‘But—’
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘in the first place, you don’t know what really happened.’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Love, you don’t. Well, OK, I expect she – I expect they did it.’
‘Ben, of course they did. And Florence is her best friend and—’
‘Grace! You’re off again. So they went to bed. So what?’
‘Ben, what do you mean, so what?’ She was shocked.
‘I mean it isn’t everything. Not always.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘You’ve got to try and see things from their point of view. Listen. What do you think it was like for Clarissa, seeing Jack like that? Horrible, awful. Christ, lots of women would’ve just gone. You wouldn’t have seen them for dust. She stuck by him. She loves him. I think that’s pretty good. Really.’
She turned and looked at him interestedly. ‘You really like her, don’t you?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do. I think she’s smashing. Very sexy. But I like her too. I think she’s brave and kind and much more loyal than you think.’
‘Loyal! Ben, she doesn’t know what loyalty is.’
‘Course she does. It’s just not sexual loyalty, that’s all. She can’t help it, she fucks – sorry, love, goes to bed with—’
‘Fucks is better,’ said Grace grimly.
‘All right, she fucks like most people kiss. She collects men, like trophies.’
‘Has she tried to collect you?’ asked Grace. She was so interested she didn’t even feel jealous.
‘Not exactly. She came on a bit strong, once. That Christmas, when you were out once and she was here alone with me. I don’t mean she tried to get me upstairs, or anything, but she wanted to know she could’ve done.’
‘Oh,’ said Grace. ‘Oh I see. And could she?’
‘Let’s say,’ he said grinning, ‘she’d be pretty hard to resist. Under certain circumstances. I wouldn’t rate my chances.’
‘Ben, how can you say that? I don’t—’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘just be quiet. Of course I wouldn’t. I’m just trying to explain. I reckon they were alone down there in Dartmouth. She was upset, trying to cope with Jack. He was bloody miserable, thought he’d lost Florence, was getting sent back to sea to get killed most likely. Why the hell not, love? What harm was it going to do? Really?’
‘I would have thought a lot,’ said Grace. She felt rather upset again: shocked at Ben’s pragmatism.
‘Yes, you would. And it would matter for you. But not Clarissa. Dear oh dear, you haven’t been listening at all.’
‘I have.’
‘No you haven’t. Anyway, what would do a lot of harm is if you went rushing up to Florence and told her what Clarissa did. You mustn’t, Grace. You really mustn’t.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said, ‘actually. But I just can’t help hating Clarissa now. And not trusting her. And I feel so awkward when I’m with them both.’
‘There’s worse things than feeling awkward,’ he said, ‘much worse. I should know. Give me a kiss. And then you’d better get dressed, or I don’t know what I might find myself doing.’
They didn’t tell anyone: it was too soon, they agreed, too soon after Charles’s death. ‘It would especially hurt Clifford, I know, even in spite of everything,’ said Grace. ‘And there isn’t a hurry, is there? I mean when did you think we might actually – well—’
‘Oh, not for a long time probably,’ he said, ‘well, quite a long time. Next year maybe. When I’ve got myself sorted out a bit. But I just needed you to know that’s what I want. And I needed to know if you want it too.’
‘I do want it too,’ she said. ‘I love you, Ben.’
‘I love you too, Grace.’
For the hundredth time, possibly the thousandth time, she thought it was too perfect to be true.
Clarissa telephoned Florence to let her know she would soon have an extended leave and asking her to come and stay with her in London. ‘It’ll do you good,’ she said, ‘to get away. We can have some fun.’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Florence. ‘I don’t seem to have any energy. I’m better down here with Mother, being bored. Mother and Grace.’
‘Have you seen much of Grace lately?’ asked Clarissa casually.
‘No,’ said Florence, ‘she seems to be avoiding me. I’ve probably said something unfortunate to her. You know how tactless I am.’
‘I certainly do,’ said Clarissa. ‘Anyway, you’re coming to stay with me, darling, whether you think you want to or not. I’ll be in touch about dates. Bye for now.’
She put the phone down thoughtfully. It didn’t look as if Grace was going to say anything. Clarissa hadn’t really thought she would but it was still a gnawing worry. God, she was a little prig. She was very fond of Grace, but she was a prig. Clarissa had thought that Ben might sort her out a bit, but it didn’t seem to be working yet. She remembered Florence’s saying, years ago, that being over moral was a class thing; and she was so right. She hoped Florence would be true to her own class, if she was put to the test. Not to mention Jack.
With that extraordinary ability to set aside disagreeable facts that made her own life so infinitely pleasant, Clarissa opened her diary and started leafing through it. Then she picked up the phone and dialled the officers’ mess in Liverpool.
‘Could I have a word with you, my dear?’ said Clifford one evening when the boys had gone to bed. He was slightly flushed; he also looked tired. He had been wrestling with decimal points and Latin declensions with a distressed David, who was now saying daily that he wished he’d never got the rotten scholarship but was at the secondary modern with all his friends.
‘Yes of course,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
He finished his tea, set the cup down, cleared his throat. Grace smiled at him encouragingly. ‘What is it, Clifford? Come on, you can’t fool me, there’s something up.’
‘Well, darling, yes, there is. I – well, that is, Muriel and I—’
‘Clifford!’ said Grace, going over to him, throwing her arms round his neck. ‘Clifford, you’re going to live together again. I’m so pleased!’
‘You are? You don’t think I’m making a terrible mistake?’
‘Of course not. I think it’s lovely. Nothing could please me more.’
‘Oh Grace,’ he said, and the relief in his voice was heavy, ‘what a wonderful girl you are. I thought you might be opposed to it.’
‘Of course I’m not opposed to it. I’ve been hoping for it ever since Charles’s funeral when I saw you standing with her. It seemed so silly, you both being so lonely, when you could be together. I mean she’s clearly forgiven you—’
‘As much as Muriel ever forgives,’ said Clifford with a rueful smile. ‘She never mentions it precisely, and neither do I. There are quite a few references, of course, to a time when I wasn’t there, wasn’t seeing to things, helping her, and so on and so forth. But I can put up with that.’
‘You’re still really fond of her, aren’t you?’ said Grace.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘yes, I am. Really fond. I expect that seems funny to you. Anyway, I don’t want you to think for a moment that I discount what you did for me. It was kind and immensely brave, and I owe you a huge debt. Which one day perhaps I can repay.’
‘I enjoyed it,’ said Grace, ‘I really did.’
When Ben phoned at the weekend, she told him about Clifford. ‘It’s lovely, he’s so happy. Why anyone should wish to live with Muriel I can’t imagine, but there it is. And it means when – well, next year or whatever – we shall have the Mill House to ourselves. Us and the boys. Which will be rather nice.’
‘Yes,’ said Ben, ‘yes, I suppose it will.’ He sounded a little guarded.
‘Of course it will, Ben. Don’t be silly. Clifford’s lovely, but—’
‘Look, Grace, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon,’ said Ben. ‘I love you,’ he added carefully.
‘I love you too.’
/>
She put the phone down, feeling slightly rebuffed. Rebuffed and anxious.
Chapter 29
Autumn–Winter 1944
Ben and Grace had been for a walk, and were just coming back over the field from the wood: David’s wood as they now called it.
‘Doesn’t it look lovely?’ said Grace happily, looking at the Mill House sunk into its small hollow, the late sun catching its tall windows, smoke spiralling out of its double chimney. ‘I love that house so much. It’s a happy house. And in spite of everything, I’ve been happy there. Well, we all have.’
‘Yes,’ said Ben. He sounded odd.
Grace looked at him. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘It is a nice house, yes,’ he said, after a long pause, ‘but I don’t think we can stay there.’
‘Why ever not?’ she said, astonished. ‘It’s perfect. The boys see it as home, and there’s no problem with money, I mean it’s mine, Charles left it to me and—’
‘That’s exactly it,’ he said, ‘it’s yours. Very much yours. Charles’s house once, now yours. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Oh Ben, don’t be silly. Of course it’s to do with you.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it isn’t. And I don’t want to live in it.’
‘But why not?’
‘Because it’s not mine. It’s yours. When we’re married, we’ll live in my house. Surely you can understand that.’
‘Ben, that’s absurd. You’re just being perverse.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not absurd. It seems quite reasonable to me. I’m sorry, Grace, and I do like the Mill House, but I can’t live in it with you. It would feel like sponging, living off you. I couldn’t cope with that.’
‘Oh,’ said Grace. ‘Well, I’ll have to think about it, I suppose.’
‘No,’ said Ben, ‘you won’t have to think about it. There’s nothing to think about. We’ll find another house to live in.’
It was a side of him she had never seen before, the egotistical, proud male. He had always been so gentle, so easy; she was shocked. Shocked and upset. She loved the Mill House, loved it most dearly, felt attached to it almost physically. And what sort of house would he want to live in anyway? The sort he had had with Linda, small, cramped, in a town? She suddenly heard Florence’s voice saying, ‘It couldn’t work if you lived here, and if you lived with his sort of people you wouldn’t fit in there.’
For the first time, she began to think properly about the implications of marrying a man from so different a background to her own. Was it going to matter as much as Florence had said? As Ben had been trying to say, the day he had proposed to her? And was she more of a snob, more troubled by such things than she would ever have admitted? It was all very well, she thought, drawing Ben into her life; was she actually going to be able to cope with being drawn into his?
She got up early next morning and wandered round the Mill House, pausing in her favourite places, the porch, overhung with wisteria, the kitchen with its great cupboards and stone floor, the drawing room with its tall windows and shutters, the curved staircase and the long light landing with its beautifully turned banisters. The thought of turning her back on it made her feel desperately sad, almost tearful; it was only a house, she tried to tell herself, only bricks and mortar, but it wasn’t, it was hers, her own place, all she had had in the world for a while, a source of comfort and strength, and she felt she belonged to it as much as it to her.
She made herself a mug of tea and went out of the back door, freezing cold as it was outside, and looked out at the sloping garden, the stream, the field beyond. Charlotte shot out after her, followed by Puppy. They had never given her a name. What would they do, in a small, towny house without a proper garden? And who would have Floss and the chickens? Absurdly, tears filled her eyes; she blinked them back, felt Ben’s arm round her shoulders.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said, ‘and I’m sorry. But you have to see it my way, Grace. I can’t be Mr Grace Bennett. I really can’t.’
‘So would you want to – to move away from here?’ she said. ‘Go somewhere different? To a – a town or something?’
‘Not a town, not necessarily. Although what I could do in the country I don’t know. Yet. But yes, I would want to leave here. As long as we’re here, Grace, I’m the odd man out. I can’t cope with that. Not for the rest of our lives. Do you think the people round here, your friends, would really accept me?’
‘I haven’t got any friends round here,’ she said, ‘not like that. You know I haven’t.’
He ignored her. ‘Do you think I can stand at those parties, a glass of sherry in my hand, and feel them watching to see if I know how to behave, what to say, how to say it? Of course I can’t.’
‘You – never said all this before,’ she said.
‘I tried to. Tried to make you think about it. The day I asked you to marry me, I was trying to. We were dreaming before, love, it was all make-believe. Make-believe, in a war that had turned everything upside-down. Who cared if I was a sergeant and your husband was a major? If I’d left school at fourteen and he’d gone to Oxford? Didn’t matter. But it will Grace. If we’re going to live a real life, get married, it will matter.’
‘But Ben—’
‘No, Grace. I’m sorry. I can’t live here and have people think how nice and charming I am, “considering”, as they’ll put it. How amusing and brave of you to have married me. We have to go somewhere else, start a life on our own terms.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Grace quietly. She didn’t want to argue about it. She needed time to think, to get used to the idea.
Over the next few days she thought she had. Ben was right. She remembered all the times she had complained about, been upset by, Charles’s friends and their ostracism of her. How much worse it would be for him. It had been totally crass of her to think he would, could, just settle down in her house and life; the Mill House was only a house, of course it was, a place, bricks and mortar, she kept saying determinedly, and she loved Ben enough to leave it, to be brave. Then she got a letter from him.
Dear Grace,
There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but you were so upset about the house I felt I couldn’t. It’s what I’m going to do with my life. I really don’t want to go back to being an insurance clerk. Apart from anything else, loving you has made me more ambitious. So you should be pleased about that, at least! I dreamt about being a teacher, as you know, and for a long time I thought I might try that. But it would be very hard. I’d have to go to college for years, and I just don’t see it as practical. But I liked the engineering side of the army, it suits me, and I think I could make a go of it. I was talking to one of the NCOs the other night and it seems I could possibly get on a sponsored course, at one of the technical colleges. It would mean staying in the army for quite a lot longer, though. And that would mean you’d be a sergeant’s wife, us not knowing where we might end up a lot of the time. I’d like you to think about that, Grace, very carefully. My love to you.
Ben
She wasn’t quite sure what he was saying; she only knew that she felt suddenly uneasy about things.
Florence was going to London to stay with Clarissa. Clarissa had been most insistent that she came. She had even stipulated a date, the first Friday in December, ‘And I want you to stay for at least a week. You can bring Imogen if you like but it would do you good to get away. I’m sure Jeannette would cope wonderfully.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Florence, ‘I really don’t like being away from her that long—’
‘Florence, darling, you’ll like it once you’re here. Now I’ve got lots of fun planned for us, people to see, it’ll be like the old days, and you can get the house on the market, if that’s what you want. And we can talk plans. I mean you don’t want to stay down at the Priory for ever, do you?’
‘No,’ said Florence slightly doubtfully.
‘Flo! You can’t.’
�
�No, not at the Priory. But I’m not sure about being in London now. No friends I’m still in touch with, no reason for being there. I’d be a real country bumpkin.’
‘You’re being silly,’ said Clarissa, ‘and anyway, what about all those plans to rule the world?’
‘Oh, I’ve gone off all that. I don’t think the world will want me,’ said Florence wearily.
‘Of course it will. You must be positive, darling. You should just hear what Jack’s planning on. But I’ll let him tell you himself. Bye, darling. Now next Friday. Without fail.’
Florence asked Jeannette if she thought she could cope with Imogen for a week, and Jeannette said she could, easily, but not that Friday, since Ted had asked her to a dance, and she had a feeling he was going to come up with the goods. Florence told Clarissa she would come on the Saturday instead, and was rather surprised when Clarissa said that wouldn’t do. ‘I’ve got a dinner party planned, darling, everyone’s dying to see you. Can’t Moo cope?’
‘Not with both of them. I’ll come on Saturday.’
An hour later Grace phoned; she said Clarissa had rung her and she’d be very happy to have both the children on the Friday night, if Jeannette would come and stay on the Saturday in exchange, so that she could go to a concert with Ben at the cathedral. ‘Then you can go to Clarissa’s dinner party.’
‘I can’t quite see why everyone’s so keen for me to go to Clarissa’s dinner party,’ said Florence irritably, ‘as if I needed some kind of outing. Still, if you really want to, Grace.’
‘I do,’ said Grace, ‘I really do.’
‘And bring something really nice to wear,’ said Clarissa. ‘It’s going to be a very smart dinner party. Black tie.’
‘Clarissa, who on earth goes to a black-tie dinner party these days?’
‘Oh – various chums,’ said Clarissa vaguely, ‘my lovely American attaché, Bunty and her wicked gynae husband, Jack of course. It’s going to be such fun. So don’t let me down. I want you at your absolute best.’
‘Clarissa, do stop going on,’ said Florence. ‘I’ll be there, and I won’t wear my WVS uniform. I can’t promise more than that.’
Forbidden Places Page 56
