The Forgotten Smile

by Margaret Kennedy

  He shook his head. He was no phantom of delight, green gowned, rose wreathed, to gleam upon the sight of an enraptured maiden.

  ‘You must have thought about it.’

  ‘I did think that perhaps … sometime … when I’d got a little farther …’

  Marriage with Elizabeth did play some part in this fantastic pilgrimage to which he was pledged.

  ‘She can’t feel about me as I feel about her. Not yet.’

  ‘A woman’s feelings for a man aren’t quite the same as a man’s feelings for a woman. But they’re just as strong. I think she loves you. And you’ve given her very good reasons for supposing that you love her. It would be cruel to go away to Sweden without saying a single word.’

  Paradise opened before him. He scrutinized it doubtfully.

  ‘What makes you think that she … that she …’

  ‘It’s obvious, when one watches the two of you.’

  ‘But if you are mistaken …’

  ‘No harm in asking. She can but turn you down.’

  ‘That might upset her. I’m the only friend she’s got, just now. The only person she can trust. She can always call on me and rely on me and tell me things. If she had to turn me down … she’s a very kind girl. She’d feel she ought to let me get over it; not see me so much. She wouldn’t like to be always asking me to do things for her. She needs a friend so badly.’

  ‘And how long do you mean to go on being so very very considerate?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought …’

  ‘Selwyn! I could box your ears! You don’t know your luck. She’s the sweetest girl I ever saw; so pretty and intelligent and good mannered. You behave as if you adore her. And then you rush off, without ever explaining yourself, leaving her to cook and wash up for some nice family. If you don’t take care you’ll break her heart.’

  ‘She can’t have got to love me as quickly as this. I don’t see why she ever should, only I hope she will, because I want it so much. But there’s nothing wonderful about me!’

  ‘She doesn’t have to think so. We women … we were put into this world to make men happy. Which is rather a waste because they never are. But they’d be unhappier without us. When a woman loves a man she knows his happiness is her job. She doesn’t have to tell herself fairy tales about him. He’s her man and that’s enough. It’s you men who thrive on fairy tales. You have to believe a woman is wonderful before you’ll let her boil an egg for you. On an equal footing anyway.’

  Here they were interrupted, but he thought that he saw her point. One or two girls had boiled eggs for him. He had thought them exciting, perhaps, but not wonderful. On balance they had struck him as rather silly. The footing had not been equal.

  Mrs Gray might be romantic. He rushed out of Richardson vowing to place little reliance on her judgement. Yet she might conceivably be right. He must observe Elizabeth keenly for signs of emotional response. He must not be such a blockhead as to miss Paradise by an oversight.

  Elizabeth had been remarkably friendly, he remembered, as he put pennies into the telephone box to which his steps had led him. Why should she have been so kind?

  ‘Yes?’ said that adorable voice.

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  ‘Hullo? Who is it?’

  ‘Elizabeth! It’s me! Selwyn!’

  ‘Who is speaking, please?’

  ‘Can’t you hear me?’

  ‘Hullo! Are you somebody who’s forgotten to press Button A?’

  He pressed Button A and began again.

  ‘Elizabeth! It’s Selwyn. How are you?’

  ‘Hoarse as a crow, yelling at you. I liked your Mrs Gray.’

  ‘She likes you. She says so.’

  ‘She’d better.’

  ‘Elizabeth!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What are you doing just now?’

  ‘Telephoning.’

  ‘I mean, can I come and see you?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Hold on a minute and I’ll find out … I’m at Chancery Lane Station. Could I come right along now?’

  ‘Yes, if you can manage to take a westbound train.’

  He hung up and rushed out of the booth. On his way westwards he planned his course. Should she show any trace of anxiety or depression over his departure to Sweden he would, with extreme tact, hint at his own feelings. Should the hint appear to be distasteful to her, he would sheer off so light-heartedly that she need not distress herself at the thought of giving him pain.

  The need for delicacy made him very solemn. He rang the bell and went up in the lift looking like an undertaker come to take measurements for a coffin. When he found himself face to face with her he could say nothing at all. He gazed at her, dumb with suspense, until she broke the silence.

  ‘The answer is … yes.’

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Selwyn. ‘Oh! Oh! O-o-oh!’

  He caught her up and wandered about the room, carrying her in his arms, unable to put her down because no place in the world was quite good enough for her.

  7

  They were married on Elizabeth’s birthday in St John’s Church at the corner of the road where Selwyn lived. Her national status had given them a little trouble, but this was the only obstacle in their path.

  Mrs Blaney was unexpectedly amenable. When they rang her up in New York she gave them her blessing. A formal wedding, she said, would have been very inconvenient at the moment, and this scheme would dispose of Elizabeth until her own plans were more settled. If the marriage did not work out, it could be dissolved later on. Meanwhile she was sending some money to Stockholm – enough to pay for Elizabeth’s trousseau, a paltry sum she feared, but all that she could afford at the moment. Elizabeth reckoned that, with care, they could live on it for a couple of years.

  The only objection to these hasty espousals came from Selwyn who thought that this sort of thing should be done in style. He wanted pealing anthems and rejoicing friends. Elizabeth pointed out that they had no friends save Mrs Gray. This he would not at first allow. He had a host of friends. With some difficulty she induced him to believe that he had been dropped by most of them. Even that wedding invitation had been sent by mistake; Lady Myers had told her so.

  At any other time this would have been hard to bear, but he was so happy that he accepted the truth without much pain.

  ‘Blockhead again,’ he sighed. ‘Though I still don’t see what it has to do with not getting birthday presents.’

  ‘You’ve grown up thinking it was a feast when people gave you scraps.’

  ‘I’m learning. But I still think we ought to give a party.’

  ‘L’Hymen n’est pas toujours entouré de flambeaux. That’s what Hippolyte says in Phèdre, when he’s trying to persuade his girl to a runaway match.’

  ‘A dreary type. Never managed to get married after all. Couldn’t hold his horses. And you’ve got friends! Won’t the Hagstroms be surprised to see you turn up in Stockholm!’

  ‘I think not. I believe Olaf suspected me of craftily providing for my own future when I brought you along to lunch.’

  He still hankered for a party. When some of his colleagues at Richardson presented him with a travelling clock he longed to offer them unlimited champagne.

  Elizabeth, though extremely happy, was more distrustful of felicity. She had suffered too many anxieties and disillusionments. Despite her outward composure, she was sure of nobody save herself and him. Life terrified her. Bliss, she thought, should be enjoyed as inconspicuously as possible lest fate should observe and blast it.

  Happiness was an undiscovered territory for both of them. He took it over, without a moment’s hesitation, as his natural habitat. The very word alarmed her slightly. She had seen too much misery brewed in pursuit of it.

  ‘That’s two churches we’ve been in now,’ he said, as they drove to catch the Stockholm plane. ‘St Paul’s and St John’s. What church-goers we are!’

  ‘Look! It’s raining.’

  ‘You’d rather it did, wouldn�
�t you? They mightn’t notice what we’re up to, if there’s a nice lot of thick clouds about.’

  ‘Do you mind if it rains?’

  ‘I want to see what it’s like flying.’

  ‘It couldn’t be duller.’

  ‘Nothing in this world is dull and I’ve never flown before.’

  ‘One gets there too soon, somehow.’

  ‘We can’t get there too soon.’

  He looked about him eagerly while they were waiting, with a little group of passengers, for the Stockholm flight to be called.

  ‘Just look at all these people! Do people who fly always look like this?’

  She had to agree that their travelling companions looked exotic. The party included a nun with a string bag full of onions, a girl in a sari with a cricket bat and a blue-haired lady with a mink coat in a plastic cover.

  A disembodied voice announced their flight. They went down a ramp to a bus which was to take them across the rainy field to their plane.

  ‘Now they’re all different,’ whispered Selwyn.

  They were. The nun was now wearing the coif of the Order of St Vincent de Paul. The girl with the cricket bat had changed into a small black boy with a pineapple. The blue-haired lady clutched a tiara case.

  ‘Thinking it over,’ she whispered back, ‘one never does see the same person twice on a flight.’

  ‘The children are the oddest. Quite, quite international.’

  ‘Our children will be completely international. A quarter English, a quarter Greek, a quarter Italian, and a quarter American.’

  Selwyn pictured these intruders without much enthusiasm. He thought of them as all aged about ten and very noisy.

  ‘I don’t believe I’m a bit philoprogenitive,’ he declared.

  ‘I should hope not. Nice men never are.’

  ‘What? Nice men don’t like children?’

  ‘Not until they’ve got them.’

  They boarded the plane and found their seats.

  ‘Oh, look at the lovely air hostess! Does she ever sit in that skirt? Elizabeth! There’s no nun now on this plane at all. Look! Maps! They’ve given us lovely maps. Do we have to study them? What would happen if we didn’t? Oh listen! We must fasten our safety belts.’

  ‘A good thing, too, or you’ll start your ballet jumps.’

  The plane began to vibrate; it taxied a little way and then stopped.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Won’t it work?’

  ‘It always does this.’

  ‘Don’t be blasée.’

  The vibration increased to a roar. They were moving. Grass and tarmac sped past them in a molten stream. It vanished. In a second they were quite high up, looking down on wet fields and a road with a little bus crawling along.

  ‘Too quick,’ he complained. ‘I couldn’t follow it.’

  After a few minutes she said:

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Go on what?’

  ‘Being excited. I like it.’

  ‘I will when we get out of these clouds. How nice and private these high seat backs make it for us.’

  ‘The man across the aisle can see us.’

  ‘He’s leering at the air hostess. Oh listen! We can unfasten our belts and smoke.’

  ‘Never a dull moment.’

  ‘We’re married. We’re off. Up in the sky. Ever so high.’

  When the clouds thinned they were over the sea. They caught glimpses of it, in dark wrinkled patches, far below. All about them were towering banks of vapour slashed through with sunlight. A meal was brought to them on plastic trays.

  Suddenly she started and nearly upset her pork chops.

  ‘Oh! Oh! Look! A whole rainbow!’

  It blazed upon the clouds, a perfect circle.

  ‘I never saw one before,’ he said, ‘though I’d heard of them. I believe you can see one from a mountain, if you’re high enough.’

  ‘It’s the first quite new thing we’ve seen together.’

  They gazed at it and marvelled.

  ‘I’m not sure that I like it,’ she said. ‘The half is more mysterious.’

  In a flick it was gone.

  ‘Brevis in perfecto mora,’ said Selwyn sententiously.

  ‘Even the half,’ she murmured, ‘never stays for long.’

  PART FOUR

  THE NUMEN OF KERITHA

  But how could I forget thee? Through what power,

  Even for the least division of an hour

  Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

  To my most grievous loss? – That thought’s return

  Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore….

  WORDSWORTH

  1

  ‘L’oiseau qui vole en gazouillant

  Vers les demeures éternelles …’

  A voice, sweet as honey, tearing at the heartstrings, floated out into the moonlight over Keritha. Dr Challoner had no use for Freddie’s collection of gramophone records. The orchestral music was to be sent to the schoolmaster on Zagros, who had put in a request for it. The songs and the gramophone itself were to be given to the islanders who had often, in the old days, gathered in the shadows of the garden to listen when Freddie had a musical evening. A recital was now being held for their benefit, so that they might choose which songs they liked best.

  ‘… Est venu fracasser les ailes!

  Voilà ce que je suis sans toi!’

  Sentimental, this one, thought Kate, as she sorted her embroidery wools. Very lush!

  Dr Challoner turned from his examination of Freddie’s papers to observe that it was rather pretty.

  ‘Un frêle esquif parmi les flots

  Pendant une nuit ténébreuse;

  Sans gouvernail, sans matelots,

  Au sein de la mer orageuse.

  Voilà ce que je suis sans toi!’

  There was an outburst of applause on the terrace. A voice shouted a question. What was all that about? Selwyn translated. Puzzled silence was followed by a bellow of laughter. Even Eugenia, sitting by the window, smiled in a stately way.

  ‘They think it’s funny?’ marvelled Kate.

  ‘Enough to make anybody laugh their head off,’ said Selwyn savagely. ‘Somebody liable to turn into a bird or a boat if somebody else isn’t there.’

  He held up the record inquiringly. There was some discussion.

  ‘They’ve decided it’s a Voice, anyway,’ he reported. ‘And they seem to know of somebody who’d like it, because she sings very well herself. They’ll take it to her on their way home. Let’s try them with Batti! Batti!’

  He wound the gramophone, which was old-fashioned since there was no electricity on Keritha. Batti! Batti! won unqualified approval and his translation was applauded too. But nobody liked O Wusst Ich Doch Den Weg Zurück enough to ask what it was about.

  ‘The wrong intervals,’ he commented. ‘They don’t like unexpected yawps.’

  ‘Freddie didn’t care for that one much,’ remembered Kate. ‘He only got it because he admired Schumann.’

  ‘Schumann?’ said Dr Challoner. ‘I thought it was Brahms.’

  ‘Not the composer. The singer. Elisabeth.’

  Selwyn threw down the record with a loud clatter.

  ‘Don’t break it,’ she said. ‘If nobody wants it, my husband would. He has a good gramophone,’ she added, turning to Dr Challoner. ‘There are several records here, that the people don’t want, which I’d like to take back to him, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not in the least. Take any you want,’ said Dr Challoner, pulling out another drawer in Freddie’s desk.

  ‘We’ll try An die Musik,’ said Selwyn. ‘I believe that would go down better.’

  He began to hunt for it among the albums. Conversation broke out on the terrace, grew louder, and sank again at a stern look from Eugenia. Dr Challoner gave a snort of amazement.

  ‘What’s this? A letter to me! From Alfred! Mrs Benson, did you know this was here?’

  ‘No. I left all the papers in the desk
for you. He once told me that nothing there was very important. The deed box in his room I sent at once to the lawyers.’

  ‘I’d better read it, I suppose.’

  ‘Here’s An die Musik,’ said Selwyn, turning to wind the gramophone again.

  Dr Challoner, rather reluctantly, began to read:

  Dear Percival,

  If you ever read this it will be because I have died before carrying out certain arrangements which will, I hope, save you the trouble of coming to Keritha.

  I want to transfer to you immediately some property which should in justice be yours – some valuable ornaments belonging to your grandmother, which your father ought to have had. There may be some difficulty about export licences, with which I must deal. I should have seen to it long ago. You are my heir and next of kin, and I want to save you the trouble of coming here to enquire after your inheritance. When I have taken the necessary steps I shall tear this letter up, as I am sure you will never come willingly.

  Yet the idea haunts me that you may come. I may die suddenly and lie helpless, buried beside my dear sister …

  Poor Alfred! Poor Edith! Buried under that absurd stone! Dr Challoner took off his glasses and wiped them as the gramophone sang:

  Hast mich in eine bessere Welt entdrukt!

  A pretty song! A better world…. I’m not a religious man, but I don’t discount the possibility of … poor souls! They were quite at sea in this one. He writes very justly about the jewellery. A cross! I’ll put a cross. And a suitable … ‘The bright day is finished’ or whatever it is … that’s not what one wants on a gravestone … a suitable text. May they rest in peace!

  In that case there are certain things which I must say.

  As boys we disliked one another intensely …

  Disliked? He disliked me? I never knew that. I couldn’t stand him, of course. Boys are intolerant creatures. But I’d have thought him too spiritless…. Well! Well!

  Now we are old men, but not, probably, more reasonable.

  Speak for yourself, my dear Alfred! I was always pretty reasonable. You never were.

  Unless you have changed very much, our points of view, our attitude to life, must be diametrically opposed.