After the Party

by Cressida Connolly

  ‘How anyone can confuse a dead person for someone asleep is beyond me,’ said Nina. ‘I mean, they’re nothing alike. You can tell straight away.’

  ‘Sort of waxen,’ said Phyllis.

  ‘Of course, Patricia’s very sensitive,’ said Greville, in order to call a gentle halt to this line of conversation.

  Nina and Phyllis exchanged a glance. Well-meaning though Greville was, he had never made any secret of the fact that he considered his wife to be cut of finer cloth than the rest of her family.

  ‘Should you like me to go and sit with him for a bit?’ asked Eric.

  ‘You are a love,’ said Nina. ‘But there’s no need. It’s not as if he’ll miss the company. Anyway, I thought I’d tell them, and I think you should be with me.’

  ‘Tell us what?’ asked Patricia, rather sharply.

  ‘That Eric and I have got some news. I’m expecting.’

  ‘Nina! That’s wonderful!’ said Phyllis.

  ‘Very good, very good. Wonderful news,’ said Greville. He stood up and went to embrace Nina, before shaking Eric warmly by the hand.

  ‘Yes. Excellent,’ said Hugh. He did not follow his brother-in-law’s lead, but stood holding his little coffee cup and saucer.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Patricia.

  ‘Of course I’m sure, you ninny! I’ve been hoping for long enough, haven’t I?’

  ‘Well, we never knew,’ said Patricia. ‘We didn’t know whether you both wanted to have children.’

  ‘Of course we did,’ said Eric, beaming.

  ‘Such a shame that Daddy couldn’t have known,’ said Phyllis. ‘He’d have been so thrilled.’

  A sad little silence settled on the room, before Nina spoke again.

  ‘The only snag is, I’d been asked to stand for election. Up in Warrington, there’s a seat coming vacant. But I shan’t, not now. It would mean such a lot of travel and exertion.’

  ‘Very wise,’ said Greville. ‘You just put your feet up and let your kind husband here wait on you hand and foot.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Patricia. ‘There’s nothing actually the matter with her.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got that right, about Warrington?’ Hugh asked. ‘Only no one at HQ mentioned it to me and I rather think they would’ve.’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Nina. ‘Sir Oswald spoke to me about it himself, as a matter of fact. He said that he thought my manner of speaking would go down especially well in the north. I don’t know that that’s much of a compliment, actually.’

  At this they all laughed.

  ‘Well, I’m going to turn in,’ said Greville. There was a general murmur of assent.

  ‘We ought to have a talk about Mummy, tomorrow, once we’re all feeling more refreshed,’ said Patricia.

  Nobody answered.

  Various neighbours appeared over the course of the following days, Jamie among them. Letters of condolence arrived. It surprised them all, the quantity of post; people they had never heard their father mention now expressing such affection for him. Since their mother could no longer write with any coherence, it was agreed that Patricia, who had the nicest writing, would respond on her behalf. Nina and Eric took charge of the funeral arrangements. Phyllis would help Mrs Manville to prepare sandwiches and fruitcake for the mourners and to lay out tables with cups and plates and so forth: on the day, Mrs Manville’s niece and sister-in-law would come in from the village to help hand round sherry and tea, as well as the food. The conversation about their mother’s future kept being put off. Now, the day before the funeral, Mrs Manville raised the subject with Phyllis. The two women were in the kitchen by themselves, hard-boiling eggs and slicing cucumber.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re all planning to do concerning your mother,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Phyllis. ‘I don’t think we’re any clearer ourselves. It’s such a worry. I think we all felt we’d get the service today over before we really address it.’

  ‘I’ve given it some consideration and I just thought I should let you know that I’d be prepared to stay on with her, if you wanted me to. She’s used to me: we rub along. I understand what she’s trying to say, most of the time. Routine is important for her, familiarity. She gets unsettled very easily.’

  ‘That would be wonderful!’ said Phyllis. ‘It hadn’t occurred to any of us that you’d even countenance it, with all the extra work it’d mean now that Daddy won’t be here to keep an eye on her in the afternoons and early evenings, when you’re not usually about. To be honest we thought you might be considering retirement. That would be really wonderful. Much the best solution. It would be lovely for Mummy to be able to stay here, with all her things around her.’

  ‘I’d be expecting some consideration, for the extra responsibility and hours.’

  ‘More money, do you mean?’ said Phyllis. ‘I can’t see that anyone would object to that. I’ll take it up with my sisters, of course.’

  ‘And I’d be wanting one weekend off a month,’ said Mrs Manville. ‘As well as a fortnight in the summer.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure we could cover for you during those times.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be covering for me. You’d be covering for your mother,’ said Mrs Manville crisply. Phyllis felt herself colour.

  ‘While we’re having this little talk, I feel I should tell you: my sister-in-law, her nephew went down with the Courageous. Five hundred of them, killed.’

  ‘I’m heartily sorry to hear it. That was a dreadful thing.’ The ship had been sunk off the coast of Ireland by a German U-boat, almost as soon as war was declared.

  ‘All those sailors, our sailors. Boys, a lot of them, all perished. What I wanted to say to you is: it’s no thanks to any of you lot.’

  ‘Mrs Manville, of course I understand you’d have very strong sentiments, having lost someone. I may remind you that I’ve just lost someone myself: I know what it is to be bereaved. A nephew, did you say? But I fail to see how my sisters and myself contributed to this.’

  ‘Not my nephew, my sister-in-law’s: it was her brother’s boy. Anyway, Patricia, she’s all right: I’ve no quarrel with her. She doesn’t parade about the streets in uniform, like your children and your sister Nina. It’s you two that need to look to your consciences, following that wicked man. He’d have us taken over by the Germans in a trice. You with your salutes and uniforms and speechifying: you’re nothing better than a bunch of traitors. Thugs they are, most of them. Just because you don’t bring your flags and banners here, don’t think word doesn’t spread. I’ve got family on the south coast, you know, they tell me all sorts of things as to what your lot get up to. I know all about your camping parties, brainwashing the young. You and your husbands, you’re just idling about, promoting these odious ideas while others are laying down their lives for this country. It’s a disgrace. That’s what it is: a disgrace. There, now I’ve said my piece. I had to say it. If you shan’t want me to stay on with your mother, then so be it.’

  Phyllis noticed that Mrs Manville was still holding the little peeling knife in her right hand. Someone had wound twine around and around its handle, presumably to bind some crack where the wood had split. For once she wished that her husband was with her to back her up, although Hugh certainly would not ask this woman to stay on after such a tirade. In her heart Phyllis knew that she lacked both the will and the strength of character to dismiss her. Her sisters would be so relieved that their mother was to be taken care of without a great deal of extra effort on their part. They might blame her, if Mrs Manville were to leave; although, Lord knew, this outburst was no fault of her own. She knew she must be conciliatory, however riled she felt. Nevertheless, such impudence could not be allowed to stand. She tried to imagine what Hugh would say and to summon up some of his hauteur.

  ‘Mrs Manville, our politics are no concern of yours; nor yours of ours. We vote by secret ballot in these islands for this very reason, so that neighbours and friends shall not be divided by their beliefs. You
clearly have no idea of what British Union stands for or you would know that we are deeply, deeply patriotic; more so, I’d wager, than any other group in this country. We more than anyone wish to preserve the lives of our young men. You seem to have forgotten that our family had its own tragedy: Daddy’s nephew, our cousin Timothy, was killed in 1917. But I realize you can’t be expected to understand politics and that you are speaking in temper, because of your nephew.’

  ‘I’ve told you, he wasn’t my nephew. But I’d known the boy since he was knee high to a grasshopper. A lovely lad, he was.’

  ‘I’m sure he was a delightful person, but this dreadful …’ here Phyllis struggled to find the right word, ‘occurrence was not brought about by anything that Nina or myself stand for. Quite the reverse, in fact. If our Peace Campaign had been put into operation, this calamity might have been averted.’

  ‘That’s balderdash!’ said Mrs Manville. ‘You’re talking through your hat, you are.’

  ‘That’s quite enough!’ said Phyllis. ‘I appreciate that this is a trying time for us all, very trying. We are all upset about Daddy. What I suggest is that you take the rest of the morning off, to compose yourself. I will see to the sandwiches. Then let’s put this behind us and say no more about it. I will not insist on an apology, provided this is not brought up again. Is that clear?’

  Phyllis felt a surge of exhilaration. She felt she had spoken with real force and dignity. Mrs Manville made no reply, but put the knife down on the table and left the room. As soon as she had gone, Phyllis picked up the knife and took it to the sink and held it for a long while under the tap, the hot water running white down its blade. Then she dried it carefully with the tea towel that hung over the rail of the stove. The string around the handle was still damp when she replaced the knife in the drawer.

  12. Sussex and London, May to June 1940

  Phyllis answered the door herself, because the girl who came in to do the beds and the grates was having her day off and the cook hadn’t yet come in to start lunch. Before her stood a uniformed policeman and just behind him were two men in ordinary suits, whose bearing nevertheless suggested that they too were police officers of some kind. One of them closely resembled Fredric March, the star of a film Phyllis had especially enjoyed, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. She found herself grinning rather stupidly at him, as if he really were the actor and she a star-struck autograph hunter.

  ‘Mrs Forrester? May we come in?’ said the uniformed man.

  ‘Of course,’ said Phyllis, opening the door to allow them to step in.

  What followed passed in something of a blur, so that Phyllis afterwards could not recall who had said what, nor how long the men had spent in the house. Someone asked if her husband was at home and she said that he was; she installed the three men in the drawing room and went to find him. Once Hugh appeared, one of the men in civilian clothes – not, she thought later, the one who looked like Fredric March – told them that he had reason to believe that they were both close associates of Sir Oswald Mosley. Hugh confirmed that this was so. In that case, the man went on, his two colleagues would now make a thorough search of the premises, while he and his wife remained here with him, to answer a few more questions.

  ‘But this is ridiculous!’ Phyllis objected. ‘My husband is a distinguished man, he was a Naval Commander in the last war. You can’t just come into our house and rootle through our things.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to your senior officer,’ said Hugh. ‘If you’d just come with me to the telephone in the hall, perhaps you could ring through to him, and we can sort things out without these gentlemen needing to look through all our possessions.’

  But this hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked. Instead they had both been asked questions, a great many questions, about meetings they had attended and people they knew and their roles within the Party. When Phyllis had made to stand in order to propose that she make coffee for their interlocutors and themselves, the man had only smiled and asked that she remain seated and in the room: coffee would not be necessary. At length the questions dried up and the three sat in silence, while the uniformed officer and the other man continued to go through all the drawers and cupboards. Their tread could be heard overhead, as well as the closing of wardrobes and doors.

  ‘You don’t need to go in the children’s rooms, surely?’ said Phyllis.

  ‘We’re conducting a thorough search. Won’t be too much longer, now.’

  ‘I shall be lodging a complaint,’ said Hugh. ‘This is simply … simply monstrous. You’ve absolutely no justification for coming into a man’s home and rifling through the entire contents. It’s an affront.’

  The man only smiled, unperturbed.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the two men came back to the drawing room.

  ‘We found this, in what looks like one of the youngsters’ rooms. Back of the wardrobe, in a shoe-box,’ said the uniformed man. He was holding what looked like a revolver.

  Phyllis cried out. ‘Hugh, what is that? Tell me it isn’t anything to do with you! You couldn’t have kept a gun in …’

  ‘It’s an old service revolver I was asked to keep in case of an emergency. But I shall say nothing more until I have legal representation,’ said Hugh. ‘I should like to use my own telephone in my own house now, if you please.’

  ‘’Fraid there won’t be time for telephoning,’ said the man who looked like Fredric March.

  ‘So, who asked you to keep this firearm, then?’ the second officer asked.

  ‘As I’ve told you, I am not prepared to say more. Kindly allow me to use my own telephone in my own house.’

  ‘As I say, there won’t be time for that. You’ll need to come with us, now.’

  For the first time, Phyllis felt afraid. The fear came with a jolt, sudden as nausea. It was one thing to be interviewed by the police, to have your house crawling with policemen; but to be taken, removed from the sanctuary of your own home like a piece of evidence, wasn’t a thing that happened to people like her and Hugh.

  ‘Well, and how long do you propose to detain us? We’ve things to do, you know. We can’t simply place ourselves at your beck and call,’ said Hugh.

  The man only smiled.

  Somehow Hugh and Phyllis found themselves out on the drive. Phyllis had the presence of mind to bring her handbag. There were two cars on the drive: a second uniformed officer sat behind the wheel of one, while the other was empty. The uniformed man who had been inside the house now took Phyllis by the elbow and led her towards the car in which his colleague was waiting, while Hugh was ushered towards the other vehicle. Phyllis felt too bewildered and afraid to protest.

  Only once they were under way, Phyllis installed on the back seat, did she ask where they were going.

  ‘Are we going to the station at Bognor, or at Chichester?’ she asked.

  ‘Neither. It’s your lucky day, you’re going up to London,’ the driver replied.

  ‘To London? But what on earth for? I’ve already told you – the other man who was with you – all that he asked.’

  ‘Ours is not to wonder why,’ said the driver. ‘I daresay they’ve got their reasons.’

  There was a sweet smell in the car, a mixture of the leather tang of the seats and some sort of cheap, soapy odour that she couldn’t identify.

  ‘May I open the window a little?’ she asked.

  ‘You do what you like, Missis. Enjoy yourself. If I were you I’d sit back and enjoy the view while you can.’

  Phyllis did not know what he meant. It was all so bewildering and frightening and strange. The indignation she’d felt when the policemen arrived at the house had faded and now she felt only helpless and pathetic. She wished that Hugh were in the same car with her, instead of being alone with these unknown men. They drove on through the Sussex lanes lined with great elms, through the little towns; Horsham, Dorking, Epsom. In the streets the shoppers were blithe and busy, going about their morning chores: ordinary everyday tasks like buying liniment or b
read or gardening twine for the canes of their tender sweet peas. It was like a bad dream to be moving unseen among them, effectively being taken hostage. She wanted to cry out to the passers-by to help her.

  The car came into the southern suburbs of the capital, mile after mile of monotonous buildings, only punctuated by the odd church or war memorial or the gates of a crematorium. She did not recognize any of it, for she generally took the train when she came to town. No one had spoken for the past hour.

  ‘Tell you what, we’ll take mercy on you.’ The officer who wasn’t driving turned to face her. ‘We’ll stop off for a cup of tea, so you can stretch your legs. There’s a place on the common, just up here.’

  She smiled thinly. ‘You certainly seem to know your way,’ she said.

  ‘We’re Metropolitan, see. We’re not from your part of the world.’

  ‘Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought,’ she said. She had been too fraught to notice the accent. They drew up at a small tea-room.

  ‘Fancy a bun? They do a nice rock cake,’ the driver asked. ‘It may be a while until you next get something to eat, by the time they process you. It’s gone dinner-time.’

  The waitress came and took their order. If it seemed peculiar to her to see a respectable woman in the company of two policemen, she gave no sign of surprise. The rock cake was the size of a fist. It was crumbly and rather dry, with little pebbles of demerara sugar on top. Phyllis felt she had never eaten anything so good, never enjoyed a combination so felicitous as the scalding, metallic tea and this sandy, sweet bun. She hadn’t even known she was hungry.

  ‘Will my husband be with me, when we get there?’ she asked.

  The two officers exchanged a smile which she could not interpret. ‘No, not your husband nor anybody else’s. It’s women only.’

  Phyllis felt a flash of alarm. What kind of police station was divided in this way? ‘When you said they’d process me, earlier on: what did you mean?’

  ‘Well, they’ll have to take down all your details, won’t they? And make a list of all the personal items you’ve got with you.’