'But surely it might come in useful? Didn't you say she lives in California?'
'Not this kind of shooting. Those children will never shoot at anything that isn't pheasant or grouse or deer. If there isn't a war, that is.'
'I have to confess there are times when this country seems an anachronism.'
'When I visit your Kashmiri lake in Oregon I'll remind you of that.'
He laughed. She was so far from laughing she could have fallen and lain weeping on the grass. They finished the tour and then he said he might as well be off. She accompanied him to his car. Guilt caused her to be effusive. She could hear herself making conversation, but she hardly knew what. He said he would be in England again in November. Off he roared in his powerful car. To the airport. Then to California. To the pleasurable work of financing attractive ideas and then watching them become realities. A modern magician.
Only Stephen and Sarah were having lunch. Henry had gone to meet his wife and son. Elizabeth and Norah were visiting friends. The company had hired a coach to take them around the Cotswold villages.
Their food remained untouched on their plates.
'Sarah, I know I'm a bore, but I must ask you… when your husband died, did you grieve for him — that sort of thing?'
'I've been asking myself that. I was unhappy, very. But how I wonder… What else have I not really grieved about? I mean, a proper allowance of grief. I see you are still consulting your textbooks?'
'Yes. But behind this line of thought is an assumption. If you don't feel the right emotion at the right time, it accumulates. Well, it seems pretty bogus to me.'
'But how does one know?'
'Why didn't you marry again?'
'You forget, I had two small children.'
'That wouldn't stop me if I wanted a woman.'
'But we didn't know each other then.'
He allowed this a smile, made an impatient movement with his hand, but then was overtaken by a laugh. 'A pity we haven't fallen in love with each other,' he said. Here the faintest cloud of reminiscent anxiety crossed his face, but she reassured him with a shake of the head. 'Because we are really so extraordinarily… compatible.'
'Ah, but that would be too sensible.' Then she faced him with 'But I've been remembering something. When I had love affairs, I never took him to my bedroom. The bed I shared with my husband. Always the spare room. Then one of them made a point of it. He said, "I'm sick of being the guest. You're still married, did you know that?" And that was it. He left.'
'You were very fortunate, Sarah. At first I think Elizabeth and I did pretty well, but never — '
'Would you say those two women are married?'
'Yes, I would. They certainly exclude everyone else.' His voice was full of hurt. A noisy wasp was investigating a puddle of mayonnaise on a plate. This gave him the excuse to put a knife blade under it and get up to shake it into the garden. He came back, having determined to go on, and went on. 'That includes the children.' A pause. 'Elizabeth was never a maternal woman. She never pretended to be. Why should women be? A lot aren't.' A pause. 'I try to make it up to the children.'
'I think Norah would like to be more of a mother to the children.'
His face showed this was not a new thought to him. 'Well, I'm not stopping her.' He pushed away his plate, chose a peach from a bowl, and methodically cut it up. 'Believe it or not, I'm sorry for her. Norah, I mean. She's a sort of cousin of Elizabeth's. She was down on her luck — her marriage went wrong.'
They let the subject go. There are people who seem to compel heartlessness or at least neglect. Everything, [LOST seem more important than Norah.
'When are you leaving, Sarah?'
'Tomorrow. Jean-Pierre's coming to tonight's performance. And we shall discuss everything in London.'
'I'm coming to London too.'
'You're going to leave… Susan? I wouldn't have the strength of mind.'
'Nothing to do with strength of mind.' He sprinkled sugar on the melting yellow pieces of peach, picked up his spoon, set it down, pushed the plate away. 'The one thing I didn't bargain for was that Julie would dwindle into a good fuck. You're a good fuck, she says. I can't say I'm not flattered.' Here he smiled at her, a real, affectionate smile, all of him there. 'She's a hard little thing. But she doesn't know it. She keeps saying that I'm sexist. With a coquettish giggle. I told her there was nothing new about her ideas. Women have always agreed that a man must be redeemed by the love of a good woman. She gave me a real curtain lecture, the full feminist blast. The trouble is, you see, she's pretty stupid.'
Another wasp, or the same one, came to the cut-up peach and began to drown in melted sugar. He left it to its fate.
'Sarah, my life doesn't add up to anything — no, listen. If I'd earned the money, it would be a different matter. My grandfather earned it all.'
She was too surprised to speak.
'I envy Benjamin. He uses money.'
'Don't you?'
'I keep things going, anyone could do it.' He got up. 'I told the boys I'd take them riding.'
'I saw you this morning teaching them to shoot.'
'If one only knew what sort of life they should be educated for. I wish I knew. They learn all the new things at school — computers. As well as the usual things. James can drive. He can use maps and a compass. They can shoot. They can ride. I'll make sure they won't be dependent on craftsmen to do their plumbing for them — that kind of thing. They aren't artistic at all, not musical. They do well at games at school. That's still important.'
'Do they know how to read?'
'A good question. But that's asking a lot these days. James has some books in his room. Norah still reads to the younger ones. But perhaps shooting will turn out to be the most useful thing in the end. Who knows?'
Mid-afternoon. Henry's car came to a crunchy stop on the gravel. He jumped out to open the door for his wife. Out stepped a small woman, almost invisible because of the large child in her arms. She set him down, and the little boy, about three years old, rushed into his father's arms with screams of delight. Now it could be seen that Millicent was pretty and blonde, if that was an adequate word for the casque or fleece of yellow hair which, like Alice's, fell almost to her waist. From it a little determined face smiled while Henry whirled his son around and then again, before setting him down, but Joseph refused to be put down. He clung to his father's legs until Henry picked him up again. Millicent stood looking about her. It was a competent but above all democratic inspection: she was refusing to be diminished by ancestral magnificence. She smilingly faced the big steps, where Stephen, Elizabeth, Norah, and Sarah were waiting. She had a philosophical look. They have a hard task, the wives, husbands, loved ones generally of the adventurous souls who so recklessly (and so often) immerse themselves in these heady brews and who have to be reclaimed for ordinary life: talked down, brought down, reintroduced to — reality is the word we use. Norah descended the steps to help carry up the innumerable cases, hold-alls, bags, of toys and clothes and comics necessary for a contemporary child's well-being. (Children, that is, of certain countries.) She and Millicent managed it all, because Henry's arms were full, and likely to remain so. His face and his son's were joyous.
Introductions were made, and the family went upstairs; Norah went with them to show the way. She came down in a few minutes, joining the others in the little sitting room, where tea was waiting for them. Her smile, as so often, was brave, this time because of the tender scene she had been observing. Elizabeth and Stephen were there, and Mary Ford had arrived, with apologies from Roy, who had departed to London. His wife had decided after all not to live with her new lover, and he hoped to talk her into returning to him, restoring the marriage. He was armed with arguments, and statistics too, one of which was that 58 per cent of men and women in new marriages regretted their first marriages and wished they had never divorced at all. The company drinking tea wished poor Roy well: he had really been looking awful recently, they agreed. They wished him well f
or the space of about half a minute, and then Norah remarked, 'I'm afraid Millicent has put a veto on the restaurant. It seems the little boy is overwrought. I can't help feeling he would put up with me. I am supposed to be good with children.'
Mary said, 'I'm afraid we are up against that good old culture clash again. Well, I'm on their side. I love it when I'm in Italy and France and you see everyone from granny to the new baby out together having a meal.'
'Speaking for myself,' said Elizabeth, 'I think it's extraordinary they should take it for granted a three-year-old child would go out to dinner with adults.'
Stephen said, 'But they wouldn't see it as going out to dinner. It's normal for them to go out for meals in restaurants.'
'Since they're off tomorrow, I suppose that's it. I'll ring up the restaurant and cancel,' said Elizabeth. When she was doing something practical, her body filled with vitality, her haunches moved with a look of intense private satisfaction, her hands seemed ready to take hold of a situation and manage it. 'And the next excitement,' she said, coming back from the telephone, 'is your Frenchman. Do you think we should take him out to dinner?'
Sarah said, 'You don't seem to realize — just being in this house will be a thrill for him, as it is for all of us.'
'I suppose we do rather take it for granted. Damn. I wouldn't have minded going out to dinner. They'll just have to take pot luck.'
'Never mind, darling,' said Norah. 'I'll take you out to dinner when everyone has gone.' She spoke emotionally, and the darling had slipped out. She was embarrassed, and Elizabeth did not look at her.
Stephen said quickly, 'Too much cooking and catering these last few days. I did warn you that it might be too much of a good thing.'
'I've enjoyed it,' said Elizabeth, smiling at them all. Then she gave Norah a smile, just for her. The two women began talking about the people they had gone to lunch with, in a hearty social way, and this became a joking exchange of gossip about neighbours, Joshua among them. Stephen was listening to the women with that look one sees on the faces of husbands and wives — and lovers — not in the confidence of their partners, when they talk in their presence to other people. It was a strained eavesdropper's look. Elizabeth and Norah then said they had thought of taking a week's holiday when Julie Vairon was done. Stephen remarked that it was possible he would not be here. Elizabeth said, 'Well, never mind; the boys will be at school by then.'
The gravel announced an arrival. It was Jean-Pierre, who shook hands all round, kissed Elizabeth's hand, and then kissed Mary, one, two, three. For the space of seconds the two were in a time of their own. Again the grounds had to be shown, and soon, because Jean-Pierre would be off early tomorrow, with Sarah. They all strolled about in the late afternoon sunlight, and Jean-Pierre exclaimed in polite enthusiasm about everything he saw, as well he might. He was overwhelmed, he said, it was magnificent, he said, and so it went on till they showed him the theatre area, when he began to show doubt. They had expected him to.
The chairs had no numbers on them: did the audience not reserve seats?
It was not necessary; people sat where they could find a seat. And if they're late, too bad, they have to stand. We only reserve the front row.
The paths leading to the theatre were not marked. The posters were everywhere, so how did people know where to go?
'Don't worry, they work it out for themselves,' reassured Norah maternally.
And there was no definite place where refreshments were served. He supposed there were refreshments?
Stephen said all that kind of thing was very well organized by Elizabeth and her staff. Wine, ice cream, soft drinks, cakes, appeared on trays in the intervals, borne by volunteers from the town, who enjoyed this contact with the world of the theatre.
'Of course, sometimes they don't turn up,' said Elizabeth, who was enjoying teasing Jean-Pierre. 'But if they don't, then I and Norah and the children, if they're here, we fill in the gaps.'
Here Jean-Pierre dramatically shrugged his shoulders. He certainly did not approve of the owners of this imposing house working as servants. But there was more in the way of a style or even drama in this shrug. The French expect from the English a falling off from some paradigmatic excellence of which they are the natural custodians for the whole world, and this English indifference is not even from an innate inability to conform to the highest when they see it, but from choice. What can one expect? said the shrug.
The usual pre-performance supper, at seven, had people sitting around a table in the smaller room, not standing about for a buffet meal, because most of the players had telephoned to say they would eat in the town.
Stephen, Elizabeth, and Norah were at one end of the table, with Susan sitting opposite Stephen. Jean-Pierre was by Mary. Sarah saw she had put herself in the middle where she had empty chairs on either side, a statement of how she felt: to her such a dramatic, not to say self-pitying one that she hastily moved up to sit by Joseph, who was near Millicent, who sat at the end opposite Elizabeth.
While Henry had been upstairs with Millicent, he had confessed his misdemeanour, as he was bound to do. A bizarre solution, but who does not know about Oedipus complexes, and a shock it could not be. Besides, for a young and pretty woman to accept that her husband has a crush on a woman old enough to be his mother, or hers, does not demand the maximum in the way of marital tolerance. There was an attractively humorous little look on Millicent's face. At the same time, because Henry, an honest fellow, had not minimized the extent of his lapse (which he had been careful to make sure had included not so much as a kiss), Millicent was appraising Sarah with every intention of giving credit where it was due. Sarah was sure that the slight — slightest possible — indications of unease were due to, as the proverb has it, 'If one drop, then why not two?' But Millicent was an intelligent person, and her demeanour said: I understand it all. And I remain in control. Of my husband. Of my child. Of the situation. As for Henry, he had not abdicated his rights, such as they were. His eyes did not fail to inform Sarah that they would be parting tomorrow, and that he remembered it.
The 'pot luck' turned out to be braised pheasant, and its accompaniments, which presented problems for Joseph. Susan and Mary offered him bits of this and that to make up for this unknown meat which he was refusing to eat. The child was wildly excited, out of control, enjoying being the centre of attention.
Millicent commanded her husband, 'Give him your potatoes.'
Henry at once put his two potatoes on his son's plate.
'But we aren't short of potatoes,' Elizabeth protested.
'Give him your water,' said Millicent to Henry. Henry put his glass of water before Joseph, but hastily swallowed some wine, making a point.
Taking the roll from Henry's side plate, Millicent buttered it, spread it with red-currant jelly from Henry's plate, and presented the roll to the child. Joseph held his hands around the pile of food on his plate and laughed and yelled, his face red, his eyes wild, wickedly full of enjoyment.
Elizabeth indicated with her eyes that Henry should help himself to more food, but Henry shook his head and pushed his plate away. There was pheasant on it, which Millicent ate, reaching across with her fork to take up mouthful after mouthful, though there was pheasant on her own plate. Then she calmly ate her way through her own food. Henry was again pale and dejected, but when he looked over at his son, his face went soft with love. He smiled at Sarah, his eyes full of tears.
Joseph stood on his chair and began running a small lorry over the cloth. Millicent said to Henry, 'You take him.'
Henry obediently walked around the end of the table behind his wife, lifted his son, but, instead of returning to his seat, sat down in the chair near Sarah. The child leaned over, patted her hair, and ran the lorry up and down her arm.
Stephen, Elizabeth, and Norah sat watching, and vibrated together gently in disapproval. It is safe to say that the three boys had never, ever, been indulged in this way. And where were they? Off in the fields somewhere, or upstairs, an
d when the performance began they would eat their supper in the kitchen with Alison and Shirley. There would be gales of giggles, all kinds of fun, and treats from the dishes filled with cakes and pastries for the audience. Perhaps they were in the kitchen already? Alison and Shirley came in to remove the plates, and they were flushed, with a look of suppressing laughter. They set puddings on the sideboard and went out. From the kitchen, as the door closed, 'Oh, you're naughty… ' The guests were invited to help themselves. Millicent got up and served herself, her husband, and her son. She set two plates in front of Henry and Joseph. It was a light creamy pudding from a seventeenth-century recipe, a speciality of Norah's. While Jean-Pierre served himself and Mary, demanding to be given the recipe to take to his wife, the child spooned up his pudding with cries of pleasure. When his own plate was empty he pulled his father's plate towards him, with a wicked look. Millicent, not looking at Henry, took away the child's empty plate and pushed Henry's in its place. Joseph ate up his father's pudding. Millicent ate her pudding. She did this thoughtfully and calmly, not looking at anyone.
Only just audible, as it were offstage, it was as if someone laughed — a wild, anarchic, derisive, sceptical laugh — and against such forces of disorder a young American woman humbly but firmly asserted the rights of civilization with 'Henry, take Joseph up to bed, see that he cleans his teeth, and say goodnight to him before you go to the performance.'
Outside, people were streaming into the theatre. Word had got around, and music lovers and theatre lovers alike were prepared, as in Belles Rivieres, to stand several deep to watch. Afterwards they stood in lines to congratulate Elizabeth and Stephen.
Then it was proposed that they should all drive to where an inn served drinks on lawns sloping to a river. Millicent said she would like to go. Everyone waited to see if she would command Henry to stay with the child, who was too excited to sleep, but Henry walked with Joseph in his arms to the car, handed the child in to his wife, and they joined the procession of cars that were filled with the company, their friends, and — by now — the friends of friends.
Love, Again Page 31
