To be honest it did not thrill me, but all the same I began to consider the matter seriously. If this little house could be made habitable it would solve a good many problems. The flat was all very well in its way, and up to now it had suited me none too badly, but it had various drawbacks—chief of which was the dirt. Up there amongst the chimney pots there was a constant rain of soot; black oily smuts drifted in at the windows and settled upon everything. There were other drawbacks as well. Now that I was collecting more goods and chattels I was beginning to feel cramped; there was no bath—when I wanted a bath I had to go down five flights of stairs to Mr. Coe’s bathroom. Last but not least my tenure of the flat was uncertain for Mr. Coe was talking of selling his property and retiring to Margate to spend his old age by the sea. All these thoughts and considerations passed through my mind in a few moments—in much less time than it takes to tell.
“ You must do something with this little house,” continued Jan sensibly. “ You must put the place in proper order if you’re going to sell it and it seems a pity to make it nice for somebody else to live in.”
“ That’s true,” I admitted.
“ Why not make it nice for yourself? Oh, David, I don’t want to persuade you. I mean you’ve got to decide whether you would be happy here—but somehow I can see you here—I can see you sitting writing peacefully, with the windows open and the birds singing in the garden. You hate being cooped up in town, don’t you? ”
“ Yes,” I said.
“ Well, here you are! Here’s your very own house, waiting for you to come and live in it.”
“ There’s an awful lot to do.”
“ That’s the fun of it! ” cried Jan. “ That’s the adventure! It would be a marvellous adventure putting the whole place in order.”
I looked at her. She was excited at the idea. Her eyes were shining and her whole face was lit up.
“ Jan,” I said eagerly. “ If you really think it would be fun perhaps you’d help me. I mean advise me about the wallpaper and that sort of thing.”
She hesitated.
“ Oh, I know it’s a lot to ask,” I said quickly. “ But I thought you seemed interested—and I know so little about it. I should make all sorts of stupid mistakes.”
“ I’m frightfully interested, David, but what about Freda? ”
“ What about Freda! ” I echoed in amazement.
Jan nodded. “ Why don’t you ask her to help you? ”
“ But—but she’s at Haines! ”
“ She would come if you asked her.”
“ Jan,” I said. “ What are you talking about? How could I ask Freda to come and help me to choose wallpapers? She would think I had gone mad.”
“ Would she? ”
“ Of course she would. To begin with it isn’t a bit the sort of thing that would interest Freda.”
“ You and Freda have always been such friends,” explained Jan. “ That’s why I thought—I mean I think perhaps she would like to help you.”
“ Do you? Well I don’t think so at all. Freda would help me if I wanted to buy a pig but she couldn’t be bothered to choose wallpapers.”
“ It isn’t exactly her line,” admitted Jan, looking at me thoughtfully. “ But sometimes people are quite pleased to do different kinds of things; I mean in special circumstances—but of course—I mean—I mean if you really think—I mean——”
“ What do you mean? ” I asked, laughing at her. “ I can tell you here and now that nothing would induce me to ask Freda to help me; and, if I did, nothing I could say would induce her to leave her beloved Nethercleugh and come to London. If you think she would—well, all I can say is you don’t know Freda as well as I do.”
Jan gave a little laugh. “ It was silly of me to suggest it.”
“ I didn’t say that.”
“ But you thought it, didn’t you, David? ”
“ Never mind,” I said, taking her arm. “ Let’s go round the house again and make some notes for Barbie’s friend; whether I’m going to live here or not the place will have to be done up from top to bottom. If you’ll just give me a few ideas I daresay I can tackle choosing the papers myself.”
“ But I’d love to help you! ” exclaimed Jan.
“ Oh Jan—really? ”
“ Of course I should. I didn’t mean I wouldn’t help you; I just meant——”
“ That’s splendid. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“ Don’t thank me,” said Jan, looking up and smiling. “ You needn’t thank me, or feel grateful, because I shall enjoy it. I’ve always wanted to have a hand at doing up a house.”
“ I can’t help feeling grateful.”
“ Try, David,” said Jan, laughing. “ Try very hard. It will spoil everything if you feel grateful. We’re going to have fun.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jan was busy during the week so Barbie arranged for her friend, Mr. Pendle, to meet us at the cottage the following Sunday. Meantime I managed to get two men and we began to clear the garden. As Jan had said it was difficult to know where to begin, but we had to begin somewhere, and, after a short consultation, we decided to begin at the back so as to let air and sunshine into the main windows.
The men were strong hefty fellows and once they had got started on their work of destruction they laid into the job with a will. Finsbury was a tall thin chap with long arms; Noyes was older, thick-set and wiry, with a pleasant open face and a ready smile. The three of us worked together and in two days I had got to know them quite well. There is nothing like working beside a man for getting to know him. We worked together and we sat down and had our food together. I brought my own sandwiches and beer for the whole party.
After three days the place looked worse than before; it was a mass of fallen trees and grubbed-up bushes and tangled ivy. There had been rain and the soft ground was churned up and boggy. I had never seen such a mess in all my life. Noyes suggested we should make a bonfire in the field beyond the fence and try to clear the rubbish as we went along, so we got a bonfire going and we spent one whole morning clearing and burning.
Sunday was a showery day. I called for Jan as arranged and we set out together. Nell had made sandwiches for us so that we could spend the whole day at the cottage without bothering about lunch. As we walked up the hill together I tried to prepare Jan for the mess we had made in the garden so that it would not be such a shock.
“ But of course it will look dreadful,” she said. “ It’s bound to look dreadful. The only thing to do is to go ahead and cut and tear and burn.”
“ Yes,” I said ruefully. “ We’ve been cutting and tearing and burning for days. Come and see the result.”
We went round to the back garden and I showed her what we had done and what I intended to do. The tall scrubby trees had been felled and we had grubbed up most of the laurel bushes.
“ I wondered about those lilacs,” I said doubtfully. “ They’re old and twisted and I’m not sure whether it wouldn’t be better to take them out and plant new ones.”
“ I love lilac,” said Jan. “ You mustn’t ask me to give them their death sentence. I couldn’t bear it.” She went forward and reached up to a branch and pulled it towards her gently. “ Look, David, dear little buds! I wonder if they will be white, or purple.”
The sun was shining now, it shone upon her brown silky hair, and as she turned her head and looked at me I saw that her eyes were soft and tender … suddenly I knew that I loved her.
It was the most astonishing discovery. I loved Jan. She was the girl I had been looking for all my life; the dearest thing on earth; the perfect companion. What a fool I had been not to have realised it before! It was as if I had been blind and now, suddenly, my eyes were opened; it was as if I had been deaf and now I could hear. I felt dazed and giddy and breathless.
“ What’s the matter, David? ” asked Jan.
“ Nothing,” I said. “ Nothing, really——”
“ You’ve been doing too much,” sa
id Jan looking at me anxiously. “ You’ve been working far too hard cutting down all those trees. You’re quite pale, David. Come and sit down.”
We sat down together on the steps of the veranda.
Up till now there had been an unembarrassed friendliness between Jan and me. We had laughed and talked and I had said exactly what I thought … but now, in a moment, all that was changed and I felt frightened and self-conscious. My thoughts were in a turmoil; all sorts of irrelevant things shot through my mind. I remembered Jan as a little girl; especially the day we had gone for a picnic on the banks of the Ling and Jan had collected wild flowers and made a posy of them. Her hands had been so tiny—they were bigger now but still white and soft and beautiful—I wanted to take her hands in mine and hold them. I remembered that we ran off to hide together and she had slipped her hand into mine and I had dragged her up the slope to the cave.
“ The cave! ” I exclaimed. “ That was the other secret.”
Jan turned her head and smiled. “ Have you just remembered? I wonder what made you remember about the cave.”
“ We sat in the cave together and I tied your ribbon. Do you remember that? ”
She did not answer directly but put her hands up to her hair. “ I suppose it’s untidy,” she said ruefully. “ It’s such stupid hair. Other people’s hair seems to stay put, but mine slips and slides all over the place; I can’t keep it tidy whatever I do.”
I did not want her to keep it tidy. Jan would not have been Jan without that mop of pale-brown, silky hair. It had been quite straight when she was little but now it fell naturally into soft waves. It was the most beautiful hair I had ever seen and I longed to tell her so.
Jan was talking about the garden and what must be done, but I could not keep my mind upon what she was saying. I was wondering when I had begun to love Jan; for now I knew I had loved her for ages. There was nothing sudden about it except the realisation of the fact. Perhaps it was natural; perhaps that is the way love comes when you have known the loved one all your life—not in a lightning flash, like love at first sight, but in a gradual development from friendship. Love at first sight is easier to understand (This is she! This is the one I have been looking for!) but the love I felt for Jan was deeper and more tender for it had roots in the past.
“ David,” said Jan. “ Are you feeling all right? ”
“ No,” I said. “ I mean yes, I’m perfectly all right. I was just thinking.”
“ About your book? ”
“ No,” I said. “ Perhaps I’m a little tired or something. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”
“ We’ll have lunch, shall we? You’ll feel better after lunch. Don’t talk, David. We don’t need to talk, do we? ” She looked at me with her bright, tender glance and my heart beat like a sledge-hammer. Why had I not seen before how sweet she was, how dear and beautiful and understanding? In the sunlight her soft hair sparkled and her skin was fresh and smooth; her eyebrows, slightly darker than her hair, were arched above her deep-blue eyes.
“ You remind me of Haines! ” I exclaimed impulsively.
“ That’s natural, isn’t it? ”
“ Not only because you come from Haines,” I told her. “ I mean you yourself remind me of Haines. You make me think of the clear skies and the wind on the hills and the scent of thyme.”
Her eyes were puzzled. She said, “ You are funny to-day.”
“ Funny? ”
“ Not like yourself, David. I hope you’re not going to be ill. Just sit here quietly while I fetch the lunch-basket.”
As I sat and waited for her I wondered what to do. I wanted to say, “ Jan, I love you,” but I could not say it. Although she was so frank and natural and unaffected there was something mysterious about her; there was something about her I could not fathom—a sort of reticence. It was as if Jan had a secret in her heart and had set a guard upon it. I realised that I must be careful. It would be difficult to be careful with Jan because I had never had to be careful with her before. I had always said whatever came into my head … but I must be careful now. I must not frighten her. I wanted her to help me with the house—not because of the house (that had become a secondary consideration) but because it would be so lovely to do it with her and because it would give me an excuse for seeing her as often as I wanted. If we were no longer easy friends together it would change everything. I should have to be very careful indeed.
When Jan returned with the basket I had taken a grip of myself and was able to smile at her. “ You were right,” I said. “ I’m hungry, that’s what’s the matter with me. I’ve developed a terrific appetite in the last few days. It’s all that hard work out of doors.”
She sat down beside me and opened the basket. “ Nell has given us masses of food, and there’s coffee in the thermos. Nell is rather wonderful, you know. It’s no bother to her to cook and cater; in fact she likes it. Nell’s husband will be a lucky man.”
“ Is she engaged? ” I asked, not because I wanted to know, but because Nell seemed a nice safe subject for conversation.
“ Not on your life! ” replied Jan, smiling. “ She has a host of admirers and she likes going out with them and having a good time.” She paused and then added, “ Your friend, Miles, has joined the queue.”
“ Oh—yes,” I said doubtfully. “ Yes, I saw he liked Nell, but you don’t mean there’s anything serious in that quarter.”
Jan hesitated. “ I don’t know,” she said. “ He’s a very attractive creature, isn’t he? So tall and good-looking and full of life … and of course he’s got heaps of money. I don’t mean Nell is mercenary, lots of her friends haven’t a penny, but it’s nice to be taken about in taxis and fed at the Savoy.”
“ Look here! ” I exclaimed. “ Miles is all right in a way, but—but he isn’t very—dependable—and—and I don’t understand about the ‘ heaps of money.’ Miles has no money; he hasn’t even got a job.”
“ But he has! ” declared Jan in surprise. “ He’s terribly well-off. He called for Nell this morning in a car and took her out for the day. Nell says he’s got a very well-paid job; he wouldn’t tell her what it was, but apparently it’s going to make him rich in half no time.” She hesitated and looked at me. “ Isn’t it true? ” she asked.
“ He thinks it’s true,” I told her. “ Miles wouldn’t deceive anybody on purpose, but it’s his nature to be optimistic to an alarming degree. I wish I could tell you the whole story—perhaps I shall be able to tell you some day—meanwhile you had better warn Nell that Miles is a butterfly. He flits from flower to flower.”
Jan bit a sandwich and looked across the garden with a thoughtful air. “ I’ll warn Barbie,” she said. “ Barbie will know what to do.”
I nodded. “ Barbie is very sound—and solid, isn’t she? ”
“ Solid? ” repeated Jan, smiling.
“ I didn’t mean physically,” I said hastily. “ I meant her character was solid. I think she would be a very good friend, staunch and loyal.”
“ Oh, she is! She’s a marvellous friend. I can’t tell you what a good friend she has been to me. I should never have had the courage to think of leaving Nethercleugh if it hadn’t been for Barbie. Barbie understood that I couldn’t be myself at Nethercleugh.”
“ I understand that too, Jan.”
“ Do you, David? I thought you might find it difficult to understand because your home is so different.” She paused and then added in a low voice, “ It’s my own fault, of course. It’s because I haven’t enough courage. People with courage can be themselves anywhere.”
I thought about this and saw that it was true. It was true of me, that was the reason I understood it so well. Jan and I were alike; we both hated rows and angry voices; we both lacked the particular brand of moral courage which would have enabled us to be ourselves in uncongenial surroundings.
Unfortunately there was no time to pursue the subject further, because at that moment Mr. Pendle arrived. He came round the corner of the house, picking h
is way carefully amongst the debris. Neither Jan nor I had seen him before but we both knew that this must be Mr. Pendle; not only because we were expecting him but because he looked exactly like his name. He was small and thin with a large dark moustache and bushy eyebrows, and he was dressed very neatly in a blue suit and a high stiff collar and a bowler hat. When he saw us sitting on the veranda he removed the hat with a flourish, and greeted us in a surprisingly deep voice.
“ I’m Mr. Pendle,” he said. “ The bell is broken, so I took the liberty of coming round the ’ouse to look for you. I left the van at the gate.”
We both shook hands with him solemnly.
“ You ’aven’t ’alf got a job ’ere,” said Mr. Pendle, taking in the desolate garden, with a wave of his hand.
“ The house isn’t like this,” said Jan hastily. “ Of course it’s been neglected for years, but it isn’t in such a frightful state as the garden.”
“ I’ll take you round the house,” I said. “ The sooner we get going the better. There’s a great deal to be done.”
“ You finish your lunch,” replied Mr. Pendle. “ Just give me the key and I’ll go round myself. I’d rather do it on my own, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll ’ave a look and see what’s what. Then we can get down to brass tacks.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Mr. Pendle was such a long time in the cottage that Jan and I were beginning to get impatient, but when at last he emerged from the door of the sitting-room, which opened on to the veranda, his eyes beneath his bushy eyebrows were shining with excitement.
“ What a job! ” he exclaimed. “ It’s the sort of job I like. We can make something good of this little ’ouse.”
“ The place is sound? ” I asked.
“ Sound as a bell, Mr. Kirke. I’ve been on the roof, and I’ve ’ad some of the boards up. That’s why I was so long. There’s no trace of dry rot in the place—nor wet rot neither. We can make a job of this if you give me the word. You want a plumber and a carpenter, you need a new bath and kitchen fittings. The rest is paint and paper.”
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