The Weather in the Streets (The Olivia Curtis Novels)

by Rosamond Lehmann

  “I came to see you, Olivia—”

  “I suppose not a friendly call?” Olivia offered her a small weak smile.

  “Friendly, I hope, Olivia. I do hope you will believe friendly …”

  That’s as may be. I won’t say anything. I won’t be bamboozled: a good word that.

  “I’ve hesitated a long time,” said Lady Spencer, her clear eyes gazing ahead into space, heroic, calm, “before deciding to come … You may think the fact of my being Rollo’s mother doesn’t warrant my interfering …” Olivia was dumb, and she added, still with the same alarming faith: “I must risk that.”

  “Has he told you then?”

  She said quickly, with all her trenchancy: “Rollo has told me nothing.”

  That’s something—that’s a lot. Just guesswork. I must keep my head. She knows she can terrify: she counts on that, and worship.

  “How did you know?”

  Lady Spencer turned a curious expression on her for a moment … complicated … partly apologetic?

  “You sent him a telegram.”

  “Oh, did you open it?”

  “Yes. It was brought to me. Naturally,” she added quickly, “it was sent on to him at once.”

  God, what bad luck, what a half-witted thing to have done … with that silly intimate signature too—Liv—read, sent on by her. He must have been annoyed, fussed when he got it. His letter hadn’t said so … Sooner or later the criminal will be careless over a detail and betray himself.

  “But of course,” continued Lady Spencer, “I had known for some time.”

  Olivia stared at her, hypnotised.

  “I should say—had guessed …” Lady Spencer looked down, ever so slightly flustered.

  “How?”

  “It’s hard to put in words … I’m his mother … Naturally one is sensitive to … He was changed.” She coloured, very faintly.

  “Happier,” said Olivia.

  She paused.

  “He was different,” she said. “Unlike himself. At least I thought so.”

  “You’re very quick.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “He didn’t feel ashamed—guilty. Why should he?”

  Misplaced defiance, useless … Its only effect to make one feel coarse-mannered. Lady Spencer said quietly:

  “I never ask my children for confidences. But needless to say, I knew there were difficulties—in his married life, I mean.” She went on with a touch of acerbity: “People of my generation may seem to you very ignorant and old-fashioned. You like to think we all wear blinkers and live in cotton-wool, but some of us know something of the world. I had long expected Rollo would take a mistress.”

  The sudden plain speaking and downright tone startled her, almost brought a blush. Unexpected …

  “And after you came to dine with us that night at Meldon”—Lady Spencer nearly smiled—“I expected it would be you.” She paused reflectively. “That sounds a little crude. I don’t mean to imply there was anything in your behaviour …” That means there was. I was more than etiquette expects: I knew it then …” “You are an unusually attractive woman, and, well!—call it an intuition …”

  “Does everybody know then?”

  “I don’t know who everybody may be,” she said sharply, “but as far as I am concerned, I have not discussed the matter.”

  “I wonder if Marigold knows … She has intuitions too. Besides, she wanted it to happen.”

  Misplaced again …

  “I have no idea,” interrupted Lady Spencer sharply again, “what Marigold wanted. In this case her wants are not of the slightest interest to me.”

  As if focusing headlights upon Olivia, she turned towards her, and summoning all her powers, said intensely:

  “Olivia, do you love him?”

  “Yes.” Icy sweat burst out on her forehead … Brutal … Stop it, I’m ill …

  “I’m sure you do. Of course you do. Forgive me.” She made a slight, rapid movement, as if suppressing the impulse to put out a hand, to show affection. She said gently, “Then will you give him up?”

  “Why should I?” Olivia shrank back in her chair, rigid, panic-stricken.

  Lady Spencer sat still, giving them both time.

  “I think he’s unhappy,” she said finally.

  “Unhappy—?” A wave of blackness came over her. What do you know, you fiend?

  “Lately, I have thought so. I’m sure of it.”

  “Why, has he complained?” … Mummie, I’m so unhappy … Tell me all about it, dear … The blackness kept on coming in waves … The thing is, she’s always right …

  “I’ve told you already he hasn’t said one word. He never will.” She fidgeted with her gloves, smoothing them. “I realise I am taking a lot upon myself …”

  “You are. Too much, I think.” Insufferable, unwarrantable interference … But I can’t say that, I can’t keep it up. She was trembling, breathing in long-drawn shallow breaths. I mustn’t faint.

  Lady Spencer allowed the rudeness to pass. She said simply:

  “Something tells me he wants to bring it to an end.” In the silence she added, “I don’t think I’m wrong.”

  Not you …

  “If he did—he’d have told me. He’s not a coward. We trust each other. We know we can say—” We do, don’t we, Rollo? … Do we? … He said by the window: Remember I love you.

  “Yes …” Lady Spencer looked a little embarrassed. “Only you can judge of that, of course. I’m sure Rollo would never—er— He would never be selfish … light …”

  Olivia laughed.

  “I suppose you think I snared him.”

  “No, no. Why should I?” She does too. “I’m sure—I don’t doubt— But we won’t enter into that.”

  The room had grown suddenly dark. Outside a thunder-shower broke sharply, rattling on the pavement. They listened to it for a few moments.

  “If you think I don’t know about her …” said Olivia. “I know he loves her. In fact, she’s much the most important— I know that. He told me. I understand …”

  “Yes, he does love her,” agreed Lady Spencer, unshaken, considering quietly.

  “I know he’ll never leave her for me, if that’s what you—”

  “No. No, never …”

  “I expect monogamy’s a tradition in your family …”

  A show of it at least … Façades of virtue and principle, as an example to the lower classes. Anything may go on underneath, because you’re privileged. That Marigold’s no good, she’s a drunken tart. And what about old Sir John in his day, I wouldn’t be too sure …

  “Any break up in his marriage is unthinkable …” continued Lady Spencer, once more scoring for dignity. “Although of course things have been most unsatisfactory … She is very much to blame … she and her …” Now she was a little flustered. “But I have every hope—that they—that their difficulties … that there may be adjustments … her health will improve … that she will make her duty her happiness … I’m sure she will. She is a dear child really …” More than flustered, actually floundering; the de haut en bas impressiveness gone. Her hands moved restlessly on her lap. She appealed: “You know him. You know that what he needs is a real home.”

  “Yes.” Children … I won’t say that for her.

  “Olivia, will you be generous? Will you make a sacrifice for him? Will you give them a chance?”

  Another blackout, a bad one. Don’t give in … She burst out with violent weakness:

  “What’s all this? What are you …” Her lids closed. “Has something happened I don’t know about?” Rollo, where are you? How could you? … Tortured, and you don’t care …

  Lady Spencer was silent. Outside the rain redoubled for a moment, then suddenly sighed itself out.

  “Rollo is weak,” continu
ed the voice implacably. “I know it … He can’t bear to hurt … Any—any sensitive man is bound to be weak in such a position … Believe me if you can, Olivia, I am here as your friend …” Rot. Here as a blackmailer, here to smell out my game, see how dangerous I am … to buy me off with sentiments: pity for you you can’t suggest a cheque …” Olivia, will you help him?”

  “I do help him. I give him everything I can. I’ve made him happy—he said so … You ought to be glad.”

  Silence again. And the furniture listening … This is the room it began in. Can she see our kisses?

  “Perhaps,” said Lady Spencer with sorrowful rebuking gentleness, “we must agree to differ on that point. Perhaps our ideals of happiness … true happiness … But we won’t embark on such a wide question … I only wish to say that I think Rollo at least will never find peace—shall we say—in a divided allegiance? That if you continue this—this”—intrigue she’d like to say, doesn’t quite dare—“you will do him a terrible injury. There, I’ve spoken plainly. It’s the least I can do. That is my view. I may be mistaken …”

  But you’re damn sure you’re not.

  “Well, there’s nothing more to say, is there?”

  Stalemate? Not a victory for her, anyway. I haven’t given her much change: managed to keep my end up …

  Suddenly she said in a cross voice, as if irritated by a bit of bad management:

  “You appear to have been remarkably indiscreet.”

  “How do you mean …?” She heard her own voice weak, guilty, apprehensive. What’s she going to spring now …?

  “I should have thought it would have been wiser to avoid a town populated by half London for the Festival.”

  Good God!

  “Were we seen?”

  “You were.”

  “We didn’t think we had been.” This is awful “Who saw us?”

  “I don’t propose to mention any names,” said Lady Spencer crushingly, pressing her lips together, looking like a headmistress.

  “We were so careful … we never stayed in towns … It was only about a week …” Feebler and feebler: excuse, apology, embarrassment … Oh, God! It was in ruins. It had seemed so beautiful—such pure escape and flight. Oh, God! Toad faces, rat eyes of the world. Where had been the eye bulging in the crowd, the gloating nostril? … We thought we were so wary, going about always as if with feelers all over us, back and front and sides, quivering, on the lookout … Except when we said good-bye in the square, by the fountain of the horses … that was the only time I forgot the crowds, forgot to be on the alert … Was it then?

  “Luckily,” said Lady Spencer, “my informant is unimpeachably discreet.” The emphasis had come back. “I can count on its not going any further.” She jerked her head, looking both imperious and complacent … Somebody under her thumb … A relation. Suddenly, in a spasm like a flashlight photograph, it was Mary Denham … who hated me so that night—my enemy … It would be. She would go to Salzburg for the Festival … It was the right thing to do this year … She would spot us, and gleefully post off to Aunt Millicent with the news, importantly vow absolute eternal secrecy, for the sake of the family. What a break for her … Pure supposition, of course, utterly illogical, probably nonsense … But the image of that face, trivial and gluttonous, peering and pouncing unseen from a car? a café from the sidewalk?—was fixed now.

  “How beastly …” She sighed deeply.

  “I merely wished to point out that you don’t go about wearing a cloak of invisibility,” said Lady Spencer. Her voice rose, hardened. “Rollo must have been mad to—Think of the risk! You might at least … The scandal! Did you ever think of that—for him? What right have you—even if you’re prepared to sacrifice your own reputation—to endanger—other people’s? Supposing it had come to her ears … It’s a miracle it didn’t … I hardly like to think—”

  “Oh, don’t you? I can think of it without swooning! Why shouldn’t she have a bit of trouble like everybody else? Do her good!”—Coarse, hostile, scolding like a couple of scolds, me and Lady Spencer, how awful— “What’s the matter with her? What’s this thing about her? Is she dying? Just because she hasn’t even the guts to put her own stockings on—she’s to be treated like a Ming vase. You think it’s all right to behave like her—she’s so well-bred and ladylike—she must be protected. And it doesn’t matter what happens to inferior people like me—we can be ill—we can be worn down—and badgered and attacked—and dropped overboard—so long as you’re …”

  The blackness came over again, and settled. Now I needn’t hear any more. Needn’t answer. What a relief. This isn’t a faint, am I pretending? She was aware of herself slumped down sideways in her chair, her head on the arm. Quite comfortable. Can’t move.

  From far away she heard an exclamation, rustling movements. A voice said:

  “Olivia …”

  “It’s all right,” she said earnestly, not moving.

  “Shall I get you some water?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Presently she sat up. Lady Spencer was bending over her, rather red and anxious. Their eyes met, dwelling full, searchingly, on each other … Time started again. Lady Spencer straightened herself.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better. I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling up to much.” Two tears ran down her cheeks. She brushed them off and two more ran down.

  “You should have told me.”

  “It’s the weather, I expect. Thunder always does me in.”

  “Are you having proper meals? Who’s looking after you?”

  “I look after myself. There’s nobody left in London—except you and me.” She smiled. “I’m all right really. This is enough to upset any one, isn’t it?”

  “I’m so very sorry to have upset you. I feel so distressed …” Her voice faltered, a spasm twitched her face. She didn’t think I was so sensitive …

  “Please don’t be. I’m sure you came because you felt you must.”

  “Some day you may feel more inclined to believe I have acted for the best.” She looked away, a wrinkled old woman. “So far as I could judge of it,” she added.

  “Yes … I just think families are too awful, that’s all.”

  She stood erect, gazing towards the window. After a while she said:

  “This is not perhaps the time to speak of one’s own feelings, but I’ve always been fond of you, Olivia.” Her voice was unemotional but convincing.

  “And I of you. More than fond.” In love with the whole lot of them.

  “I’ve always so admired you and Kate. It seems such a pity—I felt so grieved when your marriage—I should so rejoice, to see you with a happy home of your own.”

  “I should be less of a menace, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t be bitter,” she said with mournful dignity. “After all these years I hoped—you would have been able to judge less cynically of my motives. I have been fortunate myself—happy in my marriage—but I don’t for that reason suppose marriage is the solution for every woman. But for you—it’s what should be”

  “That’s what he said too …” She got up and stood with her elbows on the mantelpiece and her chin propped on her hands.

  “Don’t waste yourself,” said Lady Spencer earnestly.

  The old feeling came surging up. Lady Spencer, I’m in trouble­, help me. You know everything. Beloved benefactress, infallible … Punish and forgive me, approve of me again. Say: I knew my Olivia wouldn’t fail me.

  “I can’t give you any promise or anything … When I see him, if I really think he wants … I’ll know when I see him.”

  “Truth is all that matters. We see eye to eye there at least, don’t we?” She smiled sadly, encouragingly. “Make it easy for him. You’re not weak.”

  “I am.”

  She began to draw on her gloves.

  �
�I can rely on you—not a word to him of this conversation?”

  “No. I promise.”

  “You needn’t fear that I shall trouble you again, Olivia. Think of me as out of the picture definitely, for ever. Unless, of course, you should wish to see me … I shall always be glad … Otherwise we may not meet again.”

  Never again the cordial greeting, the warm kiss, the sympathetic inquiry … How sad …

  Settling her chains and ruffles, giving a touch to her hat, she pronounced:

  “People must manage their own lives.”

  “I always knew you’d come,” said Olivia. “I’ve been expecting you for nearly a year.”

  As if wondering what to make of this, Lady Spencer shot her a dubious glance, paused; decided to let it pass.

  “I must be getting back,” she said. “He frets if I’m away too long.”

  They went down the stairs together.

  “I’m so sorry about him. I do hope he’ll get much better.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I’m afraid we can’t really hope for very much. But so far he’s had no pain. If he can be spared that, I must try not to complain.” Olivia opened the front door, and she stood on the threshold, her strong, noble profile lifted towards the street. “He has a full, happy life behind him,” she said. “We both have. It shouldn’t be too hard to find oneself at the end.”

  How sad, how sad: they had come to the end … His full, happy life must close in peace; she would fight for that, see to it: no breath of doubt, no shadow of distress about his only son should trouble his last days.

  “The rain’s over, isn’t it?” She peered out, short-sighted.

  “Yes. The air’s fresher, I think.”

  “Delicious. Blessed rain.” She turned, holding her hand out. “Good-bye, Olivia. God bless you. Take care of yourself.”

  Her gaze dwelt on Olivia standing at close range with the light full on her. Suddenly the smile froze, the blue eyes flew open wide, fixed in unmistakable panic. “You don’t look at all well,” she said. The dusky red came right up to her forehead.

  She’s guessed.