The Nutmeg Tree

by Margery Sharp

  “Come back to the car,” he said.

  “No,” said Julia wretchedly. “Once you start kissing me, I’ll be done.”

  “We’ve got to get back some time,” pointed out Sir William.

  “Not till I’ve made you understand.” Julia sat up, and as a sign that she had fully recovered herself even managed to smile. “You’ve made me prouder than I’ve ever been in my life, William, only it’s no use. There’s too much against it. I can’t say all I feel, I never could; but you’ll always be a beautiful memory.”

  “Julia!” said Sir William sharply.

  “What, darling?”

  “You’re enjoying yourself.”

  Julia flushed. It was only too true that in spite of her real misery, she had been conscious of speaking that last line well.

  “And what’s more,” continued Sir William, “you’re enjoying yourself at my expense. I should simply loathe to be a beautiful memory. As you can’t talk sense, you’d better come home.”

  This time Julia rose. There was no doubt about it, Sir William possessed an extraordinary knack of tipping up the highest moral plane. Slightly ruffled by her sudden descent, Julia powdered her nose with vigour and in silence, and accompanied him back to the car.

  But at least she was right about one thing. As soon as he began kissing her, she was done.

  4

  “Shall I have to open bazaars?” asked Julia about an hour later.

  They were driving slowly up from the Lac du Bar. Their homeward route had been by no means direct.

  “Good heavens, no!” said Sir William.

  Julia was reassured, but also a little disappointed. She could just fancy herself on a platform, in very good black, with a spray of orchids at the left shoulder.…

  “You won’t have any of that,” continued Sir William, “and we can live wherever you like. At the moment I’ve a flat in Town—”

  “Where?” asked Julia.

  “Mount Street. You may like it. And of course if we keep that on, instead of taking a house, we can go abroad whenever we want to. I’d like to take you abroad, Julia. You enjoy things so.”

  Julia rubbed her cheek against his coat. She couldn’t kiss him, because he was driving.

  “I’d like to go to Venice. Louise—a girl I used to know once—went there, and she said it was heavenly.… William!”

  “Well?”

  “When I talk about people like that—people who may be a bit rum—does it worry you?”

  Sir William put down his left hand and felt for hers.

  “Not in the least, my dear. You have the most entertaining friends of anyone I’ve met.”

  “That’s lucky,” sighed Julia; “because I expect I shall a good bit. And Louise was an awfully good sort.… If you’re going to stop the car, darling, do it before the village.”

  Ten minutes later, at the villa gates, she asked him to stop it again—this time merely to let her get into the back.

  “Thank you,” said Sir William. “I must admit I’ve been curious.”

  “Curious?” repeated Julia in surprise. “Why, what have I told you?”

  “What young Relton said as we started,” replied Sir William. “And he ought to be kicked for it.”

  Chapter 21

  1

  The last action of Julia’s free will, before she finally and joyfully submerged it in Sir William’s, was to persuade him not to announce their engagement. Sir William wanted to do things at once, thoroughly, and get them over; he wanted to send a notice to the Times, tell the Packetts, and marry Julia as soon as possible. Flattering as this programme was, and much as Julia longed for its completion, she nevertheless held him back. She feared the consequences—and not only upon Bryan: she had an uneasy conviction that the Packetts wouldn’t believe it. They would just think that Sir William had gone mad, and that she was abetting him. Rather to her surprise, Sir William, when she laid this view before him, was very much annoyed.

  “My dear Julia,” he said firmly, “if that’s your only objection I shall go straight into the billiard-room and tell them now. There’s no other way of showing you how foolish you are.”

  Julia jumped up—they were sitting in their usual place among the vines—and seized his arm.

  “Don’t, William! Not just yet! I’m a fool all right—I’m anything you say—but it isn’t that only. I’ve got to think of Susan and Bryan. I’ve got to get that business settled first.”

  “It’s settling itself,” retorted Sir William. “It’s settling itself perfectly. Young Relton is at last finding out what Susan’s really like, and Susan—who must have found him out long ago—is beginning to realize that she’ll never change him. In a couple of weeks, and especially if Susan goes to London, the whole thing will have blown over.”

  Julia tightened her grip.

  “Then don’t you see how important it is that they shouldn’t be—be disturbed? It’s not only that club business, William,—and that was my idea too,—it’s partly what I’ve been saying to Bryan. I have influenced him, though he wouldn’t admit it. And now if we go and get married he’ll forget everything else and send their engagement to the Times as well, and quite likely go back to London himself and start working like hell and all—” Julia gasped for breath—“out of cussedness. We must leave things alone, William. You say yourself it’s only a matter of weeks.”

  “And if it’s longer?” enquired Sir William. “If it’s two months, or two years? Are we to spend the rest of our lives waiting for two young idiots to come to their senses?”

  “Now you’re just being silly,” said Julia comfortably. “And they’re not idiots at all. They’re just very young. I expect when you were young—”

  “Thanks,” said Sir William. “One of the things I like about you, my dear, is that you don’t flatter me.”

  Julia slipped down onto the grass beside his chair and gave him one of her long, candid looks.

  “I don’t want you young, darling. I want you just as you are, experienced, and understanding, and—and able to deal with me. And besides—”

  She broke off, still gazing, on a sigh of pure happiness. Sir William reached down and touched her cheek.

  “Besides what, my dear?”

  “You do look so distinguished!” said Julia simply.

  An absurd glow of happiness took Sir William by surprise. There were many good reasons, he could not help knowing, why a woman in Julia’s position should be glad to marry him, and in his more sober moments—when the fact that she had simply fallen in love with him seemed to pass belief—he had often enumerated them. But he had never yet included his personal appearance.…

  “I see I was wrong,” he said lightly. “You’re a flatterer after all.

  “I’m not flattering you a bit,” said Julia earnestly. “I don’t say you’re the handsomest—I wouldn’t say you were like poor Valentino—but you’re the most distinguished-looking man, William, I’ve ever seen. It’s your side-face, and your height, and the way you hold yourself. I thought it the moment I saw you.”

  “Then you must be in love with me,” said Sir William.

  As they went down to the house—the question of announcing their engagement tacitly shelved—he suddenly began to laugh. Julia asked why, but he would not tell her. She had explained so firmly that he was no longer young: and he had just caught himself wishing that instead of putting on a dinner-jacket, he could appear before her in his tail-coat.

  2

  There was no end, Julia felt, to the good things which were now being showered upon her. As though Sir William, and all he implied, were not enough, she received that evening the first real mark of Susan’s affectionate confidence. Susan came in while Julia was changing for dinner and sat down—just like a daughter—on the edge of the bed.

  “Uncle William’s just told me,” said Susan, “that it was your idea about letting me in on this new club. What made you think of it?”

  Julia smiled complacently.

  “I
knew it would be just the thing for you, Sue. I mean—I knew you’d be just the thing for them. You’re so efficient, and clear-headed.”

  This answer, besides being for the most part true, was evidently the one Susan wanted. She looked at her mother with genuine warmth.

  “You can’t think how I like you to say that. The others—Bryan, and even Uncle William—seem to look on it simply as a nice hobby for me; they don’t see the other point of view at all—that I’m possibly being of real use. You’ve got the right attitude.”

  “This is my lucky day,” thought Julia; and determined to venture further.

  “This Mr. Bellamy, Sue—when I’m back in Town, I think I’d like to meet him. Will it be all right if I just go down to the club?”

  “Oh!” cried Susan, quite radiant at the prospect of at last making a convert. “Of course it will! I’ll write and say you’re coming. Only—are you quite sure it would interest you?”

  Julia was certain. She had never met a man yet in whom she could not become interested at a moment’s notice. It was Susan’s interest she felt needed arousing—Susan’s interest in Mr. Bellamy, not merely as a good worker, but as an individual young man.

  “I hope he won’t knock himself up,” said Julia thoughtfully.

  “Who? Mr. Bellamy?”

  “Sir William says he isn’t strong,” explained Julia. “He says he’s terribly thin. I expect he doesn’t feed himself properly.”

  Susan looked serious.

  “I hope he doesn’t go sick, because he’s really running the whole thing. He’s really important. Listen, Mother—”

  Julia’s heart leapt. It was all she could do not to kiss Susan then and there, out of sheer gratitude. But she restrained herself. She knew that if Susan were once made self-conscious, that beautiful word would never be heard again.

  “What is it, Sue?”

  “I’ve been thinking—if I meet him in London, he’ll probably want to stand me a meal, and I know he’s awfully hard up. But if you asked us both to your flat—or I could ask him there myself, quite easily—”

  “Of course!” cried Julia. “Of course you’ll come! I’ll give him roast beef and a suety pudding!”

  At that Susan laughed, and Julia laughed too. She hadn’t got a flat—she hadn’t even a dining-table—and when she reacquired these things, by marriage with Sir William, Susan would quite likely disapprove and refuse to make use of them; but in spite of these obstacles Julia already saw, in her mind’s eye, Susan and Mr. Bellamy sitting one on each side of her, exchanging looks of love above a well-spread board. The picture was so clear, and filled her with such confidence, that she ventured on a leading question.

  “What about Bryan, Sue? Would he like to come as well?”

  “Oh!” said Susan. For a moment it seemed as though she were really going to open her heart, and Julia, at the dressing-table, held her comb suspended. Then through the mirror she saw Susan slowly get up, smooth the counterpane where she had been sitting, and walk towards the door.

  “No,” said Susan casually, “I don’t think Bryan would be interested. By the way, dinner’s going to be a little early, because Anthelmine has the evening off.”

  Julia finished her dressing in great satisfaction. For the first time she felt herself to be completely accepted, by Susan, as Susan’s ally. It was fortunate, since she enjoyed the sensation so much, that she could not see twenty-four hours ahead.

  3

  Twenty-four hours later an event took place in the village which had the extraordinary effect, at the villa, of ranging Julia on Bryan’s side against her daughter. Jeanne-Marie, the niece of Claudia, the distributor of sugared almonds, got married; and at the ensuing celebrations, Bryan got tight.

  He went to the party alone, and, as afterwards transpired, was the life and soul of it. There was dancing, and he danced. There was singing, and he sang. (For several days afterwards Sir William, whenever he walked through the village, was constantly being surprised by the strains of “Forty Years On.”) To support his energies he naturally needed a good deal to drink, and by the time the party broke up, shortly after midnight, it was obvious that he had had it. Even then all might have been well, for there were plenty of volunteers to escort him back to the lodge; but with the perversity of his condition he insisted on going up to the villa to bid his friends there good night.

  By chance, and because of the heat, they were still in the billiard-room. Bryan flung open the door, skidded a little over the parquet, and came to rest on the chair next to Susan’s. There he began to sing.

  He was not drunk, but he was undeniably intoxicated.

  At once Susan, Julia, and Sir William all rose from their seats; but whereas Susan instinctively backed away, her face white with anger, Julia and Sir William as instinctively approached.

  “Stop it!” said Julia severely.

  Bryan looked at her, his mouth still open on a high note, with natural surprise. People had applauded his singing all evening, why should they suddenly stop now?

  “Why, darling?” he asked. “Tell me why?”

  “Because you’re disturbing Mrs. Packett,” said Julia. She glanced over her shoulder, and was briefly struck by the calmness of that lady’s demeanour. Mrs. Packett didn’t look disturbed at all. Bryan meanwhile had risen to his feet, not from any personal volition, but because of Sir William’s firm hand under his arm.

  “I wouldn’t like to do that,” he said. “Wouldn’t like to ’sturb anyone. Sue, darling—”

  Susan walked straight past him and out of the room. He made a spasmodic effort to follow, and felt the restraining weight of Sir William.

  “No, you don’t,” said Sir William. “Sue doesn’t want disturbing either. You’d better come to bed.”

  “All right,” agreed Bryan. “I—I’ll jus’ say good night. Good night, all!”

  His innocuousness, in the face of Susan’s demonstration, was almost pathetic. Sir William led him away, and all was still.

  “Aspirin, I think,” said Mrs. Packett. “There’s some in my room.”

  “I’ve got some too,” said Julia; and for once kissed her mother-in-law good night.

  4

  The following morning was an uneasy one. Bryan appeared about twelve o’clock, looking slightly pale, and apologized all round. By Mrs. Packett, Julia, and Sir William his expressions of regret were at once accepted; and they might all have been comfortable again but for the attitude of Susan. She too accepted his apology; but she could not forgive him. She did not—felt Julia—want to forgive; what he had done was in her eyes unpardonable, and the fact that her elders actually had pardoned it simply lowered her opinion of them as well. Julia saw this, and on Sir William’s behalf was extremely annoyed; her heart was also touched by Bryan’s mournful looks. Logically she should have rejoiced, but then logic was never Julia’s strong point. She had made up her mind, however, not to interfere, and would probably have managed to hold aloof had not Susan deliberately brought up the subject in the garden after lunch.

  “Grandmother has just been telling me,” she said, with a lift of the eyebrows, “that her father was a three-bottle man. I suppose I’m to make a comparison.”

  “Your grandmother,” said Julia sharply, “has more sense than anyone I know.”

  “Then you probably agree with her,” said Susan, “that last night doesn’t matter in the least?”

  “Of course it doesn’t!” cried Julia, roused from her neutrality. “Every young man gets a bit squiffy now and again—and that’s when you see what they’re like. Bryan—”

  “Well?”

  “He was sweet,” said Julia firmly. “He didn’t give a bit of trouble, and he isn’t being proud of himself afterwards. You’re behaving as though he got rolling drunk and chased the cook.”

  She broke off—a little alarmed, for her own sake, by the vigour of her language. It wasn’t the sort of thing she ought to have said: it implied too much experience. But Susan did not appear to notice. She was w
ithdrawn into her cloud.

  “You think, then, that I’m uncharitable?” she said at last.

  “No,” said Julia slowly. She also had had time to reflect. “Only … you don’t like people.” She thought again, and changed the intonation. “You don’t like people. You only like—it’s so hard to explain—their good qualities.”

  “You don’t expect me to like their bad?” asked Susan grimly.

  “No,” repeated Julia; “but if you liked people, their bad qualities wouldn’t worry you so much.”

  Susan locked her hands in her lap and stared at the treetops. Her young figure was stiff with pride.

  “I think you’re wrong,” she said. “I’m sorry. But then I don’t think I need people so much as you do.”

  Julia could only hope that she was right; but an instinctive fear as to the results of such an outlook drove her on.

  “At any rate, I think you ought to make it up with Bryan. If you must quarrel with him—”

  “I’ve no intention of quarrelling with him,” said Susan quickly. “I can’t tell him it doesn’t matter, but—but I’ll be nice.”

  And that afternoon she was nice—so charming, so light-hearted, that Bryan was quite taken by surprise when she suddenly asked for his promise not to drink wine again so long as they were in France.

  “But I’ll look such a fool!” he said. “It’s always on the table!”

  “I’ll drink barley-water too,” promised Susan.

  “No,” said Bryan firmly. Susan’s niceness had rather gone to his head: he felt that for the first time her rigid will showed signs of becoming more pliant. “No, darling; it’s absurd.…”

  Even then Susan only smiled. She remained charming to him all day. But on the dining-table that night he noticed, and everyone else noticed, that the carafe of vin ordinaire was only half-full.

  Chapter 22

  1

  In Julia’s opinion it was that half-full carafe which led Bryan to view more seriously Susan’s philanthropic activities. His subconscious was thoroughly alarmed, but at the same time refused to admit what had really frightened it. Julia knew a lot about the subconscious from Louise, who had once been psychoanalyzed with very exhilarating results. It therefore came as no surprise to her when Bryan cornered her alone in the billiard-room and observed that he was getting very tired of all this rot about clubs.