Long Summer Day (A Horseman Riding By)

by R. F Delderfield

‘Is that unreasonable?’

  ‘I think it is.’

  It was clear that she considered him ridiculous in the role of the outraged husband and was determined not to rise to the bait but he read in her impassivity an evasiveness that was not there. He said, shortly, ‘You can imagine what a fool I felt, having to stand in a public bar and hear about my own wife coming home with the milk! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you care if I’m made to look as if I enjoy my wife gallivanting all over the county with a young idiot in a motor?’

  She looked at him compassionately now but he was too angry and humiliated to notice it.

  ‘Yes, I care, Paul,’ she said, quietly, ‘I care very much, but in this case my share of the blame is confined to not telling you about it and for that I apologise. Now I think we’d better go in.’

  He followed her along the flagstones and across the corner of the paddock to the terrace. When they were inside the library he said, petulantly, ‘Well, what did happen? Were you stranded at that friend of Roddy’s? John told me you had paid a call there.’

  The white lie she had intended telling him changed colour with his attitude and now she felt under an obligation to tell him the insignificant truth.

  ‘As a matter of fact we were stranded half-way between there and home,’ she said, ‘and spent the night in the open.’

  ‘Roddy and you?’

  For a moment he was too outraged to speak. When he did the violence of his tone surprised her. ‘What do you mean, “in the open”? How could he let such a thing happen? And how could you be a partner to it?’

  ‘It wasn’t Roddy’s fault,’ she said wearily, ‘it was just bad luck. The car broke down miles from anywhere and we couldn’t get help … We tried but there was no alternative.’

  ‘You were together in that damned motor all night?’

  For the first time since he had challenged her, she could smile.

  ‘No, not in the motor, Paul. We found somewhere a little more comfortable.’

  She had not said this with the intention of goading him but he reacted as if she had, taking her by the arm so that at once the smile left her eyes. ‘Please don’t act like that, Paul!’ and she wrenched herself free yet still contrived to give the impression that she was in control of herself. She said, more patiently, ‘Do we really have to go on with this, Paul? Are you interested in chapter and verse?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he shouted, ‘what husband wouldn’t be?’

  ‘Very well then. There was a pheasant hide close by that offered some kind of shelter. We lit a fire and stayed there until it was light. Then a cart came along and pulled us on to the main road and on a hill Roddy managed to start the motor so we got home about breakfast time. It wasn’t as romantic as it sounds, just the kind of thing that might happen to any pair of travellers. At least, I thought so at the time.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  For the first time she seemed to resent his questions and her jaw hardened. ‘What am I supposed to read into that? That Roddy is my lover? Is that what you’re trying to make me say?’ He was so taken aback by this that it was plain to her he had no clear idea what he believed and again she felt compassion for him, although it astonished her to discover that a man could share her life for more than a year but learn so little that was important about her.

  ‘Roddy wasn’t my lover, then or at any time, but if you can’t bring yourself to believe that there’s nothing I can do about it, Paul. I’m sorry, but there it is,’ and she walked past him and out of the room.

  He stood there cursing himself and her; himself for his hamfisted approach, her for allowing herself to be squired by a man whose incompetence involved women in compromising situations. For it was a compromising situation, as even she had tacitly admitted by withholding the facts from him, although he did not doubt her innocence for a moment. There was no reason, however, why anyone else should believe in it; Farmer Venn, for instance, or the carter who found them, or even John Rudd, whose evasiveness regarding the incident he now recalled. The thought of another man spending the night in a pheasant hide with his wife annoyed him but it did not frighten him, as it might have scared a man married to an unpredictable woman. For Grace was predictable, at least as regards fundamentals. She had always been candid with him, even when he would have secretly preferred her not to be and it was this that baffled him, that fact that, but for Venn’s chance remark in the pub, he might never have discovered that she had spent a night in the woods with the type of man likely to boast about the experience. It was the thought of Roddy, and the ease with which he had captured and held her interest from the moment he came honking up the drive, that crystallised his resentment and it was not resentment against her for a single indiscretion but for their failure, after more than a year, to achieve harmony as individuals. She was his wife in bed and about the house and garden but beyond, these narrow limits they shared nothing and while, for some men, this was enough to make a marriage work, for him it was not. Here he was, striving to make a way of life for both of them, while she continued, in her secret way, to deride him, and the Roddy incident, so trivial in itself, emphasised the cleavage. He thought, wretchedly, ‘If this divergence continues there can be no real happiness for either of us! God knows, I’ve been patient but where has patience led me? To within a few inches of being cuckolded by a lady-killer who uses a blasted motor instead of a bouquet. I’ll be damned if I give way again, the way I did over the Potter affair, the election, and everything else that gives purpose to my being here!’ and he flung himself into the office and tried to cool his temper assaulting the accumulation of work in the desk-trays.

  Yet, as a measure of calmness returned to him, he did not relent towards her or not in the real sense. When he went upstairs about eleven o’clock she was reading in bed and he was still inclined to deliver an unrehearsed ultimatum and would probably have done so had she not forestalled him by laying the book aside, looking across at him mildly, and saying, ‘It was very wrong of me not to have made a point of telling you, Paul. Will you believe me if I say I’m genuinely sorry about that?’ and again he felt he had lost the initiative. He said, ‘Yes, of course I believe you. I realise you have far more dignity than to let a man like Rudd take advantage of you but that isn’t the real issue, Grace!’ He was standing at the foot of the bed, feet astride and hands behind his back, and for a moment it was all she could do to stop herself laughing at his unconscious caricature of an outraged husband as depicted by Mrs Braddon or Mrs Henry Wood. The moment passed, however, for he went on, ‘It’s your whole attitude to our life down here, to what I’m bent on doing and what I’ve set my heart on. I don’t just mean the political aspect but everything, the estate, the attempt to … well … to create something lasting and rewarding.’

  ‘I’ve never concealed the truth from you about that,’ she said. ‘You know very well I could never see it through your eyes, Paul.’

  ‘You could try!’

  ‘I have tried, far harder than you imagine.’

  ‘You haven’t tried hard enough, Grace! Take this election; you aren’t committed to the Party but I am and as your husband I’m entitled to at least a pretence of support from you.’

  ‘I’ve never been the least good at pretending, Paul. That’s something you should have learned by now.’

  ‘But damn it, lots of wives aren’t deeply interested in what their husbands are doing but they make some kind of show. They stand beside them once in a while!’

  She said, slowly, ‘I don’t think it’s much use prolonging this argument, Paul, at least, not in your present mood. Perhaps it won’t seem so vital in the morning!’ and she reached out an arm with the object of turning her beside lamp out.

  ‘Leave that light alone!’ he snapped. ‘I tell you this is vital, Grace, and it won’t seem less so in the morning! Are you prepared to discuss it or aren’t you?’

  He h
ad never addressed her in this tone and she was more astonished than hurt, probing among the probable reasons for the loss of his sense of humour and the male tenderness that had been his most endearing characteristic. She was angry because hectoring always angered her yet she retained a very real regard for his sincerity and it was this that kept her temper in check. They faced one another in silence for a moment and it was as though each hesitated to push the quarrel further but then it seemed to her that so they might stand for ever, unless she made a gesture, something that, however inappropriate, would restore the delicate balance of their relationship. She said, ‘That ballet company, Paul, they are due in Bristol on Thursday for two nights so I wrote off for tickets. I think you badly need a change and I’m sure it would help us put this nonsense behind us before we start saying unforgivable things to one another. Will you take me, as you promised?’

  It was probable that, had the approach been made earlier, he would have surrendered but he was under no illusions as to what surrender would mean. It would be the final acceptance of a measure of spiritual isolation down the years ahead and they were still young, and there were many years, too many to renounce all hopes of the full partnership on which he had set his heart. He said, miserably, ‘Thursday is eve-of-poll and Friday is polling day. I couldn’t be away from here until Saturday but that doesn’t mean you can’t go, if you have to. It seems to me, however, that we could make a better start by you joining me on the platform at the rally on Thursday. You do what you think best, Grace,’ and he picked up his robe and walked out of the room, making his way along the corridor to the guestroom beyond the nursery. Simon’s cot was visible through the half-open door with a night-light burning under a pink glass between cot and door. He hesitated outside but he did no more than glance inside. At that moment the child did not seem to belong to either of them.

  V

  The eve-of-poll rally was scheduled to open with a small-fry warm-up at seven-thirty. Paul, and several other local speakers, had undertaken to keep the audience occupied until nine o’clock, the earliest hour the candidate could be expected to arrive with the Great Man, for Lloyd George had wired that he would cover the last five miles of the journey by four-horse brake and act as chairman for Grenfell on the last stage of his eve-of-poll tour. The Tory Party had not succeeded in getting anyone of comparable weight into the West and Grenfell’s foresight had baulked them of the opportunity to hold an equally big rally for he had booked the only large hall months ago and the opposition was reduced to an open-air gathering in the cattle market. Liberal luck was in flow during those last few days for the weather turned dull and showery, to the delight of the nine hundred ticket-holders queuing outside the Drill Hall hours before the doors were opened.

  Paul, as chairman, welcomed the responsibility thrust upon him, for at least it kept thoughts of Grace at bay and when the meeting commenced and he faced the difficult task of controlling a restive audience (in addition to a few hecklers who had slipped in with forged tickets), his nervous energy was fully deployed. He had never addressed a meeting of this size or importance, certainly not without Grenfell’s professional support. He was no more than adequate as public speaker but tonight he was better than he imagined for all that was needed was a summary of the candidate’s achievements in local government, his fitness for wider horizons and the unique treat in store for everyone present—that of seeing and hearing the most celebrated firebrand in the country.

  Paul himself had been looking forward to the occasion, for Lloyd George’s brazen attacks upon the Boer War had made him a byword among the troops overseas and since then hardly a day had passed without examples of his wit, impudence and debating skill providing headlines for the newspapers. It was known, for instance, that he had attacked privilege in a hundred dynamic speeches, that he had hounded Joe Chamberlain up hill and down dale, had trounced the brewers financing the Tories, had even challenged the Lords and cocked a snook at Royalty, generally keeping the country in an uproar. Grenfell’s success in getting such a lion to the remote provinces was the best card he could have played and as soon as news of the visit was made public the betting on a Liberal victory shortened from five-to-four to two-to-one.

  The stewards, to Paul’s relief, soon disposed of the scattered hecklers and the stop-gap speakers, inveighing against the sins of the Government and howling for Free Trade and Irish Home Rule, gave him a chance to scan faces in the hope of recognising Grace among the converted. It was just possible, he told himself, that she had taken advantage of his order to Chivers to bring the carriage and pair into town by the time the meeting began and, being Grace, she might have entered the hall by the speakers’ door and taken her place among the anonymous at the back. They had not reopened the quarrel during the last few days but had said very little to one another during the brief intervals that he had been at home. He thought it possible that she might have gone to Bristol by herself but more likely remained at home, nursing her imagined grievances. At last he saw Chivers sidle in by the platform door and take his stand behind one of the side benches and then there was a stir at the back of the hall and a great shout went up as Grenfell marched down the centre aisle and behind him, hardly able to progress because of the hysterical surge on either side, came the Great Man himself, short, thick-set, smiling and apparently well satisfied with his reception. As he mounted the platform the audience threw off all restraint, rising to their feet and roaring a welcome so that Paul, after a formal handshake, indicated by gesture that it was useless to begin a speech of introduction and that Grenfell must take over from here on. Grenfell was given an almost equally enthusiastic reception but wisely limited his speech to a simple statement of his intentions if returned the following day. Then, to the accompaniment of another prolonged roar, he ushered Lloyd George forward and the famous Welshman began to weave his spell about the hall, his first words compelling a hush that seemed frightening after such a din.

  He began very quietly, his soft, persuasive voice seeming to reach out and caress the rows of upturned faces, as he spoke of the certain dawn of the Celtic revival, of the kinship of Welshmen and Westcountrymen, of the rising clamour for justice and security in a world of plenty that, for centuries past, had been reserved for the wealthy, the privileged and their nominees at Westminster. It was not a political address so much as an inspired fairy-tale, related by a man who not only knew every trick in the book but could use subtle inflexions and wide, graceful gestures to highlight the pathos of the story and point the way to the infinite possibilities that lay ahead for a race already the envy of every community in the world. His theme was The People, a majority poised to enter the ark of the covenant of Democracy. He extolled their patience, their courage and their determination to transform the social pattern of Britain but without—and here his voice gained volume—without resort to pike and tumbril and without endangering gains won since the ancestors of all those present had sweated as villeins on acres stolen from The People! He said that there had been an awakening among some who had been their masters for so long and that a few of the unselfish landowners (such as their young chairman tonight) had already espoused the cause and were marching with them, and at this direct reference Paul found himself hoping very much that Grace was present, so that he missed a searing comment on the enclosures of common land that must have had local relevance for a growl of anger rose up and was instantly checked by one of the speaker’s swift, heaven-pointing gestures. And then Lloyd George began to speak of the candidate, turning to smile paternally upon Grenfell, asserting that he and Grenfell had much in common for both, he understood, had known what it was to hoard their pennies to buy an education and that Grenfell was the type of man so badly needed in Westminster, a man of The People, with The People’s interests at heart! By this time tomorrow, he went on, ‘as sure as the sun will set over these beautiful Westcountry uplands’, they would have a champion in Westminster whom they could trust to work selflessly and unstintingly in their interes
ts, in their children’s interests, and, above all, a man in step with the march of the twentieth century!

  It was difficult to determine whether the speaker had intended to finish on this flourish for at these words the tension broke and suddenly everyone in the hall was on his feet, surging and swaying towards the platform, so that stewards, poised for such an emergency, had to rush in from all sides to head off a dangerous stampede. Paul slipped down to floor level to help and almost at once was buffeted against Chivers, who clutched at him as if he was a lifebelt and the two of them were swept involuntarily on through the exit that had been flung open to ease the pressure inside the building. Chivers said breathlessly, ‘God Almighty, sir, I never saw aught like this bevore! Nor my old dad neither, notwithstanding his tales o’ bygone elections! I brought the trap, not the carriage, sir. The new cob would have dragged her feet all the way back after two outings, I reckon!’

  ‘You mean the carriage has been out today?’ said Paul, breathlessly and rather irritated by the change. ‘How far did Mrs Craddock drive?’

  ‘Why to the station, upalong,’ the man said, ‘with her heavy luggage. I would have taken her in the trap but there wasn’t room to stow the baggage, sir!’

  The din from the hall beat across Paul’s brain like breakers and in the wild confusion about him only a word or two registered so that he took Chivers by the arm and dragged him round to the rear of the hall, where the uproar was partially subdued. Bewilderment made him sound furious. ‘What happened, Chivers? Never mind about what’s going on in there, just explain why you brought the trap instead of the brougham, as I ordered!’

  Chivers’ peaked face stared up at him in the glow of the gas lamp above the platform entrance. The man’s wits seemed lost in the noise and excitement.

  ‘It’s like I said, sir, I had to use both cobs for the brougham and I didn’t reckon they could stand the fifteen-mile trip here and back tonight, not after taking Mrs Craddock up over the moor to the station! I know you give orders for the brougham, sir, but there wasn’t room in the trap for Madam’s luggage.’