Mrs Burt dialled the number, and recognized the voice at the other end.
‘Yes, Mrs Whidden – it’s Mrs Burt speaking. Is Mr Burt there – well, yes, I would if you don’t mind – yes –’ There was a pause, and then Gabriel, watching her, saw her flush and wince. Her voice changed – it became apologetic – timid.
‘I’m sorry, Jim. No, of course –’ Gabriel could hear the sound of Burt’s voice at the other end, though not what he said – a domineering, ugly voice. Milly Burt’s voice became more apologetic.
‘It’s Mrs Bigham Charteris – from the castle – her dog – it’s been run over. Yes, she’s here now.’
She flushed again and replaced the receiver, but not before Gabriel had heard the voice at the other end say angrily:
‘Why couldn’t you say so at once, you fool?’
There was a moment’s awkwardness. Gabriel felt sorry for Mrs Burt – a pretty, gentle little thing, scared of that husband of hers. He said in his sincere friendly way:
‘It’s awfully good of you to take so much trouble and to be so sympathetic, Mrs Burt.’ And he smiled at her.
‘Oh, that’s quite all right, Major Gabriel. It is Major Gabriel, isn’t it?’ She was just a little excited by his appearance in her house. ‘I came to your meeting in the Institute the other night.’
‘That was very nice of you, Mrs Burt.’
‘And I do hope you get in – but I’m sure you will. Everybody’s dreadfully tired of Mr Wilbraham, I’m sure. He doesn’t really belong here, you know. He’s not a Cornishman.’
‘No more am I for that matter.’
‘Oh, you –’
She looked at him with eyes that were rather like Lucinda’s brown eyes, capable of hero worship. Her hair was brown, too, pretty chestnut hair. Her lips parted, she was looking at John Gabriel, seeing him against a background of no particular place – just as a figure against a war landscape. Desert, heat, shots, blood, staggering over open country … A film landscape like the picture she’d seen last week.
And he was so natural – so kind – so ordinary!
Gabriel exerted himself to talk to her. He particularly didn’t want her to go back into the surgery and worry that poor old bean who wanted to be alone with her dog. Especially as he was fairly sure the dog was for it. Pity, a lovely bitch and not more than three or four years old. This was a nice little woman, but she would want to show her sympathy by talking. She’d go on and on, exclaiming about motors and the number of dogs killed each year, and what a lovely dog Lucinda was, and wouldn’t Mrs Charteris like a cup of tea?
So John Gabriel talked to Milly Burt, and made her laugh, so that she showed her pretty teeth and a nice dimple that she had at one corner of her mouth. She was looking quite lively and animated when the door suddenly opened and a thickset man in riding breeches stumped in.
Gabriel was startled by the way Burt’s wife flinched and shrank.
‘Oh, Jim – here you are,’ she exclaimed nervously. ‘This is Major Gabriel.’
James Burt nodded curtly and his wife went on:
‘Mrs Charteris is in the surgery with the dog –’
Burt interrupted: ‘Why didn’t you take the dog in there and keep her out? You never have the least sense.’
‘Shall I ask her –’
‘I’ll see to it.’
He shouldered his way past her and went down the stairs into the surgery.
Milly Burt blinked hasty tears out of her eyes.
She asked Major Gabriel if he would like a cup of tea.
Because he was sorry for Mrs Burt and because he thought her husband was an unmannerly brute, he said he would.
And that was the beginning of that.
Chapter Ten
It was, I think, the following day – or possibly the day after – that Teresa brought Mrs Burt into my sitting room.
She said, ‘This is my brother-in-law, Hugh. Hugh, this is Mrs Burt, who has kindly offered to help us.’
‘Us’ was not personal but denoted the Conservative Party.
I looked at Teresa. She did not bat an eyelash. Mrs Burt was already yearning over me with soft brown eyes full of womanly sympathy. If I had occasionally indulged in the luxury of pitying myself, moments such as these were wholesome correctives. Against the eager sympathy in Mrs Burt’s eyes I had no defence. Teresa basely left the room.
Mrs Burt sat down beside me and prepared to be chatty. When I had recovered from my self-consciousness and raw misery, I was forced to admit that she was a nice woman.
‘I do feel,’ she was saying, ‘that we must all do what we can for the election. I’m afraid I can’t do much. I’m not clever. I couldn’t go and talk to people, but as I said to Mrs Norreys if there is any clerical work to be done, or leaflets to be delivered, I could do that. I thought Major Gabriel spoke so splendidly at the Institute about the part women can play. It made me feel I’d been terribly slack up to now. He’s such a wonderful speaker, don’t you think? Oh, I forgot – I suppose you –’
Her distress was rather touching. She looked at me in a dismayed fashion. I came to her rescue quickly.
‘I heard his opening speech at the Drill Hall. He certainly gets his effects.’
She suspected no irony. She said with a rush of feeling:
‘I think he’s splendid.’
‘That’s exactly what we – er – want everyone to think.’
‘So they ought,’ said Milly Burt. ‘I mean – it will make all the difference to have a man like that standing for St Loo. A real man. A man who’s really been in the Army and fought. Mr Wilbraham is all right, of course, but I always think these socialists are so cranky – and after all, he’s only a schoolmaster or something of that sort – and very weedy-looking and such an affected voice. One doesn’t feel he’s really done things.’
I listened to the voice of the electorate with some interest, and observed that John Gabriel had certainly done things.
She flushed with enthusiasm.
‘I’ve heard he’s one of the bravest men in the whole Army. They say he could have won the VC over and over again.’
Gabriel had evidently succeeded in getting the right kind of publicity across. That is, unless it was just personal enthusiasm on the part of Mrs Burt. She was looking very pretty with her cheeks slightly flushed and her brown eyes alight with hero worship.
‘He came in with Mrs Bigham Charteris,’ she explained. ‘The day her dog was run over. It was nice of him, wasn’t it? He was ever so concerned about it.’
‘Possibly he’s fond of dogs,’ I said.
That was a little too ordinary for Milly Burt.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I think it’s because he is so kind – so wonderfully kind. And he talked so naturally and so pleasantly.’
She paused and went on, ‘I felt quite ashamed. I mean, ashamed that I hadn’t been doing more to help the cause. Of course, I always vote Conservative, but just voting isn’t nearly enough, is it?’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is a matter of opinion.’
‘So I really felt I must do something – and I came along to ask Captain Carslake what I can do. I’ve really got a lot of time on my hands, you see. Mr Burt is so busy – out all day except just for surgery – and I haven’t any children.’
A different expression showed in her brown eyes for a moment – I felt sorry for her. She was the kind of woman who ought to have had children. She would have made a very good mother.
The thwarted maternity was still in her face as she abandoned her memories of John Gabriel and concentrated on me instead.
‘You were wounded at Alamein, weren’t you?’ she said.
‘No,’ I said furiously, ‘in the Harrow Road.’
‘Oh.’ She was taken aback. ‘But Major Gabriel told me –’
‘Gabriel would,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t believe a word he says.’
She smiled doubtfully. She admitted a joke that she couldn’t quite see.
‘You look wonderfully fit,�
�� she said encouragingly.
‘My dear Mrs Burt, I neither look fit nor feel it.’
She said, very nicely, ‘I’m really dreadfully sorry, Captain Norreys.’
Before I could attempt murder, the door opened and Carslake and Gabriel came in.
Gabriel did his stuff very well. His face lighted up and he came across to her.
‘Hullo, Mrs Burt. This is nice of you! It really is nice.’
She looked happy and shy.
‘Oh, really, Major Gabriel – I don’t suppose I shall be any use. But I do want to do something to help.’
‘You are going to help. We’re going to make you work.’ He had her hand still in his and was smiling all over his ugly face. I could feel the charm and the magnetism of the man and if I felt it, the woman felt it far more. She laughed and flushed.
‘I’ll do my best. It’s important, isn’t it, that we should show that the country is loyal to Mr Churchill?’
It was far more important, I could have told her, that we should be loyal to John Gabriel and return him with a good majority.
‘That’s the spirit,’ said Gabriel heartily. ‘It’s the women who have the real power in elections nowadays. If only they’ll use it.’
‘Oh, I know.’ She was grave. ‘We don’t care enough.’
‘Oh well,’ said Gabriel. ‘After all, one candidate isn’t much better than another perhaps.’
‘Oh, Major Gabriel.’ She was shocked. ‘Of course, there is all the difference in the world.’
‘Yes, indeed, Mrs Burt,’ said Carslake. ‘I can tell you Major Gabriel is going to make them sit up at Westminster.’
I wanted to say ‘Oh yeah?’ but restrained myself. Carslake took her off to give her some leaflets or some typing or something and Gabriel said as the door closed behind them:
‘Nice little woman, that.’
‘You certainly have her eating out of your hand.’
He frowned at me.
‘Come off it, Norreys. I like Mrs Burt. And I’m sorry for her. If you ask me, she hasn’t got too easy a life.’
‘Possibly not. She doesn’t look very happy.’
‘Burt’s a callous devil. Drinks a lot. I should fancy he could be brutal. I noticed yesterday that she had a couple of nasty bruises on her arm. I bet he knocks her about. Things like that make me see red.’
I was a little surprised. Gabriel noticed my surprise, and gave a vigorous nod of the head.
‘I’m not putting it on. Cruelty always does rile me … Have you ever thought about the kind of lives women may have to lead? And hold their tongues about?’
‘There’s legal redress, I suppose,’ I said.
‘No, there isn’t, Norreys – not until the last resort. Systematic bullying, steady sneering unkindness, a bit of rough stuff if he’s had a drop too much – what’s a woman able to do about that? What can she do but sit down under it – and suffer quietly? Women like Milly Burt have got no money of their own – where could they go if they walked out on their husbands? Relations don’t like fomenting marital troubles. Women like Milly Burt are quite alone. No one will lift a finger to help them.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s true …’
I looked at him curiously.
‘You’re very heated?’
‘Don’t you think I’m capable of a little decent sympathy? I like that girl. I’m sorry for her. I wish there were anything I could do about it – but I suppose there isn’t.’
I stirred uneasily. Or rather, to be accurate, I tried to stir and was rewarded by a twinge of sharp pain from my maimed body. But with the physical pain went another, more subtle pain, the pain of memory. I was sitting again in a train going from Cornwall to London and watching tears drop into a plate of soup …
That was the way things started – not the way you imagined they’d start. It was one’s helplessness in face of pity that laid you open to the assaults of life, that led you – where? In my case to an invalid chair with no future before me and a past that mocked me …
I said abruptly to Gabriel (and there was a connection in my mind, though to him the transition must have seemed abrupt indeed):
‘How’s the nice little number at the King’s Arms?’
He grinned.
‘That’s all right, my boy. I’m being very discreet. Strictly business whilst I’m in St Loo.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a pity. She’s just my type … But there – you can’t have everything! Mustn’t let down the Tory Party.’
I asked if the Tory Party was so particular, and he replied that there was a very strong Puritan element in St Loo. Fishermen, he added, tended to be religious.
‘In spite of having a wife in every port?’
‘That’s the Navy, old boy. Don’t get things mixed up.’
‘Well, don’t you get mixed up – with the King’s Arms or with Mrs Burt.’
He flared up unexpectedly at that.
‘Look here, what are you driving at? Mrs Burt’s straight – dead straight. She’s a nice kid.’
I looked at him curiously.
‘She’s all right, I tell you,’ he insisted. ‘She wouldn’t stand for any funny business.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t think she would. But she admires you very much, you know.’
‘Oh, that’s the VC and the harbour business and various rumours that get around.’
‘I was going to ask you about that. Who’s circulating these rumours?’
He winked.
‘I’ll tell you this – they’re useful – very useful. Wilbraham’s C.3, poor devil.’
‘Who starts them off – Carslake?’
Gabriel shook his head.
‘Not Carslake. Too heavy-handed. I couldn’t trust him. I’ve had to get to work myself.’
I burst out laughing.
‘Do you seriously mean to tell me you’ve got the nerve to tell people that you could have won the VC three times over?’
‘It’s not quite like that. I use women – the less brainy type. They drag the details out of me – details that I’m reluctant to give them – then, when I get horribly embarrassed and beg them not to mention it to a soul, they hurry off and tell all their best friends.’
‘You really are shameless, Gabriel.’
‘I’m fighting an election. I’ve got my career to think of. These things count a great deal more than whether I’m sound on the subject of tariffs, or reparations, or equal pay for equally bad work. Women always go for the personal element.’
‘That reminds me; what the devil do you mean by telling Mrs Burt that I was wounded at Alamein?’
Gabriel sighed.
‘I suppose you disillusioned her. You shouldn’t do it, old boy. Cash in on what you can while the going’s good. Heroes have got a high points value just at present. They’ll slump later. Cash in while you can.’
‘Under false pretences?’
‘Quite unnecessary to tell women the truth. I never do. They don’t like it, you’ll find.’
‘That’s a little different from telling a deliberate lie.’
‘No need to lie. I’d done the lying for you. You’d only got to mutter, “Nonsense … all a mistake … Gabriel should have held his tongue …” And then start talking about the weather – or the pilchard catch – or what’s cooking in darkest Russia. And the girl goes away all big-eyed with enthusiasm. Damn it, don’t you want any fun?’
‘What fun can I have nowadays?’
‘Well, I realize you can’t actually go to bed with anyone –’ Gabriel seldom minced his words. ‘But a bit of sob stuff’s better than nothing. Don’t you want women to make a fuss of you?’
‘No.’
‘Funny – I should.’
‘I wonder.’
Gabriel’s face changed. He frowned. He said slowly:
‘You may be right … I suppose when you come down to it none of us really know ourselves … I think I’m pretty well acquainted with John Gabriel. You’re suggesting that I mayn’t know him so wel
l as I think I do. Meet Major John Gabriel – I don’t think you know each other …’
He paced swiftly up and down the room. I sensed that my words had plumbed some deep disquiet. He looked – yes, I realized it suddenly – he looked like a frightened little boy.
‘You’re wrong,’ he said. ‘You’re dead wrong. I do know myself. It’s the one thing I do know. Sometimes I wish I didn’t … I know exactly what I am, and what I’m capable of. I’m careful, mind you, not to let other people catch on. I know where I’ve come from and I know where I’m going. I know what I want – and I mean to make sure of getting it. I’ve worked it all out fairly carefully – and I don’t think I’m likely to slip up.’ He considered for a moment or two. ‘No, I think I’m well set. I’m going to get where I want to be!’
The ring in his voice interested me. Just for a moment I believed that John Gabriel was more than a charlatan – I saw him as a power.
‘So that’s what you want,’ I said. ‘Well – perhaps you’ll get it.’
‘Get what?’
‘Power. That’s what you meant, wasn’t it?’
He stared at me, then broke out laughing.
‘Good Lord, no. Who do you think I am – Hitler? I don’t want power – I’ve no ambition to lord it over my fellow creatures or the world generally. Good God, man, what do you think I’m in this racket for? Power’s poppycock! What I want is a soft job. That’s all.’
I stared at him. I was disappointed. Just for a moment John Gabriel had attained titanic proportions. Now he had shrunk back again to life size. He flung himself down in a chair and thrust out his legs. I saw him suddenly as he was apart from his charm – a gross, mean little man – a greedy little man.
‘And you can thank your stars,’ he said, ‘that that’s all I do want! Men who are greedy and self-seeking don’t hurt the world – the world’s got room for them. And they’re the right kind of men to have governing you. Heaven help any country that has men in power with ideas! A man with an idea will grind down the common people, and starve children, and break women, without even noticing what’s happening to them. He won’t even care. But a selfish grasping bloke won’t do much harm – he only wants his own little corner made comfortable, and once he’s got that, he’s quite agreeable to having the average man happy and contented. In fact, he prefers him happy and contented – it’s less trouble. I know pretty well what most people want – it isn’t much. Just to feel important and to have a chance of doing a bit better than the other man and not to be too much pushed around. You mark my words, Norreys, that’s where the Labour Party will make their big mistake when they get in –’
The Rose and the Yew Tree Page 8
