Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  Freda was waiting for me. She was sitting on the roots of a big oak-tree at the side of the road. She waved when she saw me and came to meet me.

  “ Hallo, David, you’ve grown since I saw you last! ” exclaimed Freda as she took my hand.

  “ I’m getting quite a big boy,” I agreed, laughing.

  “ Well, you are! I used to be taller than you! ”

  It was true. I could look down on Freda now; not very far down of course, for Freda was by no means small, but her eyes were on a lower level than mine.

  We walked up the hill together and as we went Freda told me her news. “ I’m learning about farming,” she said. “ There’s a lot to learn—far more than I expected—but it’s very interesting. At first Father was terribly difficult (you know what he’s like, don’t you, David?) but now he sees I’m in earnest and he’s coming round and letting me help. I go with him to sales and I keep the books and fill up forms and make myself generally useful.” She laughed and added, “ The other day I heard him telling Mr. Johnstone of Mureth that I was almost as good as a son.”

  “ That’s pretty good,” I said, smiling at her.

  We went round the farm and I saw she knew all about it and was taking it very seriously indeed. She explained the rotation of crops; she showed me the pigs and discoursed learnedly about their breeding; she showed me the calves and the byres and the barns, and eventually she took me into the dairy.

  “ Isn’t this splendid? ” she said with pride. “ We’ve brought it up to date. We’ve put in all the latest gadgets. You haven’t seen it since it was a dark, dank sort of shed, have you, David? ”

  “ You’ve improved it tremendously,” I told her. I felt rather pleased with my answer.

  “ What about London? ” asked Freda suddenly.

  “ What about it? ” I asked teasingly. “ You don’t want me to tell you it’s big and crowded and noisy, do you? ”

  “ I want to know how you can bear it,” she retorted. “ I want to know how you can endure sitting in a stuffy office all day adding up columns of figures.”

  “ Some of my work is very interesting——”

  “ I can’t understand it! Wouldn’t you rather have an out-of-doors job? ”

  “ What sort of job? ”

  “ Wouldn’t you like to be a farmer? ”

  “ I haven’t got a farm, Freda.”

  “ But supposing you had? ”

  I could not help smiling. “ If I had a farm I should be a farmer, but to tell you the truth I’ve never thought about it. What’s the use of thinking about something which never could happen? It only makes you discontented with what you’ve got.”

  “ A farm is endlessly interesting,” declared Freda, pursuing her own line of thought. “ There’s so much to think of and so many different kinds of things to do, and it’s all out of doors in the fresh air.”

  “ Except filling in forms,” I said, laughing at her.

  Freda did not laugh and I saw she was annoyed. Freda had always wanted people to agree with her and to share her enthusiasms and she had not changed. She wanted me to say, Oh: you are lucky! How I wish I could be a farmer instead of a clerk in a stuffy office! but I was determined not to say it. Perhaps I felt it, for Haines was very dear to my heart and it was looking very beautiful, but I was not going to say exactly what Freda wanted. Why should I? As I looked at her standing by the window of the dairy with the light falling on her dark curls, I realised that she was very pretty—even prettier than I had remembered. I had thought that she and Teddy were alike, but Freda was prettier than Teddy; her features were more regular and her cheeks were rosy from her out-of-door life. But prettiness is not everything.

  “ Why are you looking at me like that? ” asked Freda suddenly.

  “ Oh! ” I exclaimed, taken aback. “ It was just—I haven’t seen you for so long. I was thinking how pretty you were.”

  The half-truth pleased her and she smiled. “ Tell me what you’ve been doing,” she said. “ You haven’t told me much about yourself, David.”

  I hesitated. I had intended to tell her about The Inward Eye, but now I did not want to.

  “ Have you lots of friends in London? ” she asked.

  “ Not many. It’s difficult to get to know people in London.”

  “ But you must have some? ”

  “ Yes …” I said doubtfully. “ There was a girl called Teddy Freer. We used to go for expeditions together on Sunday afternoons; and there are the fellows at the office.”

  “ What is the girl like? ” inquired Freda with interest. “ Is she fair or dark? Is she terribly smart and attractive? Do you take her to dances and that sort of thing? ”

  “ What a lot of questions! ” I exclaimed.

  “ Well, you needn’t answer them,” said Freda crossly.

  I took her at her word (which was not what she had intended) and instead of answering her questions I began to tell her about my flat. As I talked I could see her looking at me with a puzzled expression, and I knew why. In the old days I had done what Freda wanted; my constant endeavour had been to keep the weather sunny. In the old days Freda had known she had the whip-hand and that I would do anything for peace. But now my shell had hardened and her frown no longer upset me. I understood Freda now, I realised her limitations and felt sorry for her. Beryl had taught me a good deal, and Teddy—in quite a different way—had taught me more.

  When Freda saw that I was armoured against her frowns she changed her tactics and was as pleasant as could be. Which just showed …

  At tea-time we went in and found Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer sitting at the table. They always had tea in the dining-room; it was a regular meal with scones and jam and cakes of all sorts.

  “ David! How nice to see you! ” exclaimed Mrs. Lorimer. “ Come and sit beside me and tell me everything. How do you like living in London? ”

  It was the usual question—everybody asked me the same thing—and I gave my usual answer. “ I’m getting used to it,” I said.

  “ They say eels get used to skinning,” remarked Mr. Lorimer, with a short laugh.

  “ Your mother enjoyed her visit to London,” said Mrs. Lorimer. “ It did her a lot of good. She told me about your flat and how comfortable it was. How do you manage about meals, David? I mean who cooks for you and cleans and makes your bed? ”

  I was hoping to see Janet, and presently when I had answered Mrs. Lorimer’s questions about my domestic arrangements I asked after the twins.

  “ Elsie will be down in a minute,” replied Mrs. Lorimer. “ I don’t know where Janet can be. I haven’t seen her since lunch.”

  “ She went to Drumburly by the two o’clock bus,” said Freda.

  “ Oh! ” exclaimed Mrs. Lorimer in dismay. “ What a pity! She’ll be so sorry to have missed seeing David. Couldn’t she have waited and gone to-morrow? ”

  “ We needed some things,” said Freda briefly.

  “ But surely to-morrow would have done as well. Did she know David was coming to tea? ”

  “ Have some honey, David,” said Freda. “ I didn’t tell you we had started bees, did I? You must try some of our special Nethercleugh honey and tell us how you like it.”

  “ Freda——” began Mrs. Lorimer; but at that moment the door opened and Elsie appeared.

  I knew it must be Elsie—because I had just been told that Janet had gone to Drumburly—but they were still exactly alike. I could have sworn that this was the girl I had met in the steading and who had taken me into the dairy and given me a glass of milk. At least that was my first impression … after a few moments I changed my mind and realised my mistake. In face and figure and indeed to all outward appearance the Lorimer twins were still as alike as two peas, but the girl I had met in the steading this morning had an inner brightness, a glow of life and vivid intelligence, which this girl lacked. Janet was real and vital; Elsie was a good imitation. It was such a good imitation that it could deceive you for a few minutes—but not for long. They were complet
ely different people.

  “ Hallo, David,” said Elsie. “ How do you like London? ”

  “ He’s getting used to it,” said Mr. Lorimer. “ He’s got a flat with a view of other people’s chimneys. He cooks his own meals and sews on his own buttons and mends his own socks … so now you know all about it, or all you need to know. Sit down and take your tea.”

  “ Elsie was just asking,” said Mrs. Lorimer mildly.

  “ All this talk about London! ” grumbled Mr. Lorimer. “ If I have to go to London I go there and do my business and come back by the first train I can get. I wouldn’t live there for the world. People seem to have gone mad about London. David has gone to live there and now Janet has started to craik about it.”

  “ Is Janet going to London soon? ” I inquired, sounding the deeps.

  “ Going soon! ” he exclaimed. “ She’s not going at all if I have anything to say in the matter. What on earth does she want to go to London for? ”

  “ Perhaps she wants a job,” I suggested innocently.

  “ There are plenty of jobs here,” declared Mr. Lorimer. “ She doesn’t need to go to London—or anywhere else—for a job. I don’t see why she can’t settle down in her own home and make herself useful.”

  “ She would if it wasn’t for Barbie France! ” exclaimed Elsie. “ I hate Barbie! ”

  “ She certainly has a very bad influence on Janet,” agreed Freda.

  “ Why can’t she leave Janet alone! ” cried Elsie. “ Why does she keep on writing to Janet and trying to persuade Janet to go to London and share her flat? She’s a perfect beast, that’s what she is.”

  “ We needn’t worry,” declared Mrs. Lorimer, trying as usual to pour oil on the troubled waters. “ Janet has written to Barbie and told her quite definitely that she can’t go to London. Janet realises that we need her at home. You see, David, we really do need her. Freda is helping her father with the farm and Elsie has never been very strong, so——”

  “ Janet doesn’t realise it! ” cried Elsie hysterically. “ You may think Janet has given up the idea of going to London, but she hasn’t. She had another letter from that horrible girl this morning.”

  “ From Barbie? ” asked Freda. “ How do you know? Did she tell you? ”

  “ No, she never tells me anything,” declared Elsie. “ I saw the letter in the pocket of her overall. Barbie is looking for a job for her—so there! ”

  Mr. Lorimer gave a short mirthless laugh. “ Do you hear that, David? ” he asked. “ I’m sure you must agree that this family of mine is delightful. They spend their time spying upon one another and cribbing each other’s letters. It’s no wonder I’m proud of them, is it? ”

  “ Well, you asked me! ” cried Elsie in trembling tones. “ It isn’t fair to ask me and then blame me for telling. If it wasn’t for me you’d never have known anything about it. All I can say is if Janet goes to London I shall die—and then perhaps you’ll be sorry.”

  “ Janet isn’t going,” said Mrs. Lorimer. “ You’re just upsetting yourself for nothing. I’m afraid David will think you’re a very silly girl.”

  “ He wouldn’t be far wrong,” remarked Freda, sotto voce.

  There are few things more uncomfortable than to sit and listen to a family row, and the Lorimers’ habit of involving their guests in their disagreements was particularly embarrassing. Fortunately Mr. Lorimer was tired of the subject under discussion; he turned to me and asked how I managed to keep fit.

  “ I can’t keep fit without exercise,” declared Mr. Lorimer. “ I walk round the farm every morning and I often ride in the afternoon. I don’t suppose you get any exercise at all, do you? ”

  “ Not a great deal,” I replied. “ I walk to and from the office and my flat is up five flights of stairs.”

  “ Poof—that’s nothing. You used to like walking on the hills.”

  “ I still do; but I have to earn my living.”

  “ I told David he ought to be a farmer,” said Freda, smiling at me across the table.

  “ I don’t know anything about it——” I began.

  “ You’d soon learn,” said Mr. Lorimer. “ Farming is largely a matter of commonsense. If you went as an assistant to a good farmer you’d very soon learn.”

  It seemed odd that Freda and Mr. Lorimer should both have the same idea as to what I should do, and especially odd because they must have known perfectly well that I had no capital to invest in a farm. I wondered if they had been discussing the matter before my arrival, but even that would not account for it.

  “ You should think about it seriously, David,” said Mrs. Lorimer kindly. “ I’m sure you’d enjoy a country life.”

  “ Of course I should,” I agreed. “ But unfortunately I see no chance of being able to change my job. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “ You never know,” said Mr. Lorimer vaguely. “ Something might turn up.”

  We had finished tea by this time, so I rose and said good-bye.

  “ You’re not going! ” Mrs. Lorimer exclaimed in surprise. “ Freda wants to show you the farm. I thought you would stay and have supper with us. Do stay, David.”

  “ It’s very kind of you, but I think I had better go home. I only arrived this morning, you know. Freda showed me round the farm before tea.”

  It was difficult to escape. Mr. Lorimer discovered that I had not seen the new tractor and insisted on taking me to look at it. He talked about it and extolled its performance and made Freda drive it up and down the yard to show me how easily it turned. I had never seen Mr. Lorimer in such a pleasant mood but somehow I did not like him any better for his pleasantness.

  At last I managed to tear myself away and as I said good-bye to Freda I remembered that Mother had given me a message for her:

  “ Mother wants you to come to tea,” I told her. “ She wants you and Janet and Elsie. What day can you come? ”

  We fixed a day next week.

  Mother was writing letters when I got home. She looked up and asked if I had enjoyed myself.

  “ It was the usual thing,” I replied ruefully. “ Mr. Lorimer still has his black monkey and Elsie is intolerable.”

  “ What about Freda? ” asked Mother.

  I hesitated and then I said, “ She hasn’t changed—not really. I mean she still likes to have her own way in everything.”

  “ You used not to mind.”

  This was true and (not for the first time by any means) I realised how clever Mother was. She was clever about people which is the most important kind of cleverness. “ No,” I said slowly. “ Perhaps I didn’t mind so much. When you’re very young you take people as you find them. It’s only when you’ve had experience that you begin to measure and weigh. That’s natural, isn’t it? You can’t measure until you have some sort of standard.”

  Mother waited. I saw she knew exactly what I meant and was hoping to hear how I had become possessed of a standard, but it was too difficult to explain about Teddy and I was afraid she would not understand.

  “ And Janet? ” asked Mother at last.

  “ Janet wasn’t there. Did you know that Janet wants to get a job in London? ”

  “ Yes, she told me. As a matter of fact I see quite a lot of Janet. She helps me in the parish, so of course I should miss her very very badly if she went away. All the same Janet ought to get away from Nethercleugh and have a chance to live her own life.”

  “ She’ll get away all right,” I said confidently.

  “ What do you know about it? ” asked Mother, raising her eyebrows.

  “ I know you,” I told her. “ If you think Janet ought to get away you’ll accomplish it somehow—by fair means or foul.”

  “ I’ll try fair means first,” said Mother quite seriously.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The next day was Thursday (I spent it at home and enjoyed the peacefulness of it); on Friday I went to Edinburgh for I wanted to do some shopping and to see my friends. The chief item on my shopping list was a pres
ent for my parents for their silver wedding which they were celebrating on Sunday week. Nothing had been said about this important anniversary and I was sure they thought I had forgotten about it, but I had not forgotten and now that I had money in my pocket I intended to buy them something good.

  It was difficult to find exactly what I wanted and I spent some time looking about. I tried several shops which sold second-hand jewellery and silver and at last, when I was beginning to despair, I discovered a sugar-bowl of exactly the same pattern as Mother’s silver teapot. It was a beautiful thing and the moment I saw it I knew I need look no further. This would please them both.

  After that I visited the Dodges’ shop and saw Cliffe who had gone into partnership with his father (the board over the door bore the legend DODGE AND SON in new gold lettering). Cliffe was delighted to see me and took me into the back shop for a chat. It was fun seeing Cliffe, he was always the same, big and handsome and merry; it did not matter if you had not seen Cliffe for years, you could take up your friendship where you had left it. I noticed that he had almost overcome his stammer, but not quite. Occasionally when he became excited and talked very fast it came back in the old way and tripped his tongue. We had so much to say to each other and so little time that I asked Cliffe if he would come down to Haines and spend the day with me.

  “ Gosh, that would be great! ” Cliffe cried delightedly. “ I’ll m-manage it somehow. Dad won’t mind … it’s Mum who’ll kick up a fuss. She thinks Haines is d-dangerous.”

  “ Whose fault is that? ” I said, laughing.

  I had arranged to have lunch with Uncle Matt at his club so I took a tram up the hill to Princes Street. Uncle Matt looked older but he was in very good form and, like Cliffe, he was pleased to see me. He wanted to know when I was coming back to Edinburgh, whether I wanted to come back or preferred to stay on with Mr. Heatley. I found this a little difficult to answer.

  “ Maybe you should stay on,” said Uncle Matt a trifle diffidently. “ It’s not that I don’t want you, David, but we’ve had to reduce our staff a wee bit. That’s the truth of the matter.”

  I told him I could easily stay on and I told him about my book. I had decided that Uncle Matt had the right to know about it.