‘Curiouser and curiouser. Did you like it there?’
‘I loved it.’
‘Oh good. Then you’re quite … happy again?’
How to answer this? ‘Well, you know, with my father dying …’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I’m the most tactless person in the world. Poor Bobbie! Look, will you prove to me once and for all that you have forgiven me and come over and see us?’
I hesitated. I wanted to reassure Fleur that I felt no ill-will. But the prospect of being sociable filled me with gloom. It seemed to demand an effort that I was incapable of making. But this was feeble. I must make efforts. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Marvellous. If you’re not busy come to tea tomorrow. I’d ask you to supper but Dickie’s got some golfing friends coming and you’d be bored to death. Oh, Bobbie, I’ve got this most extraordinarily beautiful foal! He’s like a prince, the way he steps out holding his head in this wonderful curve. You’d adore him.’
As I heard the girlish excitement in Fleur’s voice I remembered why I had liked her. She was guilty of nothing except possibly loving her brother a little too well. But that was all past and had no power to hurt me. And perhaps Dickie’s cheerful face and transparently benevolent character might be just what I was in need of.
‘All right. Thank you.’
At four o’clock the next day I turned into the drive beneath the immaculate rows of pleached limes that led to Ladyfield. I remembered the excitement that used to grip me at the thought of seeing Burgo. How strange that I had so completely forgotten him that he might have been part of someone else’s life. I recalled his face more clearly as Fleur came running out, followed by her dogs, and threw her arms around me when I got out of the car.
‘It’s so lovely to see you! You must come and admire my new foal straight away.’
‘Bobbie!’ Dickie came limping out, beaming, flannelled and blazered as usual, smelling of soap and clean laundry, the epitome of a decent man. ‘It’s been much too long!’
‘It has. I quite agree.’
‘Yes, aha!’ I saw that Dickie was embarrassed, remembering what had created the hiatus in our relationship. ‘You’re looking well. Very well, my dear.’ I did not suppose this was true. I had thought, getting ready to go out, that I looked terrible. ‘But a little thin. You must come and have some of Mrs Harris’s delicious cake to fatten you up.’
‘Don’t fuss, Dickie,’ said Fleur impatiently. ‘Bobbie looks fine to me. All right, we’ll just look at the foal over the stable door and then we’ll come and join you in the drawing room.’
‘And afterwards I’ll show Bobbie the garden. Mostly it’s still buds but there are some gorgeous tulips.’ He looked at me anxiously. ‘Now I know your refined tastes. What do you say? Are tulips too bright and stiff for you?’
‘Not a bit,’ I laughed. ‘They’re one of my favourite flowers.’
‘By golly, it’s good to see you!’ Dickie gave my arm a squeeze. ‘What have you been doing with yourself? I must say you’re a sight for sore eyes.’ Then his face grew solemn. ‘But I was forgetting. Very bad luck about your father. An awful blow, these things. Knock you back a bit, don’t they?’
‘Yes. Yes they do, rather. But it was peaceful.’
‘Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, you two go and look at that horse and mind you don’t slip in the mud.’
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ asked Fleur. We leaned over the door of the stable and watched the mare and foal nuzzling each other, moving gracefully about inside the loose box. They were elegant, slender-limbed beasts, quite different from the Cockatoo with his barrel body and stocky legs.
‘Beautiful!’ I praised them until Fleur seemed to feel that I had done them justice.
Then I admired the dogs, trying not to think of Osgar and Maria until Fleur said, ‘Come on, we’ll go and have tea.’
If I had had any doubts about going back to Ladyfield they were dispelled as I walked into the house and saw the familiar rooms full of lovely things, well cared for and scented with the hyacinths that stood in deep bowls in every room. Dickie and Fleur seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I realized that apart from Oliver they were the first people I had encountered since my return to England for whom I felt real friendship.
Over tea we talked a little about Ireland. I tried not to be reserved but there were so many things I could not mention for fear of betraying myself. I described the scenery, Constance, the children, the animals – this for Fleur’s sake – and the perception I had of Irish life, necessarily a narrow view as I had spent the entire ten months in one small part of it. I think I sounded cheerful enough but it was a relief to turn to Fleur’s dogs, Dickie’s golf, his presidency of the local fine arts society, the party they were planning in June to which I must be sure to come.
Dickie took his stick and stood up. ‘Come on, Bobbie, the sun’s out. We’ll go and look at the garden and then you can admire my orchids in the glasshouse. Fleur thinks they’re revolting.’
‘I do! They have horrid brown bags instead of petals.’
‘Only the paphiopedilums. The phalaenopsis are as pretty as anyone could wish.’
We went into the garden. Fleur took my arm. Dickie walked ahead. Listening to them arguing as in the old days I felt obliquely comforted. I saw that despite the difference in age, temperament and ideas they were reasonably happy together. As perhaps Finn and Violet could—No. I was not yet ready to think about that. Most people’s lives were imperfect yet they rubbed along somehow. Perhaps for me also there would be some good times ahead. If I could just lose this feeling of extreme emotional fragility and buckle down to getting on with things (which things I could not quite formulate) I should be all right.
The garden was perfect, the lawns emerald and weedless, the borders mulched, the roses pruned to military neatness. Between the exquisite pink, white and purple tulips flowered mauve perennial wallflowers already smothered with bees, low mounds of violas, anthemis daisies and the pea-like Lathyrus vernus. Birds hopped about, piping of spring and parenthood. I admired everything including the muck-heap. Who was it who had said that Ladyfield was a Garden of Eden with its own serpent? Ah, Kit, of course, and that was typical. Everything was a game to him. How I wished I could take things more lightly and turn them into slightly cynical jokes! But he was wrong about Ladyfield. It was peaceful and ordered and beautiful, without a flaw. This was the aspect of England I could grow to love again. The discipline, the shaping hand, the goals set and the standards reached. I felt, for a moment, almost hopeful.
‘Come and see the China House garden,’ urged Fleur. ‘Dickie’s spent millions of pounds putting in everything you suggested.’
If I hesitated it was only for a second. ‘Yes. I must see that.’
When we reached the narrow gap in the hedge, Fleur said, ‘Dickie, I’m cold. Will you run in and fetch my coat?’
‘That’s too bad of you, darling, when I begged you to put on something warm before we came out. I want to see Bobbie’s face when she catches sight of my improvements.’
‘All right, come in, see it and then go,’ said Fleur. ‘But hurry up. I’m feeling quite shivery.’
This made Dickie anxious. He barely glanced at my expression of delight before hobbling away. I had forgotten the enchantment of the China House with its up-flung eaves from which hung irons bells that chimed with the wind. A narrow red fretted bridge spanned the pond.
‘Sharawadgi, indeed!’ I ran on to the bridge. ‘Truly a delicious and unanticipated surprise!’ I admired the glossy veined pads of the water lilies floating on the still water. It was too early for flowers. ‘And look at this cherry blossom!’ I gazed into the delicate pale pink blossoms. ‘This little garden has the most wonderful atmosphere: dreaming, timeless. And those cloud-pruned box! How clever Dickie’s been!’
‘He’s made some changes inside, as well.’
Fleur opened the door. I stepped into the cool, dark chamber. The bed had been mo
ved to the opposite wall and there was a new sofa with elegant scrolled ends – and there was someone sitting on it. I saw among the shadows a long leg uncross itself from its fellow as he stood up. The door closed behind me. I turned to see, through the window, Fleur hurrying back across the bridge.
‘Hello, Roberta.’ Burgo moved forward so that the light fell on his face. ‘Don’t be angry with Fleur. You know she always does what I tell her.’ He smiled. I had forgotten that smile. Also how dark his eyes were. Now they seemed alight with some secret enjoyment, though his mouth was solemn. I fought the temptation to run. Once before I had run away from the China House, from him, and by doing so had told him as clearly as if I had spoken the words aloud that he was more to me than other men. ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he said.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘He’ll be much missed by the Worping Conservatives,’ he added with every appearance of gravity though I was not deceived.
‘How are you?’ Though I was troubled to find him there I was determined to appear calm.
‘As you see.’ He held out his arms from his sides to display himself. He was not altered in the least. Why should he be? It had only been ten months. It was my idea of him that had changed so entirely. The hair was the same thick, untidy white-blond. He had evidently just come down from London. His double-breasted suit was elegant, his tie a model of restrained good taste, his shoes burnished. It was the public man who stood before me but his face was recast second by second into the man I had loved.
‘You’re just the same,’ he said.
I shook my head.
‘I had to see you.’ Burgo took a step nearer. Now I could see every line on his face clearly: that curved upper lip, the pinched-in corner of his mouth that made one suspect he was suppressing laughter. ‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened between us, the way things turned out. It wasn’t at all what I’d intended.’
‘That’s very considerate of you.’ I tried to keep sarcasm out of my voice so he should not think I still minded. ‘But we’ve had time to get over it. And I was equally to blame. Let’s agree to forget all about it.’
‘Well, yes, if it’s possible. Somehow I doubt it. I don’t know how it’s been for you but for my part I haven’t found it exactly easy. I thought you should know that. Perhaps you think I let you down. You thought it was lack of love on my part. Yes, I see that’s exactly what you did think.’
I tightened my facial muscles. I was not going to allow myself to be deciphered.
‘I tried to find you.’ As Burgo talked he moved closer. ‘As a matter of fact I tried damned hard. But you’d disappeared as completely as though you’d dropped through a hole in the ground. I rang up everyone I could think of who might know where you’d gone.’
‘I’m sorry to have been such a nuisance.’ I smiled but he was not deceived.
‘Oh, you’re angry still. You frighten me.’
I did not think he looked particularly frightened, more as if he were enjoying the tension I was unable to defuse. I saw again in those dark eyes the light of amusement I had once so loved.
‘You won’t forgive me because I went back to Anna. You think me a manipulative, ambitious bastard. Don’t deny it,’ he said sharply as I schooled my features into a softer expression. ‘All right, I did want the job. Desperately. But if you’d come to me instead of running away, if you’d allowed me to choose, I’d have chosen you. You believe that, at least?’
‘Yes, I think you probably would.’ I gathered my wandering thoughts and took myself in hand. ‘But, you see, I didn’t want to be “chosen”, as you put it. Yes, I was angry, but not with you.’ He did not speak as I paused to steady my voice. I guessed that he was disconcerted so I carried on before he had a chance to interrupt. ‘I was angry with myself. I made a terrible mistake and even while I was allowing myself to fall in love with you I knew it was a stupid thing to do. I was quite aware of the danger and I went ahead because I imagined I’d be able somehow to cheat my way out of the consequences.’
I saw that he was taken aback. I could not mistake that look of doubt, so rarely seen but so clearly recalled now that he was there, in front of me, near enough to hear him breathe.
‘Roberta. You make me feel ashamed.’ I felt compunction then because the old feelings of love were sharp in my mind.
‘As far as I’m concerned you did nothing wrong. If your conscience is bothering you, I exonerate you completely. You can go away and forget—No, you’re right, that isn’t possible. Well, we might remember it as an episode of glorious folly, with moments of great happiness for which we both paid very dearly. You, perhaps, more than I. I don’t suppose your wife is going to forget it either. And she has no pleasurable memories to compensate for the misery.’
‘Yes, it was glorious.’ He took my hand in his. It felt familiar, warm. ‘Roberta. Darling. It’s been torture, not seeing you, not knowing where you were. Couldn’t you at least have let me know you were all right?’
‘I sent a letter.’
‘Two lines. They weren’t reassuring. You just said you were going away. How was I to know what that meant? I’ve imagined everything. I was afraid you might be ill, that you might have married someone you didn’t love on the rebound, even – oh, I know it sounds conceited – perhaps even have tried to kill yourself.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be so cold. It’s killing me. If you knew how many times I’ve wanted to send everything to hell – comb the country for you – get those bloody journalists to put a notice in the papers begging you to come back to me.’
I tried to remove my hand but he held on to it. ‘That would have been very rash.’
‘Would you have come back if I had?’
I thought I could afford to be truthful with him. ‘Yes, I expect so. I’m sure I would have – in those first few weeks, anyway.’ I was rewarded by an increased pressure of his hand.
‘Fleur says you went to Ireland. Why? Did you have friends there?’ He paused. ‘Another man?’
‘I didn’t know anyone. That’s why. I wanted to make a new beginning.’
‘That isn’t possible, is it? Neither of us can forget.’
‘I had forgotten until today. Not you, of course; I shall always remember you. But I’d forgotten why I thought it worthwhile to ignore everything that experience and whatever intelligence I possess had taught me for the sake of … love.’
He held my hand more tightly. ‘All right. You’re punishing me. I’ll take it if I must but have some pity, for God’s sake!’
‘How can I convince you that I hold myself entirely responsible? I don’t want you to feel guilty about me. I don’t want you to feel anything at all about me.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re still unhappy, aren’t you? Don’t deny it. I know you too well. And I know what it’s like to live with regret, with longing. Loving someone I can never see, never hold in my arms. Roberta! There’s only one way for us to make peace with each other.’ He took hold of my other arm and drew me close. ‘Kiss me.’
I allowed myself to look directly into his eyes. For a moment the scent of cedarwood and earthy smells stealing in from the garden operated on my senses to revive the memory of what I had felt at the height of our hunger for each other. But it was cold, poisoned, ashes in the mouth.
‘I should have known you wouldn’t have set this up and rushed down here just so you could say you were sorry. You fancied a little variety. I suppose Anna’s away? Or busy? Or perhaps unwilling.’
He let go of me abruptly and stepped back, as though I had threatened to bite him. ‘Don’t be a fool, Roberta!’ He looked away from me, took a pace or two, thinking. I watched him, feeling a detached sympathy for his predicament. ‘Of course, you’re jealous of her.’ He leaned against the arm of the sofa, stretched out his legs in front of him and sighed: the picture of reasonableness in the face of intransigence. ‘That’s understandable. I’d probably feel the same in your place. I s
uppose you want me to undergo some ordeal by sword or flame to prove my penitence. I didn’t think you were like other women, wanting your pound of flesh.’ Evidently Anna had laid down stringent terms. ‘That’s why I loved you. You were generous, unselfish, above wanting to possess, to parade your spoils.’ He looked at me searchingly. ‘And you haven’t changed, have you? I’ve hurt you. I regret that more than you’ll ever know. But you’re the same woman I loved then. Just the same. And I’m the same man, helpless in the face of beauty. You have all my love, Roberta.’ He looked at me, his expression serious, his dark eyes mournful and yet I saw in them a gleam of something. Was it amusement still? Or certainty?
‘Goodbye, Burgo. I’m sorry you went to so much trouble for nothing.’
I went to the door. It opened easily. Dickie had cured the damp problem. I walked over the bridge and passed through the gap in the hedge. I made my way between the long borders, the greenery fresh and sappy, seductive with the promise of a brilliant summer. I crossed the lawn and skirted the house to reach the drive where my car was parked.
Dickie came dashing out through the front door, as fast as his leg allowed. I got into the driving seat and wound down the window. He came galloping round to my side of the car and bent to look in as I started the engine.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I had no idea. Fleur’s only just told me Burgo’s here. Please don’t go away like this.’ His good-natured face was creased with anxiety.
‘It’s all right, Dickie. It really doesn’t matter. Don’t be cross with Fleur. She can’t help herself where he’s concerned.’ I put out my head to kiss his cheek. ‘I won’t come again, but please remember how awfully fond I am of both of you.’
I let out the clutch and drove off. In my rear-view mirror I saw Dickie standing on the drive, looking after me with an expression of forlorn perplexity. Near the front gates Burgo’s – or rather Simon’s – car was parked among the trees, at an angle that hid it from anyone driving in. I was annoyed with myself for feeling agitated. My heart was racing and I felt almost dizzy with anxiety to get away. But of one thing I was certain. Though Burgo’s outward attractions were not a whit less than they had been I had not been tempted for one moment to respond to them. Poor Burgo! How patiently he must have waited, anticipating a blissful reunion on the Chinese daybed. I shuddered, then was sorry that I had, for I had loved him once. The journey back to Cutham was long enough for me to do some serious thinking.
Moonshine Page 77
