Later, as they undressed for bed they talked lazily and comfortably of how it had all gone, of what Lord Ingham had said to David Lazar and how well David had put him in his place when he had tried to condescend, of the splendour of Cissie’s new dress - for she had been a particularly successful member of the party, quite captivating the Prince with her talk of life in Artillery Lane - and how well Florrie and Bet had managed.
‘I wish the children had been here, though,’ Hannah said. She was sitting at her dressing table cleaning her face with cream, and he laughed as he looked at her, for she had made a mask of the thick white stuff, and her eyes peered through like holes in the snow.
‘Children!’ he said. ‘You don’t look more than a child yourself like that! Do stop it, love. You try too hard with those two. They're all right.’
‘Are they?’ She wiped her face carefully with cotton swabs, watching him through the mirror all the time. ‘Are you sure, Marcus? I wish I could be.’
He threw his hands in the air in mock despair and now it was her turn to laugh for he was wearing only his socks, neatly held in place with sock suspenders, and the effect was ludicrous. ‘What more do you want, Hannah? They're engaged! Isn’t that what you thought would be the best thing for both of them? Why do you go on worrying so much?’
‘Put your dressing gown on, do. I can’t talk sense while you're prancing around like that. I suppose you're right. It all seems well enough, but somehow I don’t know. I still worry. And they weren’t here tonight and … oh, well.’
Long after he had fallen asleep and was snoring softly beside her, his head pushed into the curve of her neck as always, she lay awake still thinking of Charles and Marie. They had come bursting into the house on a hot June afternoon, their hair bedraggled and their clothes dripping wet, because they had said, they had fallen in the Serpentine whilst having a boat battle with a crowd of friends. ‘And,’ announced Marie, all wide eyed with excitement,’ He positively saved my life, darling Charles, and I realized he wasn’t just my big brother after all, and I'm going to marry him. So there!’ Charles had stood there, his face white and rigid with joy and his dark eyes looked as though someone had switched on a light behind them, and Hannah had laughed and cried together, she was so delighted for them.
But that had been six months ago. As the summer went on and they went away, all four of them, to a villa in Mentone which belonged to Julian Damont and which most of the family borrowed from time to time, and came back to plunge into the business of their hectic working autumn, she had become chilled and anxious. Marie seemed happy enough, singing a great deal, and being cheerful and friendly with everyone, and behaving very affectionately towards Charles in front of them all, but Charles seemed lees serene. Sometimes Hannah would notice him watching Marie with a brooding sort of stare and then, as he realized she was looking at him, would smile reassuringly and try to look unconcerned. And there were times when Charles, headlong into one of his favourite political discussions with Marcus, who was always willing to defend his own capitalist viewpoint cheerfully against Charles’s passionate attacks, would redden and falter and give up when Marie yawned at him or seemed sulky and bored.
But as Marcus said, they seemed content enough, though they both slid off the subject when Hannah tried to discover what their future plans were: did they want to marry this year? Next? Where would they live? Would Charles continue with his settlement work, or had he thought of something else to do? Marie would sparkle and laugh and kiss Charles’s cheek and hug him and say, ‘Oh, Mother, dear one, do stop rushing us! We’ve lots of time yet, haven’t we, my angel? I'm not eighteen yet, and Charles isn’t all that much more. We'll get round to it. It’s just so lovely being engaged, I want to enjoy that.’ Charles would just look at her with his face devoid of expression and say nothing.
And of course Marie was right. They were both very young to marry. There was plenty of time. But surely, Hannah would ask herself, surely that isn’t the way young people in love talk? They don’t say sensible things like that. They want what they want when they want it. It’s just not ringing right, somehow. Not ringing right at all.
She had stifled her anxiety and learned to stifle her questions too, and was a little rewarded when Charles started to work full time as a welfare officer for his settlement, dealing with the needs of the old and ill people as well as the young in the Jubilee Street area, becoming busier. He left the house each morning at the same time she and Marcus left for their respective work, leaving Marie to sleep until later, and came home long after they did, on some evenings working until almost midnight. But Marie seemed not to mind his absence too much, and filled her days with shopping and chattering on the telephone with her girlfriends and going to matinees and afternoon concerts. And on the evenings that Charles was working late, she announced she would go with him to his silly old settlement and work too.
‘I might as well,’ she said, pouting a little, ‘Mightn’t I, Charles?’ She looked at him challengingly, her eyes very bright, and he glanced back and smiled briefly. ‘I mean, if he insist on doing such a job what can I do, poor little creature that I am? Put up with it, I suppose!’ She laughed, a very merry little sound and began to talk of the dreadfully exciting gossip about her friend’s marvellous new fiancé, who was a film actor from California and given to violent attacks of jealousy which made him behave very excitingly indeed.’ She had a black eye yesterday when I saw her at Fortnum’s' she said with great relish. ‘Too marvellous.’
She had been invited to spend the Christmas holiday in Paris with Daphne. Marcus had not been very pleased with the idea. Since his marriage he had seen little of his sister or his brother Rupert, and though he and Hannah did not talk about them, she knew he found their ways ever more distasteful. She read of Daphne’s doings herself sometimes, in the gossip columns, and felt keenly for Marcus, for there was no question but that Daphne had become a very talked about lady indeed. She saw little of her husband and seemed to devote her time to spending her considerable fortune as fast as she could. Her mother, Susan. had persuaded her own father to leave the bulk of his money, made in diamond trading on the Amsterdam bourse, to his only granddaughter, since Susan had been of the opinion that her sons would be well provided for by their Lammeck connections but that her daughter needed extra care. She had died content in the, knowledge that her dear Daphne was safe for life, although, Hannah sometimes told herself, she would spin in her grave if she knew the efforts Daphne seemed to be making to spend all she had before she was forty.
Rupert seemed to be no better. Because Marcus had shown himself from his earliest youth to be capable and hard working, while Rupert had been a lazy, butterfly-minded boy from his earliest school days, Ezra, their father, had in his wisdom seen fit to to leave the bulk of his money to his younger son before dying in the same ‘flu epidemic that had killed his wife. It had been inevitable that the three of them should have split as hey had; Marcus to earn his living. He had done so handsomely, and was now a major shareholder at Lammeck Alley in his own right. He had gained his security by his own efforts. Daphne and Rupert, however, were of a different metal entirely, living lavishly on their income and sometimes even dipping into capital, behaviour that shocked the financial side of Marcus severely. Rupert at least worked sometimes which redeemed him a little in Marcus’s eyes. As a Lammeck he had almost automatically inherited a job at Lammeck Alley, and did in fact come drifting into the office occasionally, to try his hand at being an assistant sales director. His work was of small value but at least he tried, so sometimes Marcus was still hopeful for him. But he still could not approve of his social activities, any more than he could approve of his sister’s.
But Marie adored them both, and it was difficult to give her any good reason why she should not spend time with them. They were her stepfather’s family, how could they be bad company? There had never been any obvious breach, nothing on which Hannah or Marcus could base an embargo, so dislike the situation though they di
d they had said nothing.
She returned from Paris after Christmas, looking tired and a little drawn in spite of swearing she’d had a super, fantastic, marvellous, glory-making time, while Charles looked paler and thinner than ever. He had worked every night rather than just three or four times a week, to keep himself busy while she was away.
Tonight, as she lay in bed beside her peacefully sleeping husband, Hannah tried yet again to convince herself that all was well with her much loved children. Since Christmas it had seemed better, with Marie a little quieter and not so bubbly and Charles less busy at the Settlement and spending more time at home with them all. Hannah had felt better until tonight, when she had come downstairs to check all was ready for the party, to be told by Florrie and Miss Marie had gone out at seven o'clock and never said where she was going, and Charles had come in from his settlement just after, and when he had been told Marie, was out, had gone right out again himself.
All though the evening that had nagged at the back of her mind; they had not said definitely they would be at her special party, but both had known it was important for her and Marcus, a sort of social experiment. It had been taken for granted that the young Lammecks wold be there beside the older ones to see it through.
Not a fair assumption, I suppose, she told herself now in the darkness. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted. I'm sure they would have stayed in if I’d asked them to.
She slept at last, and woke to an uneasy light of heavy snow on the rooftops opposite her bedroom window. It made her restless, and even though it was still only seven thirty, and she usually did not get up until eight, she slid out of Marcus’s sleeping grasp and showered and dressed.
As she came back into the bedroom to sit at the dressing table and put on a little makeup, he woke, and reached out to pinch her bottom approvingly as she passed the bed.
‘You're early,’ he said, yawning.
‘I woke early - couldn’t sleep.’
‘You should have woken me. I’d have thought of something to keep us busy till breakfast.’
‘That was why I didn’t. I love you, my darling, but seven in the morning isn’t exactly my best time of day … Marcus … ’
‘Mm?’ He was out of bed now, padding into the bathroom.
‘I’ve been thinking about Charles. I know there’s no way he'll ever work with Lammecks in the office but maybe there’s some sort of job you could suggest for him that would let him earn a little more and at the same time feel comfortable? He'll never go into the sort of business of course, but - I thought, this welfare job he does. Don’t some of the Lammeck factories use people for jobs like that?
‘Yes, but I doubt he’d agree to take one, and anyway, I'm not sure that I would want him to work for us. We’ve done quite well with out plants, less trouble with the workers than most of our competitors and I want to keep it that way. Let Charles loose in among 'em and we'll start having unions and strikes and heaven knows what. I love you dearly, Hannah, and I care a lot for Charles, but I'm a business man, remember. There’s a limit to what I can do, ought to do, to please you. Anyway, he’s happy enough where he is. What difference would it make if he did get another job, anyway?’
‘Maybe they could get married,’ she said after a moment. ‘I know he’s got money of his own to live on, and of course Marie has hers, but I don’t think Charles will agree to use it. I tried to talk to him about his own money once and he got furious, told me to give it away. As for Marie - ‘ she stopped. ‘I suppose we'll have to tell her now. it’s been six weeks since her birthday. She’s got a lot of money. Have we any right not to let he know?’
He came back into the bedroom wrapped in his bathrobe, rubbing his newly washed head dry with a towel. ‘There’s no obligation to tell her,’ he said ‘I’ve talked to Peterson and he agreed with us. The longer it is before she realizes how much she has, the better. And once she does know, Hannah, do you think that will help? If Charles won’t live on his own inherited money when he gets married, you can be damned sure he won’t live on his wife’s.’
She got up and tweaked her skirt into place. ‘I suppose you're right. Oh, damn, I wish I could stop fretting over them. It was just … last night… ’
‘I told you, darling. No point in worrying. If there is anything to worry about, you'll know soon enough. Go have breakfast, and read the papers, and stop being a mother hen. You make a better business woman, believe me.’
He was right about one thing. She’d find out soon enough if there was anything to worry about. She found out as soon as she got downstairs.
60
When Hannah came into the dining room Charles was sitting in the window embrasure, staring out at the snow. She blinked and she looked at him for the combination of white furnishings within and the icy glitter from outside dazzled her for a moment. He seemed to be surrounded by little points of light himself and she had put her hand up to shade her eyes.
‘Charles? Have you had your breakfast? No, that’s silly of me, Florrie hasn’t brought any yet. She shouldn’t be long though. Do come and sit down and tell me what sort of day you had. I haven’t seen you since this time yesterday.’ I won’t ask him where he was last night, I won’t. ‘What happened to that old lady you were telling me about? Did you manage to get the eviction order changed?’
‘She’s gone,’ he said, and his voice sounded flat and very ordinary. There was no special emotion in it, but there was an odd note all the same, and she looked at him sharply.
‘Oh, I am sorry, Charles! After all you’ve done, too.’
Florrie came bustling in with her trolley and began to slap things on the table, toast and the coffee pot and boiled eggs in their neat little cups, complaining bitterly all the while about the coldness this morning and the iciness of the back steps when she put her foot out to fetch in the milk. Hannah murmured good morning. Charles said nothing until the door closed behind her. Then still sitting in the window embrasure and still using that same ordinary flat voice he said again, ‘She’s gone.’
‘Yes, I heard you. And I'm sorry.’ Hannah began to pour coffee. ‘I know you were very worried about her, poor thing. Did you manage to find another room for her? Or did she have to go into the workhouse? I do hope not.’
‘Not my old woman,’ he said, a little impatient now. ‘Marie.’
She put her coffee cup down with a little clatter. ‘What did you say?’
‘Marie. She’s gone.’
‘Gone? Where?’ Absurdly, she looked around the room as though Marie were there somewhere hiding behind the furniture. ‘I don’t understand.’
He sighed, irritably, as though she were a wilful stupid child he was trying to teach the alphabet, and turned his head to look at her. ‘Will Marcus be long? I don’t want to have to go through this twice.’
Fear took hold of her, making her belly feel as cold as the street outside.
‘Charles! Tell me at once what all this is.’ But he ignored her and went to the door and opened and called, ‘Marcus!’
‘Coming!’ Marcus was already half way down the stairs. ‘Good God, boy, no need to hustle me! What’s the matter with everyone this morning? It’s only quarter past eight, we're no later than we usually are. Earlier if anything. Morning, Charles. Florrie! Bring me some tea, can’t cope with coffee this morning. Too much last night, indigestion. Hannah, love, where're the papers? I want to see The Times.’
‘Marcus, Marie has gone,’ Charles said loudly and Marcus stopped at once, standing like a child playing a game of statues, half bent to sit down.
After a moment, he sat down, and Hannah, moving automatically, poured a cup of coffee and pushed it at him. She did it every morning, and even though she knew he didn’t want it this morning, had heard him ask for tea, she still did it.
‘You’d better explain, I think,’ Marcus said quietly. ‘And Charles, you'll feel better if you come and sit down and have some coffee. Come on, boy.’
Surprisingly, he did, coming to sit in his us
ual chair between them, facing the empty one which was Marie’s, on the rare occasions she took breakfast with them.
‘I … last night,’ he began and then stopped and shook his head. Marcus pushed the coffee cup at him and Charles drank thirstily, spilling the coffee an little on the table cloth, for his hand was shaking.
‘I can’t start with last night,’ he said at length. ‘That was just the end of it, really. I look, I'll tell you all of it, but for Christ’s sake, don’t interrupt. I couldn’t stand that. Questions when I’ve finished.’
Florrie came in with a teapot and extra toast for Marcus, and they sat in silence till she’d gone and then he started. His voice remained as flat and commonplace as it had been all the time, but underneath it Hannah could feel the painful control in him, and it was that which distressed her almost as much as what he told them.
‘It was all right, at first. Marvellous. Happy and all. Talked a lot, we did, about how it was when we were small, and about my mother. he remembered her as much as I did, you see, but different things, and it helped, having her telling me what she remembered, Made Mama more… complete, you know? I remembered her as shadowy bits. Like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces lost. It spoils the picture. And Marie filled in a lot of the pieces for me. That was marvellous. And she let me talk about what mattered to me, about all the bad things there are in the world, and I thought she was learning and beginning to care properly and undersand. About how destructive it was to be so rich and comfortable and, well, anyway, I thought she was as happy I as I was. But then - ’
The Running Years Page 60
