by Henry Green
She tried to draw away but he held her fast.
“So you think I’m too old now?” she protested in a low voice.
“That’s the last thing Jane. If you only knew how often I’d dreamed of this.”
“Oh you have!”
“Yes again and again.”
“When?” she demanded with more confidence it seemed.
“Here there and everywhere,” he replied.
“Only that?” she reproached him.
He gently kissed a round cheek.
“And Dick?” he whispered.
She jerked away.
“Really,” she said “it’s too much. You are almost becoming like my Philip.”
“I’m sorry Jane.”
“But there’s nothing, there never has been anything between me and poor dear Richard.”
“Yes darling,” he agreed.
“So what?” she demanded.
He kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him back almost absentmindedly.
“Will you?” she asked.
“Yes darling,” he replied.
“You mean to say you’ve actually asked me to marry you after all these years?” she crowed, taking his face between her hands and beginning to kiss his eyes.
“I have,” he answered half smothered, and plainly delighted.
“But this is wonderful!” she cried.
After an interval during which they kissed, held one another at arm’s length, looked fondly on each other and kissed again Mr. Pomfret exclaimed,
“I can’t hardly believe everything.”
“Nonsense, don’t say that John. Think how much more it means to me.”
“You? Anyone would be proud to marry you!”
“Ah how little you know my dear. But there is one matter,” she warned, drawing a little away for the last time. “We aren’t to have the old days over again if you please. You’ll have to give up Liz.”
“I never knew her then,” he protested.
“I know that already,” she said. “I mean now.”
“Well of course,” he promised. “We hardly ever saw one another anyway except at Sunday lunch and that was only because I was sure to see you there.”
“It was!” she cried. “No how truly sweet! Not that I believe you!”
He laughed. “We’re going on like an old married couple already,” he propounded.
“Who is?” she demanded. “Speak for yourself my sweet old darling. Oh you’ll have to look out now!”
“Oh Lord Jane have I said the wrong thing?”
“I should say so,” she answered and then she giggled. “But there I expect you’ll learn in time. Not that you’ll get any other alternative will you, except to be taught by me I mean?”
“I suppose not. Back to school is it?”
“Oh yes yes,” she murmured beginning to kiss him again.
He spent the night with her, whispering part of the time because of Philip Weatherby, but they had no more serious conversation.
•
The next Sunday John Pomfret took Mrs. Weatherby to lunch at the hotel and was shown to the table he had been given so often when entertaining Liz. As he sat down he looked round and saw Dick Abbot playing host to Miss Jennings, again at the very spot where Jane had so often been a guest of the man’s.
“See who’s here,” Mr. Pomfret invited Mrs. Weatherby.
“Oh, don’t I know it,” she sighed and kept her eyes lowered. “I spotted that couple John as soon as we came in and was so afraid you’d go over with that heavenly good-heartedness of yours.”
However he waved in their direction upon which Jane had to turn round, put on a look of great surprise and blow two kisses. Richard and Miss Jennings replied with rather awkward smiles.
“Can’t cut ’em anyway,” Mr. Pomfret muttered.
“There,” Mrs. Weatherby laughed “we’ve almost got through that and dear me I was so dreading it!”
“Don’t smile Jane for heaven’s sake,” he implored “or they’ll imagine we’re laughing at them.”
“I could cock a snook at her, the horrid creature,” she replied “only I’d never do anything to upset sweet Pascal.”
“Oh well if they set up house together, that rather lets you and me out surely.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said grinning at him. “I haven’t a bad conscience.”
“Which means you don’t have one at all,” he laughed.
“I expect yours may be just as clever,” she answered.
In the meantime Liz was protesting vigorously to her companion.
“But it disgusts one Richard that’s all. To flaunt themselves like this! I asked you particularly to bring me today just in case they might be here. Looking down their noses at each other, simpering like mad.”
“Careful now,” he said.
“I don’t know we’ve anything to be careful about. Not us!”
“Don’t want them to crow.”
“Oh they’ll do that in any case Richard.”
“Then we’d better quickly crow over them.”
“So what am I to do?” she smiled. “Stick my poor tongue out at John?”
“When did you get your letter?”
“Three days ago.”
“Got mine twenty-four hours before yours at that rate Liz.”
“Which only goes to prove he’s under her thumb completely. Can’t you just hear Jane nagging at him to find out if he’d written yet?”
“Military discipline eh? Oh well I don’t suppose a bit of that again’ll hurt him.”
“A taste of the old Scrubs more likely,” she replied with a pure and apparently genuine Cockney intonation. He glanced curiously at her.
She beamed on Mr. Abbot.
“My darling,” she said. “I almost rather feel I may have had the most miraculous escape.”
“How’s that?”
“But haven’t you often noticed the way some people seem doomed to bring terrible great trials on themselves? Dear old John, I can admit now, is just one of those.”
“You’re arguing against yourself Liz.”
“How dear?”
“You meant Jane would be his trouble didn’t you?”
“Well who else? Saving your presence of course.”
“And was he also doomed when he kept company with you?”
She laughed.
“How about yourself then, now darling?” she demanded.
“Prefer to choose my own disaster,” he replied.
“And have you?”
“Looks very much like,” he agreed. She laughed delightedly.
“Oh I’m truly beginning to feel as if I’d escaped,” she cried.
“Careful Liz, they’ll think we’re despising ’em.”
“Well aren’t we?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh cheer up Richard. They can’t eat us.”
“No but we should keep things in decent order,” he explained.
“Whatever you say my dear,” she agreed. “Mayn’t I even smile?”
“You’ve got a lovely smile Liz.”
“Good heavens a compliment at long last and from you Richard! Now I don’t wish to pry but how exactly did Jane write, when you know, what we’ve just been talking about?”
“Four days ago you mean?”
“When else?”
“Why d’you want to be told Liz?”
“Because of course I’d like to find out if she dictated John’s letter.”
“Couldn’t say,” he objected.
“To compare yours with the one John wrote me,” she explained.
“Compare notes,” he said with no apparent enthusiasm. “I’m not sure Liz. I mean we were both given our marching orders in those letters weren’t we. If we put our heads together it might be like a dog going back to his own sick almost.”
“Don’t be disgusting! I’d like to be sure, that’s all.”
“But of what?”
“Why Richard I explained. To make cer
tain Jane told him every word to say.”
“Oh I don’t know Liz,” he temporized.
“I don’t know about you I agree,” she rallied him. “Of course long before I’d received this ridiculous screed from John I’d told the man till I was blue in the face that it could be no go between us where I was concerned and what he wrote really only took notice that at last he’d had to admit I was right.”
“Never was good enough for Jane,” Mr. Abbot admitted with a show of reluctance.
“My dear Richard sometimes you actually fish for compliments.”
“I’m not, on my honour.”
“Oh yes you are and on this occasion you’ll be unlucky. All I’ll say is, you may never recover from the shock of Jane Weatherby throwing you over and your life may be finished.”
He laughed. “Oh well,” he said.
“That’s better,” she laughed. “So now what?”
“They don’t look too cheerful at that do they?” he observed, watching the other couple.
“Oh they won’t find it all a bed of roses,” she assured Mr. Abbot. Upon which she saw Pascal hurry towards John Pomfret’s table.
“Watch this,” Liz begged Dick Abbot.
“Don’t stare too hard,” Abbot implored.
“Ah Madame and Mr. Pomfret,” Pascal cried in his voice which did not travel beyond the table he addressed. “So great my pleasure to me Madame. It is so long since Madame and Monsieur lunch together here on this day like this.”
“Pascal!” Mrs. Weatherby cried in turn and her tones carried so that one or two looked up from their meals near by. She reached a jewelled right hand across to where he stood bent forward and he took it. Her great eyes seemed to melt. “Why are all the happiest hours of my life bound up with you here Pascal?” she almost purred.
He bowed. “You are too kind,” he said. “And is everything as you wish Mrs. Weatherby?”
“More than you’ll ever know,” she answered.
“Then can one hope?” the man began and paused to let go of her hand with a pleasing appearance of regret. “My English is still not so good . . .” he went on. “Can we look forward to many of these luncheons with you and Mr. Pomfret Madame?”
“I think so, yes Pascal,” Jane beamed upon him.
“Because you understand it makes like old days to see Monsieur here again with Madame.” At which he bowed once more and withdrew dexterously backwards with his startling gaze fixed on the lady as though he might never see another promise of heaven.
“Oh John I do feel very happy,” Mrs. Weatherby exclaimed in a low voice. John Pomfret could see tears in her eyes. “Oh darling isn’t it nice that everyone cares about us?”
He smiled with evident affection. “Pascal knows,” he announced.
“Of course he does!”
“But how Jane, so soon?”
“From my face naturally you great stupid,” she laughed and got the mirror out of her bag to study her great eyes. Under the table he pressed Mrs. Weatherby’s ankles between his own. “Don’t you think I look different? My dear my skin is a new woman’s.”
“Nonsense,” he said lovingly “it always was.”
“Oh I do sometimes thank God you’re blind and I pray you’ll keep so.”
“My eyes are all right Jane.”
“They’re beautiful ones,” she assured him “and beautifuller still while they don’t know what they miss by staring at me with your particularly sweet expression.”
“Why?” he asked with a smile and began to look about him. “Am I missing a lovely girl?”
She laughed and then she sighed. “There you go again, hopeless!” she said with great indulgence. “But I do love you so,” she added “although you can tease me so dreadfully!”
•
A few days later Philip Weatherby came back to the flat after work to find his mother alone over a finished cup of tea.
“I say Mamma,” he began “what’s this about Mary throwing up her job?”
“I wouldn’t know dear. She never talks much to me.”
“I thought Mr. Pomfret might’ve mentioned, perhaps?”
“Philip,” his mother said equably “when will you realize that John and I could have other topics besides Mary and yourself.”
“Sorry,” he put in at once. “I just had a thought.”
“Would you mind if she did?” Mrs. Weatherby enquired in a lazy way.
“Be quite surprised that’s all.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know really except our work does seriously mean something to us. Not like Mr. Pomfret with his absolutely endless complaints every time you meet him.”
“Perhaps he’s been at this task longer dear,” the mother said. “Anyway I do wish you wouldn’t stay quite so critical of my friends as you’ve seemed to lately. What’s come over you?”
“Am I being tiresome? I apologize. It’s just that I don’t appear to know what’s going on around any more much. Nobody tells me a word nowadays.”
“I do.”
As he leant against the fireplace he smiled down on her in what might have been a superior manner.
“Oh you’re different,” he assured Mrs. Weatherby.
“But what makes you wonder about Mary throwing the job up when only a few weeks ago you stood there and told me you didn’t care to marry the poor girl?”
“Did I go so far? I’d forgotten. I don’t think I’d quite say it now Mamma.”
“Well Philip for all your generation being so serious while we’re just flighty in your eyes, you certainly seem to have more difficulty in making up your minds than we do.”
“Oh come,” he replied. “Are you fair? Couldn’t it be at my age that one has more opportunities, and anyway we don’t have responsibility yet.”
“Yes,” she sighed “I expect you’re right. I didn’t mean to be nasty Philip. Yet things do still happen to my generation you understand.”
“They certainly would to you if you let them?”
“What are you insinuating now Philip?”
“Just that you look more like a sister than my mother. I bet you could marry again whenever you wanted.”
“You’re very sweet,” she approved. “As a matter of fact, and I spoke of this before, I’ve a good memory and I remember it very well, I actually am about to marry again, so there you are.”
She turned a radiant and delightfully embarrassed blushing smile on her son who said, “And I haven’t forgotten the mess I fell into when I asked you who. I suppose I mustn’t try to find out now?”
“To tell the utter truth Philip,” she admitted “I was not quite straight with you then, just for the once. Darling you must please be glad but it’s my angel John Pomfret.”
“Well I say! Oh splendid! When’s the ceremony to be?” he burst out, then a sort of cloud seemed to cross his face and his voice dropped. “But now look here Mamma will there be a double wedding? Would Mary like that?”
“She can have whatever she says,” Mrs. Weatherby said, steadfast.
“And Uncle Ned? Is he pleased?”
Jane moved smartly on the sofa to get a cigarette.
“I don’t know and I couldn’t care less Philip. Oh my dear boy do rid yourself, oh do, of this family complex!”
“I’m really sorry. I’ll try and remember,” he promised.
“All the more so when there are mercifully so few of them left,” Mrs. Weatherby added.
“That might be one of the principal reasons you see,” her son pointed out. “But never mind. I say though this is marvellous! Have you broken it to Pen yet?”
“Oh my dear promise me you won’t so much as breathe a single word. D’you think I ought to get hold of some doctor to tell her, not Dr. Bogle of course? And Philip we ought even to speak of this now in whispers.” She suited the action to the word. “Isabella listens at keyholes I’m almost certain, then tells Pen in an Italian only those two can understand; but isn’t she simply miraculously clever, darling Penelope!”
He laughed. “I promise,” he said.
“Don’t you think it the most dreadful thing you’ve ever heard and in one’s own house, each word noted down but what can one do, she’s such a marvellous cook dear and my little growing love does benefit so from that?”
“You know Mamma Isabella’s English is far too bad.”
“Don’t you be sure while Pen’s teaching the woman our sacred language all the time. Oh but we shall never get at the whole truth. I often think we’re not here below to find that out ever, till I believe the truth’s even stopped having any importance for me in the least. Which is not to say I go about all day telling lies myself, you’re my witness! No I meant generally. But Philip darling do promise you are pleased over John?”
“Of course I am. And have you told Mary?”
“My dear that must be for her Father! And don’t you dare breathe a word to the sweet creature till he’s spoken.”
“Oh quite,” Philip promised. “I’ll be most discreet.”
“You swear!”
“Well naturally Mamma, anything connected with you!”
“You’re sure? You’re quite certain? Because I’d simply die! If she heard before the proper time I mean!”
“Whatever you say darling,” he reassured her and smiled so it seemed with all his heart upon his mother. After which they discussed Bethesda Nathan and soon went off to bed.
•
That same evening Mr. Pomfret had tea with his daughter in their flat.
“I don’t know what you’ll think of me darling,” he began “but the fact is I really might marry once more this time.”
“I know Daddy,” she smiled. “You’ve said before.”
“But not who,” he insisted.
“I’ve learned never to ask again,” she replied. “Can I now though?”
“Well I suppose you’ll make out I’m a fool at my age Mary, it’s Jane.”
“Now how wonderful!” she cried with every appearance of genuine enthusiasm. “Oh I’m so glad for you!” She kissed him.
“You truly are?”
“Of course I am Daddy. And when’s it to be?”
“Tell you the truth,” he said, still with some embarrassment “we haven’t quite got down to dates yet. Are you absolutely sure you’re pleased?”
“But of course,” she assured him and seemed altogether wholehearted. Then she started frowning. “D’you promise you haven’t tried to get me out of the way for the wedding?”
