‘Splendid.’ He lit his cigarette. ‘Had brekker yet?’
‘No. I’ve only just got up. And I wasn’t sure –’
‘Oh, it’s Liberty Hall here – you must do as you please.’ He put a casual hand on my shoulder. ‘Completely, absolutely as you please. Fancy a spin on the bike?’
‘No, thanks. I rather fancy going home in one piece.’
‘Oh, well. If you change your mind . . .’ I felt the warmth of his fingers through my shirt. He dropped his hand. ‘I often go out on it early in the morning – you can get up to a respectable speed along the road to Tunbridge Wells. I recommend it.’
‘My mother would never forgive me if I got killed.’ I meant it in jest, but something about the solemn, early-morning calm, and the way he was looking at me, gave it a weight I hadn’t intended. ‘I mean –’
‘My dear chap, neither would I.’ He smiled. ‘You’re quite right. Don’t play dice with death while you still have something to lose.’
There was a long silence. The sun had climbed, and now it was slanting through the trees into my eyes. The sky had gone from ashes-of-roses to a pale, delicate blue.
‘About last night –’ I said, and stopped. Part of me wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen me like that, sweating and unmanned by a bad dream, but the other part of me wanted to watch him remember, to know that he had been there and I hadn’t imagined it.
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you. That is – thank you.’
He nodded, unsmiling, dropped his cigarette end on the gravel and stamped on it. ‘Do you remember what you said to Anthony, yesterday? I overheard you. You said that your father didn’t matter any more.’
‘I don’t think I said that ex—’
‘Perhaps not exactly. But you were right. Why should you have his nightmares?’ He turned on his heel as if to go into the house, and the gravel crunched under his feet. ‘I’ve seen so many men ruined by their ancestors, in one way or another. You must leave all that behind. Leave him behind.’
‘I know he wasn’t rich –’
‘That isn’t what I mean. Oh, that’s what Anthony would mean, or Edie. But no. I don’t mean your father the factory clerk, although God knows he won’t do you any favours – I mean your father the man. We’re all the children of the dead, Gardner. Leave them where they are. We don’t owe them anything.’
‘But –’ I hated saying but to him.
‘What?’ He laughed. ‘“If ye break faith with us who die/We shall not sleep”?’
Though poppies grow in Flanders fields . . . My mind completed the lines, unbidden. ‘I can’t help dreaming about him.’
‘No,’ he said, and his voice softened. ‘No, Gardner, you can’t. But you can start to understand that all he did for you was conceive you.’
‘All he did?’
‘Gardner, you will be a great man. A scholar, a soldier, a poet, perhaps. But you don’t owe anything to the past. You owe everything to the future. And that, at least, is a debt you can pay.’
I stared at him, torn between pleasure that he thought so well of me and a kind of unidentifiable discomfort. And as if he sensed both impulses, he grinned and jerked his head towards Tyme’s End. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Enough of this. Let’s have breakfast.’ He put his arm round my shoulders. I could feel the warmth of his body, and I was glad of it.
I nodded, and let him lead me back inside the house.
.
By eleven o’clock it was already hot. I had chosen a book at random from the shelves in Jack’s study, but I found myself too sleepy and languid to read it, even in the relative cool of the drawing room. Edie had wandered in without a word and draped herself sideways over the armchair near the window; she was wearing pyjamas, and her hair was in a tousled mess that made her look more boyish than ever. She yawned, and when I yawned too she caught my eye and smiled. There was an easy, undemanding quality to her silence, and for the first time I could understand why Jack had invited her.
The door opened. Jack’s voice said, ‘What are you doing frowsting in here, Gardner? Do you fancy a bathe? There’s a marvellous place on the riverbank, behind the house.’
Edie looked up, watched him for a moment, then turned her head away again.
I sat up. ‘Yes, thanks. Let me get my togs.’
‘No need. Edie won’t be coming, will you, Edie?’
She met his eyes, and shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think I shall.’
‘Good.’ He looked back at me. ‘I thought we might take a luncheon basket down with us.’
‘That sounds delightful,’ I said, glancing at Edie. Her face had a neutral, closed look, and she didn’t return my gaze.
‘Buck up then, or I shall be nothing but a smear of grease, like a melted pat of butter. I don’t know how you can stand it in here.’ He turned on his heel and I heard him whistling as he crossed the hall.
I said, ‘Edie, if you wanted to join us, I’m sure you’d be most welcome –’
‘Are you? How amusing.’
‘I mean – that is –’
‘Oh, Oliver, for God’s sake,’ she said, swinging her feet on to the floor and walking to the window. ‘Jack is appallingly rude to me because he knows he’ll get away with it, and it gives him pleasure. But it isn’t your business.’
‘Why do you let him?’
She reached out and pulled sharply at a tendril of ivy, peeling it away from the windowsill. ‘I suppose you think you wouldn’t?’ There was a silence. ‘Why don’t you go and have your little picnic? I’m sure it’ll be heavenly beside the river. I simply adored it the first time Jack took me there.’
‘Edie –’
‘I’ll have Anthony to keep me company. Or even Philip, if he’s finished his letters. Have a lovely time.’
I watched her for a few moments, then took my leave silently. I remembered what Jack had said: They won’t be here for long . . . I couldn’t help wondering why he surrounded himself with people like Edie and Anthony; it was as if an athlete should surround himself with cripples. But I pushed the thought away guiltily, because it was unfair to think badly of Edie and traitorous to think badly of Jack.
‘Ah, Gardner. Give me a hand with this, won’t you?’ Jack was in the doorway with the luncheon hamper. He tilted his head over his shoulder at the bottles on the table behind him. ‘Champagne, lemonade, ginger beer. Bring them all if you can’t decide.’
‘All right,’ I said, laughing, loaded my arms with bottles, and went out after him into the sun.
We made our way to the far end of the lawn and through the trees, grinning and swearing as we caught our feet in the bracken and reeled under the weight of our burdens. After five minutes or so we came to the river and Jack led me downstream, to a place where the water rattled over stones and then widened and deepened. The banks sloped down to a wide, calm pool. The surface reflected the sun and the trees, so that the world was green and gold, muttering and chuckling to itself, smelling of moisture. I drew my breath in.
‘Like it?’
I looked at him, and he grinned.
‘Not too bad, is it? Put those bottles down – we can chill them in the water, over there, where it’s shallow.’ He set the hamper down on the grass. ‘Here’s our lunch. Better bathe first, though.’
‘This is – it’s –’ I shook my head. Edie had been right: it was heavenly. I could feel the sun on the back of my neck and sweat prickling in my armpits and groin, but the fierce heat was almost pleasant, like pain when relief is imminent. I sat down and started to pick at my shoelaces with damp fingers.
Jack was already in the river by the time I had undressed, and I felt myself honour bound, under his amused eye, to plunge into the river without hesitation. The first iciness of the water took my breath away, and I heard myself give a husky shout of protest
, but after a few frantic strokes I found the coolness on my skin delicious, and I rolled over on to my back, gazing up at the treetops. Jack murmured something, but the water was rustling in my ears and I couldn’t hear the words. I held my breath and sank, watching the sunlight fall into wrinkles as it struck the surface above my eyes; then I floated again, twisting and diving just to feel the water moving over my body. When I put one foot down the mud oozed between my toes. Jack drove a fan of dazzling drops into my face, and I splashed him back. For a little while we played like schoolboys, laughing and yelling, until I begged for pax so that I could catch my breath. Finally I collapsed, exhausted, on the grass, letting the sunshine dry my skin, and watched Jack wade over to the bottles and wrestle good-naturedly with the champagne cork. His hands were wet, and it took a good deal of time before he could get a purchase on the bottle.
I opened my mouth, but there was nothing I could have said. I would have liked to tell him that I was perfectly, absolutely happy; I would have liked him to know that I had never expected to feel like a child again, irresponsible and safe, as I did now. But there was no question of putting it into words, even to myself. Instead I lay down, my chin on my hands, feeling the sun on my back, and inwardly thanked the world for existing.
We stayed on the riverbank for hours, slipping in and out of the water according to whim, eating a little here and there, as if the picnic were not lunch but rather an eternal elevenses, although we gave the champagne the attention it deserved. The morning turned into afternoon, and the sun swung slowly round, and we swam and read and dozed, hardly talking. I thought occasionally of the others, but it was only to be glad I was here, with Jack, without them. Sometimes, when I moved, I’d catch his eye and he’d smile at me. The champagne had gone to my head, and the ground beneath my hands tilted sleepily, first one way, then the other.
It was late afternoon. I drowsed, watching the blades of grass in front of my nose, feeling the new heat on my back as the shade retreated. Jack had been swimming, but after a few minutes I heard him get out of the water, and little flecks of cold landed on my shoulder blades. His shadow paused, and I started to turn my head to look up at him.
He said, ‘Don’t move.’
I paused, waiting. Then I felt something brush my ribs, just to the left of my spine – a little impact, like the tap of a finger – and then trace a light, ticklish line down my side. The grass in front of my eyes blurred, filling my head with a green glow.
‘Stay still,’ Jack said. There was the crunch of dry grass under his feet and the sense of something warm close to me. Then he put his hand on my back, paused for a second, and rocked back on his heels. ‘All right, you can move now.’
When I propped myself up on my elbows he was cupping his hands together. He opened them, tilting them carefully towards me, and I saw a beetle in his palm. It was a metallic green-gold, its carapace edged with a delicate fuzz. It waved its antennae with a dignified air, seeming to wonder what it was doing in Jack’s hands. I leant over him to get a better look, and he looked at me and grinned. I said, ‘Gosh.’
‘It’s like jewellery, isn’t it?’
‘What is it?’
‘A rose chafer, I think. It must be rather confused, to end up here. They like flowers.’
I held my finger out to it, and let it examine my nail. It shone magnificently in the sun, like a squat, ponderous king wearing green and cloth-of-gold.
‘We should probably go back to Tyme’s End,’ Jack said, his eyes still on the beetle. ‘It must be nearly time for tea. Edie will think we’ve drowned.’
I got to my feet, taking in the debris that was scattered around us. ‘Shall I pack the luncheon basket?’
‘Yes. And perhaps you’d better get dressed too.’ He glanced up at me, a glint in his eyes, and I felt myself blushing.
I pulled on my trousers and shirt, without bothering with my tie, and started to clear up the mess we’d made. Our glorious afternoon was over; there was nothing but the greaseproof paper wrappings and empty bottles to testify that it had happened at all. I passed Jack his clothes, but he continued to sit, intent on the beetle in his hand, without seeming to notice them.
I closed the hamper and strapped it shut, feeling my shirt graze the new sunburn on my shoulders. I had a sudden impulse to ask Jack why he had been so rude to Edie earlier; when I next saw her I wanted to know that he had explained to me, that I understood. I cleared my throat, but Jack didn’t look up. He was frowning a little, concentrating, and his hand was still curled around the beetle. I started to smile at the childish, attentive look on his face; then I saw that he was pulling its legs off, one by one, with precise, deliberate fingers. As I watched, he flicked the last little strand of black away, leaving the beetle as nothing but a gold-green carapace, like the boss of a shield or a brooch. There was a pause while he tilted his head, like an artist considering the final details of a painting. Then he pinched the antennae delicately off the beetle’s head.
I stayed where I was, silent.
I thought he would crush it to death then, but he only put it gently on the ground, smoothing a place for it between two tufts of grass. He looked up, saw me watching him, and smiled.
‘Ready to go?’ he said. ‘You needn’t wait for me.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. I stood there, quiet, while he got dressed and gathered up an empty bottle that I had missed; and I let him put his arm over my shoulder as we walked back to the house together.
.
The rest of that afternoon passed in a hot, uncomfortable dream. My head was aching and my back and legs were burnt and raw. Jack had tea with the others, outside under the copper beech, but I had had enough of the sun and shut myself in my room. I tried again to read, but my sense of unreality was too strong, as though I had a fever. Once I smelt cigarette smoke drifting up from the drawing-room window below and heard snatches of laughter and male voices, but I was almost certain it was only Anthony and Langdon-Down. The sunlight played on the ceiling, reflecting off the ivy, honey-green.
It wasn’t until after dinner, when the sun had gone down, that the clarity seemed to come back into the world. The heat had faded and Jack decided that we should take our brandy outside, in the cool blue evening. The swifts were looping and twisting between the trees and I stood watching them, half hypnotised by their grace and silence. Langdon-Down was delivering a donnish, soporific monologue on the Cathars – the conversation at dinner had touched on ideas of evil, and now he was examining, pedantically, the concept of the devil in European history – but the quiet monotony of his voice was easy to disregard. Anthony said something mocking, and Edie laughed, but I paid no attention.
Slowly I became aware of Jack at my elbow. When I looked round, he said, ‘Something wrong?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Only sunburn.’
He laughed quietly. ‘Idiot.’
‘I know.’ I hadn’t realised that I was miserable until I felt the knot inside me loosening. He had spoken to me during dinner, of course, but that had been in front of the others; that was different. ‘But you could have warned me.’
‘That you’re an idiot? Surely you knew that already.’
I punched him gently. ‘That I’d get burnt.’
‘As the moth said to the flame,’ he murmured, and grinned. ‘Is it my fault if you have no sense at all? Get Edie to give you some cold cream. No doubt she’ll apply it for you as well, if you ask nicely.’ He lit a cigarette, went to put the case back in his pocket and paused, holding it open. ‘Have one.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Go on. Have a cigarette.’ There was a note in his voice that I hadn’t heard before; or not when he was speaking to me, anyway. ‘Have a bloody cigarette, Gardner.’
I held his look for as long as I could, and then took one. He leant forward to light it for me, his eyes intent. Then he squeezed my shoulder.
It hurt, but I didn’t say anything. ‘Good man. But you’re being unsociable. Come and sit down.’
I nodded, but I stayed where I was for a little while, unwilling to turn my eyes away from the swifts’ mesmeric dance. The cigarette he had given me tasted bitter, like ash, but I smoked it obediently, without asking myself whether I was enjoying it.
When I did turn back towards the others it was because I had heard my name. Anthony smiled when he saw me move and raised his voice. ‘I was saying to Jack that we shall have to find a way to amuse you tomorrow. He has grown-up business to attend to.’
Langdon-Down added, ‘Gardner is a very resourceful and scholarly young man. As I was saying, in the twelfth century, the Bogomils . . .’ but no one was listening to him.
‘Yes, do be quiet, Tony. You’re only jealous that you’re not nineteen yourself,’ Edie said. ‘If anyone needs to be kept out of mischief it’s you, not Oliver.’
‘What business?’ I said.
‘I have a visitor,’ Jack said.
‘How long is he staying for?’
Anthony muttered something to Edie. She turned her head and hissed at him, and he laughed.
‘He’s not staying at all,’ Jack said. ‘He’s a – well, not quite a friend.’ There was a mocking note in his voice, but his face was thoughtful.
‘Won’t you introduce us to him, Jack?’
‘I doubt you’d want to know him particularly, Edie. He’s a bit of a poor specimen. He was at Cambridge with me, but I don’t speak to him much.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ Anthony said. ‘Not the chap who turned up just before Christmas?’
‘That’s the one. James Fraser. He’s a queer fish,’ Jack added, smiling at me. ‘Rather pathetic, really. I shouldn’t wonder if he meets a sticky end one of these days.’
‘It beats me why you put up with him,’ Anthony said.
‘Oh, auld lang syne . . . He was at Emmanuel. I told you, didn’t I? We had some larks together, but he got sent down. Then he was shell-shocked in the War. He’s a sort of limpet, these days. Won’t go away, and I don’t have the heart to labour the point.’
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