There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
‘I mean, darling Dad, it isn’t so much what you think of her, it’s how he feels about her. He has married her, after all.’
‘And what about poor Villy? What about his ruining her life?’
‘That’s happened, Dad. It can’t be changed. It wouldn’t actually make the slightest difference to Villy if you met Diana, but I think it would make all the difference to Uncle Edward. Darling Dad, you’re usually such a kind person – think how awful it would be for me if you didn’t approve of Gerald. I’d be miserable. In the end, I’d stop loving you so much.
‘Or, I might,’ she added, seeing that this had really shocked him.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll think about what you’ve said. But, you know, it’s not simply the Diana issue. The firm is having a bad time, and we don’t agree at all on what we should do about it. We’ve reached a point when it has become almost impossible even to talk about it.’
They had been walking back up the avenue, having duly admired the new planting, and now he hooked his arm in hers. ‘You know, Poll, when you talk like this you remind me of your dear mother – of Sybil.’ He gave a little dry laugh to get rid of the terrible picture that recurred to him still of her dying – the slow certainty of it, the agony of watching her pain, his utter helplessness to save her from any of it.
Polly (and this would have surprised him as, like many people, he had been selfish in his grief) also had vivid and painful memories of her mother – her cries when the pain became unbearable, seeing her for the last time when she was conscious of nothing, how she had been allowed one unreciprocated kiss and then was banished. These separate griefs came to them now as they walked slowly up the drive, rich copper oak leaves falling gracefully to their feet and, above them, a sharp blue sky and cold yellow sunlight.
When the house came into view, with its monstrous façade of greyish-yellow brick (‘lavatory brick’, Gerald called it) and each of its many windows framed by architraves of an uneasy red, Hugh stopped to look at it.
Polly, watching him, said, ‘Gerald says it has pomp without any circumstance.’
‘Have you ever thought of selling it?’
‘I used to. But Gerald is devoted to it. It has become his raison d’être. And I have grown fond of the place. We’ve simply got to make it earn its keep. And ours.’ And she told him about Mrs Monkhurst and all the extra money needed, ending by asking him what he thought about sinking a lot more capital into the place.
‘How much more?’
‘She hasn’t told us yet. But I bet it’ll be another Turner.’
‘Poll, I don’t think you should keep selling those. They’re a capital asset.’
‘It’s all right, Dad. We’ve still got a good many. We sold two to get the roof mended and a few other vital things like that. And Gerald sells one for each baby so that we’ve got money for their education.’
They returned to the house to be greeted by the twins. ‘We’re awfully sorry, Mummy, but Laura fell off Bluebell and she’s probably broken an arm or a leg or something.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Jemima’s taken her to the vet.’
‘Not the vet, the doctor, silly.’
‘It wasn’t our fault, Mummy. She didn’t want to be on a leading rein.’
Andrew said, ‘Now you can see why I don’t ride. I need my arms and legs – or how could I climb my trees?’ He had not at all liked the twins appropriating Laura.
‘You know perfectly well that you should have kept her on the leading rein. In fact, you should have led her yourselves. Where was Simon while all this was going on?’
‘He said he had to get more wood in for the fires.’
‘He made them promise not to trot or anything, but as soon as he’d gone they trotted. Jane was on Buttercup, anyway, so she wasn’t much use.’
‘Andrew, you’re a horrible little sneak.’
‘Yes, you are. I think you’re the worst person I know.’
‘Yes, I agree. Quite the worst person.’
Andrew’s face puckered. ‘I’m not the worst. I’m a good person. You’re the ones who let Laura fall off. You’re the worst.’ He was in tears now, sniffing hard and rubbing his eyes. At that moment, Nan appeared with Spencer, who was also crying.
‘He’s worse than me. He can’t even eat.’
‘He’s hungry. You’re a bit late, my lady.’
‘Sorry, Nan.’ She took Spencer and suggested that her father followed her to her sitting room.
‘And you, Master Andrew, will go upstairs and wash yourself for lunch. Not just your hands, your knees as well.’
‘How can my knees have anything to do with lunch?’ they heard Andrew saying. ‘I don’t eat with my knees …’ His voice faded until they shut the door on him.
‘Dad, do settle down. The paper’s on the sofa table. They’ll soon be back.’
But Hugh could not settle. He wandered about the room, peering frequently out of the window that looked onto the drive. ‘I can’t understand how we missed them in the avenue.’
‘They probably went along the back drive – it’s quicker. Simon will have told them.’
‘And how far off is the hospital?’
‘Only about ten miles,’ she said off-handedly, trying to make it sound nearer.
Spencer was gulping his milk so fast that when she winded him, most of it came up again. It’s time I started weaning him, Polly thought. She was becoming tired of a life dominated by her breasts.
‘Do you want to wait for lunch until they come back, my lady?’
‘No, Nan, I think we’d better go ahead. But first will you send Eliza and Jane in to me? I’m very cross with them.’
There was a gleam of admiration in Nan’s eyes. ‘Quite right, your ladyship. His lordship’s too soft with them, the naughty monkeys.’
As Nan took Spencer, Polly said, ‘Shall we give him some Farex and honey? He can sit on my lap and I’ll feed him.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
Eliza and Jane arrived, still in their jodhpurs. They looked nervous. Hugh had tactfully left the room, and Polly had got off the sofa and was sitting very upright in a chair.
‘I’m very disappointed in both of you. You have behaved in a most irresponsible manner. You are two very selfish, stupid little girls. Laura might have been killed by your idiotic behaviour. Do you realise that?’
They shook their heads. When they looked at her she could see that she had shocked them. ‘Mummy, we never meant to hurt her – honestly.’
‘Of course you didn’t mean to. But you didn’t take the trouble to see that she would be safe. As it is, we don’t know how much damage you’ve done. When she comes back, I want you to apologise to Laura and to both her parents.’
‘We will, Mummy, we promise you.’
‘Right. And your punishment is no riding for either of you for the whole of half-term.’
‘Oh, Mum! That’s not fair! We promised Laura another lesson! After she fell off, she said she still wanted to ride.’
‘Did she indeed! Well, that will be up to her parents to decide. And before you go, I should like to remind you that you didn’t keep your promise to Simon.’
‘What promise?’
‘You tell me, Eliza.’
There was a pause, then Eliza said sulkily, ‘Not to trot.’
‘But, Mummy, we couldn’t stop her!’ Jane protested. ‘She dug her heels into poor Bluebell’s sides so of course he trotted. She was quite naughty, you know.’
‘All right. That’s enough. You must apologise to Simon, as well.’
‘Mum, I do think you should speak to Andrew about his sneaking. When he can’t find a true thing to sneak about, he makes things up.’
‘That will do, both of you. Do you know where your father is?’
‘He took them in the car. May we go now?’
When they had left, Polly went to the window that looked onto the drive and b
eckoned her father to come in.
‘It’s all right, Dad. Gerald took them. He knows the way, and he’s marvellous with nurses. Come and have some lunch.’
They got back at three. Laura had broken her right arm, and her left leg. She was in a state of high excitement. ‘I’ve got two bandages – hard ones that people can sign their names on.’
‘Laura was very brave.’
‘I was. Very, extremely, triffically brave.’
Gerald was carrying her into the kitchen where Jemima arranged a chair with sidearms and cushions, and Nan fetched a footstool for her leg.
‘They had to pull my bones together, and they told me it would hurt and it did – awfully both times – and then they did some ordinary bandaging, and then …’ she paused dramatically ‘… they put some soft white smeary stuff all over the broken bits and said we had to wait until it was dry, but I didn’t mind because Uncle Gerald kindly gave me a chocolate biscuit. And now the stuff is all hard. I have to have it on for weeks, so I won’t be able to have baths, and I never really cried – only about five tears, wasn’t it, Mummy? And Mummy held my hand all the time, and I trotted on Bluebell but I don’t think I can have another riding lesson until the stiff stuff comes off.’
‘Now then, Miss Laura, eat your lunch.’
Nan had put a dollop of shepherd’s pie in a bowl with a teaspoon. But Laura was not very good at eating with her left hand and the food went everywhere – rather like Spencer, Polly thought. The Farex, when she put a spoonful into his mouth, made him screw up his face with distaste, and he let it slide out. In the end Hugh fed Laura a few spoonfuls. She didn’t want food, and suddenly started sobbing. ‘I don’t want anything at all! I don’t want horrible pie!’
‘Reaction,’ Nan said audibly, if under her breath.
Hugh picked her up and, followed by Jemima, carried her away.
‘She needs a good rest, that’s all she needs. She can have her tea later. And you, Eliza and Jane, you shouldn’t stare at people. It’s rude.’
‘Rude,’ Andrew repeated, with some satisfaction. For the rest of the weekend, he was very good to Laura, playing Snap and Old Maid with her, and helping her to do a small jigsaw that had wooden pieces. Gerald converted a very old pram that had been bought for the twins into a makeshift wheelchair, and everybody wrote their names and messages on her casts. Jemima arranged one of the tea trays so that she had a place to put cards or the jigsaw, while Eliza and Jane took turns reading to her. She insisted on an expedition to feed carrots to the ponies, accompanied by her anxious parents. She stroked their velvet noses and tried to kiss Bluebell. But he tossed his head and cantered out of reach. When the carrots were finished neither pony saw the point of hanging about. Everyone apologised to everyone else, and everyone felt better for it.
‘You won’t forget about Uncle Edward and Diana, will you?’ Polly whispered to her father, when he hugged her goodbye.
‘I won’t, Polly, darling. I’m so proud of you.’ Then, with Laura ensconced in the back, he got into the car, and Jemima hugged Simon, which made him blush with pleasure.
PART SEVEN
NOVEMBER–DECEMBER 1957
RACHEL AND SID
‘The Duchy adored Gregory Peck.’
‘I know. I remember her saying once that she would gladly marry him.’
Sid had enticed Rachel to spend a week or so in London, on the grounds that they could enjoy going to the theatre, concerts and the cinema. But in spite of a fairly constant round of these pleasures, the visit was not going well. Rachel was restless, and constantly ruminating about Home Place: whether the builders, whose estimate Hugh had agreed to, had started mending the roof or not. Sid recognised now that her own pessimism might be because she felt so tired all the time. Quite soon after she had got up in the mornings, her back started to ache, and became progressively worse during the day. She managed to conceal most of this from Rachel, or thought she had, until the morning after they had seen Roman Holiday, when Rachel said at breakfast, ‘Sid, darling, I’m taking you to see Dr Plunkett today. There is clearly something wrong with your back, and I know that, left to yourself, you will simply suffer in silence. Your appointment is at ten thirty. And I am coming with you.’
She sounded so calm and determined that Sid could only feel grateful to have the matter organised for her.
When they were sitting in the waiting room (flock paper, a collection of incredibly dreary prints, and magazines), Rachel said, ‘Would you like me to come in with you?’
No, she wouldn’t. Just then, a nurse called her name, and Sid followed her, down a passage, to the doctor’s room. He rose from his desk to shake hands with her and then proceeded to ask a great number of questions, taking notes as she replied. He went into all of it: took her blood pressure (on the low side), her temperature (she had one, not high but he suspected always there), and finally he made her lie on his patient’s bed while he examined her back. Then he said, ‘Miss Sidney, I have an X-ray unit in the basement, and I should like to take some X-rays of your back. I should like them to be taken now, if that is agreeable to you. Yes?’
‘Yes. Only could I go straight down from here? I don’t want my friend to know.’
‘Of course. The nurse will take you and bring you back here when they have been developed.’
So the pictures were taken, and by the time she got back to his room he was looking at them. ‘Do sit down, Miss Sidney. I’m afraid we’ve found something.’
She had a tumour very near her spine. It was possible that there were others but they would need further tests to find out. ‘It’s a great pity that you didn’t come to us earlier, but there it is. I shall send you to the Marsden for more tests. Meanwhile, are you taking anything for the pain?’
She told him about the aspirin.
‘I think I can do better than that for you.’
He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed the prescription to her. She put it into a pocket. She felt stunned, unable to move or speak. Dr Plunkett was used to this, and he had learned to be kind about it. He got up from his desk and went to her. ‘I know it is something of a shock, but you must be of good heart. The cancer may not have spread.’
‘May I tell my friend that these other tests are for my heart or something? I can’t tell her the other thing. I simply can’t.’
‘My dear, you can tell her anything you like. Do you live alone, or are you sharing a house together?’
‘We share.’
‘Well, sometimes, you know, people are better off with the truth. But it’s up to you, of course.’
He shook hands with her and the nurse accompanied Sid back to the waiting room.
Rachel looked up from the magazine she had been trying to read, her face full of anxiety and affection. There were three other people in the waiting room, so she simply helped Sid into her coat and they left. They both thought they were smiling at the other.
‘What would you like to do now, my love?’
‘Coffee would be good.’ Her mouth was so dry that she could hardly speak.
‘Right. There’s a good place round the corner in Marylebone Lane.’ She hooked her arm into Sid’s and they made their way.
In the coffee place she asked for a glass of water and drank it all. Rachel, trying to sound casual, said, ‘How did it go?’
‘He was extremely thorough. Did an X-ray on my back. He wants me to have a few more tests, and he’s arranging that with a hospital. And he gave me a prescription for when I have pain. He was very kind. It all went very well.’
‘Oh, good.’ They were not convincing one another.
‘I think it means I’ll have to stay in London until I’ve been for the other tests. But you go down as we planned, and I’ll join you.’ If I could have just a little time on my own, she thought, I might manage to sort things out. Face it, if I have to, and find the right way to tell Rachel, the poor darling.
‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving while you’re having the tests.’
&nb
sp; ‘You said you have to cope with the builders. I’d much rather you go, and I’ll join you the minute I can. As a matter of fact, I’d rather be on my own. You know I can’t bear fussing.’ She could see that this hurt Rachel, but she persisted, and Rachel eventually agreed.
‘I wouldn’t fuss,’ she said sadly, but Sid knew that this was not true.
Somehow she got through that first awful day. She said she would like to lunch at a Turkish restaurant where they picked from a large tray of mezze, which suited them both since neither of them ate very much. They collected Sid’s prescription and then Sid suggested that they see an old French film showing at the cinema in Baker Street, Le jour se lève, with Jean Gabin. Sid fell asleep, but she had taken one of Dr Plunkett’s pills, and when she woke, her back was hardly hurting at all. It was Rachel who looked exhausted, so they went home in a taxi.
Hugh rang up that evening to say that he would go down to Home Place to see what was going on with the roof, and would Rachel like a lift? He called for her the next morning.
She saw them off, promised to ring when she had her date for the hospital and watched them drive away before she shut the front door.
She was alone at last. She could think about her horrible future – whatever there might be of it – because she sensed that Dr Plunkett had known that she was almost certainly going to die. And that would mean leaving Rachel alone and grieving.
And before she died there would be awful things to endure: radiotherapy, chemotherapy, operations that would possibly only halt the disease rather than cure it. Why on earth hadn’t she been to a doctor earlier? Because she had always been afraid of what they might say. Her mother had died of cancer; so had Hugh’s first wife, Sybil. Alone now, she could admit to being terrified of severe pain. She could admit to being a fearful coward. With no Rachel present to deceive she could think of these last months, when she had been afraid that something was seriously wrong and had used what energy she possessed to conceal her wretchedness from Rachel. It had not been very difficult: Rachel suffered chronically from a painful back herself, and while she diligently applied her remedies for both of them – rubbing with arnica, stretching exercises, hot-water bottles – she had been tender and sympathetic, but not alarmed. They had been so happy. After years of secrecy and frustration they had finally been able to live more or less together, even with the Duchy alive. Rachel always said that her mother’s extreme innocence meant that she had just accepted Sid as Rachel’s best friend, but Sid had sometimes thought that the Duchy knew more about them and wisely kept her perception to herself. ‘Am I to die? When we have been so happy together!’ Charlotte Brontë’s last pathetic cry to her husband had brought tears to her eyes; now, recalling it, she broke down and sobbed – stumbling upstairs to their bedroom to cast herself upon her and Rachel’s bed. The sheets still held the Rachel scent of violets – the scent she had always worn after Sid had said she loved it so much.
The Cazalet Chronicles Collection Page 219
