Camomile Lawn

by Mary Wesley

‘I quite see he needs moral support, but dragging you out now! We’ve been to his concert, we all clapped until our hands were sore! Why didn’t Monika come?’

  ‘She is afraid of the air raids.’

  ‘Aren’t we all. There’s no raid tonight. She could have come. Lots of us live with them, work through them. Why is she so terrified?’

  ‘She just is. He will be round in a moment.’

  ‘But you’re tired, Aunt.’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘He’s treating you as though you were his mistress. Oh!’ Polly caught Helena’s expression. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Helena was blushing.

  ‘Oho, I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Helena was quick to deny a situation which was already established but which she was not prepared to discuss with Richard’s niece. ‘The poor man is highly strung, he needs—’

  ‘An audience. I shall go to bed. I have to be up early.’ Polly kissed her aunt.

  ‘I suppose you realize it’s two in the morning.’ She opened the door to Max.

  ‘What about it?’ Max came in. He did not at that time much like Polly, who resisted his charm. ‘I like to see cities in their sleep. Come, Helena,’ he called down the kitchen stairs and Helena obediently called back, ‘Coming, Max.’

  Polly got into bed resolving to telephone Calypso next day, for Calypso, watching Helena helping with the preparations for the concert, had said: ‘Aunt Helena is having a canter with Max Erstweiler.’

  Polly had mocked this theory on the grounds that their aunt was too old.

  ‘She is a year younger than Hector,’ Calypso had said.

  ‘But he is a man, that’s different.’

  ‘I bet you I am right. I wonder how it began? If Sophy had not been sent to school she would know.’

  ‘She wouldn’t necessarily tell us.’

  ‘She would if we asked her indirectly.’

  Remembering this conversation Polly curled up under the corrugated iron canopy and slept, so tired that she did not hear the siren wail to alert London to attack. There had been no news of Walter for weeks, and no sight of the twins since the beginning of what was later known as the Battle of Britain. All she knew was that each had been shot down once and survived. For all their cheerfulness when they telephoned, they sounded tired and frightened. That Helena should be having an affair with Max Erstweiler afforded light relief in a world of black anxiety.

  ‘The war was very romantic,’ said Helena all those years later, driving down the motorway with Calypso’s son Hamish.

  ‘Surely not, Great-aunt.’

  ‘Surely yes. Why, Max and I went to Covent Garden at dawn and he bought flowers as they were unloaded from lorries. He filled a taxi with roses and carnations. He was exhilarated by his first concert in London. What a success! Those flowers! I can remember the smell now. We drove back as it grew light to Polly’s house, where I was staying. It wasn’t so romantic when we got there.’

  ‘Not enough flower vases?’

  ‘No. Someone had just woken Polly to tell her her parents had been killed by a stray bomb. They were somewhere near Godalming, near the hospital. Her father was a doctor, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘They can’t have known anything about it, but it was sad for Max after his concert.’

  ‘Did he know them? Worse for Polly, surely.’

  ‘No, but think of the embarrassment of all those flowers, and Polly so upset.’

  ‘What happened to the flowers?’

  ‘We told the taxi driver to take them to a hospital, but I expect he sold them. I kept some roses for Polly.’

  ‘Not so romantic, then.’

  ‘It was when he bought them. It is those moments one remembers. Oh, yes.’

  ‘Nice to look back.’ Hamish knew old people lived in the past. He was glad poor old Helena found it enjoyable.

  ‘Nicer to think of him extravagantly buying flowers than to be on our way to his funeral. I’m not sending any flowers.’

  ‘Have I done the wrong thing? I ordered a wreath,’ said Hamish.

  ‘Wrong? Right? You must do as you please. If it helps you to order a wreath, do. It can’t help Max. A wreath isn’t a lifebelt.’

  Hamish resented his passenger’s snappy tone. In an effort to remain agreeable he said: ‘Max Erstweiler must have loved you very much.’

  ‘I suited him. He grew to rely on me. I taught him English manners and customs. I don’t know about love. I loved him, I don’t know whether he loved me as much.’

  ‘What happened to his wife?’

  ‘Monika? She worried, grew very thin. Max liked women plump. I was plump. Yes.’

  ‘What was she worried about? You?’

  ‘Oh no, no, no. Monika was quite used to Max’s ways. She used to say he was worse than Furtwängler. Monika worried about their son.’

  ‘Oh. Should I know him?’

  ‘He was in a concentration camp. Pauli. You must have heard of him.’

  ‘Oh dear. Yes.’

  ‘News filtered through from Switzerland and poor Monika simply faded. Made no fuss, but she nearly died of anxiety.’

  ‘Poor woman.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t help Max. Or suit him,’ Helena added. ‘No.’

  ‘But you did.’ Hamish’s tone was congratulatory.

  Helena smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said, looking back. ‘Mind you, musical souls—you will remember he called himself “a musical soul”?’

  ‘Yes, I remember, like Thomas Mann.’

  ‘They can be extremely boring.’

  ‘To the non-musical,’ Hamish teased.

  ‘To anybody. Those mittel-European tantrums. I never stood for them. I used to clap my hands and say, “Stop that, Erstweiler”, and he did. Over-excitement made him play badly, not that I would have noticed, but that’s what I was told, so I stopped him when I saw him working himself up. I’d say “Stop it, I say, stop it!” and he would laugh and call me his “Kleine British Phlegm”.’ Helena laughed in ancient reminiscence.

  ‘Not a very endearing pet name—Phlegm. I never heard him call you that. Nobody ever mentioned it.’

  ‘It was private. He used it in bed, too.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hamish ruminated, allowing a motorcycle to overtake him. ‘Why in bed, Great-aunt?’

  ‘Does nobody ever tell you to stop?’ enquired Helena with asperity.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Hamish, laughing.

  ‘Well, then.’ Helena smiled, pressing her lips together, a habit she had formed when forced to have false teeth.

  ‘It’s very interesting to have you for a great-aunt,’ said Hamish, seeing her face in the driving mirror, ‘a great, a famous man’s—er—’

  ‘Mistress,’ said Helena. ‘No need to be coy, everybody knew then and now. Yes.’

  ‘Now we are on our way to his funeral.’

  ‘It’s a bit thick.’ Helena used a colloquialism of her period.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘To be the last of my lot. It’s a bore. Yes.’

  ‘You bear it very well.’

  ‘Not inside,’ said Helena, rummaging in her bag for a flask. ‘D’you think you could slow down while I have a swig? Max envied me this flask, it was my first husband’s.’

  ‘Great-uncle Richard?’

  ‘No, dear boy, I was married to a man with two legs, he was killed in 1916. You must get your facts right. Richard came next. He rather envied this flask, too. I shan’t offer you any as you are driving.’ Helena tipped the flask and swallowed. ‘That’s better.’

  Hamish accelerated, moving smoothly down the M4. ‘What was your first husband called?’

  ‘Anthony. He was beautiful. I never had to tell him to stop. No.’

  Hamish tried to imagine dried-up Helena as a sex object. Perhaps his mother or Polly had photographs. He must ask them.

  ‘He was stopped almost before we began. Girls should comfort their men before they go to war.’ Helena�
�s voice sank to a mutter.

  ‘What did you say? I didn’t hear.’

  ‘I said “however uncomfortable”.’ Helena put the silver flask back in her bag. ‘Whatever the discomfort of comforting to the comforter. I did not fail there. No.’

  ‘I’m sure you never failed.’

  ‘Ho!’ Helena laughed, exposing her teeth. ‘Of course I failed. I was not expert like your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’ Hamish looked sidelong. Helena’s face was wrinkled, like a Cox’s Orange Pippin in January.

  ‘I think if you don’t mind stopping I shall buy some flowers, after all, when we get to Penzance. There’s a good shop in Causeway Head.’

  ‘It’s a very narrow street.’

  ‘But it has the best flower shop.’ She would go no further about Calypso.

  Seventeen

  IT WAS DURING THE bombing in the autumn of 1940 that Helena bought two adjacent houses in Enderby Street. The price was low, the owners anxious to get away from London.

  ‘You must be mad,’ Richard yelled on the telephone from Cornwall.

  ‘I am using my own money.’

  ‘Throwing it away!’

  ‘They are convenient for Harrods and Peter Jones.’

  ‘They will be bombed, I ask you.’

  ‘Not necessarily. No.’

  ‘The General says you should see a psychiatrist.’

  ‘So do my lawyer and my bank.’

  ‘Why can’t you stay in Sarah and George’s house?’

  ‘They have moved to Bath.’

  ‘With Polly, then, as you are doing now? Buying houses in London is lunacy. That street is jerry-built. Not even solid. I ask you.’

  ‘The houses are an investment. Our three minutes are up. Goodbye.’ Helena turned to Polly. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You and Uncle Richard. Your three minutes were not up.’

  ‘He was too cross to notice.’

  ‘I know why you are buying those houses. Shall you have a communicating door?’

  ‘What a good idea. Do you know a reasonable builder?’

  ‘We can find one. You know, Aunt, you can always stay here.’

  ‘Thank you, but this house is for the young. I want my own house. I shall enjoy furnishing it.’

  ‘Why stop at a door? The two front rooms knocked together would make room for a grand piano. You can have musical soirées.’

  ‘I think not. He’s ruined my drawing room for me in Cornwall. Monika bangs away for him, it’s no longer mine. Richard encouraged it. Oh no.’

  ‘Then where will Max have a piano?’

  ‘He has the use of a piano in Pont Street. He can go on using that, it’s only a minute away.’

  ‘You are tough.’

  ‘Pont Street won’t get bombed.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s too ugly. I refuse to have a piano in my house. No.’

  Helena moved fast, finding a builder who was willing to decorate and plumb. By the end of October her houses were ready, sparsely furnished but comfortable. The communicating door was disguised as a bookcase. Monika, should she overcome her fears, could stay with Max with propriety.

  On the evening when Calypso visited Polly, arriving on her bicycle before air raid time, she found Helena and Polly discussing furniture.

  ‘What have you bought so far?’ Calypso was interested.

  ‘Beds,’ said Helena, ‘the best from Heals.’

  ‘Very important. Hector had a frightful thing. He had slept in it with Daphne. It sagged in the middle. I bought a new one.’

  ‘I thought they weren’t close.’

  ‘They weren’t. Hector slept in his dressing room. Daphne’s Great Dane slept with her. That’s what Hector says, one can’t be sure.’

  ‘I shall collect furniture from damaged houses. Prices will be astronomical if we survive the war. I shall pick up antiques.’

  The girls looked at one another, amused. ‘Rather a gamble,’ suggested Calypso.

  ‘Worth taking,’ said Helena. ‘Goodnight, girls.’

  ‘There’s a lot more in Aunt Helena than I’d thought possible,’ said Polly. ‘What do you think Max is like in bed?’

  ‘Better than Uncle Richard. By the way, I told Tony he could pick me up here when he comes off duty at eight. Is that all right?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Polly coolly. ‘He seems to enjoy being a fireman. Who would have thought it?’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Why should I? He doesn’t belong to me.’

  ‘I rather thought he did.’

  ‘I introduced you, didn’t I?’ Polly said equably.

  ‘So you did, but I rather thought, well—’

  ‘Only for a short time. Just long enough, actually.’

  ‘Long enough?’

  ‘Yes. Darling, do you imagine if he were mine that I’d allow you to meet?’

  ‘Tony says he doesn’t understand you.’

  ‘Of course he does.’

  ‘D’you think that’s him? There’s someone at the door. Are you expecting anybody else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He can see me home.’

  ‘Is Hector away?’

  ‘Yes, Aldershot. I haven’t seen him for a week. I’ll let him in, shall I?’

  ‘Don’t show a light.’ Polly tidied the kitchen as Calypso ran upstairs to open the front door. She heard her exclaim and men’s voices. Then Calypso came in, looking rather pink, followed by Tony and Oliver.

  ‘Can you house me for a couple of days? I’m on embarkation leave.’ Oliver kissed Polly.

  ‘Of course.’ Polly looked over his shoulder at Calypso. ‘Did you meet Tony on the steps? Tony’s a fireman. Are you going on duty or coming off, Tony?’ Her smile showed her slanting teeth.

  ‘Coming off,’ said Tony, eyeing the girls, his expression conveying the words ‘as well you know’. He said: ‘I saw your bicycle, Calypso. Someone might fall over it out there in the street.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I’m just leaving.’

  ‘I’ll see you home,’ said Oliver.

  ‘My bicycle.’

  ‘I’ll wheel it, or run beside you.’

  ‘Oh Olly, like a faithful dog.’

  ‘Shall we go?’

  Polly and Tony listened to them leave.

  ‘Did she know he was coming?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘No, Tony, and nor did I.’

  Tony laughed. ‘I shall have to wait till his leave is over.’

  ‘I suppose so. Would you like to meet our aunt?’

  ‘Your aunt? Not particularly.’

  ‘Helena. Max Erstweiler’s chum.’

  ‘That aunt. Yes, I would. Is she here?’

  ‘Just gone upstairs. She’s bought two houses near here. She’s—well, you’d better meet her.’

  ‘I saw her at his concert. She didn’t look musical. A dumpy figure.’

  ‘She isn’t, but she’s learning all sorts of tricks.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Not bed tricks, tricks of speech. She’s taken to ending her sentences with yes or no, like Ja and Nein. Her life, once so dull, is now far from it.’

  ‘Lead me to her.’

  ‘Tony Wood became a great friend of Helena’s,’ Polly later told Iris and James as she drove them to the funeral.

  ‘Really? Tony Wood? How did that come about? Isn’t he homosexual?’

  Polly took a hand off the wheel to stroke her mongrel dog. The dog continued to gaze ahead without acknowledgement. ‘Well, he is, but at one time he was a great one for the girls. I’d call him ambidextrous.’

  ‘Was he a friend of yours or Calypso’s?’

  ‘I introduced him to Calypso. We all shared him. Hector found him amusing. Walter liked him, even Oliver grew to like him, I believe, later, but it was Helena who really caught his fancy. He was older than us, just that much nearer to Helena. She made use of his sophistication, he taught her a lot, it helped with Max.’

  ‘I should
have thought,’ said James, ‘that in the war, with the bombing and so on, there wasn’t much time for private life.’

  ‘That’s where you are wrong,’ said Polly. ‘We all lived intensely. We did things we would never have done otherwise. It was a very happy time.’

  ‘What about fear? What about anxiety for your loved ones?’ Iris leaned from the back seat to speak to her mother.

  ‘I was frightened and anxious all the time, but it made the delights all the more so, the surprises more surprising. People like Oliver, Walter, David and Paul appeared and disappeared, it was wonderful that they were still alive. My parents were killed. I thought they were safe in Godalming. In London I survived. Calypso survived. If we were in love it was acute. We had fun. I know Calypso did. I did and Helena, who had never had fun, grabbed it. Tony, who was in London all the war, watched us, was amused by us and in his way loved us. All the other men came and went but Tony was always around.’

  ‘What about Oliver?’

  ‘I saw him towards the end of 1940. Calypso had come to see me. He walked her home pushing her bicycle. She had a bicycle.’

  Holding Calypso by one hand, Oliver pushed the bicycle with the other. Calypso used her torch with care. ‘The wardens get awfully ratty if one flashes it about.’

  ‘Is Hector in London?’ Oliver asked stiffly.

  ‘No. He may turn up but I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him for weeks. I’m alone. I’d come round to see Polly and find out what Aunt Helena is up to.’

  ‘Who is that man?’

  ‘Tony Wood. Friend of Polly’s.’

  Oliver, holding Calypso’s arm, now said: ‘I’m on embarkation leave.’

  ‘Again? Where are you going this time?’

  ‘I don’t know. Not supposed to tell.’

  ‘Egypt, I bet.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Hector and his friends talk. He was at Dunkirk, you know.’

  ‘You said Dover last time I saw you.’

  ‘Well, he went across to collect the French from Dunkirk, then further along to Cherbourg. Some of them are awfully jolly.’

  ‘Jollier than me?’

  ‘Much.’ Calypso chuckled as they walked in the dark. ‘One of them, a buddy of Hector’s, rowed himself across to Dover, then got sent back to France only to have to bunk again. Lots of bunking, isn’t there? Look at you in Norway.’

  ‘Is this your street?’