by Ann Bridge
‘Why on earth shouldn’t he? Surely this visit must be the American Embassy’s funeral?’ Edina persisted.
‘In theory, yes; but the whole thing is a NATO set-up, and he was fairly high up in NATO in Paris till quite recently, so he might be a useful person to have on hand.’
‘Well if he can’t come, someone will have to cope. They’ll want sleepers, for one thing, and then there’s that awful journey down to Gourock, and getting on to the boat—and she won’t be able to understand a word that’s said to her in Glaswegian, I don’t suppose,’ Julia said.
‘I should leave all that for this letter,’ Mrs. Hathaway advised. ‘You can go into details nearer the time. I can perfectly well go down and meet her, if it is necessary—I’ve done the journey often enough. Which are you writing to?’
‘Her—Hetta, I mean. I can write to Luzia tomorrow.’
‘I think I will send a line to Richard,’ the old lady said, getting up. ‘No, don’t move, Julia; I have all my writing-things in my room. If you will post my letter with yours, that will be very kind.’
‘Of course, Mrs. H.’ Julia went back to her writing. When she had finished—‘Well, I think that’s everything,’ she remarked, folding the sheets. ‘I’ve said any time, and the terms, and Dr. Macfarlane being a good accoucheur; and I did put in that Mrs. H. would go down and meet her if required. And Edina, I ventured to say that if my Philip doesn’t come dashing home, I should still be here. That O.K.?’
‘Perfectly O.K. by me,’ said her hostess.
‘And by me,’ said her host. ‘Yes, all that ought to satisfy them.’
Chapter 14
It might really have been better if Julia Jamieson had accepted Philip Reeder’s suggestion of sending a telegram, however non-committal, to say that a place was arranged for Hetta; it would have set several minds at Gralheira at rest. As it was, the delay in getting a reply to their respective appeals began to worry both Richard and Hetta, well before the letters came.
‘I cannot think why Julia, at least, does not answer,’ Hetta repeated, unhappily; Richard began to wonder if the letters could have been sent to Madrid, and went so far as to ring up the Chancery—but everything with an English postmark had been forwarded at once—and nothing had come in the last 48 hours.
The Ambassador was beginning to fret, too; it was time for him to return, and he would have preferred to have his Counsellor with him when he did so—on the other hand he quite understood Richard’s desire to accompany his wife on her journey to Madrid, and did not wish to thwart this. Uneasily, they all waited.
Nick and Luzia were the least troubled; they had plenty to occupy their minds. Lord Heriot had undertaken to arrange for Nick’s visit to the Landes as soon as he returned to Pau—‘I can do it all in no time when I’m there; get that factor fellow on the telephone’—for the Heriots too were contemplating their departure. The date of the wedding was settled: for the spring, shortly after Easter; in the meantime, Luzia was firm with her Father over settling precisely where the new bathrooms and fitted basins were to go, so that the work could be put in hand during the winter.
Over this, Nick gained fresh kudos with his prospective Father-in-law. The old gentleman was considerably bothered over the problem of getting hot water to such a distance from the boiler-house; he feared that the present boiler might be inadequate to the task, for the water was by no means always very hot even in the existing bathroom. Nick looked, and measured, and made some neat diagrams; then he unfolded quite a different scheme. Cold water already ran up to the bathroom and lavatory; from there cold-water pipes could be inserted inconspicuously behind the skirting-boards and run along to his and Luzia’s suite and their personal guest-rooms; so could power-wires—then instal really large immersion-heaters in the bathrooms, he said, and the only hot-water piping required would be to connect these with the fitted basins. The Duke was first startled, then delighted, at these wonders of modern science; he actually insisted on driving to Oporto to see an immersion-heater for himself, and returned greatly impressed. Luzia laughed gleefully—‘You will see, Papa will soon have a fitted basin with hot water in that little cloakroom next to his study!’ she told her fiancé. ‘He does not like washing his hands in cold water in the winter, and it will save him walking upstairs.’ By immemorial custom hot water, in brightly-polished copper jars, appeared before every meal on the wash-stands of all occupied bed-rooms, as well as night and morning; but it had never occurred to the Duke to have this luxury downstairs, though there was a small basin in an antique fitted mahogany stand in his little cloak-room, with a tiny ewer of cold water.
But what pleased Ericeira most over all this was the anxiety displayed by his future son-in-law to do nothing to injure or disturb the beauty and character of the house. This required considerable ingenuity, but Nick seemed equal to it. He demonstrated, by means of his neatly-drawn plans, that by cutting a strip off the end of one spare-room, putting up partitions and making new doors, two extra bathrooms could be provided for the guest-suites. ‘Personally, I should move the panelling; then the Blue Room will all be in harmony—people who haven’t seen it will not notice that it has been touched,’ he said earnestly. ‘And there will be quite enough panelling on the end of the piece cut off to make into two new doors, for the Blue Room and the Gold Room. But of course you will want to consult your architect,’ he added modestly. The Duke, practical over matters of which he had some knowledge, wanted to know where the waste-pipes would go?
‘Well, that is rather a worry. Of course a single pipe will do both baths, and another both W.C.’s; but it is right on the East Front, I know. It would cost a fearful lot, but it would be possible to run the pipes down in the thickness of the wall, so that nothing would show outside at all; and the outdoor drains could go along the edge of the drive and be pushed under the wall of the back yard, and join up with those from the kitchen and pantry. I made a sketch’—he showed it.
The Duke really minded less what it cost than that the exterior of Gralheira should not be spoiled in any way. However, he made some calculations, and it was finally decided that the waste-pipes should be hidden in the great thickness of the walls; as for the expense—‘From the additional profits which we shall make from the turpentine, once we get those distillation plants going, it will easily be covered,’ he said gaily. And later on he spoke, almost shyly, to Lord Heriot in praise of his son. ‘He has such understanding, as well as all his practical knowledge,’ he ended. ‘I’—he hesitated—‘I’ should wish you to know how fortunate I count myself.’ To which Lord Heriot could only grunt out that he was glad, and that the boy wasn’t a bad boy at all.
Mrs. Jamieson’s letter, when it finally did arrive, fully satisfied the Atherleys, after it had been digested and discussed. ‘I am to stay with Julia!’ Hetta announced triumphantly—‘At least in the same house. But not in London; at Glentoran, where we wrote before,’ she said to Luzia. ‘This is in Scotland, no?’
‘Yes—it is Colin Monro’s home,’ Luzia replied.
‘So? We are to pay the fees to some people called Reeder,’ Hetta pursued.
‘Yes—Mrs. Reeder is Colin’s sister.’ During her prolonged stay with Julia Jamieson in the Pyrenees, before the latter’s baby was born, Luzia had not only seen much of Colin, but had become quite au fait with the family connections; indeed she had met most of them, briefly, the year before when she went to London to be the single bridesmaid at Julia’s wedding. ‘Colin’s sister, and Miss Probyn’s cousin,’ she added, to make everything clear. ‘They look after the estate for Colin, since he is constantly away.’
‘What fees are you to pay to these Reeders?’ Richard asked, a little doubtfully.
‘Fifteen guineas a week, for us all—me and a maid, if I want to take one, and Richenda and la Suissesse. Julia says that as we shall be there for some time, she thought you would wish it to be a business arrangement,’ Hetta replied, turning the page. ‘Oh, Mrs. Hathaway will be there also,’ she exclaimed, de
lighted.
‘That is very nice, I must say,’ Richard said.
‘Yes—and she will come down to meet us in London, and take us up,’ Hetta pursued; ‘Mrs. Hathaway, I mean. It seems it is a rather complicated journey: two trains, and a ship, and then cars.’
‘Sounds rather out-of-the-way. I wonder if there’s a decent doctor?’ Richard speculated. Hetta was reading on; after a few moments—‘Yes, there is! He has delivered both Mrs. Reeder’s babies; there is also a good midwife in the village, she says.’
‘Well done Miss Probyn! She seems to have thought of everything.’ Richard was at last quite appeased. ‘Fifteen guineas is dirt cheap, anyhow,’ he said. ‘It would be that for one person in an hotel, these days. And I shall feel much easier in my mind to know you’re among friends.’
‘There is another very nice person there also,’ Luzia put in. ‘To Miss Probyn he was a good friend.’
‘Who is that?’ Hetta asked. ‘Oh, she says there is central heating, and that the house is always very warm, so that we shall not feel the cold.’
‘Perfect,’ from Richard.
‘Now, who is this other friend?’ Hetta asked, folding up the letter.
‘Bonnecourt, from Larège. He is a splendid person!’ the girl said with enthusiasm.
‘Who and what is Bonnecourt?’ Richard asked, without much interest.
‘Well he was a smuggler!’ the girl replied, giggling a little. ‘And also an isard-hunter, and a guide to alpinistes. But now he works as game-keeper to Mr. Reeder.’
‘Funny idea to have an ex-smuggler as one’s game-keeper,’ Richard observed. ‘How does that come about?’
‘Oh, he had to leave France, because he had been connected, a little, with the O.A.S., so the police wanted him. But he had also worked for British Intelligence before, so Colin and Colonel Jamieson arranged to get him out; a friend of Nick’s flew him into Spain, and Colin drove him to Gibraltar. He is a splendid person,’ she repeated. ‘Nick will tell you all about him—he used to take Nick and Dick out after isard.’
Richard was not particularly interested in Bonnecourt. He asked to see Mrs. Jamieson’s letter, and read it through. ‘Well, that all sounds excellent,’ he said. ‘Of course writing to London will have delayed things. But I wonder that I haven’t heard from Mrs. Hathaway.’
‘There is a letter for you in the hall,’ Luzia told him. The inhabitants of Gralheira did not subject their guests’ mail to such a close scrutiny as habitually took place at Glentoran. Richard went and fetched the letter—it was from Mrs. Hathaway, and confirmed the relief and satisfaction which he already felt.
‘I think you are so wise to send her away—I am horrified at what she has been through,’ the old lady wrote. ‘But this place will be ideal for them all, until you can arrange something more permanent—there are three young children in the house already, so there will be a nice big nursery party; Hetta’s nannie will have plenty of company on walks. And on her days out she will be a godsend to Madame Bonnecourt, if she will visit her sometimes and talk French to her; the poor woman doesn’t get on very fast with her English. Edina is quite thankful that they are coming, if only for that reason—but it was her idea, originally; I did not even have to suggest it. And she and Philip only agreed to let them pay anything because Julia said you would prefer it.’
So grateful letters to Glentoran were written, but again not sent by post; Richard said he would send them by bag from Madrid. By an ironical turn of fate he, who had so often accused his wife of imagining things, had now become far the more nervous of the two. A couple of days later they all set off for Spain—Hetta and Luzia in the big Rolls with the Ambassador, while Richard drove Richenda and Élise, her Swiss Nannie, plus Luzia’s maid. Luzia had volunteered to come and give Hetta any help she could with her packing and other arrangements, and this was gratefully accepted—the Heriot party, in any case, was leaving the following day. But before this——
‘Well, darling, I’m much happier today than I was the day I arrived, I can tell you,’ Nick said to Luzia as they took a last walk in the lower garden beside the fountain, ‘although we shan’t be seeing one another for a bit. You always said I should like your Father, but I hadn’t expected him to be such a complete darling; nor that he would be so good to me. I do think it has gone all right, don’t you?’
‘Yes—I could not have wished it to go better. I am so happy that he has taken to your ideas about the resin; that will give you more to do.’
‘Do you want me to have more to do?’ he asked, taking her arm and peering inquisitively into her face.
‘Oh yes. Then you will not be désoeuvré, and bored. It is very isolated here, you know—though of course we shall sometimes be in Lisbon; and people come to stay. I hope your parents and Dick will often come. But en principe, men cannot have too much to do,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Can women?’
‘Nature generally sees to it that they have at least enough!’ she said, and then blushed a little.
‘Oh my darling!’ He took her in his arms and kissed her.
‘Easter isn’t all that far away,’ he said then. ‘But I dare say I shall see you before that; I’d like to bring this famous report myself, really.’
‘Oh, shall you? That would be so nice. Also, it is especially nice that your parents and Papa are so happy together,’ she added. ‘I wish they had not to leave just now, when I go to Madrid—but I think I ought to.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you ought. Take care of Mrs. Atherley; she needs it. And take care of yourself too, my dearest one—and write often. Promise?’
* * *
Back in the flat in Madrid, Hetta at first gazed about her with a curious sense of surprise. It was almost as if she had never left it; all the events of the past few weeks might have been a dream.
‘What is it?’ Richard asked, noticing her expression.
‘The last time I was in this room was on the morning when we started so early, to drive to Toledo,’ she said slowly. ‘That is odd, no?’
‘Haven’t you been here since? Oh no, of course you went straight to Gralheira from the Isabella. Well, I am very thankful that you’re here now,’ he said, giving her a kiss. ‘Not too tired?’
‘No, not really.’ She put up a hand and touched the strapping on her forehead.
‘Head ache?’ he asked anxiously.
‘No. I just make sure that it all really happened.’
‘Like Hell it happened! But it’s all over and done with now.’ He watched her a little nervously, puzzled by her mood.
The telephone rang—Hetta automatically lifted the receiver.
‘Diga-me?’ (The Spanish ‘Tell me’ always seems so much more rational than our ‘Hullo’?)
‘La Señora Atherley, please.’
‘It is me, Nell,’ Hetta said. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh darling, you are back. Well thank Heaven for that, anyhow! When can I come and see you?’
‘Tomorrow—not too early,’ Hetta said; Richard was frowning and shaking his head at her.
‘What time? Half after eleven? I simply have to see you.’
‘No—half-past twelve. I have things to do before that. How are you?’ Hetta repeated.
‘Oh, everything’s terrible! I must tell you.’
‘Tell me tomorrow, Nell,’ Hetta said firmly. ‘I have only just got in. Goodbye.’ She rang off.
‘Now look here, Hetta, you simply must make that little creature understand that you can’t be at her beck and call the whole time, as you were before,’ Richard expostulated. ‘You’ve got too much to do, and you aren’t up to it. If you won’t be tough with her, I shall speak to Walter—otherwise she’ll fag you to death.’
‘I shall see to it—I think you need not worry Walter.’
‘Well mind you are firm. She’s really almost as much of a menace as the Commies!’ he grumbled. Hetta laughed, and went to her room. This was definitely the old Madrid, just as it had been before the drive to Tol
edo; except that then Richard had not worried unduly about how much she did—and that she did, undoubtedly, tire more easily now. When Luzia came in to suggest that she should have her dinner in bed she agreed gratefully, and asked that the Cook should be told that she would see her tomorrow.
Mrs. Parrott duly arrived, after Hetta had seen her household, paid some bills, given orders about meals, and visited Richenda in her sunny nursery.
‘Well, darling, it’s wonderful that you’re back at last—it has seemed an age. But what have you done to your head?’ Nell asked, looking curiously at the strapping on her friend’s forehead.
Hetta was disconcerted—she had forgotten to think up a story for Nell, or indeed for anyone else, to account for her injury.
‘Oh, it is nothing,’ she said. ‘I tripped and fell against something sharp,’ she added lamely. ‘Now tell me everything.’
Nell burst into a flood of her own affairs. ‘And Mr. Hardiman Everitt is coming himself!’ she presently announced, round-eyed.
‘When?’
‘The week after next. I shall have to give a party for him, like I did for the Luxworthys, and a luncheon too—and I may have to help act as hostess at the Embassy reception, because Mrs. Packer has gone home.’
‘Goodness, why has she done that, just now?’
‘Oh, her kidneys have gone wrong after the scarlet fever—it seems they often do. Anyway she’s gone. It’s most trying.’
‘Very trying for the Ambassador,’ Hetta agreed.
‘Well, it’s trying for everyone! So I thought you could help me make a list of people for the luncheon, and for the cocktailparty.’
‘For the cocktail it is easy—use the old list.’
‘That’s what Walter said. But I threw it away.’
‘Oh Nell, that was foolish. You should always keep your lists.’ She reflected. ‘Never mind—ring up Commander Mansfield; he is sure to remember who came. And he will be able to advise you as to whom you should ask to the luncheon.’
‘Why yes—that’s a good idea. But I thought maybe you and I could do it all, just the two of us together.’