by Susan Hill
Maxim spent part of the morning away from the house, but just before lunch, which would be cold, a salad, he came to find me in the garden. ‘You look pleased.’
I pushed the hair out of my eyes. ‘It’s fun,’ I said, ‘I’m enjoying it so much. Do you mind?’
I looked up at him. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’
It was there, in his eyes, but I could not tell what.
‘It will be all right,’ I said. ‘Everyone will be kind.’
‘Of course.’
‘Maxim.’
He touched the back of his hand lightly against my face. What was it? What? I took his hand and held it there. I did not want the shadows falling between us.
‘Should I put another trestle up on the terrace there, Mrs de Winter? Dora says the kitchen is spilling over, just about.’
We were caught up in the party again, the day had its own momentum.
And after all, it was worth it, it was the most beautiful day, I thought, walking round just before it all began, it would be perfect. The sun was still warm, but there was a gentleness about it now, the midday glare was softened, when I went across the garden under the trees, beneath the rose arch, the grass sprang to the touch of my feet where Ned had mowed it lightly, releasing a faint, sweet, nostalgic smell.
Everything was expectant, as though a play were about to begin. Everything was untouched, undisturbed. The cloths hung in folds, the chairs against them, the croquet mallets and tennis balls were set out, waiting for games to start. I went through the kitchen garden gate and out under the trees of the nut walk where the shadows were dappled and when I lifted up my hand to move aside a branch, the light played like water to and fro on the leafy ground. Ahead of me, I saw the green countryside and the church spire, framed in the last arch, and I rested in it, I felt myself let go of some last nervousness and worry inside myself as I let out a breath. I realised that I was excited, like a child. Nothing would go wrong, there would be no dreadful mistakes, they would all come and we would welcome them, and so would the house and the garden. We would give them all such pleasure.
In a moment, I must go back, in a moment, the first of the cars, voices, people. It would begin. But just now, I waited, in the quietness under the nut trees, and no one came to find me, no one was concerned that I was there. If I ran away now, I thought suddenly, no one would notice, it would all take place as planned, without me. But that was not true, as it had been so true of the ball at Manderley. There, I had been incidental to everything, there, I had had no place, I had not mattered. Here, I was at the centre.
This was mine.
From far away, I heard a voice, calling, the chink of plates, but even then, I waited, I did not move, only stood, holding the still moment closely to myself, wanting the world to stop here, just exactly here. But then, glancing round, I saw the children, coming quietly under the nut trees towards me, holding out their hands, faces shining with expectation. ‘Come with us,’ they said. ‘Come on now.’
And so I went, turning my back upon the distant countryside and the silver spire, under the nut trees and though the gate, into the garden, where the people had begun to arrive.
Whenever I have remembered it, during all the years since, I remember a day of delight, perfect in every way, until the end came. So many people, so much laughter and talk in the sun, so many faces turned happily to one another, and to us; and the young people who had come with the Butterleys hit the tennis balls anywhere, and ran to rescue them, after they had gone sailing through the gaps in the old wire. I remember the toc of ball on racquet, and the heavier clunk of the croquet strikes, and little ripples of applause. The sun shone, and moved, and a violet shadow crept over the slopes, but we were all in the light and would be so for hours yet.
And suddenly, easily, Maxim and I came together and I thought that nothing had been wrong, nothing, it had all been my worry and fantasy. We moved among them separately, welcoming, talking, laughing, being introduced, but every now and again, were pulled together, and walked across the grass with linked hands or arms, for a moment, and there were no shadows, nothing but love and easiness lay between us.
There was a moment I can look at now, whenever I choose, it is as clear as a picture in a frame in front of me, a moment when we stood together and I saw them all around us, poised, frozen in time. Dora coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with white china, Ned following, carrying a heavy, steaming jug of hot water, a woman setting down a cup, a man lifting his hand to pick a dead head off the climbing rose, Bunty Butterley standing at the back of the tennis court, holding a racquet, threatening to play, her head thrown back in laughter. Maxim is smiling, holding a lighter to someone’s cigarette, I can see the exact curve of his neck.
The grass is pale on the surface, hay coloured where it is so dry, and the house rises up behind us all, and the chimneys, the buttress on the far side, the tables and windows and rose red walls, all of a piece, setting off the play which is being acted in the garden.
The boys are somewhere, too, playing hide and seek, chasing balls, the little one under a table, not far away from me. They are only just out of sight. But what I see most clearly when I look at it now, is myself, at the heart of it, in my cream linen dress, what I remember most vividly of all is the feeling I had, of enjoyment and love and pride and deep, contented pleasure. I feel it again, from far away, like an old scent caught in a bottle, and opened again. When I catch the feeling faintly, I am back in that place, on that last, perfect day, before it was all, all so quickly over.
Someone moved, the kaleidoscope was shaken, and the bright pieces fell out in a different pattern. The sun caught one of the windows and the glass flared and flamed incandescent coppery red.
Bunty was a few paces from me, so that I heard her voice quite clearly. ‘Good heavens! Old Lady Beddow’s just arriving. Now that was a long shot on my part. She almost never goes anywhere nowadays but she likes to be kept in touch. You really can count it a successful party!’
I suppose that I knew, even in the split second before I looked up and across to where they were coming very slowly under the archway into the garden, though I had not known her name and the address had been unfamiliar when I copied it from Bunty’s list – but then, most of them were.
I knew, yet for a split second, to see her shocked me, I was no longer afraid, and yet the sight of the tall, black figure moving slowly nearer gave me the old shudder, the old hollow, helpless sensation, it would never finally leave me. But I knew also quite surely that what I had said to her in her sitting room that afternoon had been true. I saw her for what she was, a peculiar, old, sad, crazy woman who had lost touch with reality, and had no final power over me in any way.
But Maxim did not know that. Maxim did not know that I had seen her, it was how her presence here would affect him, what he would think and feel, that was my only anxiety now, and it preoccupied me completely.
I saw her black shadow fall across the sunlit grass.
Maxim was coming from the opposite side. I dared not look at his face, I knew what it would be like, a tight, white lipped mask, polite, controlled, showing nothing. One or two people were glancing around, and where she stood, with the old, old woman clinging to her arm, there seemed to be a space, a circle within which it was silent and still and cold.
I rushed to pull out a chair, to clear things from a table. ‘Good afternoon, Mr de Winter. I have come with Lady Beddow – she was very anxious to meet you. She knew the house long ago. Perhaps you could speak up, she does not hear very clearly.’ She glanced around, and I felt her eyes on my face, staring, gleaming from the hollow sockets in the skull. I saw amusement in them.
‘Good afternoon, madam. How very pleasant and how nice the garden is looking, though of course, a lot of the flowers have gone over since I was last here.’
I felt Maxim stiffen, but he would not look at me. He had taken the old woman’s arm and was settling her into the chair, saying this or that pol
ite thing, while Mrs Danvers stood, poised and black as a crow, hands together in front of her. I fled to the kitchen, to get hot water, fresh tea, threw food on to a plate anyhow, my hands trembling so violently that I dropped it and had to begin again. I was not afraid of anything except Maxim’s reaction.
‘Are you all right, Mrs de Winter? You look so white – has anything happened? Here, let me do that, don’t you worry.’ Dora was bending, clearing the mess cheerfully.
‘Thank you – I’m sorry, Dora – sorry – I was – it’s nothing –’
‘You are honoured, if that Lady Beddow has come.’
‘Yes – yes, so I’ve been told.’
‘Never goes out much at all, hasn’t for years. There, that’s all clear. Let me do that, you’ll scald yourself on the boiling water. Sit down a minute, you’ve tired yourself, that’s what it is, all that work, getting ready and then the excitement, and the sun. Let me pour you a hot cup of tea and you just stay here a minute. They’re getting on fine, they won’t miss you.’
I sat down, as she said, grateful for her easy, friendly concern, letting her chatter on as she passed out tea and rearranged fresh food on plates, and after a moment, put my head down on my arms and rested it there. She was right, I was tired, but the exhausted, weak sensation in my limbs and the odd light headedness had nothing to do with tiredness, they came through shock and dread and foreboding. I wondered vaguely what Maxim was doing, saying, most of all, what he was thinking. Nothing else mattered.
‘You drink this while it’s hot – and I daresay you haven’t eaten anything yourself, have you? Been too busy seeing to everyone else. Well, it’s always the way at parties. Have these egg sandwiches, I’ve cut them fresh.’
‘Thank you Dora. I’m fine. Just a bit tired suddenly, as you say.’ I stared at the white bread with its crumbs of damp egg oozing from the sides and felt suddenly very sick, and would have got up and gone upstairs, except that I heard Maxim speak from the doorway.
‘You’d better come out again, hadn’t you?’ he said coldly.
I dared not look at him. I could imagine his face, I had seen it before, the last time we had had a party and she had spoiled it, in a different way, but just as deliberately, just as thoroughly. There was no delight left in the day now, no pleasure, it was broken and the pieces thrown about anyhow. We had to get through it, that was all. It wouldn’t be for long. They would go, she would go. Then I would be alone with him, then I would have to explain. What should I say? What did I have to tell him?
Dora was watching me, I could see alarm and concern in her face. She had never heard Maxim speak to me in that way, never seen anything but love and easiness between us. I tried to smile, to reassure her. I said, ‘I’ll ask Maxim when we should serve the drinks – I’m sure a lot of people will want to stay, they all seem quite happy.’
And so they did, I saw it as I went out again. The sun had slipped down a little further, late afternoon was merging into evening, the smell of it was in the air. The tennis game seemed to be over, and only a couple of people were playing croquet. Everyone else was sitting at the tables, or in deck chairs, talking quietly, strolling along the paths, some going towards the kitchen garden and the nut walk. They seemed so at home, I thought, as if it were a hotel and they had paid to be staying here, the grounds belonged, for the time being, to them. I minded that, hated it passionately, and there was nothing at all that I could do.
I went over to where Maxim stood, to the side of a group of people. He was talking politely about something to do with the farms, bringing back some land to good heart. From his face and his voice, they would know nothing, it was all so pleasant, all so normal. I recognised faces, could not put names to them, smiled vaguely, generally round. I was the hostess, I was on view, there were certain ways to behave, and that helped me a little.
‘I was wondering if we should serve the drinks. Dora and Gwen are clearing the last of the tea things now.’
‘I’ll see to it. You will all have something, of course?’ He smiled, as I was smiling, and they smiled back, I saw their mouths move, heard the appreciative little murmurs. I wanted them to go. I did not. I wanted to touch Maxim, for reassurance, say something to him, that would explain everything. Be alone in the garden with him. I did not. I wanted none of it ever to have happened.
‘You must be so very proud of everything,’ I heard her say in the sweetest of soft voices. She had come silently across the grass and was standing very close to us, I could smell the faintly musty smell of her clothes. She was motionless, eyes not leaving our faces, hands bone white on the black dress. Why always black, I wanted to scream out at her, why? ‘It will be such a lovely home for you in time.’
She turned slightly. The people around us, half a dozen or so, seemed to be mesmerised by her, and puzzled too. No one seemed to find anything to say, they merely waited, silent, polite, listening. ‘Of course, nothing will ever take the place of Manderley. Mr and Mrs de Winter came from a magnificent house – it is some years ago now – I was privileged to be there then. I’m sure you will have heard of it.’
‘Mrs Danvers –’
‘And the tragedy there. Everyone heard about it, didn’t they?’
‘I say, now you mention the name – Manderley – Manderley – I seem to remember something –’ Some fat, gobbling man with yellow whites to his blue eyes. I wanted to put my hands around his throat.
‘Yes, it was famous – in that part of the world, I suppose it was the most famous place of all, for every reason – I’m sure Mr and Mrs de Winter would agree with me.’
She turned slightly to look at Maxim, I saw their two faces in profile, the skin stretched taut over their bones, eyes full of loathing. I felt soft and weak, like some helpless, amorphous thing trapped between rocks. I was not there, they did not see me or take any note of me, I was of no relevance now.
‘Under the circumstances, I feel you are so very fortunate to have found happiness here. I hope it can continue.’
There was a strange little silence. No one moved. I looked at the face of some woman in a red frock, and saw her eyes flick away from Mrs Danvers, saw that she was uneasy, but did not know quite why.
Maxim might have been turned to stone. I stood between them, knowing quite certainly now that in some way she would eventually succeed as she intended, and as she believed that Rebecca intended. She would destroy us.
I know now that the moment when I should have summoned up my strength and defiance and courage to stand up to her for the last time came then, in the garden on that late afternoon. But I did not take it, I did not confront her and defy her, did not tell her that she had no power over us, could not touch us, that we were impregnable and she a deranged, deluded, vengeful old woman. I let the moment slip away and did not make use of it. It would not come back.
Strangely enough, the end of the party was not spoiled, my memory of it is not unhappy. Some left early, Lady Beddow and Mrs Danvers did not stay to drink. I watched the black car slide away up the drive and through the gates and it was as if the air had lightened after an oppressive storm. I turned back into the garden and wanted to laugh and dance on the grass and hold out my arms to embrace everyone who was left. I smiled at people, they seemed old, dear, good friends. I did not look for Maxim.
The young ones were playing tennis again, a rather silly game in which people kept swopping racquets and places and partners and the balls went anywhere, there were shrieks of delight, shouts, jokes. I stood for quite a long time watching them, and then went around the croquet course with nice, amiable Bill Butterley, who flirted with me and flattered me and made me smile. The drinks came out, trays of glasses chinking gently, and people exclaimed and raised them and drank and were pleased. There was a light heartedness, they began to regroup, old friends came together, I saw people strolling under the rose arch, up towards the nut walk, pulling the tables forward into the last patch of sun. But it was cooler now, there were violet shadows over the grass. I went into the
house and switched on the lamps, and the house seemed to sparkle and glow, and sail like a ship out on the darkening evening.
I did not look for Maxim.
Some of the young people left the court and scrambled up the grassy slopes, pulling each other, laughing and calling; but once there, they grew quiet and sat together in small, still, contented groups, enjoying the gentle drift of the party down to its close. I became strangely contented and calm myself, suspended in a sort of bubble, immune from feeling, not anxious, not looking ahead, and I had an odd sense that this was the end of more than a garden party, and that I must remember it, hold on to it now, now, before it slipped away.
I had fetched my jacket from the house, and now I climbed the slope myself, but away from everyone else, on the far side, and leaned on a tree trunk and looked down over it all and was happy that they were there, and would talk on the way home about what pleasure they had had, remember it as a good day.
I went through the gate out of the darkening kitchen garden and up the nut walk. No one else was here now. I touched my hand to the slim trunks of the young trees, on either side, reached up and touched the cold, soft leaves overhead. I could not see through the arch at the end, it was too dark, and there was no moon, no stars, clouds had begun to come over, but I knew it was there and looked ahead to the open country and the distant silver spire and saw them in my mind. As I see them now, whenever I choose.
But at last, because I heard voices calling goodnight and the closing of a car door, I had to go back, and say goodbye and thank you, thank you for coming, yes, it’s been lovely, hasn’t it been a beautiful day, we’ve been so lucky, yes, they say the weather is going to break, we couldn’t have picked a better day.