.’

  ‘Quite true.’

  ‘But you could afford to lose a certain amount without – well, noticing it?’

  ‘I always notice losing money. It affects – well, my pride.’

  Jane nodded.

  ‘I understand that. But I don’t think, Sebastian, that you need lose money.’

  ‘My dear Jane –’

  ‘Don’t argue with me till you know what I’m arguing about. You’re going to produce a certain amount of what the world calls “Highbrow” stuff at the little Holborn theatre, aren’t you? Well, this summer – say the beginning of July, produce the Princess in the Tower for – say, two weeks. Don’t produce it from the point of view of an opera (don’t tell Vernon this, by the way – but there, you wouldn’t. You’re not an idiot), but from the point of view of a musical spectacular play. Unusual scenery and weird lighting effects – you’re keen on lighting, I know. The Russian ballet – that’s what you’ve got to aim at – that’s the – the tone of it. Have good singers – but attractive ones to look at as well. And now, putting modesty in the background, I’ll tell you this. I’ll make a success of it for you.’

  ‘You – as the Princess?’

  ‘No, my dear child, as the doll mender. It’s a weird character – a character that will attract and arrest. The music of the doll mender is the best thing Vernon has done. Sebastian, you’ve always said I could act. They’re going to let me sing at Covent Garden this season because I can act. I shall make a hit. I know I can act – and acting counts for a lot in opera. I can – I can sway people – I can make them feel. Vernon’s opera will need licking into shape from the dramatic point of view. Leave that to me. From the musical side, you and Radmaager may be able to make suggestions – if he’ll take them. Musicians are the devil to deal with as we all know. The thing can be done, Sebastian.’

  She leaned forward, her face vivid and impressive. Sebastian’s face grew more impassive as it always did when he was thinking hard. He looked appraisingly at Jane, weighing her, not from the personal standpoint, but from the impersonal. He believed in Jane, in her dynamic force, in her magnetism, in her wonderful power of communicating emotion over the footlights.

  ‘I’ll think it over,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s something in what you say.’

  Jane laughed suddenly.

  ‘And you’ll be able to get me very cheap, Sebastian,’ she said.

  ‘I shall expect to,’ said Sebastian gravely. ‘My Jewish instincts must be appeased somehow. You’re putting this thing over on me, Jane – don’t imagine that I don’t know it!’

  Chapter Three

  1

  At last the Princess in the Tower was finished. Vernon suffered from a tremendous wave of reaction. The whole thing was rotten – hopeless. Best to chuck it into the fire.

  Nell’s sweetness and encouragement were like manna to him at this time. She had that wonderful instinct for always saying the words he longed to hear. But for her, as he constantly told her, he would have given way to despair long ago.

  He had seen less of Jane during the winter. She had been on tour with the British Opera Company part of the time. When she sang in Electra in Birmingham, he went down for it. He was tremendously impressed – loved both the music and Jane’s impersonation of Electra. That ruthless will, that determined: ‘Say naught but dance on!’ She gave the impression of being more spirit than flesh. He was conscious that her vo
ice was really too weak for the part, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. She was Electra – that fanatical fiery spirit of relentless doom.

  He stayed a few days with his mother – days which he found trying and difficult. He went to see his Uncle Sydney and was received coldly. Enid was engaged to be married to a solicitor, and Uncle Sydney was not too pleased about it.

  Nell and her mother were away for Easter. On their return Vernon rang up and said he must see her immediately. He arrived with a white face and burning eyes.

  ‘Nell, do you know what I’ve heard? Everyone has been saying that you are going to marry George Chetwynd. George Chetwynd!’

  ‘Who said so?’

  ‘Lots of people. They say you go round with him everywhere.’

  Nell looked frightened and unhappy.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t believe things. And Vernon, don’t look so – so accusing. It’s perfectly true that he has asked me to marry him – twice, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘That old man?’

  ‘Oh, Vernon, don’t be ridiculous. He’s only about forty-one or two.’

  ‘Nearly double your age. Why, I thought he wanted to marry your mother, perhaps.’

  Nell laughed in spite of herself.

  ‘Oh, dear, I wish he would. Mother’s really awfully handsome still.’

  ‘That’s what I thought that night at Ranelagh. I never guessed – I never dreamed – that it was you! Or hadn’t it begun then?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it had begun – as you call it. That was why Mother was so angry that night – at my going off alone with you.’

  ‘And I never guessed! Nell, you might have told me!’

  ‘Told you what? There wasn’t anything to tell – then!’

  ‘No, I suppose not. I’m being an idiot. But I do know he’s awfully rich. I get frightened sometimes. Oh, darling Nell, it was beastly of me to doubt you – even for a minute. As though you’d ever care how rich anyone were.’

  Nell said irritably:

  ‘Rich, rich, rich! You harp on that. He’s awfully kind and awfully nice, too.’

  ‘Oh, I dare say.’

  ‘He is, Vernon. Really he is.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to stick up for him, darling, but he must be an insensitive sort of brute to hang round after you’ve refused him twice.’

  Nell did not answer. She looked at him in a way he did not understand – something piteous and appealing and yet defiant in that strange limpid gaze. It was as though she looked at him from a world so far removed from his that they might be on different spheres.

  He said:

  ‘I feel ashamed of myself, Nell. But you’re so lovely – everyone must want you …’

  She broke down suddenly – began to cry. He was startled. She cried on, sobbed on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know what to do – I don’t know what to do. I’m so unhappy. If I could only talk to you.’

  ‘But you can talk to me, darling. I’m here listening.’

  ‘No, no, no … I can never talk to you. You don’t understand. It’s all no use …’

  She cried on. He kissed her, soothed her, poured out all his love …

  When he had gone, her mother came into the room, an open letter in her hand.

  She did not appear to notice Nell’s tear-stained face.

  ‘George Chetwynd sails for America on the 30th of May,’ she remarked, as she went across to her desk.

  ‘I don’t care when he sails,’ said Nell rebelliously.

  Mrs Vereker did not answer.

  That night Nell knelt longer than usual by her narrow white bed.

  ‘Oh, God, please let me marry Vernon. I want to so much. I do love him so. Please let things come right and let us be married. Make something happen … Please God …’

  2

  At the end of April Abbots Puissants was let. Vernon came to Nell in some excitement.

  ‘Nell, will you marry me now? We could just manage. It’s a bad let – an awfully bad one, but I simply had to take it. You see, there’s been the mortgage interest to pay and all the expenses of the upkeep while it’s been unlet. I’ve had to borrow for all that and now, of course, it’s got to be paid back. We’ll be pretty short for a year or two, but then it won’t be so bad …’

  He talked on, explaining the financial details.

  ‘I’ve been into it all, Nell. I have really. Sensibly, I mean. We could afford a tiny flat and one maid and have a little left over to play with. Oh, Nell, you wouldn’t mind being poor with me, would you? You said once I didn’t know what it was to be poor, but you can’t say that now. I’ve lived on frightfully little since I came to London, and I haven’t minded a bit.’

  No, Nell knew he hadn’t. The fact was in some way a vague reproach to her. And yet, though she couldn’t quite express it to herself, she felt that the two cases were not on a par. It made much more difference to women – to be gay and pretty and admired and have a good time – none of those things affected men. They hadn’t that everlasting problem of clothes – nobody minded if they were shabby.

  But how explain these things to Vernon? One couldn’t. He wasn’t like George Chetwynd. George understood things like that.

  ‘Nell.’

  She sat there, irresolute, his arm round her. She had got to decide. Visions floated before her eyes. Amelie … the hot little house, the wailing children … George Chetwynd and his car … a stuffy little flat – a dirty incompetent maid … dances … clothes … the money they owed dressmakers … the rent of the London house – unpaid … Herself at Ascot, smiling, chattering in a lovely model gown … then, with a sudden revulsion she was back at Ranelagh on the bridge over the water with Vernon …

  In almost the same voice as she had used that evening she said:

  ‘I don’t know. Oh, Vernon, I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, Nell, darling, do … do …’

  She disengaged herself from him, got up.

  ‘Please, Vernon – I must think … yes, think. I – I can’t when I’m with you.’

  She wrote to him later that night:

  ‘Dearest Vernon, – Let us wait a little longer – say six months. I don’t feel I want to be married now. Besides, something might have happened about your opera then. You think I’m afraid of being poor, but it’s not quite that. I’ve seen people – people who loved each other, and they didn’t any more because of all the bothers and worries. I feel that if we wait and are patient everything will come right. Oh! Vernon, I know it will – and then everything will be so lovely. If only we wait and have patience …’

  Vernon was angry when he got this letter. He did not show the letter to Jane, but he broke out into sufficiently unguarded speech to let her see how the land lay. She said at once in her disconcerting fashion:

  ‘You do think you’re sufficient prize for any girl, don’t you, Vernon?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, do you think it will be awfully jolly for a girl who has danced and been to parties and had lots of fun and people admiring her to be stuck down in a poky hole with no more fun?’

  ‘We’d have each other.’

  ‘You can’t make love to her for twenty-four hours on end. Whilst you’re working what is she to do?’

  ‘Don’t you think a woman can be poor and happy?’

  ‘Certainly, given the necessary qualifications.’

  ‘Which are – what? Love and trust?’

  ‘No, you idiotic child. A sense of humour, a tough hide and the valuable quality of being sufficient unto oneself. You will insist on love in a cottage being a sentimental problem dependent on the amount of love concerned. It’s far more a problem of mental outlook. You’d be all right stuck down anywhere – Buckingham Palace or the Sahara – because you’ve got your mental preoccupation – music. But Nell’s dependent on extraneous circumstances. Marrying you will cut her off from all her friends.’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘Because it’s the hardest thing in the world
for people with different incomes to continue friends. They’re not all doing the same thing naturally.’

  ‘You always put me in the wrong,’ said Vernon savagely. ‘Or at anyrate you try to.’

  ‘Well, it annoys me to see you put yourself on a pedestal and stand admiring yourself for nothing at all,’ said Jane calmly. ‘You expect Nell to sacrifice her friends and life to you, but you wouldn’t make your sacrifice for her.’

  ‘What sacrifice? I’d do anything.’

  ‘Except sell Abbots Puissants!’

  ‘You don’t understand …’

  Jane looked at him gently.

  ‘Perhaps I do. Oh, yes, my dear, I do very well. But don’t be noble. It always annoys me to see people being noble! Let’s talk about the Princess in the Tower. I want you to show it to Radmaager.’

  ‘Oh, it’s so rotten. I couldn’t. You know, I didn’t realize myself, Jane, how rotten it was until I had finished it.’

  ‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Nobody ever does. Fortunately – or nothing ever would be finished. Show it to Radmaager. What he says will be interesting at all events.’

  Vernon yielded rather grudgingly.

  ‘He’ll think it such awful cheek.’

  ‘No, he won’t. He’s a very high opinion of what Sebastian says, and Sebastian has always believed in you. Radmaager says that for so young a man, Sebastian’s judgment is amazing.’

  ‘Good old Sebastian. He’s wonderful,’ said Vernon warmly. ‘Nearly everything he’s done has been a success. Shekels are rolling in. God, how I envy him sometimes.’

  ‘You needn’t. He’s not such a very happy person really.’

  ‘You mean Joe? Oh! that will all come right.’

  ‘I wonder. Vernon, do you see much of Joe?’

  ‘A fair amount. Not as much as I used to. I can’t stand that queer artistic set she’s drifted into – their hair’s all wrong and they look unwashed and they talk what seems to me the most arrant drivel. They’re not a bit like your crowd – the people who really do things.’