WELCOME STRANGER

by MARY HOCKING

  ‘You would never . . .’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ The laugh again. But it was three years since it had happened, and he was still plagued by uncertainty. He looked round the room, at the Welsh dresser with the blue and white plates and the big porcelain wash basin in which James had planted orange pips in a brief experiment in rural science; at Catherine’s painting of marigolds pasted on the wall, as bright as a Van Gogh if nothing else. His forehead wrinkled. ‘I even imagine it happening here. The other week, when you were out, Claire and Terence came round with a friend of ours, Barry. Louise happened to comment on the number of black people one sees in London these days. And Claire took her up on it at once. You know what Claire is like when she gets her teeth into a cause. She got under Barry’s skin and he started saying things that he probably didn’t mean, just to annoy her. Then Terence began to talk as if he was addressing a political meeting. The upshot was that Barry said if the blacks ever showed up in Holland Park, he would go out with his shotgun. And Louise said, “Make it two shotguns. I’ll stand by your side; Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane defending the old fronder.” ’

  ‘She didn’t mean it. Not Louise.’

  ‘She doesn’t like them en masse. Come to that, neither do I. At least, I wouldn’t mind them in their own country . . .’

  ‘But you wouldn’t go out and shoot them in this country!’

  ‘No. I think it was Terence and Claire I felt like shooting for spoiling the evening.’ He pushed the cup to one side. Milk slopped about the sides of the cup and a sweet, sickly smell came from it. ‘I’ve read books about the concentration camps. And there were some things I couldn’t understand. The aimless killing – a guard smashing a child’s head against a wall because it was eating an apple he wanted. Now that is quite outside my comprehension.’ He looked at Alice as if he expected her to derive some comfort from this assurance; but saw only his own darkness reflected momentarily in her eyes.

  He looked towards the window. The blinds were not drawn – Louise had refused to draw blinds since the war ended. He could see the underbelly of a giant moth against the window; it hung there quite still and one was aware of little white feet. There was something rather obscene about it. He didn’t like it peering in at them out of the night.

  ‘When I was small, my mother put one of those texts in my room because she thought I was afraid of the dark – which as it happens I wasn’t – “There is not enough darkness in the whole world to put out the light of one small candle.” ’

  They looked at each other uneasily and he laughed as if he had made a joke in poor taste.

  Alice said, ‘I don’t know about that; but I do know you will never do anyone any violence.’

  ‘I’d like to be sure.’

  ‘Well, I am sure. You’re not a monster, Guy.’

  His eyes filled with tears. ‘You won’t tell Louise about all this, will you? It’s just that Louise is always so sure – and I wouldn’t want to . . .’ Whether it was himself he would not want to put at risk, or Louise, was not clear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Louise and Guy went to Sussex to fetch the children and the dog. Louise, who had other matters uppermost in her mind, left Guy to tell Austin and Judith about Angus while she went out with the children.

  As Judith and Guy talked about Angus, Austin thought of his son. Austin had prided himself on being of the E. M. Forster persuasion; and would have said that if he had to choose between betraying his country or his friend, he hoped he would betray his country. Admittedly, it had never been possible to identify a particular friend on whose behalf such drastic action might be called for; but so far as his country was concerned, he had considered his due of patriotism had been paid once and for all in the mud of Flanders. Now, he saw that more might be involved than a simple choice. His son had died for something. Certainly not for his country, right or wrong; but for some undefined, inarticulate thing which he had thought worth dying for. Austin would never be able to understand this. But he saw now that he had, by virtue of being alive, a certain responsibility to look carefully into his own heart.

  Judith said, ‘Well, it’s happened and there is nothing we can do to change it, Guy. I hope the girls aren’t too upset.’ It was her belief that a firm stance and a confident manner will see one through most crises.

  Austin looked at her. She was that kind of woman who conveys a reassuring impression that all is right in the world, not by anything she says, but by her very presence. She was capable but cheerful with it, and would shake the cobwebs out of one’s mind as briskly as she would plump up a pillow or draw back the blinds. There was a slight air of untidiness which suggested that while she was good at restoring order, she would not demand the highest standards. Getting things done was her priority. She would not be one to grieve over a chipped plate or a watermark on a table. Austin, who had loved her for this very robustness, now found himself wondering what resources she could call upon were her practical remedies ever to fail. He realised he did not know her well enough to answer this question.

  Judith, interpreting his silence as indifference, thought that if Stanley had been here he would – for better or for worse – have taken the matter into his own hands. No doubt Austin was wiser, but she was not sure she respected him so much.

  Guy said, ‘Well, that’s the bad news. Now for the good. I don’t know whether I am supposed to tell you, but . . .’ He told them about Alice and Ben.

  Louise, meanwhile had taken the children and the dog up on the Downs. James and the dog enjoyed the walk, but Catherine kept complaining that she had a blister. The wind was cold. Perhaps it had not been an ideal day for this kind of outing, but Louise, always impulsive, must act when inspiration came to her.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to live here?’ she said. ‘And get away from smelly old London.’

  James looked solemnly down at Lewes huddled in autumn mist. He knew his mother better than did Catherine. ‘Are we going to live there?’ he asked, pointing.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I should hate it!’ Catherine said fiercely, winding her scarf around her head and ears.

  ‘You might be able to go riding, you’d like that.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. Amy Potter has a horse at her uncle’s farm, and she spends all her time mucking it out when she goes down there.’

  ‘You’d have to take the manure along with the horse.’

  ‘I don’t want either.’

  ‘It’s no use arguing with her,’ James said to Catherine. ‘If she’s made up her mind, we’ll have to live here.’

  ‘But I shan’t be happy here,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Our unhappy childhood will give us an understanding of all the oppressed people in the world,’ James said.

  Louise buffeted him on the head and the dog jumped between them, suspecting foul play.

  ‘Why do we have to come here?’ Catherine asked, kicking at a stone, deliberately scuffing the toe of her shoe.

  ‘Daddy wants to work here.’

  ‘I thought it was Daddy!’ Catherine muttered. James got on quite well with his father now, but Catherine had never reconciled herself to him. Catherine saw Guy’s weakness, James was kinder.

  Louise said, ‘If you spoil that shoe you’ll have to go barefoot to add to your miseries.’

  ‘Why does he want to work here?’ James asked.

  ‘People in London are very ambitious and they only think of money.’

  James looked down at Lewes as though expecting to see its goodness sprouting up through the mist.

  ‘Daddy cares about people,’ Louise said. ‘He wants to help them and be kind to them – even if they can’t afford to pay big bills.’

  Catherine smiled knowingly. James was more impressed. Louise said, ‘We ought to admire him for that, don’t you think? And try to help him? Yes?’

  ‘What about my school?’ Catherine said. ‘I love school.’

  ‘That’s not what we hear at the beginning of each term.�
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  ‘And I’ve got lots of friends.’

  ‘You’ll make friends here soon enough.’ Louise put an arm around each of them and drew them to her. ‘I’m sorry, my chicks. It’s going to be a wrench for all of us. But I think it’s something we’ve got to do. So let’s think of all the good things, shall we? Only eight miles from the sea.’

  ‘I won’t be able to play with Peggy, Mummy,’ Catherine wailed. ‘I love Peggy. We share everything.’

  ‘Peggy can come to stay with you.’

  Catherine’s eyes overflowed. She cried rather too readily. Louise, who knew how hard the last two years had been for her, turned her head away, biting back impatience.

  ‘It’s really going to happen, is it?’ James asked. She could tell that he was already trying to accommodate himself to it. He was not so selfish as Catherine, and in the long run might suffer for it. Or perhaps not. The ability to make the best of what life hands out cannot be learnt too young.

  ‘I think so. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a say in how it happens.’ They looked at her, and she raised a fist conspiratorially. They turned to walk down the hill, waving their fists and laughing, while the dog danced in front of them.

  Alice had decided she needed time on her own. ‘Apart from anything else,’ she had said when Ben telephoned her during the lunch hour, ‘I must wash my hair.’

  ‘You can wash it and I’ll dry it.’

  A delicious idea. ‘But we have years ahead of us,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t rely on my drying your hair when we’re a staid married couple.’

  ‘And I’ve got all my holiday clothes to wash. We’ve got plans for every other evening this week; it won’t hurt us to be apart tonight.’

  Ben said he would go to see Claire and Terence. He had promised to help Terence put up some shelving.

  That evening Alice sat for some time dreaming over her supper. All day hope had been rising in her like yeast, affecting everything that happened around her. It seemed impossible that there should be such personal joy without a corresponding change in the state of the world, let alone the West London Education Authority. She had smoothed over a disagreement between Mr Hadow and Miss Bruce, the head of the teachers’ section, pouring over the ruffled waters the unction of her blessedness. Now, eyes half-closed, feeling steamy warmth on her lids, she meditated over a cup of tea.

  Eventually she cleared away the supper things and went into the bathroom to wash her hair. Her body, eased of all tension, seemed to function with fluid effortlessness. By the time she had washed her hair she was beginning to regret that she had not accepted Ben’s offer to dry it. When she heard a knock on the door she marvelled at his prescience. She wound a towel round her head and went joyfully to meet him.

  In the dim light from the hall lamp she saw a man with unkempt hair and a stubbly beard; his shoulders were hunched as if accustomed to supporting something – a ladder? Of course, the window cleaner! She recalled that Louise had said the man was rather odd. This was embarrassing. Louise never paid without first carefully inspecting the windows.

  ‘I’m afraid Mrs Immingham is away . . .’

  He said, ‘Can I come in, Alice?’ and stepped inside. It was Angus.

  ‘I’m sorry to do this to you. Could we talk somewhere at the back of the house – just in case your neighbours have seen me and are curious. I’m fairly sure I haven’t been followed.’ He followed her to the dining-room door, but waited in the hall while she drew the curtains. He went on talking. She had never known him so talkative, or so – lighthearted, seemed the only word. ‘In fact, I gave them the slip some time ago.’

  When she realised who it was, Alice’s heart had come into her mouth and she had swallowed it; she felt she really had done for herself. For the next few minutes the business of keeping the bits and pieces of her person in the right place and more or less functioning seemed more important than anything else.

  Angus said, ‘I decided they were less likely to look for me on their own backdoor step – so I’ve been sleeping rough on the Embankment. During the day I sat on one of the benches. There were several other people doing the same thing – people who have dropped out of sight. The police don’t bother with you. The thing which really helped me was a dog. He adopted me and sat on my lap. A terrier, with those big, mournful eyes. When he got tired of me, I knew I had to move on. Those odd characters aren’t easily parted from their dogs. Someone might have noticed.’

  Alice sat on a stool, rubbing her hair.

  ‘I dodged about a bit after that. I need to get in touch with Daphne and Peter. I know they are in London, but I haven’t been able to get an answer when I’ve rung Peter’s flat. I passed the theatre where Jacov is playing. It occurred to me he might get a message to them. I managed to get into his dressing-room. The stage door keeper was one of those little men with such a huge grievance against members of the theatrical profession he would have let Jack the Ripper in. But Jacov got in a panic and I had to leave in a hurry.’

  Alice brushed her hair and switched it back, inserting pins with practised fingers.

  ‘I came this way last night, and I saw you and Irene walking towards the main road. There was a party of people going into one of the houses in the terrace.’

  ‘Why didn’t you speak to us?’

  ‘Too many of you. It’s always better to approach a person on their own. I saw Guy and Louise leave early this morning carrying a suitcase.’

  Alice said in a brisk, businesslike voice which surprised herself more than it impressed Angus, ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel I can handle this on my own. So I am going out to fetch Ben. Then we’ll talk.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. People with legal minds can be rather tricky customers. Ben might persuade you to go to the police.’

  ‘Ben and I are going to be married,’ Alice said, as though this dispensed with the matter of the police.

  ‘I only want to telephone Daphne and Peter. I’m not planning to involve you in any way, other than allowing me the use of the telephone.’

  ‘You can use the telephone while I fetch Ben.’

  He considered this, or rather, he considered her. He had undertaken dangerous missions at the bidding of others; now he was acting on his own account. He had no mind to fail. He realised that if Alice Fairley was all that stood in his way, he was prepared to remove her. He was surprised, but not unpleasantly. Day in, day out, year in, year out, he had looked at people and places with the same eyes. Things stale. Now, momentarily, it was all new, a quite different universe. All things were possible. Their eyes met and Alice was afraid.

  He said, ‘And where is Ben?’

  ‘Kew.’ Immediately she regretted admitting that he was so far away.

  Angus closed his eyes. For some reason he had imagined that Ben was much nearer. Now we all have time for thought, he reflected wearily.

  Alice got up. ‘I am going to put my raincoat on,’ she announced. She made this statement in order to give warning of her intention to move, then paused to see what he made of it, rather as if he was a snake which might strike if she made any abrupt movement.

  He said indifferently, ‘Away with you, then.’

  Alice hurried towards Holland Park Avenue. She felt a mad urge to run, but bridled herself to a brisk pace. She was very frightened, and her fear alerted her to the need to maintain control of her body; if body raced, mind, to say nothing of emotion, would soon outstrip it. The roads were dark, arched by trees; and lamps, far apart, looked through the tangle of branches like pallid faces. In the past, she had found, and rather liked, a certain secretness in this area. Now, it had become a superior sort of warren which afforded too many hiding places. At first, she was convinced that she was being followed. She thought she heard footsteps, not her own; when she turned her head, a shadow danced over a garden hedge. She adjusted her scarf, buttoned up her raincoat, and composed her mind to deal with such matters as whether there was anyone she could telephone who would take a message to the S
traker household (the police would hardly be appropriate in this case), and the efficient organisation of her journey. Try to remain calm as she might, there was no question but that the task of transporting herself from Holland Park to Kew seemed a business of more rigour than her wartime journey to Alexandria. There had been a national enemy to fight then, an enemy distinct and out there. Now the enemy was personal, private, and in her own home.

  There was no direct route to Kew. Usually, she walked to Shepherd’s Bush Green and took a bus to the Odeon, Acton, where she caught another bus to Kew. She did this because she was familiar with the route and liked travelling by bus; that it might be time-consuming had never worried her, since time was available to be consumed. But now that she was applying herself to the matter, calmly and sensibly, she realised that it would be better to take a bus to Stamford Brook station where she could get a District Line train to Kew Gardens. At this hour, the trains would probably be more frequent than the buses.

  She came to a telephone box and paused for a moment. The vicar? But Claire and Terence did not go to church, and even vicars, good shepherds though they might be, would not expect to run carefully coded messages round their parishes on behalf of total strangers. And as she did not know the name of the vicar anyway, it was no use wasting time on speculation.

  It was just before eight o’clock when she reached Holland Park Avenue. The dead time of the evening. There were two men and one woman waiting at the bus stop. They had the look of people who have been overwhelmed by the non-events of life; should a bus now appear one felt they would treat it with the scepticism with which other unfortunates learn to regard mirages in the desert.

  ‘How long have you been waiting?’ Alice asked.

  The woman blinked as though coming out of a trance. ‘Twenty minutes.’ She jerked her head. ‘He’s been here half an hour, haven’t you, dear?’

  The man thus addressed turned to Alice and raised a wide-brimmed black hat which suggested some affiliation with highwaymen. To complete the effect, he wore a long, caped overcoat which trailed the ground, sweeping into its folds cigarette ends and discarded bus tickets. Alice recognised him as a friend of Mr Kimberley who wrote poetry and paid to have it published in pamphlet form. ‘Every journey is an adventure, is it not? Even we, who travel by the humble bus, must remember that, as we make our pilgrimage to Acton, Hammersmith, or the far reaches of Chiswick . . .’ This put him in mind of another poet. ‘ “For lust of knowing what should not be known . . .” ’