Awan nodded, and mulled over what I had said. ‘And if you loved each other like that,’ she said, fiddling with her hands in her lap, ‘why didn’t you get properly married so that you were outside-in and inside-out? Wouldn’t the minister say the words?’
‘No,’ I said, through thin lips. ‘No, he wouldn’t.’
‘Why?’
It was a fair question, of course, a natural question, and I had to answer it. In doing so I felt I was laying down a foundation for the future as well as explaining the past, throwing out loose ends which Awan would one day be able to join, providing something she would be able to build on, when the time came.
‘Many years before he met me,’ I said, ‘your daddy made the other kind of marriage, an outside-in, one. He was poor and very hungry, in a foreign country, and he had no friends. Then he was offered nice food and shelter in a pleasant home, and the chance to paint (which, you know, was the thing he loved doing best of all), if he married a lady and kept her company, and took her out to parties and behaved politely to her friends. So he agreed. They both understood exactly what the arrangement was and they were both happy with it.’ I turned Awan’s face up to look her in the eye. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, you can understand, can’t you, why he did it? It was sensible and quite agreeable. At the time, and in the circumstances, it was a very natural and proper thing for him to do.’
‘But then he met you, and he wanted the other kind of marriage?’
‘Yes, darling. So he had both kinds, in the end. Lucky man!’ My voice sounded hollow in my own ears, and perhaps Awan caught the timbre of it.
‘I… I suppose so,’ she faltered, ‘if you didn’t mind…’
‘Not at all,’ I said, breezily, ‘and neither would he, if it were ever to happen the other way around.’
I did not tell Awan that day that she would not be going to the Grammar school with her friends. I wanted to make sure Ratton concurred. Not that I needed his permission, but I needed him to understand that I was placing Awan outside of his jurisdiction.
He called the following day, bearing neither flowers nor a ring (as I had feared) but wearing a smart suit and driving his most ostentatious vehicle. He looked out of place in Patricia’s homely parlour, like a fat kestrel that has found itself in a budgerigar cage.
I took a narrow chair by a small table and motioned him to one of the more comfortable seats by the fireplace, but he took up instead a rather proprietorial stance on the hearth rug. I explained my decision to send Awan to Casterton.
‘Suit yourself,’ he merely shrugged. ‘Bedford is better, I’m told, for girls, with a natural progression to Oxford or Cambridge.’
‘But so far away,’ I said, ‘and I have determined on Casterton. I haven’t told Awan yet. I haven’t told her anything of our… plans.’
‘You do quite right to consult me first. I shall make the necessary arrangements.’
‘I am not consulting you, I am informing you,’ I clarified. ‘You need not concern yourself with anything that appertains to Awan. She is outside the scope of our… understanding. The school will be paid for by Giles Percy.’
‘That degenerate?’ Ratton spluttered. ‘I am amazed you want any connection with him. He is utterly disgraced, you know.’
‘I know he is facing trial,’ I replied. ‘I believe our judicial system allows people to be innocent until proven guilty.’
‘Pwah!’ Ratton ejaculated. ‘I always knew there was something suspect about the man.’
‘I remember,’ I said, ironically. ‘You wanted nothing to do with him when he was rubbing shoulders with the governmental great and good at Colin’s house parties. No, nothing at all.’
‘Hah!’ Ratton gave a guffaw of laughter. ‘I had forgotten what good sport you can be. We are going to have fun, you and I, sparring off one another again.’
‘I don’t remember it being much fun,’ I demurred.
‘It will be, this time,’ he said. ‘Now, my dear, about the arrangements…’
‘Yes,’ I interrupted him. ‘I have been giving them some thought as well. I want to wait until Awan has gone to school.’
‘You don’t want her there?’
I shook my head. ‘I want nobody there. A quiet ceremony in a registry office. Just us two and whatever witnesses we need.’
‘Really? You don’t want a church? Bridesmaids? All the trimmings?’
‘Emphatically not.’
‘Oh.’ It looked as though I had really nonplussed him. ‘May I ask why?’
‘It’s obvious. At our time of life, such fripperies are ridiculous. And, let’s be honest, ours is going to be a practical arrangement…’
‘Practical?’ he burst out. ‘Practical? Good God, woman, how many times do I have to tell you?’ He took a pace towards me and raised his hand and I thought he was going to strike me. I ducked my head and hunched my shoulders in anticipation of it but what he did was reach for my arm and hoik me to my feet. We stood nose to nose. His breathing was rapid; I could feel the draught of it on my face. He took my shoulders and gave them a little shake - not violent - but enough for me to know a violence of passion simmered very close to the surface. ‘I love you,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘I have always loved you. I want you for my wife.’ He looked hard into my eyes and it was all I could do to meet his gaze. ‘There’s nothing ‘practical’ about this for me,’ he went on, his voice low and choked with emotion. ‘This is my heart’s desire.’
I dropped my eyes then, and stared at his diamond tie pin. ‘I know,’ I said, in a small voice. It was humbling, the strength of his passion, and frightening also - I knew what atrocities his passion had led him to commit. On the other hand I had to have it clear between us that my feelings were different. I raised my eyes once more and took hold, in my turn, of his elbows. ‘But, you do know, don’t you, it isn’t the same for me? I don’t want to deceive you. I don’t want you to deceive yourself. You are offering me security, a home, respectability. More importantly you have agreed to rebuild Tall Chimneys. That’s my heart’s desire. I don’t love you, Sylvester. I will never love you.’
I thought he might cry. His little eyes began to swim. His nasal breathing became moist. His face was pale, stricken. Then he gave a hard swallow and took a pace back. Both our hands dropped to our sides. He turned away from me and rummaged for a handkerchief in his pocket. He busied himself with it for a while, blowing his nose, polishing his glasses, and then he stepped across to the parlour door and opened it enough to call, ‘I wonder if we might have some coffee, Mrs Coombes, if you please?’ before returning and taking the seat I had offered him at first. He smiled. It was as though the whole of our foregoing meeting had not taken place. ‘I have sent a man down to the house,’ he announced, in a business-like voice, ‘to see what can be salvaged. Anything of value will be removed, repaired if possible, and stored, pending renovations. You see? I am already active on the business. Matters are already in hand.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Thank you. A man?’
‘An expert, I should have said. Somebody who knows his Hepplewhite from his Chippendale.’
‘He will find both, I believe.’
‘I fear he will find just so much charcoal and ash,’ Ratton observed, ‘but I am determined we shall save what we can.’
I nodded. ‘In the strong room,’ I said, ‘there are some things of mine - of Awan’s, I ought to say. Some of John’s paintings and sketch books. They were specifically left to her, in his Will.’
‘Very well,’ Ratton nodded. ‘I will make sure they are stored securely. Is there anything else you particularly wish to have by you?’
I thought of our sorry little bundles, kicked and trampled. Awan hadn’t mentioned the fate of her things. Perhaps it was best to draw a line under it all. ‘No,’ I said.
Patricia brought in a tray with coffee and some homemade shortbread. She served it in silence, her lips stitched closed, but throwing acid looks at Ratton as she did so which made he
r opinion abundantly clear.
‘Oh dear,’ Ratton mused, as he poured coffee for us both, ‘I don’t think Mrs Coombes approves of me.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t think she does.’
Ratton stayed for about an hour, drinking his coffee and speaking of his business, his search for a house in Roundhay, his ideas for a honeymoon tour. ‘Europe is a mess, still,’ he opined, ‘as much as I might like to take you to Rome and Florence. I wondered about America? You might like to call on your sister.’
I shuddered. The idea of Amelia seeing what I had descended to was appalling. ‘We are estranged,’ I said, ‘and I don’t think Texas has much to offer in the way of culture. Only beef cows.’
‘And oil,’ he appended. ‘I hear your sister has found some on her husband’s property.’
‘You are better informed than me,’ I said.
He gave a smug little smile. ‘I keep my ear to the ground.’
‘Perhaps the Great Lakes?’ I suggested. ‘There’s a little town on Lake Michigan I wouldn’t mind visiting - St Joseph’s?’
‘Certainly,’ Ratton said, affably.
Presently Awan returned from where ever she had been in the village. She burst into the room without knocking. Her cheeks were flushed with exercise and rude good health. Her hair was an unruly nest and she had green stains down the front of her donated frock. Whatever trauma and forfeiture the loss of Tall Chimneys had caused her seemed, temporarily at least, forgotten. She pounced on the shortbread. ‘Such fun,’ she said, through the buttery crumbs, ‘Bobby and I have made friends. We’ve been climbing trees. Later, we’re going down to the pool to swim. Is there a swim-suit, in the donations? Oh!’ she said, noticing Ratton for the first time, ‘hello.’
At her entrance, Ratton had risen to his feet. ‘Good morning, young lady,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘How you have grown.’
Something about his tone disturbed me. I looked at Awan. She was normally developed for an eleven year old. The slightest possible swell at her chest presaged the breasts which would grow there. Her hips were widening, creating a curve from her waist which would be voluptuous. Her childhood loveliness was already metamorphosing into the beauty which would characterise her adult face. Ratton seemed to appraise these things, even as I did. I didn’t like it.
There was no sensible reply to Ratton’s comment and Awan made none. Ratton was of no interest to her and she gave him a vague smile before turning to me and asking again, ‘Is there, do you know? If not, I can probably borrow one.’
‘Donations?’ Ratton enquired, before I could answer.
‘People have brought things for us,’ Awan explained. ‘Mostly jumble, really, and what Mummy calls their unwanted chattels - some of it really made us laugh, didn’t it, Mummy?’
Indeed it had. We had become almost hysterical the night before, going through the clothing that well-meaning neighbours had thought we might need; men’s vests, shrunken woollens, a cardigan with all its buttons snipped off, knickers with no elastic.
‘We have been the recipients of our friends’ charity,’ I explained to Ratton, indicating my hand-me-down skirt and oversized blouse. ‘This,’ I added, perhaps unwisely, ‘is what we have been reduced to.’
‘We’re destitute,’ Awan announced, cheerfully, to put the severity of our predicament quite beyond doubt. ‘At the mercy of any villain who decides to take advantage of us.’
These were not words Awan would have come up with on her own and I knew immediately she had overheard them spoken by someone else - probably Patricia - without understanding their import. She could not know, of course, what inference Ratton would take from them or what embarrassment they would cause me.
‘Awan!’ I said, sharply. But it was too late, the words were out.
Ratton stood up and drew himself to his full height, which was not substantial, but might have seemed so, to her. She paled and turned to me, awareness flooding her mind that she had done or said something very wrong.
‘Villain? Take advantage?’ Ratton roared. ‘Is that what you have told her?’ he asked me. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘No,’ I stammered. ‘We understand each other well enough, I think, and there’s no question of that. I believe she’s repeating something heard elsewhere.’ I looked hard at Awan, who, from being deathly pale, had now blushed crimson.
‘If you’re going to live under my protection, young lady,’ Ratton spat, venomously, ‘you will have to watch your tongue.’
‘No! No!’ I cried. I didn’t want Awan to find out this way.
But Ratton would not be stopped. ‘You will see and hear things which are not to be repeated. You need to learn discretion.’
Awan threw me a puzzled, panicked look. ‘What does he mean?’ she asked.
‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you,’ Ratton snarled.
Awan shrank back. No one had ever spoken to her like that.
‘Discipline is what you need,’ he went on, less angrily, but with equal puissance. ‘Boarding school will do you good.’
‘What does he mean?’ Awan asked again, more urgently this time.
My mouth flapped uselessly. It was the last thing I had wanted, to have to explain things to her like this, with him present. Indeed, I had thought to tell her nothing at all until the deed was done.
‘Mummy!’ Awan cried, tears erupting from her eyes.
Her tears seemed to satisfy Ratton. He nodded, and got out his handkerchief to wipe his hands, as though he had just completed a dirty but necessary job of work. He took his seat again and smiled, speciously benign.
‘Awan,’ I said, and reached out for her, but she swerved to avoid my hand.
‘Tell me!’ she shouted, deathly pale once more. Even her lips were bloodless. I thought she might faint.
‘Later,’ I croaked, throwing a desperate look at Ratton. ‘Later, when we’re calmer, and just the two of us together…’
‘Nonsense,’ Ratton waved an imperious hand. ‘It isn’t a secret and we’re not doing anything to be ashamed of.’ He addressed Awan as though speaking to a simpleton. ‘Your mother and I are to be married. She will have wealth and luxury and be waited on hand and foot. Nothing shall be denied her. I am very rich, you see, and I want to look after her. She has had a wretched life, so far, don’t you think? I am sure you want what’s best for her, don’t you. And you shall go to boarding school.’
Awan considered his words, wondering which element of his announcement to address first. At last she turned to me and said, haltingly, ‘I don’t think you’ve been wretched, have you Mummy?’
‘No,’ I frowned, ‘of course not. But things have changed…’ Everything had changed.
‘And this…’ I could see her struggling with it, trying to get it into some kind of shape in her mind that she could handle. ‘… this is what you want?’
I nodded. ‘It seems to me to be for the best.’ I wanted to say, more truthfully, it was the only option I had before me, short of the seedy precincts of the Admiral Rodney and the greasy, grey man I had met outside the housing office. Even this, I thought, was better than that. But then again, I considered, perhaps the two were not so different.
‘I see,’ Awan said. ‘It will be an outside-in?’
I thought my heart would melt. What a clever, brave, sensible girl she was! ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s right.’
‘An ‘outside-in?’’ Ratton queried.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Awan and I understand one another.’
There was a long pause. Perhaps Ratton considered objecting to my daughter and I having understandings he was not party to, to being excluded in that way. If so, he decided not to raise the subject at that moment. I was relieved. The atmosphere was balanced on a knife-edge, the air taut around us, incendiary with latent conflict and juxtaposing agendas. One more off-key remark from any party would ignite it.
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent, then,’ he crowed, falsely up-beat. He got to
his feet and took a step towards Awan. Even that, it seemed to me, was risky. He smiled, the rubbery mask of his face seeming unaccustomed to the contortion. The small, yellow teeth revealed between his stretched lips glinted unpleasantly. He raised a hand and placed it on her shoulder, self-consciously avuncular.
Then, like a spark in a gas-filled room, he said, ‘What about a kiss, then, for your new daddy?’
Awan was convulsed with utter revulsion at this idea. I saw it take hold of her and shake her in its slimy, abhorrent fingers. ‘No!’ She tore herself away from him and bolted for the door. ‘You can do what you like, Mummy,’ she shouted. Her voice, her hands, her whole body was shaking. From looking faint she now looked sick to her stomach. ‘But he will never be my daddy! You,’ she addressed him directly, now, ‘are nothing like my daddy.’
‘You know nothing about that perverted individual,’ Ratton sneered.
‘Stop!’ I shouted, throwing myself forward at Ratton. If there had been anything to hand I would have bludgeoned him into silence, but the fire irons had been removed for the summer and I could see nothing else which would serve as a weapon.
‘How dare you!’ Awan yelled. ‘My daddy was a fine, good man. He was loyal and true. He always came back to us, didn’t he, Mummy?’
‘Yes,’ I cried. ‘Yes, he did. Go now, Awan, go back and find Bobby and play.’ If I couldn’t shut Ratton up, I was desperate to get Awan out of the room.
But Ratton just would not let it go. ‘Your father is in prison, my girl, for indecent acts.’
‘STOP!’ I shouted again, putting my hands across Ratton’s despicable lips, ‘just shut up will you?’
Tall Chimneys: A British Family Saga Spanning 100 Years Page 34
