‘Oh I don’t suppose we shall find anything so dramatic here I don’t think they are wicked – but very, very mistaken. They merely do harm to their own cause. They’ve caught a taste for violence, that’s all.’
The next course was presented, a crême brulée (Mrs Browne did them beautifully). It muffled immediately the little incident, which had, after all, amounted to nothing.
4
Miss Ada Thompson and Miss Clara Pease Henneky slept in the train. Being ignored was not stimulating. They rattled through the night towards Paddington, towards – for they achieved it in the end – Holloway and hunger strike, towards, respectively, the Ambulance Corps and a munitions factory, for, changing the direction though not the blindness of their loyalties, they did awfully well in the war.
We all did, I suppose, except Philip.
At Charleswood everyone slept too, more, comfortably. Except for old Mrs Weston, who wandered about the garden as usual, hearing the nightingales in the valley and the shriek of the rabbit as the vixen killed it for her cubs, and thinking of death and despising herself for the littleness of her understanding.
5
By Tuesday morning they had all gone, except for Kitty, Alice and old Mrs Weston.
Before he left Philip said to Aylmer, ‘There’s something I’d rather like to discuss with you. I somehow haven’t had a chance, and anyway it’s a little difficult I wonder if I might see you this week some time, if you could spare me a moment?’
‘Of course. Let me see, why not dine with me on Thursday at the House? We’ve got questions on the Budget resolutions coming up and I shall have to be there all evening Cynthia is taking. Violet to something or other, I forget what. Come along about eight, would you?’
So he came along about eight, came along the corridor past the deferential policeman and the immensity of Westminster Hall, and waited in the central lobby while an official took his card in to Aylmer, and saw Harry Chaplin, a great blond amazing figure who breezily shouted that he was going to give Lloyd George hell over the Budget, and Masterman, Aylmer’s friend, looking untidy and ill, and Arthur Balfour who most politely sent his regards to Cynthia, ‘whom I believe, I truly believe, to be the most beautiful woman in London’, and then a red haired young woman, rather pretty but flustered, asked him if he knew where she might find Mr Churchill and he directed her with great authority though total ignorance, and thought afterwards perhaps she was going to throw a bomb. Then at last he saw Aylmer, a figure here of benign authority, despite his comparative youth, stooping slightly, smiling a mild short-sighted smile, having not yet seen him, beautifully dressed in his dark coat and pinstriped trousers, which never seemed to crumple through the longest, roughest session, his hair very sleek and statesmanlike, a little grey. He caught sight of Philip and hurried towards him.
‘I hope you haven’t been waiting. Come along in. We might as well dine straight away, don’t you think? We’ve got quite a quiet day today, thank heavens, after yesterday, but I have to hand around because there’s an education thing coming up later which may affect me. The Local Government boys are at it at the moment. Strange that one should regard a Lloyd George budget as a respite from anything, isn’t it? But there have been such scenes over this wretched Irish business, one gets quite worn out with it.’
‘What’s going to happen about that?’ asked Philip, walking quickly to keep pace with Aylmer.
‘We’ll put the Home Rule Bill on the statute book and follow immediately with an amending Bill, but it’s a question of what Redmond can get his rank and file to agree to. Here we are. Now. Where’s our table? Ah good. Have a glass of sherry first of all and let’s take our time.’
Accepting, Philip thought how brisk he was here, and perhaps a little self–important, but then he was ready to take that back as Aylmer gave an immense yawn and tipped back his chair. The truth is, thought Philip, I can’t even get him there he is brisk because he has just come from his work, but he will calm down, he will give me – don’t I know it? – his sincere and undivided attention. In due course, when I raise the matter. For he, naturally, will not refer to the fact that I have asked myself here in order to discuss something with him.
‘We thought we might see you last night,’ Aylmer was saying.
‘I wasn’t asked,’ said Philip.
‘Good heavens, I thought you were so much in demand these days.’
‘No, that’s Edmund. How was it?’
‘I was only there a very short time, to be honest. We dined chez Cunard, which was amusing. Have you seen Edmund? No? I wondered what luck he had had at that sale he was going to. There was a good sale of porcelain at Christie’s, I gather I rather think he was hoping to pick up something pretty for Violet.’
‘Cynthia will be very busy over the wedding.’
Philip’s parents had died of cholera when he was eight. His father, Aylmer’s brother, had been in the Indian Civil Service. Philip had gone to live with his youthful aunt and uncle and it had somehow come about that he had called them neither aunt and uncle nor mother and father but simply by their Christian names, perhaps because he had heard of them thus from his parents, having himself only seen them once, when he was a baby. In the early days, when they had been only anxious to avoid his being unhappy, they had not imposed the prefix anyway it had been their intention that he should learn to call them mother and father, but this he had never done. At that time, when even great friends among men often addressed each other by their surnames only, it was odder than it would be now for such familiarity to exist between a young man in his late twenties and two people in their forties. No one who knew them well noticed it any more, but with others Aylmer occasionally felt a twinge of embarrassment on Cynthia’s behalf Philip liked the habit, he always had, it gave him a feeling of superiority over Edmund.
‘She will enjoy it,’ said Aylmer. ‘We must only try and stop her from enjoying it so much that she tires herself out.’
‘Yes,’ said Philip ‘I wanted to talk to you about myself, I am afraid I hope it won’t – well – displease you. The thing is, to put it bluntly, I’m rather fed up with the Army.’
‘Oh are you?’
‘You look pleased.’
‘Not exactly. Go on.’
‘I didn’t expect you to be pleased. I thought you would be shocked.’
‘You haven’t told me yet what you want to do about it I may be shocked by that. But why should I be shocked by your not liking the Army? I am a Liberal after all, and it is hardly the most liberal of professions. We thought it might make an interesting and adventurous life for you, one for which you might be fitted, but as far as I remember it was you yourself who were most in favour of the scheme.’
‘It was, I know. I thought it was what I needed. I was attracted by the idea of action. But I see so little of it. I spend my time in social fripperies, accompanied by noisy aristocrats who think of nothing but gambling and actresses.’
‘Ah, your Nonconformist blood coming out. Splendid, splendid! This is really delightful. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about it.’ He was indeed sitting up, alert with pleasure ‘You thought I should be shocked? This is good news, good. Unexpected. What do you want to do instead? Certainly you should send in your papers, even if everybody does think at first that there’s been some scandal. There hasn’t been by the way, has there?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Of course not. I shouldn’t have asked. But we haven’t seen as much of you as we’d have liked this last year or two, and sometimes we think you’re rather a mystery to us Well, well, and what are you thinking of? Writing?’
‘Well.’
‘I know those are rather the sort of people you’ve been seeing. Look here, I know Spender well and he’s a first class journalist. He could tell you all the ropes. Or isn’t that it? I know it isn’t politics, though I wish it were. What about the Colonial Service? Or are you going to go the whole way and go into the Church? Oh, this is splendid!’
; ‘No, no, do stop, you’re getting carried away. I don’t want to do any of those things. I want to go into business and make a lot of money.’
‘Oh.’
‘But why not?’
‘But why?’ He looked absurdly put out. ‘It’s not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just that – well – what do you want the money for?’
‘Want it for? Why, to spend!’
‘On gambling and actresses?’
A pause.
‘Possibly,’ said Philip.
‘Have you a business in mind?’
‘Yes I know a man called Horgan, a South African who made a lot of money there and who has now started a stock–broking firm in London. He’s willing to let me go in with him.’
‘I should very much like to meet him. Is he the sort of person you could bring down to stay?’
‘I think a meeting in London might be better.’
‘Is there a Mrs Horgan?’
‘No.’
‘Ask him to dine or lunch with me, won’t you? And I’ll make a few inquiries in the meantime. I have some friends in the City, though not many of one’s friends are stockbrokers. However, there is no reason why that should deter you. You really think that you would find this an interesting and rewarding life?’
‘I hope it would be rewarding. Financially, anyway.’
‘Yes. But then you have a little money of your own, and, as you know, we intend to leave you something, though of course the bulk has to go to Edmund, because of Charleswood and all that. All the same you are not likely to become destitute. Have you been losing money gambling?’
‘No. I’m not unlucky, on the whole.’
‘Then I don’t think you have any need to do this just for the money.’
‘Money matters very much though, doesn’t it?’ said Philip ‘What would you have done if you hadn’t had it?’
‘I didn’t have very much. I had to earn it, at the Bar, like many others.’
‘The law doesn’t attract me. And anyway Edmund is doing that. But you will admit then the need to make it, the necessity? One is nothing without it.’
‘You would have been something with a military career and a small independent income. I agree that money has become too important a consideration in society within the last few years, and I regret that, and I should like to see a more even distribution of the new wealth, but it is by no means the only consideration. We should be in a sad way if it were.’
There was a pause, then Aylmer went on, ‘Of course we shall support you in anything you really want to do, as long as you don’t rush into it without finding out all about it first.’
‘That’s very good of you.’
Aylmer persevered ‘We do want you to find your place, you know, your object, whatever it may be Cynthia and I both want to help you in any way we can, and if this backing of your judgment is what you need, then we shall want to do it for our own satisfaction. Edmund has always been so much more certain of what he wants than you, and though things are perhaps easier because more obvious for him, there is more scope in a way for you. You are extraordinarily free. You have a little money, a decent education, a certain background, the assurance of whatever we can offer in the way of interest and support.’
‘I know, I know’ Philip moved a little impatiently, smiled awkwardly. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I had less I have too much perhaps, and am still in a way.’ He stopped. He had nearly said ‘excluded’, which would have embarrassed them both. He went on, ‘It’s as you say. Things are more obvious for Edmund.’
‘They will become more obvious for you. They always do. And when you have made this famous fortune you can buy up a much grander estate than anything Edmund will come into. And then you must come into Parliament and outshine him there too, representing the hard faced Tory landowners.’
‘But of course,’ said Philip, laughing. ‘I’ve thought of all that.’
‘Anyway, let me meet Horgan,’ said Aylmer. ‘That’s the next stage.’
After dinner they walked together along the passage back to the central lobby. A figure whom he did not recognize bumped into Philip, apologized and wandered off. A rather noisy group was walking behind them Aylmer and Philip stood aside to let them pass.
‘I say, you know,’ said Philip, ‘an awful lot of them are drunk after dinner.’
‘Aren’t they just?’ said Aylmer, walking along with his hand on Philip’s shoulder. ‘But it never did anyone any harm that I’ve heard of.’
Philip thought suddenly that Aylmer’s tolerance was intolerable, but said good bye warmly and went off to get drunk himself.
Aylmer walked home, down Victoria Street to Queen Anne’s Gate, where their house was. The street was quiet and moonlit. He was thinking about the Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom he disliked but in many ways admired. But the country as a whole would never quite trust him, he thought. He liked walking down Victoria Street at night, thinking about the country as a whole, and how it would never quite trust Lloyd George. A lukewarm Imperialist, he thought with mild amusement that some of his opponents in and out of the Party would be surprised to know how deep his emotional patriotism ran but he would never tell them. Indeed he would have preferred himself that it might have been not less deep but a little less emotional, for he did believe in detachment combined with principles. ‘Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel,’ had Dr Johnson said? He did not much read Dr Johnson. He must look it up.
Cynthia was not yet in. He had not expected her. He poured himself out a whisky and soda, meaning to drink it before going to bed, and when his hand was still on the syphon depression settled on him with startling suddenness, and an uneasy self-dissatisfaction. Damn Philip. Why didn’t Cynthia come back?
But she did.
‘And all in gold,’ he said as she threw off her soft grey cloak.
‘I was so bored and tired,’ she said ‘And I thought you would be back by now. Maisie Ward Thomas is bringing Violet home.’
‘Good. I’m glad you came. But bored and tired? You must be getting spoilt. Success has gone to your head. I’m not surprised at your success, I must admit, I do believe you get more beautiful all the time. It’s nothing to do with your smart clothes and all the rest of it. Cynthia, you do know I am still the first of your admirers, don’t you? Do I forget to tell you that sometimes?’
She shook her head gently. ‘I wasn’t really bored and tired. I came back because I felt you were sad and I wanted to be with you.’
‘How did you know?’ he asked.
‘I felt it,’ she smiled. ‘I felt a deep heavy gloom coming washing towards me all the way from Victoria Street to Chester Square and I knew that it came from you. So there. Perhaps I should take up theosophy or something.’
‘No, no, I want all your intuitions for myself. How wonderful.’ He sat beside her and held her hand. ‘I’m cured already. But it was Philip, I think, who depressed me. That and this long noisy week. He came to see me. He wants to leave the Army and put money in some stockbroking venture, but when he was talking to me I suddenly had the feeling that his motives were all wrong and he was only doing it because he resents not having enough money to cut a dash among his brother officers, and because he resents Edmund, and that made me feel that perhaps we have failed him in some way. But how?’
‘What else could we have done, given the situation?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. He made me feel – I don’t know – dull, pompous, unsympathetic, because I tried very mildly to say something of what I felt to him. But am I? Am I those things? I know I am getting older, and established in my ways, and less open to new ideas. But I haven’t stopped questioning myself, have I? Do I represent something to Philip that perhaps just by being here I am? Am I authority and is authority a fake? But I am a Liberal. I am not in the other tradition at all. And besides authority, good authority, is not in the least a fake. Why should Philip make me feel this? What is it in him that I feel but don’t recognize and that di
sturbs me so? And how ought I to deal with it?’ He took her other hand as well and kissed them both. ‘Now I have asked you all my questions. And immediately they have stopped bothering me.’
‘It isn’t like you to have so many,’ she said, ‘It’s Philip. He does make one feel like that, standing towards him as we do. He is not reasonable, you see, as you are. But I know that you’re the one who is right, absolutely right – and I know that, as you say, it’s a good thing to ask yourself questions – but you know you’re right too, really I’ll ask Philip to come and see me. We must see more of him. We mustn’t let him grow away from us as he has been doing, at least not until we feel more confidence in him.’
‘Will you? Do. He adores you, you know You are the one person he doesn’t mock’
‘Doesn’t he? I wonder. But I’ll try with him. I’ll try harder. My dear, I think you need sleep. It’s so unlike you to have a down phase that I know it’s tiredness more than anything. Come along.’
‘May I come and undress you?’
They had separate but adjoining rooms. He came with her into hers, and undid the shining gold dress and let it slip silkily over her petticoats to he at her feet. He brushed her long dark hair. When she was in bed he went into his own room to undress and put on his pyjamas, then he came in and lay beside her and said, ‘Thank you, my darling, for being so kind.’ They lay side by side. Then he kissed her. ‘I am sorry for being just a gross man,’ he said. ‘I mean you are so eternally kind to me. If I – if I bothered you, you would tell me?’
She stroked his head and told him that he did not bother her.
Philip drunk. Philip kicking his way along a street in Soho, looking for Cindy, whose number he had forgotten. Looking in at dingy doorways, asking night people here and there, ‘Cindy live here?’, being brushed off, stumbling on angrily.
And then an old woman fell in his path, a heavy old woman, grey haired, in a shapeless overcoat, carrying something, fell and grazed her cheek on the pavement, so that the heavy old veined face she raised to stare at him was spattered with blood down one side she stared with bewildered hostility like a punch drunk boxer without raising her head from the pavement. He stared back, swaying, welcoming her and loathing her. An old man appeared, helped her up, asked questions, took charge. Seeing Philip he told him briskly to fetch a doctor – ‘Doctor Simpson, end of this road, tell him to come to my place, Dick Hustler’s.’ Philip nodded and walked on, keeping close to the wall because he knew he was not walking steadily and did not want the old man to see. He thought determinedly of that bloodstained stupid face. They think they can wipe out ugliness by an Insurance Act. Cynthia’s face on the pavement. I’m not going to mess about with any damned stupid doctors, my time’s too precious got to get on, find Cindy, make love, sleep sleep am I going to be sick? let her die, the sooner the better. But the doctor’s nameplate was there without his looking for it and the bell was so easily accessible and the maid answered so promptly ‘Accident. Dick Hustler. someone taken ill no, no’ and he was off again, round the corner and across the road and up the little street he felt sure this time must be Cindy’s. But why had he told the doctor, curse it? He had meant not to. Why had he meant not to? He did not know. ‘Cindy live here?’
Statues in a Garden Page 4