by Barbara Pym
‘What news?’ asked Rocky, taking the last chocolate biscuit. ‘Has anything exciting happened in the parish?’
‘Julian Malory has broken off his engagement,’ I said. ‘I think I told you that when I wrote.’
‘Oh, of course, the vicar, your vicar. But that’s splendid; now he can marry you. Isn’t that just what we wanted?’
‘If he had wanted to marry me he could have asked me before he met Mrs. Gray,’ I pointed out.
‘Oh, not necessarily. It often happens that a person is rejected or passed over and then their true worth is seen. I always think that must be very romantic.’
‘It could be romantic if you had been the person to do the rejecting, but one doesn’t like to be the person to have been rejected,’ I said uncertainly, feeling that I must be giving Rocky the impression that I really did want to marry Julian. ‘Anyway, there has never been any question of anything more than friendship between us.’
‘How dull. Perhaps you could marry the other one, the curate?’
I explained patiently that Father Greatorex was not really suitable, not the kind of person one would want to marry.
‘Let me stay as I am,’ I said. ‘I’m quite happy.’
‘Well, I don’t know. I still feel we ought to do something,’ said Rocky vaguely.
I got up and took the tea tray into the kitchen.
‘Have you seen our friend Everard Bone at all?’ Rocky called out.
Immediately he asked this, I realised that there had been a little nagging worry, an unhappiness, almost, at the back of my mind. Everard Bone and his meat. Of course it sounded ridiculous put like that and I decided that I would not mention it to Rocky. He would mock and not understand. It made me sad to realise that he would not understand, that perhaps he did not really understand anything about me.
‘I had lunch with him some time ago,’ I said. ‘He seemed very much as usual.’
‘I imagine he will be both relieved and disappointed when he knows that Helena and I have come together again,’ said Rocky complacently. ‘I think he found the situation a little alarming.’
‘It was rather awkward for him,’ I said. ‘Or it might have been.’
‘Poor Helena, it was one of those sudden irrational passions women get for people. She is completely disillusioned now. When he should have been near at hand to cherish her she found he had fled to a meeting of the Prehistoric Society in Derbyshire! Do you know how that happens?’
‘You mean being disillusioned? Yes, I think I can see how it could. Perhaps you meet a person and he quotes Matthew Arnold or some favourite poet to you in the churchyard, but naturally life can’t be all like that,’ I said rather wildly. ‘And he only did it because he felt it was expected of him. I mean, he isn’t really like that at all.’
‘It would certainly be difficult to live up to that, to quoting Matthew Arnold in churchyards,’ said Rocky. ‘But perhaps he was kind to you at a moment when you needed kindness—surely that’s worth something?’
‘Oh, yes, certainly it is.’ Once more, perhaps for the last time, I saw the Wren officers huddled together in an awkward little group on the terrace of the Admiral’s villa. Rocky’s kindness must surely have meant a great deal to them at that moment and perhaps some of them would never forget it as long as they lived.
Rocky stood up. ‘Well, thank you for my tea. Helena is coming back at the week-end. I must go and do some shopping at the Army and Navy Stores before they close. What are you doing this evening?’
‘I have to go to a meeting in the parish hall to decide about the Christmas bazaar.’
‘To decide about the Christmas bazaar,’ Rocky mimicked my tone. ‘Can I come too?’
‘I think it would bore you.’
‘Why do churches always have to be arranging bazaars and jumble sales? One would think that was the only reason for their existence.’
‘Our church is very short of money.’
‘Perhaps I should give it a donation as a kind of thank-offering,’ said Rocky lightly. ‘Though I should really prefer to give something more permanent. A stained-glass window—the Rockingham Napier window—I can see it, very red and blue. Or some money to buy the best quality incense?’
‘I’m sure that would be most acceptable.’
‘Well, perhaps I will. I must hurry now—goodbye!’
After he had gone I stood looking out of the window after him. I seemed to remember that I had done this before, and not so very long ago. But my thoughts on that occasion, though more melancholy had been somehow more pleasant. Now I felt flat and disappointed, as if he had failed to come up to my expectations. And yet, what had I really hoped for? Dull, solid friendship without charm? No, there was enough of that between women and women and even between men and women. Of course, if he had not been married . . . but this suggested a situation altogether too unreal to contemplate. In the first place, I should probably never have met him at all, and I should certainly not have enjoyed the privilege of preparing lunch for him on the day his wife left him or of making all those cups of tea on ‘occasions’. This thought led me to worry again about Everard and his meat and how I had refused to cook it for him, and it was a relief when the church clock struck and I realised that it was time to go to the meeting in the parish hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Perhaps there can be too much making of cups of tea, I thought, as I watched Miss Statham filling the heavy teapot. We had all had our supper, or were supposed to have had it, and were met together to discuss the arrangements for the Christmas bazaar. Did we really need a cup of tea? I even said as much to Miss Statham and she looked at me with a hurt, almost angry look, ‘Do we need tea?’ she echoed. ‘But Miss Lathbury . . .’ She sounded puzzled and distressed and I began to realise that my question had struck at something deep and fundamental. It was the kind of question that starts a landslide in the mind.
I mumbled something about making a joke and that of course one needed tea always, at every hour of the day or night.
‘This teapot’s heavy,’ she said, lifting it with both hands and placing it on the table. ‘You’d think one of the men might help to carry it,’ she added, raising her voice.
Mr. Mallett and Mr. Conybeare, the churchwardens, and Mr. Gamble, the treasurer, looked up from their business, which they were conducting in a secret masculine way with many papers spread out before them, but made no move to help.
‘I see it is done now by the so-called weaker sex,’ said Mr. Mallett. ‘I think Miss Statham has got everything under control.’
‘Come on now,’ she said, ‘make room for your cups of tea. You’ve got the table so cluttered with papers and your elbows on it too. You’ll be knocking something over. Anyone would think you weren’t interested in having a cup.’
‘Oh, we are that, all right,’ said Mr. Conybeare. ‘Just you pour it out, Miss Statham, and we’ll soon make room.’
Miss Statham and I served the men and the other ladies and then sat down ourselves. Winifred Malory was at home with a bad cold and Julian had not yet arrived, which added considerably to the enjoyment of all present, as the broken engagement could be discussed freely and without embarrassment. It was the first time since it had happened that there had been any kind of parish gathering.
‘Of course a man can carry it off with more dignity, a thing like that,’ said Miss Statham, putting a knitted tea-cosy on the teapot. ‘Anyone who wants a second cup can help themselves. A man doesn’t feel the shame that a woman would.’
‘After all, he can easily ask somebody else—after a decent interval, of course,’ said Miss Enders.
‘Once bitten, twice shy,’ said Mr. Mallett. ‘I should say he was well out of it. Not that she wasn’t a charming lady in her way. But if he’s got any sense Father Malory won’t go asking anyone else in a hurry. He’ll know when he’s well off.’
‘Really, Mr. Mallett, it’s a good thing your wife isn’t here,’ said Miss Statham indignantly. ‘Whatever would she th
ink to hear you talking like that?’
‘My good lady leaves the thinking to me,’ said Mr. Mallett, amid laughter from the men.
‘What does the vicar want with a wife, anyway?’ asked Mr. Conybeare. ‘He’s got his sister and you ladies to help him in the parish.’
‘Oh, well, what a question!’ Miss Statham giggled. ‘He’s a man, isn’t he, and all men are alike.’
There followed some rather embarrassing badinage between Miss Statham and the two churchwardens in which I was quite unable to join, though I envied her the easy way she had with them. Their joking was broken up by the arrival of Sister Blatt, looking very pleased with herself.
‘Well,’ she said, sitting down heavily and beaming all over her face, ‘it’s a disgrace, I never saw anything like it.’
We asked what.
‘The way Mrs. Gray left that kitchen in the flat. You know the remover’s men have been in today to take away her furniture. Oh, my goodness, there was food in the larder, been there weeks! And dishes not washed up, even!’
‘She left in rather a hurry,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t suppose she thought of washing up before she went.’ People did tend to leave the washing up on the dramatic occasions of life; I remembered only too well how full of dirty dishes the Napiers’ kitchen had been on the day Helena had left.
‘But, Miss Lathbury, dear, that wouldn’t account for the mess there was. Tins half used and then left, stale ends of loaves, and everything so dirty. . . . I never thought she was the right wife for Father Malory and I often said so too. I’m afraid she was a real viper.’
‘In sheep’s clothing,’ added Mr. Mallett. ‘Now, is the vicar going to honour us with his presence tonight or is he not?’
‘I dare say he’s forgotten and is playing darts with the boys next door,’ said Miss Statham. ‘Would anyone like to go and see?’
I said that I would, and, bracing myself to meet the pandemonium went into the main part of the hall, where Julian, surrounded by a crowd of lads, was playing darts. It seemed a pity to interrupt the game and drag him off to our dull meeting and the cold stewed tea and he seemed to come rather unwillingly.
‘What is it, Mildred?’ he asked. ‘The bazaar meeting? Good heavens, I’d forgotten all about it!’
He took his place at the head of the table and accepted a cup of the stewed tea absent-mindedly. Everybody was quiet now as if out of respect for Julian’s new status brought about by the broken engagement.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said. ‘Now, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?’
‘It might have been to decide on a wedding present from the parish,’ whispered Sister Blatt to me. ‘What a good thing we hadn’t started to collect the money!’
The treasurer cleared his throat and began to explain.
‘Ah, yes, the Christmas bazaar,’ said Julian lightly. ‘Well, I suppose it will follow its usual course. Do we really need to have a meeting about it?’
There was a shocked silence.
‘He’s not himself,’ whispered Miss Statham.
‘Why not let us decide about the bazaar?’ I suggested boldly. ‘Why don’t you go back to the boys? I could see that you were having a very exciting darts match with Teddy Lemon.’
‘Yes, I was beating him for once, too,’ said Julian. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I will go back.’ He got up from the table and went off, leaving his tea unfinished.
‘Well, really, I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ said Miss Statham. ‘The vicar has always presided at the meeting to arrange about the Christmas bazaar—it’s been the custom ever since Father Busby’s time.’
‘Well, Miss Statham, if you can remember what went on in the eighteen-seventies when Father Busby was vicar, the rest of us must retire,’ said Sister Blatt genially.
‘But it’s so irresponsible,’ protested Miss Statham, ‘especially when you consider how important the bazaar is in these days.’
‘I am reminded of nothing so much as the Emperor Nero fiddling while Rome is burning,’ said Mr. Mallett.
‘Now then, Mr. Mallett, who said anything about Rome,’ said Sister Blatt. ‘We’re not there yet, you know.’
‘Not like poor Mr. and Mrs. Lake and Miss Spicer,’ said Miss Enders.
There was a short silence as is sometimes customary after speaking of the dead, though in this case the people referred to might have been thought to have met with a fate worse than death, for they had left us and been received into the Church of Rome.
‘Oh, well, I was speaking metaphorically, as is my wont,’ said Mr. Mallett.
‘One might say that Father Malory’s conduct this evening reminds us of the behaviour of Sir Francis Drake, going on and playing bowls when the Armada was sighted,’ suggested Mr. Conybeare.
‘But that was supposed to be a good thing, a brave thing,’ said Miss Enders.
‘I think perhaps Father Malory is doing a good thing,’ I said.
‘But he didn’t even finish his cup of tea,’ protested Miss Statham.
‘Well, it was rather stewed,’ said Sister Blatt.
‘Perhaps this unfortunate affair has turned his head,’ said Miss Statham mysteriously. ‘We shan’t know what to expect now.’
‘He might take it into his head to enter a monastic order or to become a missionary,’ said Miss Enders, almost gloating at the prospect.
‘People often do strange things when they’ve had a disappointment,’ agreed Miss Statham. ‘He might ask the Bishop to put him in the East End.’
‘Or in a country parish,’ said Miss Enders.
There seemed to be no end to the things that Julian might do, from making a hasty and unsuitable marriage and leaving the Church altogether to going over to Rome and ending up as a Cardinal.
‘Well, ladies,’ said Mr. Mallett at last, ‘what about this bazaar? Isn’t it the purpose for which two or three are gathered together?’
‘Oh, well, as Father Malory said, it can just follow its usual course,’ said Miss Statham rather impatiently. ‘I imagine the stall-holders will be as usual?’ There was a note of challenge in her voice as she looked round the table, for it was known that she herself had always taken charge of the fancy-work stall, which was considered to be the most important.
‘Oh, yes, we leave it to you ladies to fight all that out,’ said Mr. Mallett, recoiling in mock fear. ‘We men will just do the hard work, eh?’
‘Of course we could ask Father Greatorex to preside,’ said Miss Enders doubtfully.
‘Oh, that man! A fat lot of good he’d be,’ said Sister Blatt. ‘I think we’ve really done quite well on our own.’
‘Without benefit of clergy,’ said Mr. Conybeare.
‘But we don’t really seem to have decided anything,’ I said. ‘When is the bazaar to be? Have we settled the date?’
‘Oh, well, it will be when it always is,’ said Miss Statham.
‘When is that?’
‘The first Saturday in December.’
‘Is it always then?’
‘Oh, yes, it always has been as long as I can remember.’
‘Since the days of Father Busby, eh?’ said Mr. Mallett jovially.
Miss Statham ignored him, perhaps she was tired of his joking or considered the date of the bazaar to be no matter for joking.
‘It is not a movable feast, then?’ asked Mr. Conybeare.
‘Well, there isn’t any better date, is there?’ said Miss Statham sharply. ‘It must be on a Saturday and a week or two before Christmas.’
We agreed that no better date than the first Saturday in December could be imagined, and I felt rather guilty for having raised doubts in anybody’s mind. But I still felt dissatisfied, as if the evening had been wasted. Surely there was something we could discuss, some resolution we could carry?
‘What stall shall I help with?’ I asked.
They looked at me with such surprise that I began to think that perhaps I had been infected by Julian’s strange behaviour
.
‘Why surely you will help me with the fancy stall?’ said Miss Statham. ‘Like you did last year and the year before. Unless you’d prefer to do anything else?’
I hesitated, for there was an uneasy feeling in the air, as if umbrage were about to be taken. ‘Of course I will help you, Miss Statham,’ I said quickly. ‘I was only wondering if there was anything else that needed doing. The hoop-la or the bran-tub,’ I suggested feebly.
‘But Teddy Lemon and the servers will look after that sort of thing,’ said Miss Statham, as if it were beneath our dignity; ‘they always do.’
‘Yes, so they do. I’d forgotten.’
‘Money needs to be spent,’ said Mr. Gamble, making himself heard for the first time. ‘You must bring some of your rich friends, Miss Lathbury.’
‘I dare say that Mrs. Napier could afford to spend a bit of money on us,’ said Miss Statham.
‘I’ve often seen her smoking cigarettes in the street and going into the Duchess of Granby,’ said Miss Enders, in a mealy-mouthed sort of way.
‘Well, why shouldn’t she?’ I burst out. ‘You can hardly expect her to come and spend money at our bazaar if that’s the way you feel about her.’
‘Oh, I didn’t say anything, Miss Lathbury,’ said Miss Enders huffily. ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend.’
‘I suppose these cups should be washed,’ I said, standing up.
‘Oh, yes, and the big urn ought to be refilled. The lads will want something,’ said Miss Statham.
The men went on smoking and chatting while we gathered the cups together and struggled to fill the heavy urn between us. They belonged to the generation that does not think of helping with domestic tasks.
‘Poor Father Malory. I suppose it was all for the best,’ said Sister Blatt, waiting with a drying-cloth in her hand. ‘We are told that everything happens for the best, and really it does, you know.’