'Difficult. Does he have any contact with his father?'
'No. We don't hear from Sverre. Mat is fiercely proud of his dad's reputation – he's a chess international – and he has a collection of press-cuttings and some photos I gave him, but it's like worshipping a wooden idol. There's no response.' She drew back from the table and flicked her dark hair behind her shoulders. 'How did I start on this? Are you ready for that second drink?'
I watched her carry the glasses to the bar, exchanging some banter with a couple of men she recognized at another table. She was small, yet she conducted herself with confidence. Work must have toughened her. I felt privileged that she had been willing to tell me about her conflict in being both mother and father to Matthew. When she returned with the drinks, though, she made clear her wish to turn to other matters.
'Did I catch it right on television the other night – are you putting on an exhibition about Jane Austen?'
'Under protest, yes. I drew the short straw. In my spare moments I drive around southern England looking for exhibits. There's a worrying shortage. If you hear of a firescreen she embroidered or a bonnet she wore going cheap, I'm the man to contact.'
'Anything to do with her?'
'Absolutely. Strictly speaking, it's the Jane Austen in Bath Exhibition, but I won't turn any offer down – lace handkerchiefs, teapots, old shoes, tennis rackets.'
'Tennis – in Jane Austen's time?'
'Joke – I've got to fill the Assembly Rooms with something.'
'She lived in Gay Street, didn't she?'
'She did, indeed. Forgive me being tactless, but how did you know that?'
'It's part of a project Matthew is doing at school.'
'Obviously I should enlist Matthew's help. Yes, apart from Gay Street there were three other houses in the city where the Austen family resided: in Sydney Place, Green Park Buildings and Trim Street. She also stayed at Queen Square before the family moved here, and at 1, The Paragon, where her scandalous old aunt lived.'
'Jane Austen had a scandalous aunt?'
Now that I had vilified Aunt Jane and made Mrs Didrikson curious, I felt duty-bound to tell the story. 'It's been rather glossed over in the biographies. The aunt may have had The Paragon for her address, but she wasn't such a paragon herself. She was put on trial for shoplifting, which was a capital offence. She was supposed to have stolen some lace from a milliner's. Do you know the dress shop on the corner of Bath Street and Stall Street, just opposite the entrance to the Baths?'
'You mean Principles.'
I smiled at the name. 'There's irony. Yes, that would be on the site of the shop. Well, one August afternoon in 1799, Aunt Jane bought a card of black lace there and walked out with a card of white that she hadn't paid for. Shortly afterwards, the manageress stopped her in the street and challenged her. Aunt Jane claimed that they must have made a mistake in the shop, but they pressed charges and she spent seven months in custody waiting for her case to come up.'
'That must have been an ordeal in those days.'
'It could have been worse. Because she moved in elevated circles, she was allowed to lodge in the warden's house instead of a prison cell and her husband moved in with her. Jane Austen almost went too. Her mother offered the services of Jane and her sister Cassandra as additional company, but the accommodation wouldn't stretch to it.'
'Good material for a writer.'
'Whether Jane would have thought so is another question. The warden's wife had a habit of licking her knife clean after cooking fried onions and then using it to butter the bread.'
Mrs Didrikson grimaced. 'But I suppose it was preferable to bread and water. What happened at the trial?'
'Aunt Jane was acquitted eventually, and it used to be accepted that the poor old biddy was the victim of a trumped-up charge and perjured evidence, but modern writers who have analysed the quality of the evidence are more sceptical. She seems to have got off mainly on the strength of her reputation as an upright citizen. Witnesses galore were called to defend her character – members of parliament, a peer of the realm, clergymen and shopkeepers. All this was stressed by the judge in his address to the jury, coupled with the suggestion that a rich, respectable woman had no need to go shoplifting.'
'Which is not necessarily the case,' she remarked. 'Rich women do steal. There can be motives other than personal hardship.'
I nodded. 'Lucky for Aunt Jane that post-Freudian psychology hadn't been heard of in 1800.'
'Still, it is fascinating. I hope you can use the story in your exhibition.'
'I dare say I will. You see, it's not so peripheral as it first appears if you think what might have happened if the jury had convicted Aunt Jane.'
'Hanging?'
'Realistically, transportation. She would have ended up in Botany Bay. And then the Austen family almost certainly wouldn't have come to live in Bath the year after the acquittal. They lodged with her while they looked for a house of their own. Northanger Abbey and Persuasion might never have been written.'
'Ah, but who knows what else might have come from Jane's pen? Was she a blood relative?'
'No, Aunt Jane was a Cholmeley. She married Uncle James and became Mrs Leigh Perrot.'
'Mrs what?'
Two words: Leigh and Perrot. She lived to a great age -over ninety.'
'Innocence rewarded?'
I shook my head.' "The good die early, and the bad die late."'
The softening of her features each time she smiled challenged me to amuse her more. Before I tried again, however, she hoisted her bag on her shoulder and said, i don't want to seem rude, but would you like me to drive you back?'
'Already?'
'I shouldn't keep you from your guests.'
'I'm not too anxious to get back to the barbecue. Ah, but you said you were tired,' I recalled, 'I shouldn't have started on my Aunt Jane story.' I drank up. 'Let's go.'
Chapter Seven
AS THE MERCEDES CRUISED UP the winding incline of Brassknocker Hill, I said, 'I've been thinking about your son. This may sound stupid after what happened, but does he like swimming?'
'I think so,' Mrs Didrikson answered. 'He can manage a length or so. It isn't his strongest sport, by any means. They don't do enough at the school. Too much of their time goes on singing, in my opinion. I shouldn't complain, should I, as I was daft enough in the first place to send him to a choir school?'
'What I'm leading up to is that we have a pool at the university. Oddly enough, it isn't much used at this time of year when most other pools are crowded. Nearly all the students have gone down. Do you think he would enjoy a swim?'
'Professor, you've done more than enough for Mat already.'
'I'd like to meet him again. After all, he and I did meet first in the water.'
She smiled faintly. 'He wouldn't remember much about that.'
'He'll remember the rebuff he got from me in the bookshop this morning. An incident like that can be wounding to a kid his age. I'd like to show him that it was nothing personal. How about one evening after school?'
The road ahead levelled out. After thinking about it for a moment she answered, 'I'm sure he would enjoy it.'
Tuesday?'
'All right. I'll bring him in the car.'
'Say about seven? Why don't you join us?'
She answered tersely, as if she had seen the invitation coming, 'No, thank you.'
I had meant only to be civil and I underlined this by saying neutrally, 'Just as you wish. Do you know where the pool is at Glaverton?'
She laughed. 'You're talking to a former taxi driver.'
A Rolling Stones number boomed across Bathwick Hill when we stopped in the road opposite the house. Near-hysterical shrieks issued from the back garden.
'Good thing your neighbours don't live too close,' Mrs Didrikson commented. 'When we have a barbecue we have to watch the decibels.'
'And I'm willing to bet that the moment you strike the first match there's always someone who pointedly marches out to take
her washing off the line.' out to take
'Always.'
'Will you come in for a drink? A bite to eat? A quick kebab?'
'Thank you, but I'd like to get back and tell Mat how this turned out. He was rather anxious.'
I understood. I knew from the way that she spoke that it wasn't just an excuse. I got out, wished her goodnight and watched her reverse the Mercedes in a neat arc and drive back at speed in the direction of Bath. A capable woman. Beneath that armour-suit of independence was a person of wit and integrity, qualities I rate highly.
The night was clammy, with barely a breeze. The temperature had not dropped much since sundown. The smell of fried bacon mingled not unpleasantly with the heavy scent of honeysuckle. I strolled around the side of the house in the direction of all the noise.
The floodlights around the swimming pool had been switched on and most of the party were standing around it, being entertained by three women and two men who had stripped off all their clothes and were chasing each other around the perimeter, with the object of pushing someone else into the water before they themselves took a ducking. Geraldine's friends like to think of themselves as feisty – the feistiest people around – and the strain showed at times. I automatically assumed that Gerry was one of the three until I spotted her still in her jumpsuit, merely in the role of observer, her hand hooked over the shoulder of Roger the estate agent. The chase around the pool reminded me of a series of cartoons by James Thurber called The Race of Life, the naked figures pale, paunchy and intense, more quaint than erotic. It was impossible to say how long this had been going on, but the screams and laughter were forced at this stage, as if bestowed out of charity. At last one man was caught from two directions and he leapt off the side, tugging two women in with him. A mighty splash, hoots of laughter, and then the others plunged in as well. It would not be long before they were singing, 'Come and join us', and grasping for the ankles of anyone rash enough to stand close to the edge.
I remember looking at my watch and recalling Mr Woodhouse's dictum in Emma that the sooner every party breaks up, the better. Mr Woodhouse, a standard-bearer for the modern obsession with health, would undoubtedly have had something pertinent to say on the perils of skinny-dipping.
Turning my back on the pool, I wandered across to the patio, where the barbecue wanted some attention if I was to cook myself a steak. With a hand-shovel I drew some ash off the charcoal to reveal glowing embers and fanned them into more activity. The meat was set out on a tray covered with wire mesh. Plenty was left. I lifted the cover, picked up a steak and some bacon, tomato pieces and mushrooms and spread them on the grid above the fire.
Presently I was conscious of somebody at my side. Geraldine looped her arm around mine and said, 'Where have you been hiding all evening?'
'I went out for a bit. Enjoying your party?'
'Immensely., Didn't your lady friend turn up after all?'
'She came. She couldn't stay.'
'Pity.' She looked at the steak. 'I saved enough for both of you. You must be famished by now. Want me to take over?'
'There's no need. You go back to your friends.'
They don't need me. They'll only drag me in the pool and ruin my clothes. Listen to them.' She picked up a fork and turned over a slice of the bacon. 'Besides, I can't neglect my nearest and dearest.'
'Your snake in the grass, you mean.'
'What?'
'You called me a snake in the grass the other day. I'm suppose to be plotting God knows what with your doctor.'
She squeezed my arm. 'Darling, you know me by now. I'm a Leo. I can't help my personality. I roared a bit, as Leos do, that's all. Could you blow on the charcoal, or the steak will never get done? I saved some of my home-made sauce for you. They were on it like vultures. It's in the house.'
'Where?' I asked. 'I'll get it.'
'It's all right. You keep an eye on this. I know where I tucked it out of sight.'
I moved the tomatoes to the side of the grill to stop them from burning, my mind on other things. Almost enough material was now promised for the exhibition. The next challenge was how to present it interestingly. My earlier reluctance to get involved had been supplanted by a strong desire to make a success of the show. I still refused to make it a paean to life in Bath. I was resolved that Jane's feelings about the city should be scrupulously represented.
Then Gerry was back with a jug of sauce. 'You're going to enjoy this. Got a plate?'
I picked one up from where they were stacked. 'Hey, don't drown it.'
Too late; she had liberally coated everything. She said, 'Why don't you come down to the pool with it? You know most of them.'
'Thanks. I'll eat it here, while it's hot.'
'You don't really hit it off with my wacky friends, do you, Prof?'
'I'm not complaining.'
'I'll make some coffee in a mo and move the whole thing indoors. They'll be glad of a warm drink after their dip.' She cleared some plates from a table and handed me a knife and fork, and a paper napkin. 'Listen, I knew you'd be wanting some sleep after being out all day, so I made up the camp-bed in the summerhouse. You can slip away whenever you wish. They won't disturb you there. I left half a bottle of Courvoisier and a pack of cigars beside the bed.'
Such wifely consideration was so rare from Gerry that I at once suspected an ulterior motive. I found it difficult to believe – even of Gerry – that she would have the gall to invite her admiring estate agent up to the bedroom while her own husband spent a night in the garden, but what other construction was there to put on it? other construction was there I said, 'I'm not tired.'
I said, 'I'm not tired.'
'That's all right, then,' said Gerry with such implacable charm that I was reassured. 'Just remember it's there if you want to escape before the party finally breaks up.'
She went off towards the house, leaving me alone on the patio eating my supper. The food was good, the sauce a trifle too peppery for my taste. I scraped some off the steak. Presently I was aware of someone standing nearby, holding a beer glass. It was Roger, the estate agent, his moon face glowing greenly in the artificial light.
'Hello there, brother Gregory. What's this – second helpings?'
I gave him a look without much fraternity in it. 'I only just got here. I've been out.'
'Business or pleasure? The latter, I hope. Six days shalt thou labour.'
'… and have a barbecue on the seventh?'
Roger laughed. 'Speaking of labour, I have to be at my charming best in the office tomorrow morning.'
'Gerry's making coffee,' I informed him.
'I think we'll have to skip it. Have you seen
'I think we'll have to skip it. Have you seen anything of Val?'
'Val?'
'My wife.'
'Er, no.' I refrained from adding that I'd always assumed Roger was a bachelor from the way he carried on with Gerry.
'She was one of the first in the pool,' said Roger.
'Perhaps she's gone indoors to get dry.'
'No, there she is!' said Roger, and called out, 'Val, darling, we're about to leave. Come and say goodbye to your host.'
Val came over. By this time, she had got back into her clothes. When dressed, and with her damp hair flat to her head, she looked even more like one of James Thurber's creations. Her stare was withering. 'So you're the husband.'
I felt like the owner of an unruly dog.
Roger smiled feebly and said, 'She means thank you for having us. Come on, my water nymph. Party's over for you and me. Nighty-night, Greg.'
They moved off around the side of the house. Presently I heard their car start up and move away. I wondered if Gerry knew they had left.
When I had finished eating I strolled across to the house for a coffee. There, I couldn't avoid getting into conversation with some people who were vaguely connected with the Bristol Old Vic and wanted to impress me with their theatrical gossip. The vagueness was more of my making than theirs because unusually my c
oncentration had started slipping. Black coffee didn't help. I was getting more weary by the minute.
Unable to listen any longer, I muttered some excuse and wandered out through the patio door. All that I could think about was that camp-bed in the summerhouse. I moved as if wearing one of those early diving suits with weighted boots. It wasn't the drink that had done this; I'd had nothing since the cognacs in the pub and they never make me sleepy. Then I was conscious of pointed heels clattering on the patio behind me, and Gerry was at my side.
'Greg, are you all right?'
'Just tired,' I answered, and I heard myself slurring the words. 'Going to bed now.'
'Can you make it that far?'
'Yes.'
My thigh came painfully into contact with a table. I turned my head, but Gerry had already gone back to her party. The impact sharpened my wits momentarily. I thought, I've been given something. I'm drugged. I groped across the table and found the mustard-dish, pulled it towards me, scooped up a generous amount on my finger and pushed it into the back of my throat. Instantly I retched, staggered to a tub of geraniums and heaved up as much as I could of the barbecue supper. My head spun when I raised it. I still felt profoundly tired. 1 thrust my finger down my throat a second time, with a result almost as copious. The sweat on my forehead turned icy. Down the patio steps I tottered, then perilously around the edge of the pool, across the lawn and as far as the summerhouse, an octagonal wooden structure open to the elements on two sides.
True to her promise, Gerry had made up the camp-bed there. I dropped on to it like a felled tree, too exhausted to remove even my shoes.
It felt as if I were levitating. Not a pleasant sensation.
Home-made sauce, I thought, as I pushed my finger down my throat again.
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