Civil to Strangers

by Barbara Pym

  ‘A wife?’ said Ingeborg in amazement. ‘Oh, fancy, if I should be a wife!’

  ‘Well, some day you will be my wife,’ said Gervase, doubt creeping into his mind at the thought of the many obstacles that might stand in the way of their marrying.

  *

  One morning a few days later Flora and Miss Moberley were sitting together in the drawing room. It was nearly Christmas but neither Flora nor Gervase was going back to England. To Flora the idea of a real white Christmas in a northern land was irresistible, though she felt guilty at the thought of all her parish duties at home. Miss Moberley, too, was busy with thoughts of Christmas, and had already unearthed a large collection of useless presents, which could only have come from a bazaar or sale of work, presumably held by the English community, for where else in Finland could one have bought such pincushions topped with china ladies, organdie lavender bags and leather-covered bridge markers? They were obviously presents which Miss Moberley herself had received in past years. It seemed that at this season Miss Moberley had a large number of mysterious friends in England to whom she sent some ‘little token’. When Flora expressed a polite interest, albums of faded sepia photographs were produced and clergymen with jam-pot collars and women with top-heavy hair, wearing tailored blouses and long smooth skirts, were pointed out and their histories told.

  As they were thus engaged, Rhoda came in holding a card in her hand.

  ‘There is a young Finnish gentleman to see you, madam,’ she said in tones of considerable surprise.

  Miss Moberley’s expression of suspicion changed to one of cordial welcome as she read the name.

  ‘Tell the Count that I shall be pleased to see him, Rhoda,’ she said.

  Ooli went over to Miss Moberley, bowed and kissed her hand. He was smartly dressed in a dark suit and carried an elaborately beribboned box which he presented to her with a ceremonious gesture. She gave a cry of delight and began to untie the ribbons. In no time at all they were seated together on the sofa chatting most amiably and eating the crystallized fruits which Ooli had brought.

  ‘Won’t you have one, Flora?’ asked Miss Moberley, peering into the box.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Flora, ‘it’s too soon before lunch.’

  ‘Now isn’t that like a young woman?’ said Ooli. ‘I suppose she is afraid of spoiling her figure.’

  Miss Moberley smiled. Her figure, upholstered in rich brown marocain, had long ceased to bother her. A gentlewoman was a gentlewoman whatever her dimensions. After some more talk and a great deal more smiling, it appeared that Ooli wanted to take Flora out to lunch. After the crystallized fruit and the charming behaviour Miss Moberley could do nothing else but give her permission. ‘Run along and get ready, Flora dear,’ she said.

  ‘There is plenty of time,’ said Ooli. ‘I have allowed her half an hour. It is known that women are always painting their faces and their finger nails, and that takes much time, I think.’

  ‘My canvas is already complete,’ said Flora. ‘I shall be ready in five minutes.’

  They walked along the street companionably until Flora’s attention was attracted by a shop window and she stopped and exclaimed, ‘Oh, what a heavenly dress! I must look.’

  ‘I cannot think why women waste so much time looking in shop windows,’ said Ooli patiently. ‘I do not look in shop windows. If I want something I simply go into a shop and ask for it.’

  Flora laughed. ‘What admirable technique! And does it always work?’

  ‘Why naturally,’ said Ooli in a surprised voice.

  ‘But suppose you want something that isn’t there? I don’t mean material things. One can see that material things can somehow be got, but there are other things that seem completely unattainable. Do you know the poem

  The desire of the moth for the star

  Of the night for the morrow …

  I think that’s what I mean.’

  ‘Women seldom know what they mean,’ said Ooli indulgently. ‘I suppose you are thinking of some perfect man you would like to marry, and naturally you find that he is unattainable because he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘I don’t want a perfect man,’ protested Flora. ‘I want somebody fairly tall and good-looking, who is comfortably off, kind and tender and fond of the eighteenth-century poets,’ she added. ‘It doesn’t seem much to ask.’

  ‘You mean Herr Lektor Harringay?’ asked Ooli.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Flora. ‘He isn’t fond of the eighteenth century and he hasn’t enough money.’ Nor is he kind and tender, she thought desolately, at least, not to me. She turned her face away because she suddenly felt that she might cry.

  Ooli made no comment and began to speculate as to where they should have lunch. ‘I will take you to some very nice place,’ he said, ‘so that people will see me and say, look, there is Helga’s youngest boy with a beautiful English girl. I suppose she has not seen Lars and Akseli because if she had she would not be going out with Ooli.’

  Flora laughed. ‘Are your brothers nice?’ she asked.

  Ooli shrugged his shoulders. ‘Lars is quite handsome, if that is what you mean. He does not like Helsingfors so he lives always in the country and manages the estate. Akseli is clever, he lives much in Paris and has an Italian mistress.’

  ‘Do you consider it clever for a Finn to have an Italian mistress?’ asked Flora.

  ‘I think it would be more clever to have a beautiful English wife.’

  Flora felt she should change the subject. ‘Oh, I am so hungry,’ she said as the waiter came up with some voileipajpoyata. ‘I can eat the whole lot!’

  ‘If you were in love with me,’ said Ooli sadly, ‘you would not be able to eat even one little fish.’

  ‘I never show by any outward signs when I am in love,’ said Flora primly.

  ‘I do,’ said Ooli, stretching out his hand and squeezing Flora’s fingers.

  Flora was grateful for the affectionate gesture, but as the lunch proceeded she became more melancholy, thinking of Gervase. She knew now that he had never really loved her, not as she had loved him, and she had come to feel a sisterly responsibility for Ingeborg. If she couldn’t have Gervase herself, Ingeborg must have him.

  ‘What is it, Flora? You look so sad. Have you eaten too much?’ asked Ooli solicitously.

  Flora came out of her reverie. ‘No, I’ve had a lovely lunch, thank you. I was just remembering that I promised to help Aunt Emily with her Christmas cards this afternoon.’

  ‘But I want you to spend the afternoon with me,’ said Ooli.

  Flora smiled with what she hoped was a mixture of sadness, firmness and sweetness. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I must go now.’ She felt suddenly that she wanted to be quite by herself, away from all complications, of which it seemed that Ooli might well turn out to be the most important.

  ‘Well it is good for me to be disappointed sometimes,’ said Ooli. ‘But you might have fallen in love with me by five o’clock.’

  ‘I might simply have been wanting my tea,’ laughed Flora.

  ‘Women are always wanting tea,’ said Ooli, but there was more affection than scorn in his voice and he stood for some seconds, after Flora had gone in, gazing regretfully at the closed door of Miss Moberley’s house.

  *

  It was Christmas Day and Gervase was to have two Christmas dinners, one at Fru Lindblom’s and another at Miss Moberley’s in the evening. He lay back in his chair – a new comfortable one, bought especially for him – smoking a cigarette and thinking idly of Fru Lindblom. He was particularly interested in her now that there was every chance of her becoming his mother-in-law. He was not sure if she realized that a new understanding had sprung up between himself and Ingeborg, although he was sure that she would be very pleased when she did.

  ‘After dinner we shall give out the presents,’ said Fru Lindblom, coming into the room. ‘I have kept all the parcels and we shall open them together. The goose is ready, Greta is just bringing it in.’

  Gervase had cont
ributed a bottle of sherry and some port to the festivities. After the sherry, Fru Lindblom was polite and grateful, but after her second glass of port she called him her dear son and her tongue was loosed in a flood of reminiscences.

  Gervase began to open his presents, which were mostly cigarettes and books. His heart gave an absurd leap when he saw a parcel addressed to him in Ingeborg’s large pointed writing. It was a book of German poems. ‘Now I shall treasure this,’ he said softly.

  ‘Why here is something for Ingeborg in Herr Harringay’s writing,’ Fru Lindblom exclaimed, holding a small parcel in her hand.

  Ingeborg drew back as she saw the radiant look on her mother’s face, but Gervase took the parcel and pressed it into her hand. Ingeborg went over to the window and opened it.

  ‘Oh, fancy,’ she cried joyfully, ‘that I should have this beautiful thing!’ She turned to her mother and began talking rapidly in Swedish, holding in her hand a thin platinum chain set with pearls.

  Her mother took it from her and admired it, looking first at Gervase and then at Ingeborg with a questioning expression on her face.

  ‘Mr Harringay,’ she said, ‘this is a very fine, expensive present that you have given my daughter. She has never had any jewellery before.’

  ‘Well, all the more reason why she should have some now,’ said Gervase in a hearty, avuncular tone to hide his embarrassment.

  ‘You are very kind,’ said Fru Lindblom. ‘It is natural that a pretty girl should have jewellery, but you cannot give it to her,’ she added in a low voice.

  ‘But Fru Lindblom,’ said Gervase in a reasonable tone, ‘why shouldn’t I give Ingeborg a present? I’m very fond of her.’

  ‘It is not right that you should give her jewellery,’ said Fru Lindblom firmly.

  Gervase took the pearl chain and fastened it around Ingeborg’s neck. The sight of her face moved him so greatly that he suddenly found himself saying in a firm, clear tone, ‘Fru Lindblom, I love Ingeborg and I think she loves me. I am going to marry her.’

  He had said it now. For a moment he experienced a feeling of panic. He, the cautious Gervase Harringay, who would never hold Flora’s hand in the cinema at home in case someone who knew them might be sitting nearby. But this feeling lasted only for a second. When he saw Ingeborg fingering her necklace and smiling at him through her tears, he knew that even if he could have escaped he would not do so now for anything in the world.

  The effect of this announcement on Fru Lindblom was wonderful. She rushed to where Gervase and Ingeborg were standing and tried to enfold them, both at once, in her arms, calling them her dear son and daughter.

  ‘Oh, my dear Gervase,’ she said, her voice trembling with emotion, ‘as soon as I saw you I knew that you could be a dear son to me. And I have watched you two children together. I have seen it coming and now it has come. Oh, this wonderful Christmas Day!’ And with her eyes shining and her head held high she stalked from the room like an actor making a triumphant exit.

  When Gervase arrived at his aunt’s house everything seemed very English and normal. Rhoda wished him the Compliments of the Season in a respectful, colourless voice as he gave her the present which Flora had helped him to choose. He paused outside the drawing-room door, took a deep breath and went in. Flora rushed to greet him, and it looked as if she only just managed, by a great effort of will, to stop herself flinging her arms around him.

  ‘Oh, Gervase,’ she said, ‘a very happy Christmas. Now everything is complete.’

  She went prancing around the room in great excitement when she had unwrapped Gervase’s present to her, which was a brightly coloured Finnish scarf of printed wool which suited her admirably. She wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl and hugged the ends to her breast, as if she wanted to keep it as close to her heart as possible.

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Gervase. ‘It looks very nice on you.’

  ‘Did you choose it all by yourself?’ asked Flora fondly, raising her eyes to his.

  ‘Yes, I am proud to say that I did,’ he replied, returning her glance. For a moment they stood looking at each other. Flora was the first to look away because she suddenly found her eyes filling with tears. She went over to another corner of the room and began re-arranging the ornaments on the Christmas tree. When she had collected herself she said, ‘I have got a book for you,’ handing Gervase a parcel, ‘an anthology. I hope you will be able to find comfort in it for many years. I’ve been reading it myself for the past week.’

  ‘And did it bring comfort?’ asked Gervase awkwardly.

  ‘Comfort!’ Flora suddenly became very bright and sparkling. ‘I don’t need comfort, do I, Aunt Emily?’

  ‘I should think not,’ said Miss Moberley. ‘Have you shown Gervase your presents yet?’

  ‘No, I don’t really think he’d be interested,’ said Flora quickly.

  ‘Wait until you see what Ooli has given her,’ said Miss Moberley archly.

  ‘I don’t see why Gervase should be made to inspect my presents,’ said Flora rather sulkily. She rolled up her left sleeve and held out her wrist. On it was an elegant platinum watch set with diamonds. ‘There!’ she said defiantly, but as she looked at it she could not resist a pleased smile.

  ‘Good Heavens!’ said Gervase. ‘Did Ooli give you this? I had no idea things were that serious.’

  ‘One must expect an attractive girl like Flora to have other strings to her bow,’ said Miss Moberley. ‘The Count sends her flowers every day. He really is a charming young man. One of the oldest families in Finland, but of course they live on their estates in the country, which explains why I haven’t met them before. Now, Gervase, you know who your rival is,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I have no chance against a rich attractive Finnish Count,’ said Gervase smoothly. ‘All I can do is retire at once.’

  Flora flung him a contemptuous glance. How gracefully he did things and how she hated him for it.

  ‘Am I to meet my rival tonight?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘No, he’s in the country with his family,’ said Flora.

  ‘Then I am afraid you will have to put up with second best,’ said Gervase. ‘I never thought the Finns would be robbing me like this – and one of my own students, too,’ he added comfortably.

  The evening was to be devoted to the entertainment of Miss Moberley’s circle, the English community who attended her At Homes and expected to be invited for the more prominent festivals of the Church.

  Flora, who had gone to change, came into the room. She was wearing a white dress with some of Ooli’s scarlet carnations pinned at the waist. The new watch shone proudly on her wrist.

  ‘Flora,’ said Gervase, ‘you look marvellous!’

  ‘Thank you, Gervase,’ said Flora brightly. She was feeling marvellous now.

  After the guests had finally departed Miss Moberley went to bed, leaving Gervase and Flora by themselves in the drawing room. Gervase lit a cigarette and slumped into an armchair. Flora put her feet up on the sofa and lay with her head dangling over the edge and her hair streaming down like seaweed. She looked at her new wristwatch and yawned.

  ‘Die arme Flora,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Gervase in a tired voice. ‘Why is it always Flora who is poor?’

  ‘Weg ist alles, was du liebtest, or something like that,’ said Flora languidly.

  ‘You mean, someone you love isn’t here?’ said Gervase cautiously, a hope rising and taking possession of him.

  ‘I suppose I may have meant that, but at this very instant I feel quite happy in this room with you.’ Flora roused herself and looked at him. ‘There you are, Gervase Harringay, sitting in a chair doing nothing, saying nothing, just looking nice.’

  ‘But that isn’t enough for you,’ said Gervase firmly. ‘You know it isn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I do know it is not enough,’ said Flora in a careful tone as if she were repeating something she had learned by heart. ‘I want more.’

  ‘And you’ll get
it,’ said Gervase, looking pleased. ‘You and Ooli are in love with each other, aren’t you?’

  ‘The Count and I are good friends,’ she said.

  ‘Well, friendship is a great thing,’ said Gervase, standing up. ‘And you never know which way it will turn. I must be going now.’

  Flora stood up too and linked her arm through his. ‘Do you realize, Gervase,’ she said in a calm level tone, ‘that this may be our last Christmas together?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Gervase irritably. He hoped Flora wasn’t going to be difficult.

  ‘Well, things will probably be quite different by this time next year,’ she said.

  ‘Things, as you call them, generally are different from one year to the next,’ observed Gervase shortly.

  ‘Oh, Gervase, don’t pretend not to know what I mean. You might at least face things as I am doing. You’re always so cowardly,’ she said passionately.

  ‘Hush, don’t make such a noise,’ he said nervously. ‘What have I to face anyway?’

  Flora dropped down into a chair and covered her face with her hands. ‘It sounds so silly if I have to put it into words,’ she said, her voice breaking, ‘especially as it obviously doesn’t mean anything to you. Losing Flora, that is what you have to face. Poor Flora, fancy thinking you would need courage for that!’

  He sat down beside her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Flora,’ he said in a gentler tone, ‘you know we shall always be friends, whatever happens.’

  ‘Friends? What’s being friends?’ said Flora, turning her head away.

  Gervase gave a barely perceptible sigh. ‘But have we ever been more than friends?’ he asked. ‘Very good friends, I admit, but not more than that.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Flora desperately. ‘I can’t ever make you understand, I can see that. You’re too afraid of facing any sort of finality, even if it doesn’t touch you. You haven’t the courage to put me right out of your life as I would put you out of mine.’

  ‘But Flora,’ said Gervase in a puzzled, exasperated tone, ‘it isn’t necessary. Why should I face things I don’t have to face? All this putting each other out of our lives,’ he added with an indulgent smile. ‘We can always be friends. Poor Flora – it seems a pity that I can’t … ’