New Seed For Old

by Simon Raven

  Anyhow, Marius thought, I’ll be seeing Milo tomorrow and I’ll soon find out whether he would wish to keep the Provost company. Back to School tomorrow. Milo, Mr Conyngham; Tessa, Jakki; no ‘Pally’ Palairet any more. Pity I shall miss Rosie: her school, Collingham’s in Kensington, doesn’t start for another week, and she won’t be back in London till the weekend. She’ll miss both me and Tessa. And Jakki. Shall I ring up Tessa and ask her to travel down to Farncombe with me tomorrow? Or Jakki? Or both? No. Milo may meet me at Farncombe Station (if he and Mr Conyngham get back from Ullacote in time) and then it would be embarrassing, after everything that’s happened.

  And then he thought again of his dark sister, Rosie, whom he had not seen for many weeks, and of his mother, rangy Isobel, both of them in France, at St Bertrand-de-Comminges, living in the chancel of a deconsecrated church; and he thought how twice that day (once with ‘Young’ John Groves and once with Len and Caspar) he had been nasty and disloyal about his mother, her parsimony or her love life (both, with Len and Caspar), and a tide of guilt and longing raced upon him, as he remembered how his mother used to crack her wicked jokes (before she was a socialist or a feminist) and kiss him on his ears and eyes. But she has grown mean, he told himself, and she is living as a lesbian, with Jean-Marie Guiscard’s wife, Jo-Jo. Facts were facts and must be candidly acknowledged. Yet would she, he wondered, when they next met (and God alone knew when that would be), would she still kiss him on his ears and his eyes?

  On the day that Rosie was due to leave St Bertrand-de-Comminges for London, her mother, Isobel Stern, had an express letter from ‘Young’ John Groves.

  ‘It’s to tell me I need no longer pay the cook at the house in Chelsea,’ she told Jo-Jo Guiscard, as they walked among the residual tombs beside the church which they inhabited.

  ‘But I thought you’d stopped anyway.’

  ‘Yes. Months ago.’ Her normally fine-skinned and intelligent face became suddenly goose-pimpled and truculent. ‘I don’t mind that cook’s being there to keep the place warm – convenient in case I had to go to London – but why should I pay him for doing nothing?’

  ‘Because otherwise he might not stay,’ said Jo-Jo, swivelling the strong waist between her springy hips so that she could look away across the tombs towards the foothills of the Pyrenees. ‘He might go away and no longer keep the place warm for your convenience.’

  ‘He knows when he’s well off. But in any case the question no longer arises. “Other arrangements have been made,” this letter says. I suspect that Marius has interfered. Who else? That young gentleman has got a few nasty surprises coming to him – him and his fancy, independent ways.’

  ‘What sort of nasty surprises? You can’t stop his money. You can’t even have it decreased. You’ve tried, and you’ve been seen off.’

  ‘The sort of surprises,’ said Isobel, ‘which God keeps in reserve for pretty and conceited boys like Marius.’

  Jo-Jo was starting to say that she didn’t think Marius was conceited, though sometimes no doubt a bit difficult, as were all boys of his age, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Rosie Stern, who had by the hand Jo-Jo’s two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Oenone.

  ‘We’ve been for our last walk on the ramparts,’ said Oenone, and sniffed ominously. She pointed up to the walls above the churchyard. ‘Up there,’ she said; ‘it’s our favourite place to see the mountains. But now Rosie’s going back to Looooondon –’

  ‘Stop whining like a little baby,’ Rosie said, at the same time caressing Oenone’s light brown hair with her free hand and bringing the child’s head against her belly. ‘I think my taxi should be here very soon. Shall I go and say goodbye to Jean-Marie?’

  ‘I should leave him, darling,’ said Jo-Jo; ‘he’s working on his book. He’s nearly at the end of it, and that makes him quite desperate to finish it up for good and get it out of the house. Interruptions will not be appreciated.’

  ‘Say goodbye for me, then. Any messages for England?’

  ‘Love to Marius,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘And try,’ said Marius’ mother, ‘to encourage him to make some suitable arrangement for the summer holidays. He knows there’s no room here. Perhaps he could go to this schoolmaster again – Braisley Cuntingham, or whatever he’s called.’

  Rosie shook her black tresses in reproof.

  ‘Raisley Conyngham,’ said Rosie earnestly, ‘of Ullacote in the County of Somerset, Esquire. He trains racehorses. I looked him up in Who’s Who and Burke’s Landed Gentry.’

  ‘And where did you discover those pernicious volumes?’ said Isobel fiercely.

  ‘Guilty,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘I brought ’em with me. One has to remind oneself, now one is a recluse and never sees one’s old friends, of the correct style of addressing their envelopes.’

  Isobel gave Jo-Jo a tough glance, but let this pass and reverted to Marius’ pedagogue.

  ‘Conyngham, then. He sounds a horrible reactionary pill, but so long as he’ll take Master Marius off my hands I’ll try to overlook it.’

  ‘And can I please,’ said Rosie, running one hand down the bony thigh which was covered by her tweed school skirt, ‘have the cheque for Mrs Malcolm at Buttock’s?’

  ‘Here,’ said Isobel rather too quickly.

  ‘I’ve got it ready.’

  She handed Rosie a folded cheque. Rosie opened it.

  ‘You’ve forgotten to sign it,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Oh, have I? Well I haven’t got a pen with me now. Tell Mrs Malcolm I’ll send it on later.’

  ‘I have a pen,’ said Rosie. ‘It will be easier – don’t you think? – if you sign it now.’

  Jo-Jo laughed. Isobel gritted her teeth and signed the cheque with Rosie’s pen, using a stone coffin lid as a desk. An aggressive French car horn sounded from the track the other side of the church.

  ‘I’ll just get my case,’ said Rosie, ‘and go. Although it is important to say goodbye properly, it makes me nervous hanging about. So: God bless you, Oenone. We shall walk on the ramparts again in the summer.’ She kissed the child on the forehead. ‘Goodbye, Jo-Jo. I wish Jean-Marie every success with his new book.’ She shook hands firmly with Jo-Jo, like a guide mistress taking leave of an unreliable girl guide, whom, nevertheless, she was determined not to shame in front of the other girls by too deprecatory a gesture. ‘And now, Mummy…’ Her mother kissed her briefly on the lips.

  ‘Au revoir, darling,’ said Isobel: ‘and love to that little brute, Marius – provided he clearly understands he’s not to come here next holidays.’

  ‘He doesn’t in the least want to,’ said Rosie in an absolutely neutral voice. ‘I left my case ready on the sedilia in the sanctuary. Goodbye.’

  ‘Extravagant little beast,’ Isobel said, as Rosie disappeared round the apse. ‘Why couldn’t she take a bus to the station at St Gaudens?’

  ‘Because she would have had to walk three miles to the bus stop with a heavy case. If you’d get that Lagonda of yours out of the garage, you could have given her a lift.’

  ‘The Lagonda belongs to another world. When I was Rosie’s age, Patricia and I would have walked three miles without even thinking of it, case or no case.’

  ‘And look what’s become of you both,’ said Jo-Jo coarsely. ‘Patricia in the loony bin for keepers, and you a middle-aged dyke that’s come out of the closet in a hair shirt and sackcloth. Any old how, it’s Rosie’s money.’

  ‘I know. I can’t imagine why Gregory didn’t leave me in charge of their allowances.’

  ‘I think I can,’ said Jo-Jo, and cackled with fond but malicious laughter.

  In Hong Kong, two other people were discussing Marius, having been reminded of him by the sight of a string of racehorses which were being exercised on the maidan.

  ‘You know,’ said one-eyed pink-faced Fielding Gray, ‘there was something terribly fishy about that job which Marius Stern had…as a groom in Raisley Conyngham’s stable.’

  ‘And God alone knows,’ said Jeremy Morrison,
‘what was going on at that race meeting at Bellhampton. I think Conyngham’s charming chum, Milo Hedley, would have known – if I’d thought to ask.’

  ‘You were too busy being buggered by him.’

  ‘It wasn’t that. I just didn’t know there was anything to ask about – not until the rumpus began, and by then it was too late.’

  ‘I think,’ said Fielding, ‘that we might do well to keep Marius away from Raisley Conyngham from now on.’

  ‘But he’ll be back at School by now – for the Cricket Quarter – right under Raisley’s nose till the end of July.’

  ‘What sort of beak was Conyngham when you were there?’

  ‘That’s four or five years ago now.’ Jeremy twisted his huge round face in annoyance. He hated having to describe things. ‘He was elegant,’ he said at length, ‘and he had style. Ironical, but seldom sarcastic. I should have been up to him for Latin and Greek verse in my last year, but he had a sabbatical. Without pay, they said. So I didn’t get to know him as well as I would have done.’

  ‘Did anyone see…anything odd in him…in those days?’

  ‘No. Nor they don’t see it now. He is, as far as I know, much respected as a wealthy and senior sort of beak who trains people up for Classical Schols at Oxford and Cambridge. He’s had plenty of winners in that field.’

  ‘I still don’t think he’s much good for Marius. I didn’t think he was much good for him last holidays – and I think he’ll be still less good for him if Marius joins him for the next.’

  ‘Well now,’ said Jeremy. ‘I have given Marius a provisional invitation to join me, wherever I may be, at my expense, any time after the end of the quarter. So at least we can get him away from Conyngham by having him out as soon as it’s over.’

  ‘If Conyngham lets him come.’

  ‘How can he stop him?’

  ‘He’s got the whole of next quarter to fix that. And if I’m not mistaken, your handsome friend, Milo Hedley, will be helping Conyngham to fix it. Where shall we be by the end of July?’

  Jeremy made some mental calculations. Fielding watched the horses as they were walked by the grooms round the edge of the maidan, and thought of fair, slim Marius, dressed in his School tie and grey flannel suit, as he walked Lover Pie round the Paddock at Bellhampton.

  ‘My gospel of oneness with the soil,’ said Jeremy in a plausible and sympathetic voice, ‘has had a good run of practice preaching here in Honkers. The humble like it because they think it lends them dignity – not that people work the soil in Honkers, but I’ve got some of ’em to feel what it might be if they did, and to favour the feeling. The commercial alligators also like the message, because they think it should do very well to keep the peasants (the producers of necessities) in their proper and docile place. So far, so good. But very soon now we must move back to Delhi for the beginning of the real show.’

  ‘Have the Indians shown any interest?’ said Fielding.

  ‘You’d be surprised. They showed some when we last passed through, and a great deal more since we’ve been here and they’ve had a few days to think about it. My combination of primeval earth mysticism (discouraging riots and schism) with an implied promise of increased crops has got them wetting their dhotis at ministerial level. Whenever there is doubt as to my repute, my father’s name turns the scale.’

  ‘Shall we still be in India when Marius’ quarter ends? I don’t think he’d care for it – all shit and beggars.’

  ‘Late July… Probably not. By then we should be in Oz.’

  ‘Don’t tell me the Cobbers have fallen for primeval earth mysticism.’

  ‘That kind of thing’s in the air, Fielding. Everywhere. People want a bit of religion back in their lives. The established religions have failed them by turning into brassy bucket shops for cheap and violent left-wing ideas…whereas what the masses want is mystery, the numinous, sublimity – something to worship, to adore. The soil will do as well as anything else for that – much better than doped “freedom fighters” or ludicrous revolutionary antics.’

  ‘Anyway, you’ll write and ask Marius to join us as soon as the quarter ends?’

  ‘Happily. There may be a shift in the dates of our itinerary – but then we could switch his ticket accordingly. Why, Fielding, are you carrying on so much about Marius?’

  ‘I just don’t like what he’s getting into with Raisley Conyngham. I think he’s already in deeper than we know. That business with those horses at Bellhampton – it had the mark of some kind of rite, a rite of initiation or preparation.’

  ‘What rubbish, my dear. How could you possibly know that? The thing is quite clear: Raisley Conyngham has a fancy (certainly Platonic) for two bright favourites, Milo Hedley and Marius Stern, and the favourites have a fancy (perhaps not quite so Platonic) for each other; and so all three spent a month in the country, as happy as nabobs, in Raisley’s swish Manor House, where, among other things, Marius could indulge his fondness for horses.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. And what was Tessa Malcolm doing in that gallery?’

  ‘A pleasant and decorative addition to the party. Just as simple as that…though come to think of it, she did seem to be behaving rather strangely on the racecourse.’

  ‘Exactly. Everyone was behaving rather strangely on that racecourse. I shall be very relieved when Marius joins us – if he joins us – in recognizable shape, in July. There’s a very long time to go before then.’

  So far from meeting Marius at Farncombe Station, Milo Hedley totally ignored him (as did Raisley Conyngham) for the first five days of the quarter. Then, one afternoon, Hedley came and stood behind the net in which Marius was batting, and addressed him in the intervals between his strokes.

  ‘So now you’ve had your little expedition to Wiltshire,’ Milo said. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Very agreeably, thank you.’ Marius threw four balls back to the four bowlers. ‘I think I’ve been in long enough,’ he called.

  ‘Oh no, you haven’t,’ said Milo. ‘You stay there… Carry on for a bit,’ he commanded the bowlers. ‘And did you have a satisfied customer?’ he asked Marius, as Marius squared up to the bowling.

  The ball was a half-volley outside the off stump. Marius drove it off the front foot, easily and very hard, into the netting.

  ‘There’s a clever boy,’ said Milo. ‘Did you come up to scratch with her ladyship?’

  ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘What Canteloupe’s chum, Giles Glastonbury, told our own dear Raisley Conyngham. Or at least hinted. Canteloupe wants another son…so send for rorty little Marius the Egyptian.’

  ‘I did my best,’ said Marius. He hooked at a short ball and got a jagged bottom edge.

  ‘Keep your eye on the thing,’ said Milo.

  ‘You’re not making it easier.’

  ‘How would you like to show me what happened between you and Lady Canteloupe…blow by blow? Strictly for the record? You needn’t worry, Marius. I don’t fancy you – you’re the wrong shape and texture. It would be a “dry run”, as soldiers say of a manoeuvre with blank cartridges: an academic exposition.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  Another short ball. This time he kept his eye on it and pulled it hard but far too high, clean out of the net.

  ‘Not very kind, Marius. Now the bowler will have to fetch it. Let’s have a little more consideration from you this afternoon. “If you insist,” you say. That is not the spirit. The spirit is one of bland and blithe obedience. You know that. There is work ahead, Marius. Mr Conyngham and I are trying to prepare you for it, make you worthy of it. Let me not hear “If you insist” ever again.’

  ‘All right. I’ll show you, Milo. As soon as I’m done with this net. Please stop putting me off,’ Marius said, as he badly mistimed a square cut.

  ‘Temper, temper. As it happens, I don’t really want to know. Either she gets what she and Canteloupe want or she doesn’t, and in the latter case you will, I suppose, be called on to try again. Lucky boy. Why
did you leave Wiltshire early?’

  ‘She was sick of the sight of me.’

  Marius played forward and snicked what would have been an easy catch in the slips. ‘If I go on playing so badly,’ he said, ‘I’ll be kicked out of the Under Sixteen.’

  ‘I do hope not, as that would seriously displease Mr Conyngham. He doesn’t care for failure. So I’ll leave you to concentrate on your pretty play – when you’ve told me what you got up to in Cambridge.’

  ‘I looked round the place, paid a courtesy visit to Carmilla Salinger, who’s on the board of our firm, Salinger, Stern and Detterling, met her friend, the explorer and author, Richard Harbinger, and then called on the Provost of Lancaster, as Mr Conyngham had suggested.’

  Marius cut the ball very late and fine.

  ‘There you are, you see,’ said Milo, ‘you can play beautifully if you don’t upset yourself by being difficult and petulant, if you simply do what you are told and tell the truth. And what did the learned Provost say?’

  ‘Nothing. He’d been taken ill. I spoke to some of his friends. They are worried about his condition, and want lots of company for him this summer. I don’t quite know why, but I suggested you.’

  ‘Me? He doesn’t know me. I’m not even going to Lancaster …but do you know, little Marius, though I don’t quite know why any more than you do, I think you have done a very good thing indeed. Though Mr Conyngham and I do not encourage action on impulse in normal circumstances, there are times when opportunities have to be recognized and swiftly taken. I think Conyngham will agree with me that you have done just that – spotted a valuable opportunity and snapped it up before it vanished. Well done, Marius the Egyptian.’