Nobody Asked Me

by Mary Burchell

  At four o’clock her aunt looked in and said, ‘You had better go out now, Alison, or you won’t be back in time for schoolroom tea at five. You can finish those to-morrow.’

  Alison was not too simple to see that a good many to-morrows of this sort stretched in front of her. But she did what she was told, thankful to escape from the house.

  It was a blowy day in early April, but strangely warm after the chill of yesterday, and insensibly Alison felt her spirits rise. It had been rather stupid of her really to keep on trying to analyse people’s actions and attribute this and that motive to them.

  Julian might have had some faint idea of showing Rosalie she couldn’t have things all her own way, but, undoubtedly too, he had wanted to be kind to her. He’d shown it in a dozen different ways. She was rather guiltily surprised to find that her thoughts had come back to him, but perhaps it was only natural since he was the only one to show the slightest personal concern about her welfare since she had arrived.

  After all, if Julian liked to offer her some degree of friendship she would be more than glad to have it. But, beyond that, her cousin’s fiancé really had nothing to do with her.

  Her business was to see that she attended to her aunt’s commissions as carefully and dutifully as possible, and reached home in time for schoolroom tea, as Aunt Lydia had said.

  It was odd, but not at all unpleasant, to be sauntering along the streets and in and out of shops, with no one’s wishes but her own to consult until five o’clock.

  For the first time she felt she had really left schooldays definitely behind her. Even Aunt Lydia ’s little spiteful pretence couldn’t make her into a schoolgirl again. She was an individual, with a life of her own before her-no longer one of a class.

  It was impossible not to feel rather elated at the thought, and, in between carefully carrying out her aunt’s various instructions, Alison allowed her thoughts to wander a little to the possible future.

  Since Uncle Theodore had been willing to pay for the rest of her schooling, perhaps he would have no objection to allowing her some sort of training for a job. It was rather dreadful, of course, to have to think of spending more of his money already, but, on the other hand, it would cost less in the end to let her be trained for something that would make her independent.

  ‘Even something very modest,’ Alison thought humbly. ‘I wouldn’t mind what it was, so long as it meant I didn’t have to sponge on them any longer.’

  She hoped guiltily that it was not very ungrateful of her, but already the thought of anything that would take her away from her aunt and Rosalie seemed very attractive.

  As she came into the hall on her return, the beautiful old German wall-clock struck five. Only just in time. And she must find her aunt first and tell her she had managed to match that silk for her.

  She glanced into the dining-room. It was empty.

  She hesitated a moment. Perhaps Aunt Lydia was in the library, having tea served there. She went over and opened the door quietly, in case there were any people there and it would be best for her to beat an unobtrusive retreat.

  Tea was not being served in the library. Nor was Aunt Lydia there. But two other people were-Julian and Rosalie. And they were much too much absorbed to notice anyone else.

  Alison stood there for a moment, transfixed by the sight of her cousin caught close in Julian’s arms. Rosalie was laughing a little, and he was looking down at her with an angry tenderness that was like nothing Alison had ever seen. ‘

  ‘Why do you do these awful things?’ she heard him say with a sort of impatient pain in his voice. ‘You know you make me sick with misery.’

  And then Rosalie slid her arm round his neck, and the next moment he was kissing her all over her face.

  Alison closed the door silently and fled upstairs as though something frightening were behind her. She was short of breath when she reached her room, and was astonished to find she was trembling.

  It was no business of hers. She had no right to have witnessed that scene. ‘I wish I hadn’t,’ she whispered agitatedly. ‘I wish I hadn’t.’

  But that wasn’t the principal thought in her heart. ‘How could she have laughed when he looked like that?’ she kept on thinking. ‘How can she hurt him so, and enjoy it?’ And then, with a heat and bitterness that appalled her: ‘I hate her!’

  This was not like the quick, angry flash of temper when Rosalie had said unkind things about herself. It was something far deeper and more complicated. Something Alison couldn’t in the least explain-even to herself.

  A little dazedly she put up her handkerchief and wiped her forehead, where it had gone slightly damp under her fringe.

  ‘I’d better go and see what the twins are doing,’ she said aloud, but it was a few minutes before her own voice seemed to reach her consciousness.

  She didn’t go downstairs again until dinner-time, and then only her uncle and aunt were there. Neither of them took very much notice of her.

  Her aunt said, ‘Alison will have to have some decent clothes,’ as though Alison herself were not present. And her uncle replied absently, ‘Of course. Get her whatever she needs.’

  Alison, feeling a little bit like a foundling, murmured, ‘Thank you.’ And that closed the subject.

  It appeared that Uncle Theodore was going abroad the next day. Alison was sorry. She had an idea that in a domestic crisis Uncle Theodore would display an impartial justice that might be useful. But she gathered from the conversation that he spent a good deal of time travelling on business, so perhaps it was as well not to count much on his problematical support.

  Towards the end of the meal he looked up and said, ‘Where is Rosalie?’ as though he had only just noticed her absence.

  ‘Out with Julian.’ Aunt Lydia ’s tone was laconic.

  Her husband gave a short laugh. ‘Which is it to-day, a quarrelling or a making-up?’ And then, as Aunt Lydia took no notice of that, ‘I can’t imagine how a man with such a business head can be a complete fool about a bit of a girl like Rosalie.’

  ‘It’s often the way,’ said Aunt Lydia calmly.

  ‘Well, there won’t be so much scope for her playing fast and loose like this once they’re out in South America.’

  Aunt Lydia again made no reply, and, after a moment, Alison forced herself to say:

  ‘Is Rosalie going to live in South America when she’s married?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Her aunt shrugged. ‘Julian’s firm have very big interests out there, and he expects to take over full management at the end of the year. I can’t say I like the idea of Rosalie’s going, but she has never listened to anyone else’s advice in her life, and I suppose one can’t expect her to start now.’

  ‘Rosalie never consulted anyone’s wishes but her own about anything at all,’ observed Uncle Theodore.

  And that, too, Aunt Lydia left unanswered.

  As time went on, Alison found this was a very fair specimen of her day. Nearly always Rosalie was out in the evening, and quite often her aunt was too, but it was the rarest thing for them to take Alison with them.

  Her uncle was away more often than not, and, even when he was in London, he frequently dined at his club, and his family saw practically nothing of him. The arrangement appeared to suit both him and Aunt Lydia admirably.

  When the others Were all out Alison "had her evening meal on a tray in the schoolroom, and made what she could of her own company. It was a poor life for a girl of her age, and, when the holidays came to an end, and the twins departed to school once more, she became really frightened of the loneliness.

  Audrey and Theo had both displayed quite unusual emotion at parting, and Alison realised how much she was going to miss them. She promised fervently to look after Audrey’s kitten and Theo’s tortoise, and to send weekly bulletins of their health. But, remembering the unfulfilled promises of her own schooldays, she didn’t expect much in the nature of replies to her letters. Nor did she receive them.

  It was the departure of
the twins which finally made her take her courage in her hands and tackle Aunt Lydia about her future.

  ‘Aunt Lydia, please don’t think I’m ungrateful or anything,’ she said one evening, trying to make it sound as casual and natural as possible, ‘but do you think that instead of sponging on you I could do something about finding a job?’

  ‘A job?’ Her aunt looked surprised. ‘What sort of a job?’

  ‘Well-secretarial or-or teaching or something.’

  ‘But you’re not qualified to do anything of the sort, Alison.’ Her aunt sounded faintly irritated at Alison’s stupidity.

  ‘Not exactly. But couldn’t I-I mean-do you think Uncle Theodore would let me have some sort of training? Nothing-nothing very expensive, of course.’

  Up went Aunt Lydia ’s beautiful, clear-cut eyebrows.

  ‘I don’t think you realise, Alison, that your uncle has a great many calls on his money. You’ve already been quite a big expense to him, you know. And you seem to forget, my dear, that you’re not really any relation of his at all. In a way it’s all been charity.’

  Alison went hot all over.

  ‘I do realise it, Aunt Lydia. That’s just it,’ she explained desperately. ‘I thought if I could have some sort of definite training I could be self-supporting and-and not dependent on charity any more.’

  ‘I don’t see how it’s to be done,’ her aunt said calmly. ‘It’s a very expensive year for us, with Rosalie’s wedding coming along in the autumn or winter.’

  ‘But if I got a job I shouldn’t be an expense at all,’ Alison pleaded. ‘I could live on my own and-and-’

  ‘My dear child, I don’t think it’s very gracious of you to talk as though we’ve grudged you a home.’ Aunt Lydia shamelessly reversed all her arguments. ‘Your uncle and I are perfectly willing to have you here, and I must say that you are not showing very much gratitude about it. I should have thought the only natural and kind thing to have done would have been to keep any little personal ambitions in check for the moment. If you’re really pining to do secretarial work, there are dozens of small jobs I should be only too thankful to have taken off my hands.’

  It was at this point that Alison saw the complete futility of further argument.

  A couple of days later, she managed to get up her courage once more to speak to her uncle. But, if possible, he was even more baffling, because he was kind about it.

  ‘Job?’ he said, looking even more surprised than her aunt had done. ‘Why ever should you have a job, my dear? You’re perfectly welcome to a home here until you get married. And, anyway, I don’t approve of women in business,’ he added unexpectedly.

  ‘Well, then, perhaps I could be a nurse or something,’ cried Alison in desperation. The thought of any decent independence was better than having to ask a grudging Aunt Lydia for the smallest trifle, and, in exchange, to be at her aunt’s beck and call in a way no paid secretary-companion would stand.

  But her uncle laughed. ‘Nonsense, Alison. It’s a terribly hard life unless you’re specially suited to it, and you don’t look particularly strong to me. There are plenty of things for you to do enjoying yourself j or I dare say you can help your aunt in small ways if you want to.’

  ‘But that isn’t quite it,’ Alison explained patiently. ‘It isn’t as though I’m even really your niece, Uncle Theodore. It’s-it’s like taking charity.’

  He gave her an odd look. ‘Nor is Rosalie really my daughter,’ he remarked drily. ‘Yet I notice she takes much more of my charity, as you call it, without a qualm. But you’re a good child.’ He patted her shoulder not unkindly. ‘I appreciate your nice independence. But, believe me, my dear, I can well afford to keep you, and I am happy to do so. I don’t know what allowance your aunt gives you, because it goes in with Rosalie’s and the twins’, but I don’t think it can be excessive.’

  It was the first Alison had heard of any allowance at all. She was not, however, specially surprised to learn that Aunt Lydia was deliberately exploiting the arrival of the penniless niece in order to increase her own allowance-or perhaps Rosalie’s. Alison was beginning to understand Aunt Lydia very well.

  But, aware now, as she was, of her uncle’s excellent intentions, she couldn’t possibly make trouble by disclosing the real situation. And she shrank from saying anything to suggest that she had ever even expected any allowance.

  In theory, his generosity made everything simple. In practice, Aunt Lydia ’s meanness hedged her in on every side.

  The problem was too much for Alison. It looked as though she were inexorably condemned to the status of unpaid secretary-companion, with the.duties of nursery-governess thrown in-a prospect to terrify any girl of twenty. But then perhaps poor relations must not expect anything else.

  It was inevitable, of course, that in the long periods of loneliness she should find her thoughts turning again and again to Julian. His extraordinary kindness to her on her first evening-whatever the motives-was the only really exciting thing that had happened to her. And sometimes she wondered if she had imagined half of that. He certainly seemed to have forgotten all about his half-promise ‘to see a good deal of her.’

  And then one evening, towards the end of a hot, airless May, Alison was unexpectedly included in a theatre party -and Julian was there.

  She saw him just before the play began, towering over the heads of the people near him. He saw her, too, and smiled slightly at her and bowed.

  She was ridiculously, shamelessly conscious of him during the whole of the first act. He was sitting one row in front of her, a little to the side. By turning her head very slightly, she found, she could see his keen, absorbed face in the light from the stage. And after that the play seemed to lose a good deal of its interest for her.

  In the first interval she sat there studying her programme with desperate concentration. Would he come and say a word to her? Just one word of greeting. Something different from her aunt’s pettiness or Rosalie’s spitefulness-or even her uncle’s formality.

  Aunt Lydia and Rosalie had gone to speak to someone the other side of the theatre and she was quite alone. The seconds crept by. She counted them by the beating of her heart. Oh, it didn’t seem much to ask-just one word of greeting.

  ‘Well’-his deep, slightly amused voice sounded above her-’are you still following out the role of Victorian heroine and refusing to raise your eyes?’

  She looked up then, and smiled as he took her hand.

  ‘I’m very glad to see you,’ she said simply.

  ‘Thank you, my child.’ He smiled too, then, very kindly. ‘And so am I glad to see you. Although’-he paused, and then said imperiously-’Look at me again.’

  Alison’s startled eyes came back to his face.

  ‘I thought so.’ He frowned slightly. ‘You’re not looking as well as you should. What is it? Too many late nights?’

  ‘No!’ She spoke a little indignantly. When did he imagine she could have had late nights?

  ‘What then?’

  But before she could frame any sort of reply her aunt came up, and then, a second later, Rosalie.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Rosalie spoke perfectly casually, but she put her hand carelessly over Julian’s as it rested on the back of the seat.

  Alison didn’t raise her eyes to his face again, but she watched those two hands. She saw his tighten and tighten under Rosalie’s light grasp, although all the time he was talking calmly to Aunt Lydia about the play. And then in one little, swift movement his hand turned and imprisoned Rosalie’s.

  His. voice never altered at all, but when he took his hand away there were little white marks where his fingers had gripped Rosalie’s.

  Alison heard her give the very faintest, satisfied laugh. And she thought again, ‘I hate her.’ Then she realised suddenly that she felt slightly sick.

  When the curtain rose again she saw nothing of what was happening on the stage. She was dunking, ‘It’s awful to feel like this. It’s wicked, in a way, because he belongs to Rosal
ie, and it’s no business of mine how much she hurts him.’

  But she went on hating Rosalie.

  Afterwards they went on somewhere to supper, and; although the party was a big one, Alison had some faint hope that she might have a further word with Julian, and perhaps find out what he had meant by that casual reference to ‘late nights’.

  But when they reached the restaurant Julian was naturally firmly annexed to Rosalie’s group, and there seemed little likelihood of Alison’s being permitted to join them.

  Instead, she found herself marooned beside an elderly retired colonel whom she had heard someone describe rudely and audibly as ‘very Poona ’.

  It seemed he was ‘somebody’s uncle’, but the nephew or niece in question appeared to have left him to make his own amusement. Alison felt sorry for him, particularly as he looked a bit lost and offended after the Poona remark.

  She tried, a little timidly, to make conversation with him, but although he seemed grateful, it was rather hard going.

  He said, ‘Most extraordinary,’ almost every time there was a burst of laughter at any of the cabaret jokes, and once or twice he asked Alison to explain things that were best left unexplained.

  She struggled along bravely, however, knowing from bitter experience how blighting it was to be ignored and cold-shouldered by these people. She guessed that the colonel was sufficiently near the category of ‘rich relation’ to be given a duty invitation to a theatre party, but that to show him a little personal politeness and consideration was beyond the limits of trouble to which his hopeful heirs would go.

  Alison by now had taken the full measure of the world to which her aunt and Rosalie belonged.

  Once the colonel said, ‘You ought to be dancing with the young people, instead of sitting here talking to me.’

  But Alison said hastily, ‘Oh, no, thank you. I’d rather talk, really.’ For, as neither her aunt nor her cousin ever took the trouble to introduce her to anybody at this sort of affair, she was usually humiliatingly free of partners.

  Just possibly, of course, Julian would come over and ask her to dance, but, as it seemed to be one of the evenings when Rosalie was quite willing to be gracious to her fiancé, the probability was slight.