Part of the Furniture

by Mary Wesley

  Flabbergasted, Robert asked, ‘Have you never seen an animal born? Puppies? Kittens? A foal?’

  ‘Never.’

  Robert swallowed. ‘Juno,’ he said gently, ‘the baby gets out where it went in when you made love. It comes out head first between your legs.’

  ‘But how could it? Babies are huge! D’you mean to say? My God, you must be joking!’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Is it possible?’ Now she turned to look at him. ‘Are you seriously telling me—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No wonder it hurts.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are telling me the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What a performance!’

  Robert said, ‘You could call it that.’

  Juno groaned, ‘What a fix I’m in.’

  ‘It’s not a fix. It’s a child, not an illness. It’s something to be happy about.’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am not happy.’ She had stopped crying. ‘I am angry.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘For being such a stupid gullible fool.’ She had raised her voice to a shout and the horses jingled their bits, laid back nervous ears.

  Robert said, ‘Well,’ and crossed his legs while they sat on with their backs to the rock and Juno, nursing her anger, tried to arrange her thoughts.

  Presently she said, half to Robert, half to herself, ‘My mother is forty, she has gone to Canada. She is going to marry again. I couldn’t believe it at first, at her age.’ Robert smiled and Juno went on, ‘She is marrying this man even older than her. He’s conventional as hell, but she seems happy.’ Robert raised his eyebrows and Juno went on, ‘I believe now that she was never really happy. My father shamed her by voting Labour, being a conscientious objector, going to prison, all that, but she made a good widow. Then along comes rich Mr Sonntag. Heaven opens and she plans for it to open for me, sees a vista of wealthy young Canadians to make me happy ever after—’

  ‘She packs your houndstooth overcoat—’

  ‘You remember that?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what on earth will she think now?’ Juno shouted. She was shaking with rage. ‘It will wreck her life,’ she cried, ‘shatter her conventions.’

  Placidly Robert said, ‘There’s the Atlantic Ocean between you.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So why tell her? Why spoil her happiness? Why not just shut up?’

  Juno said, ‘Could I do that?’

  Robert said, ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘But that would be lying to her.’

  ‘Not exactly, and surely you’ve lied to her before?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ (Of course I have, often, often.) Then Juno said, ‘I get the impression you quite want me to have this baby!’

  Robert murmured, ‘It will give us all something other than the war to think about.’ And Juno thought, other than Evelyn, but did not voice it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘I CAN’T JUST SIT here.’ Juno sprang to her feet. ‘I shall be late for milking and Bert will revert to being testy.’

  Robert watched her unhitch Millicent, swing into the saddle and clatter off down the hill. Slowly he got up, untied his horse and followed at a sedate pace, pausing now and again to listen to the pony’s diminishing hoofbeats.

  What had possessed him to be so abrupt? Surely he could have found a more gentle approach? He was appalled by his bluntness and lack of tact, not used to encountering such complete ignorance, and yet—there by the path was a primrose in flower. Spring was on the way. He dismounted and, picking the flower, sniffed its wet and hopeful scent and threaded it through his buttonhole as Emma had once done. Had he ever managed to tell Evelyn what his mother was really like? A girl as delighted by the first primrose as by the discovery of something rare, a girl who had said, ‘Each time is the best,’ as she lay sated in his arms? Was it possible or was it essential for each to discover love for himself? What had Juno discovered? Impossible to ask. He had told her more in those few minutes than he could have told Evelyn. It was probable Evelyn had judged him by the sophisticated and knowledgeable females he had consorted with over the years. With none of them had he been in love. Had not Evelyn taken a leaf from his book and acted in much the same way, played the field, remained uncommitted, excusing his lack of commitment by his ill health?

  ‘But none of my girls or his were ignorant,’ Robert muttered as he remounted his horse. What was he to think now? ‘Juno must have known something,’ he said out loud. Was this sneaking feeling of hope mere wishful thinking? His horse, alert to the pain in his voice, twitched its ears back and forth as it picked its way down the stony track.

  At the house the dog Jessie greeted him, her puppies tumbling clumsily after her. Soon she would leave them and be back to keeping him company. The pony Millicent was in her box and poking her nose out to whicker a greeting. There was no sign of Juno. Robert slid off his horse, took off its saddle and bridle and let it into the stable. Then he crossed the yard and went into the house, calling, ‘Ann?’ Ann should have been the person to tell Juno she was pregnant; it was a woman’s job. Anxiously he raised his voice, shouting, ‘Ann.’

  ‘I am here.’ Ann’s reply came from the depths of a cupboard. He could see her tweeded beam as she stacked plates onto a low shelf. ‘What is it? No need to shout.’

  ‘Have you seen Juno?’

  ‘She clattered into the yard a while ago, put Millicent in her box, went upstairs for a few minutes, then out again. Gone down to milk the cows. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘As I say, she came in and went out. What’s up?’

  ‘Oh God!’ Robert was hurrying out to where they could see Juno loping down the hill to the farm, not using the path but short-cutting down the slope, running sideways to keep her balance, her arms swinging in rhythm with her feet. ‘I can’t think what possessed me, what I have said may be irreparable. I am an idiot, I should have left it to you. It would have come so much better from you.’

  ‘What would? What’s going on? What’s all this about?’ Ann was irritated and showed it.

  ‘I made her weep. Her tears gushed. Oh, dear God!’

  Ann said, ‘She isn’t weeping now.’

  Juno had reached the bottom of the slope where the ground levelled out and was turning cartwheels, once, twice, three times, legs flailing the air, long hair brushing the grass. Upright again, she straightened the fisherman’s jersey and walked into the farmyard to vanish into the cowshed.

  Ann said, ‘Whatever have you done to her? Ah, here comes the Army. They rang up after you went out. It’s about the bomb in the wood, it’s unexploded.’

  Robert said, ‘Oh, bloody hell.’ With hand politely outstretched, he went to greet his visitor who, stepping out of his car followed by his sergeant, was introducing himself. ‘Captain Lazenby, sir, bomb disposal. Your ARP reported your bomb and I have come to have a dekko. It’s pretty dangerous if it’s live.’

  Robert said, ‘Oh, ah, yes. It fell in my wood over there. My er—our—landgirl was collecting my cowman’s dog, who was mating with a neighbour’s bitch. Though what am I drivelling on about? It has no connection—’

  ‘Not the cartwheeler we saw just now as we drove up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Expressing a certain lightness of heart, joys of spring, that sort of thing? Joie de vivre?’

  Robert said, ‘Complete change of climate.’

  ‘Not quite with you, sir.’ Captain Lazenby was puzzled.

  Robert said, ‘Mood. I’m not quite with me, but let me show you where the thing fell.’ Pulling himself together, gathering his wits, frustrated, unable to wait to tackle Juno and shout, ‘What the hell’s going on? First it’s tears, now it’s cartwheels?’ But quietly he said, ‘It’s about fifty yards into the wood, it damaged a beech. No, it did not explode, the ARP’s report is correct.’

  ‘You say that gir
l was near when it fell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she had a lucky escape; if it had exploded, she would not be here to do cartwheels.’ Robert winced and the captain went on, ‘We will have to blow it up, sir. Defusing’s dodgy. I hope there won’t be too much mess. If you can show me where it is, we will get the job done.’

  But Robert’s mind was elsewhere; had not Ann told him that Juno came into the house and went upstairs before running down to the farm? Of course! She was upstairs for a few minutes, discovered she had the curse and was not pregnant. This would account for the cartwheels. Relief, it was bloody relief made her cartwheel! Out loud Robert said, ‘Bloody fool!’

  Captain Lazenby said, ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, not you, no, no. I just realized something, my mind was miles away. I beg your pardon. Oh dear, what a disappointing surprise!’ And again Captain Lazenby explained that he was at a loss, which irritated Robert into paying some attention. Striding ahead into the wood, he said, ‘Along here, follow me, my pigs roam here after acorns—Eleanor’s particularly keen—I let them roam in the autumn.’

  ‘Eleanor, sir?’

  ‘Prize sow. Her namesake had a sashaying walk, very much the same. She wore a black and white bathing dress. She was snub-nosed, too. I’ll show her to you presently. Here, it’s about here.’ Robert stamped the ground and poked with his stick, wishing this interfering young officer would go away so that he could get at Juno and—and what exactly? What was there for him to say? Was he supposed to be overjoyed? Turn a few cartwheels? Be enchanted that it was a false alarm? ‘There, the bloody thing’s there.’ He stamped his foot and drove his stick into the ground.

  ‘For God’s sake, sir, don’t do that!’ Captain Lazenby and his sergeant sprang back. ‘We must rope it off. Do for God’s sake tread carefully.’

  Robert laughed and said, ‘Haven’t you heard of the unexploded bomb in Knightsbridge? The buses rumbled over it for six whole weeks before someone got around to defusing it. These things don’t go off that easily.’

  But later, when Captain Lazenby and his party had set their fuse and exploded the bomb, the procedure disrupted the working day, for cows, horses, sheep and pigs had to be moved away from the farm, the windows of the farm and cottage opened in case of blast and the whole area roped off for the explosion. This in itself was anticlimactic, only really upsetting the rooks, who continued to circle long after all was over, caw-cawing in turbulent unease.

  Robert, in nervous anxiety to speed his parting guests, found himself inviting them in for a stiff tot of his precious whisky and even asking them to stay for supper, which fortunately they were unable to do, as there were errant bombs on other people’s land which demanded their attention. When they had driven away Robert was left with Ann and Juno and a dampening sense of loss which he knew he had little right to. But Juno, watching the departing car, secretly hugged herself, for that morning, on first sighting the Army car, she had not been constrained to scrutinize its occupants for someone familiar but, buoyed by the burst of joy which had struck her as she ran down the hill and caused her to turn cartwheels, she had been happy to work all day with Bert, herding recalcitrant animals to safety and, when the bomb was exploded, bringing them back to their rightful places.

  ‘You picked the first primrose. ‘Juno pointed at Robert’s buttonhole. ‘I saw it this morning as I rode down the hill.’

  ‘It’s dead.’ Robert removed the faded flower, handing it to Juno. Should he speak now? Repair the morning’s damage? Congratulate her, perhaps? Or behave as though nothing had been said? The day had been long, he had found it tiresome. Juno took the flower from him. ‘Poor little thing.’

  Ann called, ‘Supper is ready.’

  In silence they sat at the table, all of them tired. Robert said, ‘So that was all very exciting,’ not enjoying the silence.

  Tartly Ann said, ‘It would have been exciting in another way if Juno had been blown up.’ Forking food into her mouth, she munched and remarked, ‘We should be grateful for bad German craftsmanship. There might have been no Juno.’

  Juno sipped water, swallowed and, glancing sidelong at Robert, murmured, ‘And no baby.’

  Sleep was evasive. Juno lay listening to the stillness of the house. The ankle which she had not spared working with Bert was hot and painful; the sprain, which she had hardly noticed when the bomb fell nor during its aftermath, was making itself felt. Turning cartwheels from joy, now she had time to consider, was an action which had done nothing to improve it.

  Ann had strapped the ankle but it was bound too tight; she unwound the bandage and felt the muscles throb as her blood flowed freely, almost as freely as the blood which had suffused Robert’s face when she had mentioned the baby. He had flushed dark red and his eyes, glancing at her, had appeared very blue. Quickly he had looked away and his face faded to its normal tan as he said something to Ann, and Ann replied. Then he had risen from the table saying, ‘Time for bed.’ He had let the dogs out for their last run, as he usually did, packed up the library fire, covering the smouldering logs with ash, put the fireguard in place and gone up the stairs, calling, ‘Goodnight, goodnight, it’s been a long day.’

  Had one of them answered, ‘Eventful’?

  ‘Thank you for all your hard work,’ he had said. ‘Sleep well, sleep well.’

  But she could not sleep. She rolled up the bandage and tested her ankle, moving the joint. Ice would help. There was ice in the kitchen; she slid out of bed and reached for Evelyn’s dressing-gown.

  Walking barefoot, she made no sound except for the skirt of the dressing-gown whispering behind her on the stair. The house breathed and creaked as old houses do as they cool from the day. Only the long-case clock measured her passage and Robert’s forebears watched from their frames inscrutably, each with the Copplestone look, strong nose, blue eyes, brown hair and the expression of amusement often present in Robert. It had been there too in Evelyn, known so briefly, almost forgotten. She paused on the stair, remembering Evelyn. Had he been amused? Questioning, she looked at a portrait level with her shoulder, a man in a green coat, in the Copplestone eyes a cast which the artist had made no effort to hide. His expression was racy and louche, giving nothing away. She moved on to the kitchen. Here she filled a bowl with ice and cold water, sat by the Aga, plunged in her foot, gasped at the cold, bore it, stroked Ann’s cats asleep against the stove with her other foot, feeling their warmth as they sleepily mewed.

  As the pain eased, she considered the past day, beginning with Robert sighting the peregrine, being sick and Robert’s voice, ‘It’s not nothing, it’s a baby.’ And, later, ‘Having a baby can be fun,’ his tone gentle and calm, absolutely certain. This remark, sinking in, had infected her with the spasm of delight which had led to the cartwheels, snuffing out her other feeling, which had been of acute and reminiscent embarrassment at once again displaying her ignorance of bodily functions.

  As the pain left her ankle and it stopped throbbing Juno sat on by the stove, considered her ignorance and resolved to cure it. Could she question Ann, who would give matter-of-fact answers? To a degree, yes. She removed her foot from the bowl, dried it, emptied the bowl and, the ankle no longer hurting, left the kitchen. Crossing the hall she noticed that the library door was ajar and, looking in as a log slipped sideways in the grate and a flame flickered up, saw by its light the book-lined walls. She would explore those shelves for the knowledge she needed; there was bound to be a book. She would ask Robert. He would not mock, she need not fear. If he was amused it would not hurt. Climbing up the stairs past Robert’s squinting ancestor she felt elated and secure, a condition of mind she was not used to.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘SO HOW WAS YOUR leave?’ Francis leaned against the bar.

  ‘All right. A beer, please, landlord.’ Jonty stared at the rows of bottles behind the landlord’s head.

  ‘You don’t sound enthusiastic’ Francis watched his cousin’s beer froth into the glass.

  ‘Act
ually I am quite glad to get back.’ Jonty accepted the proffered tankard. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ Francis quizzed.

  ‘Nothing.’ Jonty brooded.

  ‘Come on, you were so keen to get home.’

  Jonty let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s all changed, nothing is the same. Let’s sit down.’

  They carried their drinks to a table and sat. Francis said, ‘Tell me.’

  Jonty gulped beer, sighed, said, ‘Father’s wrapped up in village minutiae, ARP, war committees for this and that, Home Guard, Dig for Victory. He’s taken the war into his soul and your father’s no better; he’s planning to dig up the croquet lawn and grow potatoes.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He would do the same for the tennis court, if it were not macadam. I tell you, they are really enjoying themselves.’

  Francis said, ‘But they were like that before we left.’

  ‘More so now, and Mother—’

  ‘Oh, how is she? What’s wrong there?’

  ‘She’d invited Angela Addison to stay.’

  Francis whistled. ‘Angela? And were you supposed—’

  ‘Yes, and she made it so obvious it was embarrassing.’ Francis laughed. ‘Well may you laugh. Just wait till you get the treatment. They have plans, my ma and yours. I think they have gone off their collective rockers, they want us to propagate the species. Your mother even went so far as to hint at marriage.’

  Francis, laughing, said, ‘I thought the theory was that we are too young and should concentrate on wild oats.’

  ‘It was, but all that’s changed. You can’t sow wild oats with Angela, she’s not that sort.’

  Francis grinned. ‘I suppose not. I like Angela but I see your point. I take it you held back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Not even a chaste kiss?’

  ‘Not even that. We went for long walks in the rain, played chess and went to bed early.’ Jonty gulped his beer.

  ‘You sound disgruntled.’ Francis was amused.

  Jonty said, ‘I am, a perfectly good leave wasted.’