She had come from the airport in a taxicab. Now it stopped outside the door. The driver carried her luggage into the porch. She paid him and he drove off. Those inside the house could not hear her approach because of a noise of cheering. Obviously this came from the radio. Alayne had a feeling of deep relief. Her boy could not be so ill as she had feared.
The sound of the radio came from the library. Alayne left the porch and went to the french window and looked in. She kept in the shelter of the leaves that the light from within might not fall on her face and discover her to those in the room.
She need not have feared. The library had but two occupants and their backs were turned to the window. The room was dimly lighted; still, she could make out the figures of Renny and Archer. They sat close beside each other. Renny’s arm lay affectionately across the back of Archer’s chair. The attention of both was riveted on a brightly lighted television screen. The screen was also clearly visible to Alayne. She did not know what she had expected to see there. Certainly not the two heaving masses of muscle that twisted and writhed in apparent agony. Their nearly naked bodies might have been those of prehistoric monsters in obscene conflict. As for the bloodthirsty yells of the spectators, when the bout now neared its climax, they froze Alayne’s blood. She stood petrified in loathing.
Now the wrestlers writhed locked together. One was apparently about to gouge out the eye of the other, who at the same time was twisting his ear. The referee tried to separate them. There was a hideous upheaval. Then one was hurled through the ropes while the gross victor twisted his swollen features into a grin at the wild cheering.
Alayne felt her feet sinking into the wet earth of the flower border. Again the rain was beginning to fall. She heard herself give a little moan of dismay. She was so uncomfortable. She was so dismayed. She had been prepared to find Archer weak, in bed, suffering. But to find him sitting by his father’s side — both of them obviously enthralled by that disgusting spectacle on the screen!
Two minutes later she stood in the doorway of the library facing them.
They stared at her a space in silence, scarcely believing the evidence of their eyes. Then Renny turned off the television and a stunning silence fell, broken by Archer’s exclamation of — “Mercy!” The rare colour flooded his face.
Then Renny got out, “why, Alayne, what a lovely surprise!”
“Yes — a surprise,” she repeated. “A great surprise.”
The three stood staring at each other. The rain was now beating on the windows. Wind was rocking the trees. Somewhere in the distance equinoctial gales were gathering themselves together for attack.
“I had heard,” said Alayne, “that Archer was very ill.”
The sound of her voice woke Sport, the spaniel. He bundled himself off the sofa and, giving her a deprecating grin as he passed, went into the hall.
“I wasill,” said Archer. “I had an operation. I’m still weak. Father persuaded me to come down and have a look at his TV. Non sum qualis eram.”
Alayne gave them both a cold look. She vent into the hall, from there to the porch, and began to pull her luggage about. Renny followed her. “You mustn’t be out here,” he said. “I’ll carry your bags upstairs.”
She leant, as though in despair, against one of the pillars of the porch. “I had better not have come home.” Her voice trembled.
He looked at her, ready for a quarrel.
“I’d like to know why,” he demanded.
“Neither you nor Archer needs me — not with that thing in the house.”
“It’s done him good. Taken his mind off himself.”
“what has it given him?” she cried. “A disgusting exhibition of brute strength. He looks terrible.”
“Nonsense. He’s looking better every day. Who told you he’d been ill?”
“Meg wrote to Roma. You had promised me — promised me faithfully — to let me know if anything went wrong.”
“I wanted you to enjoy yourself.”
“Enjoy myself! while my child was undergoing a critical operation.”
“It was not critical. He was not at any time in danger.”
“You had promised! But I might have known....”
“Well, I like that! Are you implying that a promise from me means nothing?”
“I think it is subject to your convenience.”
“Well, you always have been inclined to think the worst of me.” He loaded himself with her bags and mounted the stairs with them, she following.
Archer, who had been listening just inside the door, now with great agility darted into the library. When he heard his parents moving about in the room above he slowly went up to his own. Adeline was there, turning down his bed.
“Have you seen Mummy?” he asked.
“Just for a moment. Hurry up and hop in.” She wore her dressing gown and looked tired.
“You’ve forgotten my Ovaltine,” he said. He had worn flannel trousers and jacket over his pyjamas. He now cast them on to the floor and got into bed.
“I had not forgotten it.” She produced a Thermos bottle and poured him a glass of the hot drink. She asked, “what did Mummy say about the TV set?”
“She didn’t understand. There was a wrestling match on.”
“No wonder she didn’t understand. They’re horrible.”
“Adeline.”
“Well?”
“My feet are cold. Could I have the hot water bottle?”
She hurled herself on the bed, at his feet. “I’m half dead,” she said. “I simply can’t go down to the kitchen again. Warm your feet on me.”
He sat up enjoying his Ovaltine. He snuggled his feet against her.
“I’ve been thinking about Mummy,” he said. “She’ll likely be hungry after the trip. Tell her to come up and see me.”
“Oh, Lord, I’d forgotten!” Adeline, dazed by weariness, rolled to her feet. She went down the stairs holding to the banister. Outside Alayne’s door she called:
“Mummy, I’m going to bring you something to eat. What would you like?”
Alayne opened the door. She did not look at all tired, Adeline thought — just flushed and wrought-up. Renny was not there.
In a restrained voice Alayne answered, “I should very much like a cup of coffee and a little thin bread and butter and a small salad and possibly a little cold meat, if you have any that’s nice and tender. I was too much upset to eat anything on the plane. Do you mind? I don’t want to be a trouble, dear.” As Adeline left her Alayne could not help thinking what an ungracious manner the girl had — not sullen, just preoccupied and ungracious.
As Adeline passed the door of the library she saw Dennis, who was home for the midterm weekend, sitting there, in his pyjamas, in front of the TV screen. The spaniel was once again on the sofa. She was roused from her weariness to exclaim, “Well, I’ll be darned! who said you might be up at this hour?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I’m subject to insomnia, like my father.”
“I wish I were.” She yawned, her eyes watered.
Down in the pantry she doggedly assembled the things for Alayne’s tray.... It looked quite appetizing, she thought, when it was ready. While she waited for the kettle to boil she sat down by the table and laid her head on her arm.
Half an hour later Alayne found her there, the kettle burnt to a crisp. The air in the kitchen was blue with smoke.
Alayne’s nerves were at breaking point, and she let it be known that they were. Adeline woke and burst into tears. The Cairn terrier stood on the stairway steadily barking. All three felt themselves to be victims of the most dire set of circumstances imaginable.
In the midst of this scene Renny came into the kitchen from the stable where he had been summoned by Wright. He wore a rubber cape dripping with rain.
“what the dickens is the matter?” he demanded.
“This house!” said Alayne. “whichever way I turn — sick children — burning kettles — barking dogs! Never shall I go away agai
n.”
“Stop your crying,” Renny said to Adeline, “and come and see the lovely little foal that’s just arrived.”
“Are you aware of the hour?” Alayne was at white heat. “It is a quarter to twelve! You cannot ask this child to go to the stables at such an hour.”
He ignored this. He was examining the bottom of the tea kettle. “A pretty mess. And I’m wanting to make a warm mash for the mare. Is there no other kettle?”
Adeline sprang up as though she never had so much as heard of weariness. She extracted a large saucepan from a cupboard and offered it to him. “I’m not tired, Mummy,” she said. “I want to go.” Eagerly she put water to boil.
“Go then,” said Alayne. “I can’t control anything or anybody in this house.”
“Poor little woman.” Renny patted her absently on the back.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried. “Can no one stop that dog barking?”
Archer now appeared on the stairs. The little Cairn ran to welcome him extravagantly. Archer said, “My feet have been cold for ages. Adeline said she would bring the hot water bottle.”
“There’s a lovely little foal just arrived,” Renny told him.
“Good.” Archer came on down into the kitchen.
Alayne with anguish observed his delicate looks.
“who is the tray for?” asked Archer.
“It’s for Mummy,” said Adeline. “I’ll carry it up to the dining room,” she promised Alayne, “as soon as the coffee is made.”
Dennis now descended the stairs.
“My feet are cold,” repeated Archer.
“I don’t see how they can be as cold as mine,” said Dennis, “for mine are freezing.”
“Your feet are bare,” said Alayne, noticing his beautifully shaped small feet. “Have you no bedroom slippers?”
“The dogs took them.” He stood on the brick floor curling up his toes.
The water boiled. The coffee was made. Adeline mounted the stairs with the heavy tray. Alayne followed supporting Archer. Dennis came last, carrying the terrier.
“May I have something to eat from your tray, Auntie Alayne?” he asked. “I’m hungry and my feet are cold.”
“You may indeed. There is twice what I could eat.” She led Archer to the library and tucked him up on the sofa, beneath the “afghan” which for many years had comforted Nicholas’s knees. She yearned over her boy, painfully considering how he had deteriorated both physically and mentally during her absence.
Adeline had returned to the kitchen and now reappeared with a hot water bottle, which she placed at Archer’s feet. Alayne brought him a cup of coffee. This was something like comfort, he thought, and he almost smiled.
“Is there anything else I can do, Mummy?” Adeline asked with a benign look.
“My feet are freezing,” said Dennis.
She swept him on to the foot of the sofa and drew the afghan over him. “Put your feet on the bottle too,” she advised. He caught her hand and held it against his cheek. He was too clinging, she thought, and detached herself. She went out through the side door from the hall and ran into the rain toward the stables. Bright lights were burning there. Renny met her and took her to where the newborn foal lay in clean straw in a loose-box.
In the library the music of Mozart was being played by an orchestra seen on the screen. Alayne, hungrily eating a chicken sandwich, drinking coffee, looked into the faces of the two young boys. How innocent, how beautiful they were as they listened.
When the piece came to its lovely ending she asked, “Do you like Mozart?”
Swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, Dennis answered, “Yes, because he was a great composer and my father is a great pianist.”
“But not for the way the music makes you feel?”
“Oh yes, for that too. It makes me feel happy.”
“And you, Archer?”
“Everything is OK,” he said, “now that you are home.”
XX
Humphrey Bell and Patience
HUMPHREY BELL AND Patience walked twice round the house, looked at it appraisingly from several angles, as though he were a prospective purchaser. What he was in reality doing was simply trying to make up his mind to go to the front door and knock on it. He could see the handsome brass knocker, in the shape of a lyre, glinting in the sunlight. It seemed to invite him, but he was so hopelessly shy that he felt it impossible to him to lay his hand upon the knocker and send its echo through the house.
While he was standing irresolute the door opened and Finch came out. He was wearing a dressing gown of the very shade of sky blue that gleamed in a luminous patch above the treetops. When he saw Bell he came straight to him, smiling.
“Hullo,” he said, “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I didn’t knock very loudly. In fact, I’m not at all sure that I did knock. I was passing and I thought I’d just drop in, and if you were about ...”
“I’m always about. I’m so full of conceit about this little house that I can’t tear myself away from it.”
“It’s quite the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”
“Come in,” said Finch eagerly, “and I’ll show you over it.” As they went into the house he caught Bell by the arm in brotherly fashion. “Isn’t this Indian Summer weather fine? It makes you forget how horrible our climate can be.”
“I rather like weather — of all sorts,” said Bell.
“I think too much about it, I know. When I’m on tour I play well or badly according to the weather.”
“I don’t believe that. That time you played in New Brunswick the weather was filthy, yet you played magnificently.”
“Ah, that was the night I suggested your coming here. I’ve often wondered whether it’s turned out well for you.”
“Well — absolutely. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I’m happy — that is, I should be — if —”
“I know, I know,” said Finch absently. “Now I’d like to show you my little modern kitchen. I’ve more gadgets....” With concentrated interest he demonstrated their efficiency. He led the way through the other rooms. “This room,” he said, “has been occupied by my nephew Maurice. He left yesterday. He is to be at home for a bit before returning to Ireland.”
“I admire him,” said Bell. “He seems to me the most enviable chap I’ve ever met. He has good looks — of a kind you don’t often see — he has a unique sort of position — independent means — a romantic old place in Ireland — a congenial family — and — the most charming manners. He has everything. Does he perhaps drink a little too much?”
“He did drink, like a fish. But he’s much better. It’s amazing how he has changed.”
Finch insisted on Bell’s staying to lunch with him. The Swedish maid was an excellent cook. As they were drinking coffee Finch said, “Now tell me about yourself. How goes your work?”
A look of sensitive withdrawal quivered on Bell’s small face. For a moment it seemed as though he could not bring himself to answer, then he got out, “Not too badly. I’ve written a novel.”
“A novel,” Finch shouted. “Well, this is news. And it’s finished, you say?”
“Yes. It’s finished. To tell the truth” — he looked almost shame-faced — “it’s been accepted by a publisher.”
“Have you been working on it long? when is it to be published?”
“For over a year.... Next spring.”
“I’m delighted,” said Finch. He spoke truthfully. To know that something had been created was wonderful to him. He felt that Humphrey Bell had an elusive and subtle mind. He had read some of his short stories and liked them. But Bell was so shy that he hesitated to ask questions. He hoped the novel was not written in the first person, that it was not the story of life in a German prison camp and a young man’s postwar disillusion.
Without being asked, Bell said, “It’s the story of a man who wanted to be good and do good but unfortunately he had a nature that brought out the evil in other people.”
“It sounds rather grim.”
“It isgrim,” said Bell tranquilly.
Finch brought out a decanter of French liqueur. They drank to the success of the novel. It was plain that Bell had something on his mind, and after some desultory talk and several long silences he brought himself to speak of it.
“I suppose a girl could hardly do worse for herself,” he said, “than by marrying a man who had written his first novel.”
“A good deal depends on the novel — and the man.”
“I know. And the novel probably wouldn’t be a success and the man wouldn’t be of any use for any other life. Talk of marriage as a lottery....”
It was difficult for Bell in his extreme fairness to express black gloom, but he made a certain appearance of it.
“Money isn’t terribly important where there’s love and understanding.” Finch was sure that Bell needed encouragement, was really asking for it, yet he had a desire to protect him, so he added, “However, women are sometimes very different ... after marriage.”
“This one couldn’t be,” Bell broke out. “She’d always be the same. Generous — warm-hearted — magnanimous.”
Finch looked at him enquiringly.
“It’s Patience Vaughan I’m thinking of,” said Bell in a low voice. “She’s never out of my thoughts.”
“Patience! Well, I am surprised.”
“I don’t wonder. You are surprised that I should have the nerve.”
“Not at all. I’m surprised because I hadn’t known you were going about together — spending much time together.”
“We haven’t. But — what time we have spent together — I can’t tell you how precious it’s been to me. I” — the colour rose in his small face — “think she likes me.”
“You know of her engagement to young Green?”
“Yes — I hated that fellow,” said Bell mildly. “My opinion of myself is not high, but I do feel that I am a better man than he. If I had Patience by my side I might make a success of my life.” He jumped up and stood facing Finch in sudden excitement. “You know, my publisher thinks well of my novel. He’s placed it with a publishing house in the States ... I came to you because I want to ask you if you honestly think I have a right to let Patience know I love her.”
Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna Page 109
