Civil to Strangers and Other Writings

by Barbara Pym

  Cassandra felt like a royal personage receiving a bouquet from a child.

  ‘I should be so happy living in a small house here,’ said Mr Tilos, ‘just digging in the earth, with a goat or pig to give me food. And then in the evening a glass of tokaj, and the music of the tziganes … ’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adam seriously, ‘that is the best kind of life. I think I should enjoy it in this sunny country.’

  Cassandra suppressed a smile at the idea of Adam and Mr Tilos living together in a little cottage somewhere in the middle of the Hungarian plain. ‘It would certainly be nicer than living in Milton Amble,’ she said, ‘not nearly so damp. I think I should like it too. I’ve always wanted to wear that pretty peasant costume, and of course I couldn’t in England without everyone thinking me mad.’

  ‘But the English are all mad,’ said Uncle Ferenc tolerantly. ‘That is why we love them.’

  They arrived at Siófok in time for lunch. Cassandra had half expected that Mr Tilos’s aunt would live in a mediaeval castle on the edge of a cliff, but she realized as they drove through the flat, sunny country that she had been too hopeful. There was no cliff and no castle. Instead they drove up to a large white house. Its architecture was of a type common in the wealthier suburbs of big German towns. Cassandra thought it looked exactly like a wedding cake. Its elaborate stucco decorations gleamed as white as icing in the brilliant sunshine. The window boxes were gay with pink and purple petunias.

  To Cassandra’s surprise Mr Tilos’s aunt was exactly like her own Aunt Beatrice, who lived in Tunbridge Wells and was a typical English spinster of gentle birth.

  Miss Hunyadi was a small grey-haired lady who spoke English in a quiet sing-song voice. In features she was slightly like her brother Ferenc, but otherwise she was exactly the kind of person that Cassandra had thought only existed in England. Hungary was the last place in the world where she had expected to find her Aunt Beatrice’s twin.

  The room into which they were taken had a high white ceiling, was elegantly papered in silver grey and had an elaborate marble mantelpiece festooned with leaves and flowers. The furniture was substantial and made of mahogany, the horsehair sofas draped in antimacassars and there was a screen embroidered in faded wools with a design of parrots against a background of what looked like tombstones. In one corner of the room stood a large, tiled stove, very like the one that Mrs Gower had seen being taken into Holmwood.

  ‘It is so nice for me to talk to English people,’ said Miss Hunyadi.

  ‘You speak our language very well,’ said Cassandra. ‘Have you been in England much?’

  ‘Not for many years.’ The little woman paused, and a sad, faraway look came into her eyes. ‘I spent some happy months in Leamington Spa with my dear friend Miss Mildred Baker. She was governess to a very noble family in Budapest before the war. She was my great friend … ’

  Cassandra nodded sympathetically. She could imagine it all.

  ‘She has been dead for some years now,’ went on Miss Hunyadi. ‘I should be a lonely old woman, but I have my young people,’ she added, with a smile in the direction of the others. She seemed to include her brother Ferenc among the young people, which was not really surprising, as by his behaviour one would have thought him even younger than Béla. Cassandra felt that she too would like to be one of Miss Hunyadi’s young people, although she was not sure that she could hope to be quite as young as the Hungarians.

  ‘You must come to England again,’ she said. ‘My husband and I would be very pleased to welcome you to our house,’ she added, in the rather stilted manner she did not seem to be able to avoid when speaking to foreigners. ‘You would like Up Callow, and we still have some summer left, I hope,’ she laughed, ‘but I expect you know our English climate.’

  ‘Yes, I know it and I love it,’ said Miss Hunyadi. ‘Here there is too much sun, I think. For young people it is good, but when you are old, the autumn and winter are more sympathetic. I liked it in Leamington when the leaves were falling from the trees, and dear Mildred would go to her cupboard and take out her fur stole and muff, and we would be walking to the pumping-room and drinking the waters there. And in the evening we would sit by the fire, the beautiful English fire that you can see, and we would be knitting socks for the young pastor, the curate. He was so cold always … ’ She paused, overcome by her reminiscences.

  How lost this little woman must feel in gay, sunny Budapest, thought Cassandra. She was sure that there were no curates in Siófok, although she believed that there were plenty of what Miss Hunyadi called pumping-rooms.

  Before they left she gave them real English tea, and presented Cassandra with a picture of ‘your dear Queen Victoria’, which she had worked in coloured wools.

  The night was starry as they drove home. This time Cassandra sat in the back with Adam and Mr Tilos. He and Béla sang German and Hungarian songs, while Cassandra leaned her head on Adam’s shoulder and thought what a lovely and strange place Hungary was. She had never before been so happy anywhere. Dear Mr Tilos, she thought sentimentally, she owed him so much. She hoped that he, too, would find happiness soon.

  Mr Tilos felt that she had looked at him, but he did not turn his head. He was, at heart, a practical man, although given to flights of romanticism, and he decided now that he would marry Ilonka, the girl his parents had picked out for him, his fiancée, in fact, who would, he knew, be perfectly willing to marry him tomorrow. Besides, he needed a housekeeper for his big English house, since he still needed to live there for some part of the year. Also, and this was most important, being married would be a protection against the attentions of the Parisian Lady in Upcalloe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,

  And mingles both their graces.’

  ‘They’re back! They’re back!’ cried Mrs Wilmot in an excited voice, coming into the dining room at the rectory.

  It was a fine summer evening, about ten days after Adam and Cassandra had visited Mr Tilos’s aunt in Siófok. The rector was standing by the window with his hands in his trouser pockets. The trousers were white flannels and there was a pleased smile on the rector’s face, for they had had two weeks of uninterrupted fine weather and the cricket season had really begun. Consequently he did not check his wife’s enthusiasm.

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Why, Cassandra and Adam Marsh-Gibbon, and Mr Tilos and a young man who looks as if he might be his brother, and a girl, and a jolly-looking dark man, about fifty, I should think.’ Mrs Wilmot paused for breath. ‘I saw them at the station. I’d been taking round the parish magazines,’ she added, anxious to make it clear that she had not been hanging round the station from idle curiosity. ‘Oh, Rockingham,’ she burst out, ‘Adam Marsh-Gibbon must have gone with her all the time.’ Her voice betrayed her disappointment, but she brightened up as she remembered the strangers. ‘Such a jolly party they all looked, I wonder who they were?’

  The jolly party which had travelled from Budapest consisted of Adam and Cassandra, Mr Tilos and Béla, Uncle Ferenc and, most important of all, Ilonka, the wife whom Mr Tilos had married in Budapest. Miss Hunyadi was not with them, but hoped to visit Cassandra some time in the autumn, when the leaves were falling from the trees and she could spend the long evenings knitting and remembering the past.

  Adam and Cassandra had both been surprised at the hastiness of Mr Tilos’s marriage. He had not mentioned a fiancée and, thought Cassandra indignantly, he had most certainly not behaved like an engaged person. But, perhaps, that was how things were done in Hungary. It really was the best possible thing that could have happened, thought Cassandra, for she had become quite fond of Mr Tilos, now that he was no longer embarrassing her with his attentions and now that she no longer needed him to make Adam jealous. She would enjoy befriending Mrs Tilos and telling her which were the best days to buy fish in Up Callow and where to get a really reliable char-woman.

  Mrs Wilmot’s news soon spread all over the town. It was kno
wn that Adam and Cassandra had arrived home together with a crowd of Hungarians, including ‘that Mr Tilos and his wife’. There were naturally many people who did not believe that Ilonka was really Mrs Tilos, but they grudgingly admitted that she might be when they received invitations to a garden party at Balaton. Even the most conventional and disapproving people were forced to accept out of curiosity, to see if Mrs Tilos wore a genuine wedding ring, and how Mr Tilos and Cassandra would behave towards each other.

  ‘Of course, I can’t possibly go,’ said Angela Gay to her uncle, when they received their invitation. She had spent the weeks of Mr Tilos’s absence mooning about Up Callow, looking wronged. She had taken to reading poetry and sometimes sat in the churchyard with the Oxford Book of Victorian Verse in her hand. It would obviously not be in keeping with her new character to appear at this garden party.

  Mr and Mrs Tilos stood on the lawn to receive their guests. He was making friendly remarks about the weather, while his wife, a pretty girl with auburn hair, smiled brightly, as she knew very little English. Both looked as if they thought the whole thing a tremendous novelty, like some funny English game.

  Mr Gay took Mrs Gower’s arm – for everyone knew that they were soon to be married – and moved over to where Adam and Cassandra were standing.

  ‘And was it very lovely in Budapest?’ Mrs Wilmot was asking in a bright but wistful voice. Her tone was hopeful, as if she expected to hear more than a mere ‘Oh yes, it was lovely’.

  Cassandra sensed this and began to tell her all about the flood-lighting and the strange food and how nice it had been to be there with Adam. ‘It was like a second honeymoon,’ she said, trying not to catch Adam’s eye. Mrs Wilmot seemed satisfied and made a sort of purring noise, while she asked Cassandra if her dress, such a lovely shade of turquoise, had been bought in Budapest.

  ‘Yes,’ said Adam, ‘Cassandra was frightfully extravagant. She was always wanting to go shopping instead of sitting quietly in the hotel trying to learn Hungarian, as I wanted to.’

  ‘I think they did not learn much,’ said Mr Tilos, ‘except my name. You know, Mrs Wilmot, when you go to Budapest, you will see tilos written up in public places. Cassandra will tell you.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Mrs Wilmot, wondering if Mr Tilos could be some sort of a king or dictator in his own country.

  ‘Yes. It means verboten, forbidden, you know. That’s true, isn’t it, Adam, old boy?’

  If it were the meaning of his name it was really quite appropriate, thought Mrs Wilmot daringly. But fancy Mr Tilos being so familiar with Adam Marsh-Gibbon; and the curious thing was that Adam did not seem to mind at all. He smiled, and said, ‘Well, Stefan, we have only your word for it.’

  So they were Adam and Cassandra and Stefan to each other, thought the rector, who had just joined the little group. That was all right, splendid in fact. ‘I expect you found Tilos an excellent guide,’ he beamed, thus bringing it all out into the open.

  ‘Oh, yes, marvellous,’ said Cassandra. ‘He was so helpful and told us what to see and what to eat. He took us to see his aunt at Siófok. We had a lovely day there.’

  ‘He took us to see his aunt … ’ If there were any doubts remaining in the minds of the inhabitants of Up Callow they were dispelled by this simple statement. Everything had been quite all right.

  The rector moved on to talk to Mr Gay and Mrs Gower, who were laughing with Uncle Ferenc. There did not seem to be any special joke, unless it were Uncle Ferenc himself, who was wearing a white linen suit and a straw boater he had bought that morning in the town.

  How splendidly he would do for Angela, thought Mr Gay wistfully.

  ‘Where is your niece?’ asked the rector. ‘I hope she is not ill?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Mr Gay unhappily. ‘She had a slight headache, and the sun is so hot … ’ He tailed off rather weakly.

  ‘The sun is hot, yes,’ said Uncle Ferenc, ‘but under the trees there is cool. I shall go to your house to tell her, yes?’

  The rector looked at Uncle Ferenc in surprise, Mr Gay in gratitude. It was surely a little unconventional, but then as the fellow was a Hungarian one could perhaps excuse him for not knowing what was or was not done in Up Callow. Besides, how wonderful it would be if … He caught Mrs Gower looking at him. There was a hopeful smile on her face. Angela could be very nice sometimes, and this Hungarian seemed a good, simple sort of fellow, who might be led unresisting to the altar. All these thoughts passed through Mr Gay’s mind as he hesitated and said, ‘Well, I hardly know … ’

  But Uncle Ferenc wanted something to do. Stefan had told him about Miss Gay and had made her sound very attractive. Perhaps he too had been thinking that a match might be made between them to the advantage of everyone. Uncle Ferenc had been looking forward to meeting her this afternoon, and her non-appearance had stimulated his eagerness. He was not going to be disappointed if he could help it.

  A few minutes later he was seen going down the drive in his car. On second thoughts he had decided to take some sandwiches and cakes and two bottles of Tokay with him. One never knew. If we do not like each other, we will like the wine and food, thought Uncle Ferenc simply.

  Meanwhile the rector was moving about the garden, with a vague idea that he was putting things right between people. He felt that he had established Adam and Cassandra as respectable husband and wife once more, although he was not sure how; he had sent Uncle Ferenc in search of Miss Gay, and now he thought he had deserved his tea. His own young people did not need him this afternoon, he thought happily, with a glance to where Janie and Mr Paladin were sitting on a rustic seat, trying to make some sort of conversation with Tilos Béla. The rector recalled with pride the announcement which had recently appeared in The Times. Janie had only had her engagement ring a week and she still couldn’t help looking at it surreptitiously to see the diamonds flashing in the sunlight or in the dim light of the church during evensong. It gave her confidence, so that she no longer felt apologetic when people spoke to her patronizingly and asked whether she wouldn’t like to do a course of shorthand and typing. ‘Oh no,’ she would say with a gracious smile. ‘You see, I’m going to be married.’

  ‘Now, you young people,’ said Mr Tilos, coming up to them and using a phrase he had heard the rector employ, ‘you have nothing to eat.’ He pushed a plate of little cakes into Janie’s hand, smiled benevolently at them and turned to look for Adam and Cassandra.

  But they were nowhere to be seen. They had hidden themselves away in a little summer-house at the bottom of the garden, with several plates of sandwiches. It had, of course, been Adam’s idea. He said he was tired of telling people about Budapest. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I’m so hungry that I would prefer to eat in private. I don’t believe I had any lunch.’

  ‘Oh, Adam, you know you did. We had salmon.’

  ‘Well, perhaps, but it was a long time ago.’

  ‘Wasn’t everyone pleased to see us so very much Adam and Cassandra once more?’ Cassandra said.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘we are quite an institution. Like Héloïse and Abélard.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Cassandra positively. ‘I’m sure we are not like them.’

  ‘I suppose you’d rather I said Romeo and Juliet?’

  Cassandra laughed. ‘Well, I only said that being in Budapest was a second honeymoon because Mrs Wilmot seemed to expect it and I don’t like to disappoint people, if I can help it. But it was a second honeymoon, wasn’t it, darling?’ she added, gazing sentimentally at her husband, who was eating sandwiches at an alarming rate.

  ‘Why all this talk?’ he asked idly.

  ‘Because I’ve got something to tell you. Something exciting.’

  ‘Is it about Tilos?’ asked Adam, for like everyone else in Up Callow, he was inclined to believe that everything exciting must have something to do with Mr Tilos.

  Cassandra laughed. ‘Well, I should hardly like to say that, although in a very remote way it has something to do with him. It’s simply tha
t Science has proved weaker than Nature.’

  ‘Science is weaker than Nature,’ said Adam positively. He looked as if he were about to quote Wordsworth, but Cassandra stopped him in time.

  ‘Oh, Adam, you are stupid,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to tell you that I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘You, going to have a baby?’ Adam stared at her in amazement.

  ‘Are you annoyed with me?’ said Cassandra, taking his hand. ‘It won’t be for a long time, because it’s only just started,’ she said apologetically, as if to make it more acceptable.

  ‘Annoyed? Why should I be annoyed. It is you who will have all the bother. I’m delighted. Besides,’ he said in an aggrieved manner, ‘you know perfectly well that I have always wanted us to have a family.’

  Cassandra gave a little sigh and spread out her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘You always said you didn’t want any children,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Well, if I did, it was only because I was afraid you might die or something. Yes,’ he added, now quite convinced that that had been his only reservation, ‘that is what it was.’

  ‘Oh, Adam, how sweet!’ said Cassandra passionately. ‘I always thought it was because you thought that they would disturb your work.’

  Adam looked alarmed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have to have them in my study, would I?’

  ‘Of course not, darling,’ said Cassandra soothingly.

  They walked up the path arm in arm.

  ‘I’ll start writing my novel about Budapest,’ said Adam suddenly, ‘and by the time little Adam is born the novel will be finished and he shall have it as a birthday present. That will be nice, won’t it?’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Cassandra guardedly. She was thinking that it would be safe to bet that little Adam – it was to be a little Adam, of course – would win the race by months, or even years, but she did not want to damp her husband’s enthusiasm.