Giant's Bread

by Christie, writing as Mary Westmacott, Agatha

  They paid the bill and went. Jane nodded to them carelessly and Nell waved her hand to her. They arrived at the theatre ten minutes early.

  Later, as Nell was slipping the gown from her white shoulders, Vernon said suddenly:

  ‘Nell, do you think I shall ever write music again?’

  ‘Of course. Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I want to.’

  She looked at him in surprise. He was sitting on a chair, frowning into space.

  ‘I thought it was the only thing you cared about.’

  ‘Cared about – cared about – that doesn’t express it in the least. It isn’t the things you care about that matter. It’s the things you can’t get rid of – the things that won’t let you go – that haunt you – like a face that you can’t help seeing even when you don’t want to …’

  ‘Darling Vernon – don’t –’

  She came and knelt down beside him. He clutched her to him convulsively.

  ‘Nell – darling Nell – nothing matters but you … Kiss me …’

  But he reverted presently to the topic. He said irrelevantly, ‘Guns make a pattern, you know. A musical pattern, I mean. Not the sound one hears. I mean the pattern the sound makes in space. I suppose that’s nonsense – but I know what I mean.’

  And again a minute or two later:

  ‘If one could only get hold of it properly.’

  Ever so slightly, she moved her body away from him. It was as though she challenged her rival. She never admitted it openly, but secretly she feared Vernon’s music. If only he didn’t care so much.

  And tonight, at anyrate, she was triumphant. He drew her back holding her close, showering kisses on her.

  But long after Nell was asleep Vernon lay staring into the darkness, seeing against his will, Jane’s face and the outline of her body in its dull green satin sheath as he had seen it against the crimson curtain at the restaurant.

  He said to himself very softly under his breath:

  ‘Damn Jane.’

  But he knew that you couldn’t get rid of Jane as easily as that.

  He wished he hadn’t seen her.

  There was something so damnably disturbing about Jane.

  He forgot her the next day. It was their last, and it went terribly quickly.

  All too soon, it was over.

  3

  It had been like a dream. Now the dream was over. Nell was back at the hospital. It seemed to her she had never been away. She waited desperately for the post – for Vernon’s first letter. It came – more ardent and unrestrained than usual, as though even censorship had been forgotten. Nell wore it against her heart and the indelible pencil came off on her skin. She wrote and told him so.

  Life went on as usual. Dr Lang went out to the front and was replaced by an elderly doctor with a beard who said ‘Thank ye, thank ye, Sister,’ every time he was offered a towel or was helped on with his white linen coat. They had a slack time with most of the beds empty and Nell found the enforced idleness trying.

  One day, to her surprise and delight, Sebastian walked in. He was home on leave and had come down to look her up. Vernon had asked him to.

  ‘You’ve seen him then?’

  Sebastian said yes, his lot had taken over from Vernon.

  ‘And he’s all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s all right!’

  Something in the way he said it caused her alarm. She pressed him. Sebastian frowned in perplexity.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain, Nell. You see, Vernon’s an odd beggar – always has been. He doesn’t like looking things in the face.’

  He quelled the fierce retort that he saw rising to her lips.

  ‘I don’t mean in the least what you think I mean. He isn’t afraid. Lucky devil, I don’t think he knows what fear is. I wish I didn’t. No, it’s different from that. It’s the whole life – it’s pretty ghastly, you know. Dirt and blood and filth, and noise – above all, noise! Recurrent noise at fixed times. It gets on my nerves – so what must it do to Vernon’s?’

  ‘Yes, but what did you mean by not facing things?’

  ‘Simply that he won’t admit that there’s anything to face. He’s afraid of minding, so he says there’s nothing to mind. If he’d only admit that it’s a bloody filthy business like I do he’d be all right. But it’s like that old piano business – he won’t look at the thing fair and square. And it’s no good saying “there ain’t no such thing” when there is. But that’s always been Vernon’s way. He’s in good spirits – enjoys everything – and it isn’t natural. I’m afraid of his – Oh! I don’t know what I’m afraid of. But I know that telling yourself fairy stories is about the worst thing you can do. Vernon’s a musician, and he’s got the nerves of a musician. The worst of him is that he doesn’t know anything about himself. He never has.’

  Nell looked troubled.

  ‘Sebastian, what do you think will happen?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, probably. What I should like to happen would be for Vernon to stop one – in as conveniently painless a place as possible and come back to be nursed for a bit.’

  ‘How I wish that would happen!’

  ‘Poor old Nell. It’s rotten for all you people. I’m glad I haven’t got a wife.’

  ‘If you had –’ Nell paused, then went on. ‘Would you want her to work in a hospital or would you rather she did nothing?’

  ‘Everybody will be working sooner or later. It’s as well to get down to it as soon as possible, I should say.’

  ‘Vernon doesn’t like my doing this.’

  ‘That’s his ostrich act again – plus the reactionary spirit that he’s inherited and will never quite outgrow. Sooner or later he’ll face the fact that women are working – but he won’t admit it till the last minute.’

  Nell sighed.

  ‘How worrying everything is.’

  ‘I know. And I’ve made things worse for you. But I’m awfully fond of Vernon. He’s the one friend I care about. And I hoped if I told you what I thought you’d encourage him to – well – give way a little – at anyrate to you. But perhaps to you he does let himself go?’

  Nell shook her head.

  ‘He won’t do anything but joke about the war.’

  Sebastian whistled.

  ‘Well, next time – get it out of him. Stick to it.’

  Nell said suddenly and sharply: ‘Do you think he’d talk better – to Jane?’

  ‘To Jane?’ Sebastian looked rather embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. It all depends.’

  ‘You do think so! Why? Tell me why? Is she more sympathetic, or what?’

  ‘Oh, Lord, no. Jane’s not exactly sympathetic. Provocative is more the word. You get annoyed with her – and out pops the truth. She makes you aware of yourself in ways you don’t want to be. There’s nobody like Jane for pulling you off your high horse.’

  ‘You think she’s a lot of influence over Vernon?’

  ‘Oh! I wouldn’t say that. And anyhow, it wouldn’t matter if she had. She’s doing relief work in Serbia. Sailed a fortnight ago.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Nell. She drew a deep breath and smiled.

  Somehow she felt happier.

  4

  ‘Darling Nell, – Do you know I dream of you every night. Usually you’re nice to me, but sometimes you’re a little beast. Cold and hard and far away. You couldn’t be that really, could you? Not now. Darling, will the indelible pencil ever come off?

  ‘Nell, sweetheart, I never believe I’m going to be killed, but if I were what would it matter? We’ve had so much. You’d think of me always as happy and loving you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? I know I’d go on loving you after I was dead. That’s the only bit of me that couldn’t die. I love you – love you – love you …’

  He had never written to her quite like that before. She put the letter in its usual place.

  That day she was absent-minded at the hospital. She forgot things. The men noticed it.

  ‘Nurse is daydreaming
.’ They teased her, making little jokes. And she laughed back.

  It was so wonderful, so very wonderful to be loved. Sister Westhaven was in a temper, Nurse Potts slacked more than usual. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  Even the monumental Sister Jenkins who came on night duty and was always full of pessimism failed to impress her with any kind of gloom.

  ‘Ah!’ Sister Jenkins would say, settling her cuffs and moving three double chins round inside her collar in an effort to alleviate their mass. ‘No. 3 still alive? You surprise me. I didn’t think he’d last through the day. Well, he’ll be gone tomorrow, poor young chap. (Sister Jenkins was always prophesying that patients would be gone tomorrow and the failure of her prognostications to come true never seemed to induce in her a more hopeful attitude.) I don’t like the look of No. 18 – that last operation was worse than useless. No. 8 is going to take a turn for the worse unless I’m much mistaken. I said so to Doctor, but he didn’t listen to me. Now then, Nurse (with sudden acerbity) no need for you to hang about. Off duty is off duty.’ Nell accepted this gracious permission to depart, well aware that if she had not lingered Sister Jenkins would have asked her, ‘What she meant by hurrying away like that – not even willing to wait a minute over time?’

  It took twenty minutes to walk home. The night was a clear starry one and Nell enjoyed the walk. If only Vernon could have been walking beside her.

  She let herself into the house very quietly with her latch-key. Her landlady always went to bed early. On the tray in the hall was an orange-coloured envelope.

  She knew then …

  Telling herself that it wasn’t – that it couldn’t be – that he was only wounded – surely he was only wounded … yet she knew …

  A sentence from the letter she had received that morning leapt out at her. ‘Nell, sweetheart, I never believe I am going to be killed, but if I were what would it matter? We’ve had so much …’

  He had never written like that before … He must have felt – have known. Sensitive people did know sometimes beforehand.

  She stood there, holding the telegram. Vernon – her lover, her husband … She stood there a long time …

  Then at last she opened the telegram which informed her with deep regret that Lieutenant Vernon Deyre had been killed in action.

  Chapter Three

  1

  A Memorial Service was held for Vernon in the little old church at Abbotsford under the shadows of Abbots Puissants, as it had been held for his father. The two last of the Deyres were not to lie in the family vault. One in South Africa, one in France.

  In Nell’s memory afterwards the proceedings seemed shadowed by the monumental bulk of Mrs Levinne – a vast matriarchal figure dwarfing everything else. She herself had to bite her lips not to laugh hysterically. The whole thing was so funny somehow – so unlike Vernon.

  Her mother was there, elegant and aloof, Uncle Sydney was there, in black broadcloth, restraining himself from jingling his money with great difficulty, and with a suitable ‘mourner’s’ face. Myra Deyre was there in heavy crape, weeping copiously and unrestrainedly. But it was Mrs Levinne who dominated the proceedings. She came back with them afterwards to the sitting-room at the inn, identifying herself with the family.

  ‘Poor dear boy – poor dear gallant boy. I’ve always thought of him like another thon.’

  She was genuinely distressed. Tears splashed down on her black bodice. She patted Myra on the shoulder.

  ‘Now, now, my dear, you mustn’t take on so. You mustn’t indeed. It’s our duty, all of us, to bear up. You gave him to his country. You couldn’t do more. Here’s Nell – as brave as can be.’

  ‘Everything I had in the world,’ sobbed Myra. ‘First husband, then son. Nothing left.’

  She stared ahead of her through blood-suffused eyes in a kind of ecstasy of bereavement.

  ‘The very best son – we were everything to each other.’ She caught Mrs Levinne’s hand. ‘You’ll know what it feels like if Sebastian …’

  A spasm of fear passed across Mrs Levinne’s face. She clenched her hands.

  ‘I see they’ve sent up some sandwiches and some port,’ said Uncle Sydney, creating a diversion. ‘Very thoughtful. Very thoughtful. A little drop of port, Myra dear. You’ve been through a great strain, you know.’

  Myra waved away port with a horror-stricken hand. Uncle Sydney was made to feel that he had displayed callousness.

  ‘We’ve all got to keep up,’ he said. ‘It’s our duty.’

  His hand stole to his pocket and he began to jingle.

  ‘Syd!’

  ‘Sorry, Myra.’

  Again Nell felt that wild desire to giggle. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh … Awful – to feel like that.

  ‘I thought everything went off very nicely,’ said Uncle Sydney. ‘Very nicely indeed. A most impressive lot of the villagers attended. You wouldn’t like to stroll round Abbots Puissants? That was a very nice letter putting it at our disposal today.’

  ‘I hate the place,’ said Myra vehemently. ‘I always have.’

  ‘I suppose, Nell, you’ve seen the lawyers? I understand Vernon made a perfectly simple will before going out to France, leaving everything to you. In that case, Abbots Puissants is now yours. It was not entailed and in any case there are no Deyres now in existence.’

  Nell said: ‘Thank you, Uncle Sydney, I’ve seen the lawyer. He was very kind and explained everything to me.’

  ‘That’s more than any lawyer can do as a rule,’ said Uncle Sydney. ‘They make the simplest thing sound difficult. It’s not my business to advise you, but I know there’s no man in your family who can do so. Much the best thing you can do is to sell it. There’s no money to keep it up, you know. You understand that?’

  Nell did understand. She saw that Uncle Sydney was making it clear to her that no Bent money was coming her way. Myra would leave her money back to her own family. That, of course, was only natural. Nell would never have dreamed of anything else.

  As a matter of fact, Uncle Sydney had at once tackled Myra as to whether there was a child coming. Myra said she didn’t think so. Uncle Sydney said she had better make sure. ‘I don’t know exactly how the law stands, but as it is, if you were to pop off tomorrow having left your money to Vernon, it might go to her. No good taking any chances.’

  Myra said tearfully that it was very unkind of him to suggest that she was going to die.

  ‘Nothing of the sort. You women are all alike. Carrie sulked for a week when I insisted on her making a proper will. We don’t want good money to go out of the family.’

  Above all, he did not want good money to go to Nell. He disliked Nell whom he regarded as Enid’s supplanter. And he loathed Mrs Vereker who always managed to make him feel hot and clumsy and uncertain about his hands.

  ‘Nell, of course, will take legal advice,’ said Mrs Vereker sweetly.

  ‘Don’t think I want to butt in,’ said Uncle Sydney.

  Nell felt a passionate pang of regret. If only she were going to have a child. Vernon had been so afraid for her. ‘It would be so dreadful for you, darling, if I were to be killed and you were left with all the trouble and worry of a child and very little money. Besides – you never know – you might die. I couldn’t bear to risk it.’

  And really, it had seemed better and more prudent to wait.

  But now, she was sorry. Her mother’s consolations had seemed coldly brutal to her.

  ‘You’re not going to have a baby, are you, Nell? Well, I must say I’m thankful. Naturally, you’ll marry again and it’s so much better when there are no encumbrances.’

  In answer to a passionate protest, Mrs Vereker had smiled. ‘I oughtn’t to have said that just now. But you are only a girl still. Vernon himself would have wanted you to be happy.’

  Nell thought: ‘Never! She doesn’t understand!’

  ‘Well, well, it’s a sad world,’ said Mr Bent, surreptitiously helping himself to a sandwich.
‘The flower of our manhood being mown down. But all the same I’m proud of England. I’m proud of being an Englishman. I like to feel that I’m doing my bit in England just as much as these boys are doing it out there. We’re doubling our output of explosives next month. Night and day shifts. I’m proud of Bent’s, I can tell you.’

  ‘It must be wonderfully profitable,’ said Mrs Vereker.

  ‘That’s not the way I like to look at it,’ said Mr Bent. ‘I like to look at it that I’m serving my country.’

  ‘Well, I hope we all try to do our bit,’ said Mrs Levinne. ‘I have a working party twice a week, and I’m interethting myself in all these poor girls who are having war babieth.’

  ‘There’s too much loose thinking going about,’ said Mr Bent. ‘We mustn’t get lax. England has never been lax.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to look after the children at anyrate,’ said Mrs Levinne. She added: ‘How is Joe? I thought I might see her here today.’

  Both Uncle Sydney and Myra looked embarrassed. It was clear that Joe was what is known as a ‘delicate subject’. They skated lightly over the topic. War work in Paris – very busy – unable to get leave.

  Mr Bent looked at his watch.

  ‘Myra, we’ve not too much time before the train. Must get back tonight. Carrie, my wife, you know, is very far from well. That’s why she wasn’t able to be here today.’ He sighed. ‘It’s odd how often things turn out for the best. It was a great disappointment to us not having a son. And yet, in a way, we’ve been spared a good deal. Think of the anxiety we might be in today. The ways of Providence are wonderful.’

  Mrs Vereker said to Nell when they had taken leave of Mrs Levinne, who motored them back to London:

  ‘One thing I do hope, Nell, is that you won’t think it your duty to see a lot of your in-laws. I dislike the way that woman wallowed in her grief more than I can tell you. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, though I dare say she’d have preferred a proper coffin.’