The Treacherous Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘I am saving, you know,’ Joe rebuked her gently.

  ‘Then let me pay,’ Anne said. ‘Or at least let me pay the extra. I don’t object to spending my money.’

  There was a brief silence, and she saw a white line etch itself round Joe’s lips. She had hit him where it hurt, and despite her anger, she was sorry. They walked on in silence for a moment, and then began speaking at once.

  ‘I don’t take a girl out, and then let her pay,’ Joe said.

  ‘I only wanted a change,’ Anne said. Joe stopped for her to go on. She said, rather shamefacedly, ‘A transport café might be all right, but it isn’t much of a treat, is it, to take a girl on her night out?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Anne,’ Joe said. They had been walking on all this time in the direction of the Forum, but he veered away now, pulling her with him. ‘We’ll go to the Italian place.’

  Anne pulled her arm free and stopped in the middle of the pavement, and Joe turned back to look at her in surprise. Anne could not be sure if he was genuinely surprised, or if he was only acting dumb, but in either case she was exasperated, and told him so.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Joe, what’s the good now? I don’t want to go there now. Let’s go to the Forum for heaven’s sake and get it over with.’

  ‘I don’t understand. A moment ago you said …’

  ‘I know what I said,’ she shouted at him. ‘I wouldn’t have any pleasure in it now. If you’re going to give in to me, why don’t you do it straight away, instead of taking all the pleasure out of it first by arguing, and then giving in when I don’t want it any more?’

  ‘Want what?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Whatever it was I wanted!’ Anne raved. Even through her rage, she could see the funny side of it, and however much she wanted to tear her hair, she also wanted to laugh. At length she took a deep breath and said in what she hoped was a reasonable voice,

  ‘I know you’re saving, and I know you don’t like to spend my money, but just once in a while it does people good to splash out on something that isn’t totally necessary, just rather nice. And now,’ she finished, putting her hand through his arm again, ‘let’s go to the Forum and forget I ever spoke.’

  Joe went with her, but she could see he was still puzzled, and he was more silent even than usual through the meal, evidently thinking something out. Joe had sausages, egg and chips, and Anne, out of self-indulgence, had a mixed grill, which was the best thing that the Forum did, and not at all bad, but she didn’t enjoy it. When they had finished, Joe said.

  ‘Do you still want to go to the fair?’

  ‘We might as well,’ Anne said, but the fun had gone out of it. Her evening was spoilt, she felt, and it was for such a silly thing. She felt out of temper with Joe, dissatisfied with her lot, and above all guilty that she should feel either out of temper or dissatisfied. Even the cheerful noise of the fairground and the nostalgic smell of the diesel engines and the candyfloss and the donkeys did little to lift her spirits. They met up with Wendy and Graham, and Wendy asked Joe if he had bowled for the pig yet, and rather laboured the joke until Anne told her, sourly to shut up.

  It was a good fair, and as they wandered round, content at first just to look until the atmosphere built up, Anne felt herself cheering up. There was something, after all, about a fair, a contrast between the illusion of luxury and the reality of squalor behind it, and a sense of total extravagance that was quite charming. The lights, the gold paint, the wheezy music, the hoarse tempting cries, the promise of purely temporary delight, all added their own allure to the scene. Anne drank it all in, and found herself smiling again.

  Joe, however, was still unhappy, and perhaps dwelling on Anne’s concealed accusation of meanness, kept trying to persuade her to go on everything they passed. It was as if his money was burning holes in his pockets. Anne was content to watch. She went on the roundabout and the waltzer, but preferred to watch Wendy and Graham on the caterpillar and the dodgems, despite Joe’s urging at her elbow. They ended up buying four hot dogs, and finding some caravan steps out of the throng where they could sit and eat them.

  ‘It’s a good fair, isn’t it?’ Wendy said through a mouthful of bun.

  ‘Terrible waste of money,’ Graham said cheerfully. Joe looked as though he agreed, but not cheerfully.

  ‘What isn’t?’ Anne said, trying to be diplomatic. ‘Hey, Wendy, you’ll never guess who I saw this afternoon.’

  ‘How many guesses?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘All right, I’ll have three. The Pope, Prince Charles, and the man we saw in the café this morning.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I saw him too – I was going to tell you,’ Wendy said. ‘He must be staying in town somewhere, I think. Can’t see him in a boarding house, leave alone a camp site, so he must be at one of the hotels.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Graham asked.

  ‘Your successor,’ Wendy said, laughing.

  ‘My successor in what?’

  ‘In taking me out. I should think he’s got pots of money.’

  ‘He’s welcome to you,’ Graham said emphatically, and she made a face at him. ‘I say, Joe, you’re very quiet. I don’t think you’ve enjoyed yourself at all this evening.’

  ‘Bit tired,’ Joe said. He stared down at his half-eaten hot dog with distaste, and then threw it into the nearest waste-paper bin. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to drag Anne away when she’s having a good time, but I’d really like to go home. Would you give her a lift home for me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Graham was saying with surprise, when Anne interrupted.

  ‘No, it’s all right, I’m ready to go home now. I’ve seen all I want to see.’

  Joe looked at her doubtfully, but she returned his gaze steadily, and at length he nodded.

  ‘Just as you like,’ he said. ‘Cheerio, Wendy, Graham. See you again.’

  ‘Bye, Joe. Bye Anne.’

  ‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow at the office, Anne,’ Wendy called after her. Anne knew what that was for – to discuss Joe’s mood. She fell in beside him, and they walked in silence for the privileged place in the market where Joe left the van.

  Joe held the door for her as courteously as ever as she settled herself on the blanket on the tattered front seat, but on the short drive back to Winton Parva she felt the atmosphere thick as soup inside the van. When they pulled up at the station, Joe said quickly,

  ‘I won’t come in, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh please, Dad always like to see you,’ Anne said. There was a brief silence.

  ‘Give your Dad my apologies, would you, but I’d like to get home.’ He seemed to be waiting for her to get out. Was that all? No goodnight kiss, no smile or touch of the hand. Anne knew whose fault it was.

  ‘Joe, listen, I’m sorry for getting ratty with you—’

  ‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ he said.

  ‘Oh come on, don’t be like that!’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘All sniffy and proud. I said I’m sorry.’

  ‘And I said there’s nothing to apologise for. I mean it.’ He sounded quite firm and sincere. Anne was silent for a moment.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she began, but Joe stopped her, touching the back of her hand briefly.

  ‘I understand, maybe better than you think,’ he said. There seemed to be no more to come, so feeling very much at sea, Anne bid him goodnight and got out of the car, and Joe drove away without another word.

  ‘Isn’t Joe with you, love?’ Dad asked as she came in. She swallowed, and smiled.

  ‘He felt rather tired, Dad, so he went straight home. He sent you his love,’ she said. She could see that her father was puzzled by this, for it was not like Joe, and she added off the top of her head, ‘To tell you a secret, I think he was a bit upset to see Rosemary go.’

  ‘Rosemary! Don’t tell me they’ve sold his prize sow.’

  ‘Yes, and her litter. They fetched a
good price.’

  ‘I’ll bet they did. But it’s no wonder he’s depressed. He thought the world of that pig.’ Dad said, nodding wisely. How very true, Anne thought, and put the kettle on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Letter for you, Dad,’ Anne said, coming in with the mail as her father sat down to breakfast.

  ‘Another bill, I’ll be bound,’ he said, holding out his hand for it. She held it back, teasingly.

  ‘No. Guess again.’

  ‘A circular then? A catalogue.’

  ‘No. You’re a rotten guesser.’

  ‘Well I give up then. Oh, it’s a letter all right. Now who could be writing to me?’

  ‘British Rail,’ Anne said, watching him slit open the envelope with his horny, ridged thumbnail.

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked her, astonished. She smiled sweetly.

  ‘It says on the envelope. Look, at the bottom: If undelivered, return to—’

  ‘So it does. How clever of you.’

  ‘Well, what does it say?’ she prompted impatiently. She watched his face as he read the letter, frowned, and then went back to the beginning to read it again. Not good news, then, or not wholly good. He came to the end and looked up at her, and then passed her the letter, saying.

  ‘Here, you’d better read this.’

  ‘“Dear Mr Symons,”’ she read, ‘“With regard to your recent request for repairs to be carried out to the roof of your dwelling” – did you, Dad? I didn’t know.’

  ‘Yes, a couple of weeks ago. You know where that tile came off. I patched it up, but it wasn’t a permanent job. Go on.’

  ‘“—roof of your dwelling, we have decided, in view of the general condition of the building, that it would be uneconomical to make any further repairs or improvements. We have pleasure therefore in offering you an alternative dwelling, namely no. 3, Pear Tree Close, London Road, Market Winton.” That’s those new bungalows, isn’t it, Dad, on the main road going towards Magna? What’s this all about?’ The rest of the letter dealt with a description of the ‘alternative dwelling’ and what Dad had to do to signify his consent. ‘They won’t make us go, will they?’

  ‘I’m afraid they will,’ Dad said. ‘I’d heard some rumours on the wind about a change coming, but I never thought it would affect us directly, not like this. You see, you know it’s only the army that keeps this branch line alive?’

  ‘Of course,’ Anne nodded. ‘People can say what they like about the army spoiling the countryside and the soldiers getting drunk in the local pubs, but if the army hadn’t built a camp at Leabourne, they would have shut old Parva station years ago.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dad said. ‘Well, I get all the army gossip from the blokes on the transports while they wait for the trains to come in, and it seems that for some time the army have been intending to build on to the camp at Leabourne and open an experimental tank station, for testing new weapons and tanks and so on.’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with us?’ Anne was puzzled.

  ‘A bigger camp means more soldiers, and that means more traffic on our branch. And more houses for the married men, and more people using the station. Now Winton Parva’s all right for the amount of traffic it handles, but if there’s going to be three or four times the number of people passing through, the station won’t do at all. Oh no, not at all.’ Dad shook his head, and his eyes were reflective.

  ‘I haven’t seen the plans,’ he went on, ‘but I can imagine it pretty well. They did the same thing at Wool. A new entry hall, new station buildings – ticket office and toilets and so on. And a big concrete area in front for the cars and the transports and the BRS vans.’

  ‘Over our bit of waste-ground,’ Anne said, suddenly understanding. ‘And our house will be in the way.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dad said. ‘It’s an old house: no proper damp course, and sinking one side anyway because of the sewers. They wouldn’t bother to patch it up when they’re going to pull it down in a couple of years anyway.’

  ‘But if they move us, what about your job?’ Anne cried. ‘They can’t have a residential station master who lives a couple of miles away.’

  ‘Extra staff,’ Dad said. ‘Extra traffic would mean extra staff. Not residential any more; it’d be shifts. They’d bring in a younger man, maybe two, to share the shifts with me. And then, the next thing you know, they’d be making me redundant. “Poor old boy with a dummy leg” they’d say. “He can’t manage – pension him off!”’

  ‘Nonsense, Dad,’ Anne said robustly. ‘Your foot makes no difference, and you know it. Come on, it isn’t like you to be glum. You should be proud that they’re upgrading your station. You always said it was too quiet.’

  Dad smiled faintly. ‘I used to say it, but I liked it quiet really. But – leaving here! You’ve lived here nearly all your life. Your mother spent her last days here. And to turn us out and put us in one of those nasty red-brick bungalows. Pah!’ He made a face.

  ‘Well, it needn’t be for a year or two, need it? I mean, it doesn’t say in the letter that they’ll make us go.’

  ‘No, it makes it sound like we’ve got a choice, all very polite and nice, but they’ll find ways. Won’t repair the roof, for a start.’

  ‘Well, we could manage,’ Anne began, but her father went on.

  ‘It would be a relief to me if you’d get yourself married and settled down in a place of your own. I wouldn’t mind what happened, then, if it was only myself I had to worry about.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

  ‘Oh yes I do. I’m your father. And what about you and Joe?’

  ‘What about me and Joe?’

  ‘Did you have a quarrel last night?’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘Yes, I know what you told me, but I got to thinking it over last night after you’d gone to bed, and I don’t think Joe would be that upset over a pig. I know he’s mad about them, but he cares more for you than for any pig in this world.’

  ‘Are you sure about that, Dad?’ Anne said quietly. ‘I’m not sure. I think pigs come first with him.’

  ‘So you did have a quarrel.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘All right, I know it’s none of my business, and I won’t ask you any more. But think about this: Joe’s a good steady lad, nothing flighty about him, and as honest as the day is long. You’ll go a long way to find a man as steady and honest as him.’

  Anne said nothing, but she thought, perhaps that’s just the trouble. He’s too steady. A girl needs a bit of fun now and then. But she didn’t want to upset Dad on top of his bad news, so she smiled and pretended to agree with him, so that by the time she left for work he had forgotten their quarrel.

  It seemed to be the day for news. When Mr Cass came in and had read through his mail, he called out to Anne,

  ‘Would you come in for a moment, Miss Symons?’ Anne took her notepad and pen, but it was not for dictation that she was wanted. Mr Cass twinkled gravely at her and told her to sit down.

  ‘Miss Symons, it hasn’t escaped my attention that you take what I might call a scholarly interest in the cases that the firm handles, so it will be old knowledge to you that we took over various cases from Comar and Sons when they went out of business, and among them the Trusteeship of the Bowyer Estate.’

  Anne nodded. ‘Yes, sir. And the Bowyer Estate—’

  ‘Just so. The Bowyer Estate incorporates the piece of land in which our client Mr Halderthay is interested.’

  ‘You’ve had some news on it?’ Anne asked eagerly. Mr Cass smiled.

  ‘That particular piece of land is to be sold, and as Trustees we can choose either to place the sale with an estate agent, or sell the land privately. I see no reason why Mr Halderthay should not be offered first refusal before the land is offered for sale publicly, do you?’

  ‘That’s marvellous,’ Anne said, ‘but—’

  ‘But why am I telling you?’ That wasn’t what Anne had been going to say
. She had been about to say, but he may not be able to afford it yet, but he had been saving for four years, after all. Mr Cass went on, ‘It has not escaped my notice that you are quite well acquainted with Mr Halderthay, one might almost say friendly’ – the eyes twinkled again, ‘and I thought you might like to have the pleasure of breaking the news to him yourself.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Anne said. ‘It was very kind of you.’

  It was kind to think of it, but Anne, as she went back to her own office, could only wish it had happened a day earlier, before she and Joe had – she could hardly say quarrelled, for it didn’t amount to that. But before the little coldness that had sprung up between them. It occurred to her that when they parted last night, they hadn’t made any arrangement to meet on Saturday, which was the other night they generally went out. It might have been an accidental omission, or it might have been the cold shoulder. Perhaps she deserved it, but if Joe was deliberately leaving her in doubt, it was not like him, and she would be justified in being angry and offended.

  She had no way of contacting Joe, which was the main reason why they made their arrangements for the next time when they said goodnight. Well, she wouldn’t judge him too quickly; she would wait to see if he got in touch with her. He might telephone her at the office – he knew the number – or he might make occasion to come into town during the day and drop by to speak to her. Or he might call round to the house tonight. She would wait and see what happened; but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

  She was just taking five minutes break at eleven o’clock to drink her coffee and read a page or two of her book, when the outer door opened, and she looked up quickly, thinking it was Joe. Had she stopped to analyse her reaction, it might have told her quite a lot about her feelings for Joe, but she had not time to think about that, for it was not Joe who came in from the street, but the dark stranger of yesterday.

  ‘Good morning,’ he began, ‘I was wondering,’ and then he saw who it was. His mouth curled up at one side in a funny, lopsided smile. ‘Well, if it isn’t the lady who knows about goats!’