Mr. Porter and the Brothers Jones

by Reinhold, Margaret;

  Next day he remained in the outer office and he noticed, glancing secretly from under lowered eyelids, that Vera was not at work. By early afternoon he had become restless and was unable to concentrate. He fussed unproductively with the papers on his desk. On sudden impulse he went back into the large office and enquired belligerently of Cyril whether by any chance Vera was on holiday because, if so, nobody had bothered to let Mr Porter know and what was going to happen to the letters?

  “Didn’t you know?” asked Cyril innocently, “Lionel is here.”

  Lionel was Vera’s son who lived in Leeds. From time to time he came to stay with Vera. Mr Porter considered Lionel to be brash and aggressive—“typical,” he told Dr Katzenheimer, “of a youngest unwanted child born”—Mr Porter believed—“very late in an uncertain marriage.” Whenever Lionel turned up Vera stayed away from the office for a few days. On this occasion, as Cyril informed Mr Porter, Lionel, who was a sales manager for a firm which sold fertilisers, cattle-feed, and soap, had arrived to attend a convention.

  Mr Porter returned to his desk, brooding and irritable. He had a long dialogue with himself as to whether or not he would accept if Vera asked him to have coffee with her and Lionel one evening during the visit. He suddenly thought that if that was the case, he ought to buy some very special fruit to take to Vera, or a box of chocolates. Perhaps also marrons glacés.

  Then, overtaken by paranoia, he decided that, as Vera had not bothered to warn him of Lionel’s impending visit, he need not give her anything and certainly need not help her to entertain Lionel. Only then he remembered, bitterly, that she had, in any case, not invited him to do so.

  Deep depression followed. He looked slowly through the papers on his desk, but concentration was beyond him.

  There was a little knock on the outer door, so muffled and indecisive he couldn’t be sure if he’d heard anything at all. A faint shuffle followed. The door opened a few inches and the head of the Pakistani manager of the nearby delicatessen appeared—first a hopeful eye, then an apprehensive nose and finally the whole face with an expression of fatuous expectation. Silence.

  “Go away!” roared Mr Porter. “I can’t see you now!”

  The expression on the face turned to dismay. The door shut quietly. Soft feet tiptoed away.

  “I’m full of disgust with myself,” Mr Porter told Dr Katzenheimer the next day. “After all, I’d told the poor chap he could come and get some advice about his lease. It’s so much worse because he’s Indian—Pakistani, rather—or is it Bangladesh …?”

  He brooded in silence. I shall have to make amends, he thought. He planned orgies of gifts to bribe himself back into good favor and caught Dr Katzenheimer’s waiting eye. He sighed and decided to tell her of Jerome’s impending visit.

  Later, as if to add to his misery, when Mr Porter was laden with groceries, the bus driver failed to stop although Mr Porter waved his umbrella as best he could. The man drove on with bland indifference, splashing Mr Porter with black mud. If he’d had a hand free, Mr Porter would have taken his number. As it was, he arrived home in a black rage.

  He had hardly had time to put his box in the kitchen when the telephone rang. He snatched up the receiver in fury.

  “Mr Porter …” It was Jerome. “May I come and see you … tonight or tomorrow night?”

  “You can’t come now,” said Mr Porter sharply. “I’m busy.”

  Then he suddenly relented. He thought, “No use having a bad ending to a bad day!” He said, “Come at nine,” to which Jerome gratefully agreed. Mr Porter hoped, in the intervening hours, to have his bowels open, to eat his supper, to drink a beer, and to greet Jerome in a fresh, relaxed mood.

  It was no use, however. He could not perform with the thought of a visitor invading his privacy. Nothing helped—not sips of hot tea, nor grapes slowly chewed, nor the careful reading of the editorials in one of last week’s edition of The Times.

  After a while he gave up, washed, and changed into an elaborate silk dressing gown. His mood was sour. He peered irritably from the window in case Jerome was hanging about waiting to be let in.

  When the bell finally rang, Mr Porter was in a cold rage. He opened the door silently and gave Jerome no word of greeting.

  But Jerome hardly noticed. He came slowly into Mr Porter’s sitting room, peering about in the dim light. An even larger stack of chocolate boxes had recently been added to the surrealistic collection of objects and furniture: Mr Porter was preparing his Christmas offerings. Seeing Jerome’s incredulous stare, Mr Porter became defensive.

  “Sit down,” he said sharply and waved to a spot where a river of newspapers had spilled across a sofa.

  “Just push them aside,” he added. Jerome did so and sat down gingerly.

  Almost immediately he stopped wondering at the rich disarray around him, and, fixing his eye on Mr Porter, began to talk again of Lilac and his affair with her and the events following the night they’d spent together.

  Mr Porter’s bad humor quickly left him. He was transported to a warm Mediterranean summer. He could smell dust and geraniums, water sprinkled on hot pavements, dry grass, wisteria and thyme.

  “I wonder where they’ll be now.” Joshua’s elegant finger traced the motorway line down the map.

  “Nearly there, I think. Knowing Jerome—he’s so impatient.” Beatrice gave her loud laugh. Joshua glanced at her. Her mouth looked full and soft as she laughed, a blurred mouth, sensual and undiscriminating, he thought, with a little private shudder.

  “Another cup?”

  “No, thank you.” The elegant hand was raised in a gesture of restraint.

  “I’ll telephone tomorrow, Beatrice, if that’s all right.”

  “But of course, Joshua!” She sounded warm and welcoming and for that he was grateful.

  And when the telephone rang next day: “Hullo? Beatrice? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Joshua.”

  “Any news?”

  “Any moment now, Joshua.”

  “They must have arrived, surely?”

  “I’d have thought so.”

  “I suppose they’re all right?”

  “Oh yes, of course Joshua, of course they’re all right. They’d jolly well better be!”

  Joshua, wincing, said “Will you let me know if you hear?”

  “Yes, yes, Joshua. What’re you imagining? Sudden death or an elopement?”

  “I suppose you’re right. Probably the latter …”

  He added, “Are you all right?”

  Again the raucous laughter—an anger in that laugh, he felt. “Of course I am!”

  She thought, “He’s kind! But so boring! How does Lilac put up with it?”

  In the late afternoon, Jerome and Lilac climbed the steps to the house. They had worked hard all day cleaning and airing, unpacking and storing. Now they stood on the terrace, relaxed in slanting sunlight.

  Far below the great sea glowed darkly, blue as lapis, meeting the horizon in a perfect arc. He put his arms around her and held her against him.

  “Lilac! This should never have started—but I love you.”

  She wriggled slightly.

  “I love you too,” she said lightly.

  “No one must ever know.”

  “No one! Ever!”

  He fetched a bottle of wine and they drank and laughed with the happy excitement of lovers.

  “We must telephone,” she said.

  “Yes—I know—It’s hanging over me.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll call Joshua.”

  He was amazed, when she spoke to Joshua, at how casual, how practised she sounded. Had she been unfaithful before? In the most natural-sounding voice, “We made it—and we’ve almost got the house in order. No—why should we have? Surely you weren’t worried, Joshua?—You’re joking! Well—here we are, anyway. We enjoyed the journey—I did, anyway. So did Jerome, I think … Well—see you tomorrow—Will you let Beatrice know please? Thank you Joshua. Please kiss Emily for me—” and ad
ding, “Yes, yes, the house is fine, but the garden’s a wilderness—he couldn’t have been here.”

  She put down the telephone and smiled radiantly at Jerome.

  “Lilac …” said Jerome, now filled with great agitation.

  “What is it?” She came towards him and stood very close.

  “Perhaps we should not … ever again …”

  She clasped him, pressing her mouth to his.

  “Lilac, no one must know—”

  “Why do you keep saying that? Why are you afraid?”

  “Joshua will kill me.”

  His voice held genuine fear. She laughed—a false nervous laugh. Elated and apprehensive, she extended a hand, meant to comfort—quickly grasped, hastily withdrawn.

  Later that night, Jerome went out on the terrace. A cat slid, rustling, from the bushes and fled across the moonlit stones—a thin black and white creature with a wild, haunted face. The sea lay dark and shining at the foot of the hills. Jerome stood for a while looking at the white glare of moonlight on the garden and the lights of other lonely houses in the countryside around him. He picked a few leaves of lavender, crushed them in his hand and inhaled the strong scent. The scene of the previous night came to him with fearful intensity. The same moon had brightly rimmed their naked bodies and witnessed their betrayal of Beatrice and Joshua. He sat for a while on a stone bench. Little flickers of feeling arose in him out of the shadowy past; little images glowing and beckoning, with the immeasurable pain of his childhood. He reckoned he had always been afraid of Joshua … Joshua, who ruled his life with quiet menace. He thought of the strange collusion which had developed between his mother and Joshua after his father had died, a secret relationship from which he had been excluded. He had drifted unhappily on the fringe of their whispered conversations, their shared laughter and teasing flirtations. In spite of their closeness, as he had told Mr Porter, he had sensed a great unease in Joshua and a torment in his mother which drove her into those sudden angers he couldn’t understand. In her anger she would fly at him like a fury. He would draw back, bewildered.

  They looked so alike, she and Joshua, that he could see her now in his brother—sandy-haired, elegant, austere. Remembering her, he was overwhelmed with longing and sadness and at the same moment he felt the shadow of Joshua fall across him.

  He shivered and went indoors to find Lilac in his bed.

  That same day, Joshua left his office early. Emily’s nanny was to go on holiday the next morning after he and the child had left for the airport. There were a number of things to settle and Emily had to be persuaded to go to sleep in good time.

  When all was calm and the house silent, Joshua began to pack the bag he would take on the airplane. Although the girl at the desk called it his hand luggage, he preferred to think of it as an overnight bag, packed with all he might need if the airplane failed to arrive at its destination and was diverted so that the passengers had to disembark without their suitcases. He had experienced this kind of emergency once in the past when he travelled by air to visit his mother in Cape Town.

  Once, he had found himself in a strange hotel in Nairobi, parted from his suitcase which remained in the hold of the plane; another time the same thing had happened in Athens.

  He therefore put into his bag toothbrush and paste, shaver, slippers, a cardigan (useful also if the airplane’s heating was inadequate), his glasses, soluble aspirin, soap, paper handkerchiefs, sleeping pills, scissors, string, a small tin of Nescafé, a corkscrew, a milk strainer (foreign breakfast milk tended to be lumpy), some sweets, a few biscuits (emergency rations), and a bottle of Perrier water.

  There were also books, of course; pills to stop diarrhoea and vomiting, tranquillisers and pills to help indigestion. There was a needle with thread and a few safety pins. There were emery boards and milk of magnesia: it was essential to anticipate every contingency.

  Before he started, Joshua made a list and poured himself a drink. He brooded over the list, remembering omissions from earlier trips—such as the time he had inexplicably forgotten a comb. In the middle of his considerations he thought of Lilac and how strangely unreliable she was. He could count on her to make a muddle of her packing or to leave out some vital piece of equipment for the child.

  Joshua sighed and sipped his whisky and soda, ticking off items on his list as he assembled his things. When he had finished he decided to telephone Beatrice, who was alone as, this year, she had sent her two children to a summer camp.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  He winced slightly. “No, no, of course you should be. You’re so aggressive, Beatrice! I’m just inquiring how you’re getting on …”

  “I’m OK. How are you, Joshua?” Her voice was loud and seemed to him excessively Australian.

  “Fine, fine, thank you, Beatrice. Just finished my packing and all ready for an early night.”

  “Packing? I thought you put your suitcases in the car with Jerome and Lilac.”

  “Yes—I did, of course! It’s just my overnight bag.”

  “Overnight? For heaven’s sake! It’s a two-hour journey! We’ll be there by lunchtime …”

  “Yes—well—I like to take some little things in case of an emergency. Have you got something to read?”

  “Yes, thank you, Joshua, War and Peace which I am determined to finish this time, and a thriller.”

  “Good. I’m taking Hard Times.”

  “That’s nice,” she said kindly. “Well, I hope you have a good night, Joshua. See you at seven if the taxi comes.”

  “Yes. Don’t be late, will you Beatrice?”

  “I won’t, rest assured. I’m not Lilac …” She laughed her great coarse laugh and Joshua winced again.

  “Good night, then.”

  He put the telephone down, feeling a little bruised. She was amazingly robust, he thought. He supposed that’s what Jerome liked about her.

  He finished his drink and went to bed. His last thoughts that night were about Lilac. He wondered what sort of a job she and Jerome would make of tidying the house and getting in provisions. He decided he would say nothing whatever about the state of the place. Feeling virtuous, he switched out the light. He dozed.

  “Where did you spend the last night?” asked Joshua, casually fishing a fly from his glass of wine. They had arrived, and had been welcomed apprehensively by Jerome at the airport. They sat now in mid-afternoon shade while Emily slept upstairs.

  “We were here last night,” said Jerome.

  “No, I mean the last night of the journey.”

  “Oh—in a little hotel—a sort of country inn—on the outskirts of a fishing village. I can’t remember the name. I’d have to look at the map to find it. It wasn’t mentioned in the Guide. We found it by chance when we were both exhausted.”

  “It wasn’t quite up to your standard, Joshua,” murmured Lilac cheekily, “but we didn’t mind. It was fun, in fact!”

  Joshua glanced from one to the other. Lilac seemed strangely excited.

  “It actually was pretty mediocre,” said Jerome evenly, “but we were only there for a few hours. We set off again at cock crow almost.”

  “I actually did hear a cock crow,” cried Lilac, “did you Jerome?”

  He smiled with relief.

  “I might have done, but it would have been in my dreams.”

  “Did you dream, Jerome?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I did, for once a happy dream. Joshua, more wine? Do you two want a rest? I’d like a swim. Who’ll come with me?”

  “I will,” said Beatrice and went to fetch her bathing suit.

  Lilac stood up, looking a little forlorn.

  “Shall I come and swim with you and Beatrice?” she asked Jerome. “What about you, Joshua?”

  “Somebody has to stay with Emily.” Joshua had become cold.

  “Oh—” Lilac hesitated. She had momentarily forgotten her child.

  “Never mind,” said Joshua, “I’
ll take care of her.”

  Lilac hesitated and Joshua added sharply, “I’ve done it before, you know!” He sounded both mocking and bitter. It was true. Lilac had often been careless and even neglectful of Emily and Joshua had come to the rescue. He loved his child more passionately, Lilac thought, than he loved her.

  When Emily was born the doctor placed her in Lilac’s arms and smiled kindly at the two of them. Lilac tried to smile back, but could only grimace. She recognised in herself an overwhelming and utterly urgent need to run away. She stayed where she was because she had to. She fought an unquenchable panic. She felt acutely ill. She said, “I feel terribly sick, I think I’m going to be sick. Will you take her please?”

  Joshua took the child. He had not felt able to be present at the birth, but he waited outside. Now he came into the room and took Emily in his arms while a nurse held a bowl for Lilac. She retched. The obstetrician patted her shoulder and said, “You’ll be all right in a minute.” He left, with a deft smile for Joshua.

  Lilac, gasping, leaned back on the pillows and tried to understand what was happening to her. She had wanted a child, she believed, but having given birth to this child, she now felt as if leaden weights had been tied to her feet and a large hand had her by the throat.

  “It will be all right,” she told herself desperately. “It will be—it will be.”

  It was not altogether all right. Lilac, as she grew stronger, tried to care for her baby, but it was Joshua, marvellously gentle and patient, who truly loved his daughter.