by Charles Owen
‘But nothing had been resolved. The brothers argued. Accusation and counter-accusation flew across the room. When the quarrel became heated, they went into the garden. Edith and Eleanor heard raised voices but thought it best not to interfere and they left the men alone.
‘You can imagine their horror when the gardener came running up to the door to say that he had heard the sound of panes in the greenhouse being smashed and found the men fighting on the floor. The sisters ran to the greenhouse but the poison had already done its work. In the struggle, both had suffered cuts from falling glass. Some of the tropical plants had been knocked over, crushing the leaves, and the sap had got into their wounds.’
Percy looked around his audience and gave a little shrug. ‘There is not much more to tell. The sisters asked me whether I thought that they could get special permission for Jerome and Neville to be buried at Aruana. In that way, they would always be together. But even if that was allowed, would the brothers’ parents ever sanction it?
‘That seemed so improbable that I could not, in good faith, offer a word of encouragement. Then, in an extraordinary twist of fate, the steamer on which they had booked their passage was caught in a terrible storm in the Bay of Biscay and was lost. There were no survivors. The reservations for Jerome and Neville had not been cancelled. Perhaps the records of the shipping company were not all that they should have been. In any event, the brothers’ parents received a cable informing them, with great regret, that their sons had gone down with the vessel.’
Percy put a match to the bowl of his old briar and then, remembering where he was, put it out. ‘I would have done anything for those two girls,’ he muttered. ‘Anything at all.’
Someone asked him the question to which we all wanted an answer but he was busy stamping his feet on the stone floor and may not have heard it. Then he looked up at the window and announced that it had stopped snowing and we should all go back to work.
A few weeks later, without any warning, Percy was gone. A policeman called and made rather desultory enquiries after him. I inquired whether he was in any sort of trouble. Mr Prettiman’s father and grandfather ran a firm of undertakers, he told me.
‘Their speciality was what is known in the profession as ‘restorative services’. The firm was undercapitalised and eventually went bankrupt. Young Percy took to the road selling his patent medicines. But a trade once learned cannot be unlearned.’
‘Bereavement is a painful business, Officer.’
‘So it is. People want to help and sometimes sympathy or money persuades them to do more than they should.’ There had been rumours, he told me, of ‘irregularities’.
ORANGE HAT
The morning post clattered into the letter box. Ralph left his chair, collected the envelopes and opened them. The effect these letters made could hardly have been more remarkable. For the next half an hour accusations, protestations and recriminations blazed back and forth across the breakfast table. The bank statement lay between them, a reproachful red stain against the white tablecloth, and near it a small pile of unpaid bills. Anna's makeshift defences had blown away in the storm. She was almost in tears. Ralph softened a little.
‘I have told you again and again, my darling,’ he said, ‘we cannot afford the money you are spending. Martin will soon be going to day school and there is this house to pay for. We have got to watch every penny. This extravagance must stop and must stop now.’
‘Brute,’ Anna muttered. ‘All this fuss over a few measly hats.’
Ralph’s heavy eyebrows contracted. ‘Hats are your vice and you know it,’ he said. ‘Your father warned me the day I married you. “Watch out for Anna's hat-trick,” he told me, “or she will ruin you.” Heaven knows what your hats have cost us these last four years. There are hats bulging from every cupboard and drawer. Pink hats, blue hats, silk and straw hats, large and small hats, fur hats. Sometimes I think that this house is nothing more than a huge hatbox.’
Anna was silent. How pretty she looks, he thought, her blue eyes downcast, her face with a high colour sheltering among an abundance of corn-coloured hair. Ralph turned once more to the bills for the strength he needed. ‘This must be the last of these bills,’ he went on. ‘I see that Mrs Thankerton's is the worst as usual. Now you must promise to keep away from that shop, and the others, until you have learnt to control yourself.’ For good measure, he added, ‘And you had better stay clear of the Drews. Rosemary Drew is almost as bad as you are. You two egg each other on. How that fool Brian can afford to indulge her, I don't know.’
It was true. Ever since they had left school together, Rosemary and Anna had vied with each other in their choice of clothes. In this battle, hats, it was mutually conceded, were the most potent weapons. Shortly after Anna's marriage, Rosemary had married Brian Drew. Brian had courted Anna quite seriously at one time and the two were still close friends. The fierce but friendly rivalry between the girls continued much as before. It simply became sharper and more expensive.
‘Rosemary knows nothing about hats,’ said Anna.
Ralph stood up. With a sweep of his arm he gathered hat, umbrella and the morning paper. His other arm went round Anna and he kissed her. ‘So you are going to reform, my sweet. Promise?’
Anna nodded dismally.
‘No lapses,’ he went on, ‘no last chances, no excuses. I'm serious.’
Anna shook her head.
‘You know I don't like the role of the heavy-handed husband, but I will play it if I have to.’
She nodded again.
‘Well, that's settled,’ he concluded. ‘Now, I shall be late.’
Ralph went away up the front path and off to work. He was beyond the garden gate before Anna could summon the rebel strength and courage to shout after him. ‘What happened to the romantic I thought I married?’ she cried. ‘He's just a solid earth-bound Englishman after all.’ She added a last taunt, ‘I'll have your slippers and pipe ready for you when you come home this evening.’
Ralph turned and waved. Anna could not be sure that he had heard. She blew her nose and shut the door.
The housework normally took a couple of hours at the most. Anna devoted the whole morning to it. Self-discipline, she said to herself, that was the answer to her problem. Things that didn't need doing she did once, tasks that did, she performed twice. By lunchtime she loved Ralph again. The stand he had taken had seemed petty and unfair but she could see now that he had been justice and moderation itself. How thoughtless and selfish she had been, how childish this rivalry with Rosemary now seemed.
She would make amends. That afternoon, she resolved, would be given over to Martin, their small son. She would take him to the park. Jacko, their dog, could come too. She would keep far away from her favourite shops. Yet, this still did not seem enough. Somehow, Anna felt, she must purge, eradicate once and for all this weakness of hers. An idea struck her. She possessed one hat, a single disastrous failure, a hideous orange affair with tassels, shaped like an upturned flowerpot.
It had been worn but once and had narrowly escaped being burnt. She had kept it as a warning to herself that even the most discerning are capable of unaccountable lapses of taste. At whatever cost to her pride, Anna resolved, she would wear that hat for her walk. It would be an act of expiation for her past folly. Ralph would return that evening to a responsible and contrite woman.
It was a wonderful autumn afternoon. Anna sighed. She would have paid homage to such a day. A visit to Mrs Thankerton's shop and a lovely new hat would have been a fitting tribute. But it must not be. She went to the wardrobe. Dozens of hats, glamorous competitors, seemed to press forward as she opened the door.
Grimly ignoring their claims, she plucked the shameful orange object from its hiding place at the back and rammed it on her head. Six monstrous hatpins set the seal on her disgrace. Heaven preserve me from recognition, she prayed. Martin, and his pram were collected. Jacko, the fat and disobedient cocker spaniel, was persuaded to leave his basket and accompany th
em. Together they set out.
To avoid passing near the enticing shops, she made a wide detour. Her hat provoked curious smiles but she affected to ignore them. At last, thankfully, she steered the pram into the park. She brightened. It was hard to be gloomy on such a glorious day. Jacko was let off his lead and scampered on ahead as fast as his stout body would allow him. Martin was a delight. Horses, poodles, pigeons and ducks, he had to admire each in turn.
Afterwards they sat together by the pond for hours in the sunshine. Every model boat that pulled in to shore had to pass Martin's rigorous inspection before being allowed to continue its voyage. By the time the last trim white yacht had been sent scudding across the water back to its anxious owner, pursued by the boy's ecstatic applause, the sun was low in the evening sky.
Anna looked at her watch; she could turn for home and safety. Martin had to have his bath and supper and there was dinner to get ready, then Ralph would be back. She put her son back in the pram. Jacko, barking, started off ahead again as they moved off. Anna found herself looking forward to Ralph’s return with that heightened sense of pleasure that only a clear conscience affords.
She reached the edge of the park. She would go home, she had decided, following the same circuitous route that she had taken earlier in the afternoon. But Jacko had different ideas. He galloped straight on. Nothing was going to stop him going back his usual way. There was a pet shop that way and a kind lady behind the counter. Jacko always went in on the way past and the kind lady never failed to reward him with something nice to eat.
Ignoring Anna's shouts and whistles and contemptuous of the speeding cars and buses, Jacko scurried across the road. Anna cursed her luck. To follow him would take her where of all places she wished to avoid. But there was no alternative. She must catch the dog. With growing apprehension she set off after him.
People were hurrying back from work. Avoiding them was a task in itself. Anna absorbed herself in the chase, guiding the pram swiftly along the pavements. Puff and strain as he might, the fat Jacko was no match for her but it took Anna two streets or more to catch him. He was scolded and put on his lead.
She rested for a moment and looked about her. It was as bad, or worse, than she had feared. She was in the heart of her forbidden paradise. She had travelled so far, it was as dangerous to go back as to go on. But if she must run the gauntlet of these shops, her best hope, she decided, lay in speed.
Anna stepped out. The shops seemed to lie in wait for her. Treasure houses bursting out as she passed in an ambush of coats and gowns and dresses of every colour and description. There were hats too. Gathered there were the most daring and astonishing, the most fascinating, the most outrageous, the vainest, the silliest, the prettiest, the most desirable hats imaginable.
Anna was almost running now, careless of the stares she received. As the pram bore down on them, startled pedestrians leaped aside. Martin, jumping up and down in his speeding chariot in a frenzy of excitement, bellowed encouragement to the exhausted and disconsolate Jacko who trailed like an anchor behind.
Suddenly Anna hauled the pram to a halt. She stared up the street, a look of agonised suspicion on her face. Barely two hundred yards away, a very smartly dressed couple were standing looking into a shop window. As they turned towards her, Anna found that terrible suspicion confirmed.
Unmistakably the pair was Brian and Rosemary Drew. Rosemary, she could now see, looked superb; Brian, magnificent. It was a waking nightmare. Frozen into near paralysis by the sight, crowned in her appalling, almost blasphemous headgear, Anna stood and stared.
Slowly, painfully, her brain accepted the evidence of her eyes but her returning faculties impressed upon her the significance of what, instinctively, she already knew. If Rosemary saw her in this hat, it meant not only the end of her precarious ascendancy over her rival, not just defeat, but annihilation. As for Brian, she valued his admiration more than she would have cared to admit. It would be the end. She could not envisage life after it.
Yet, it was just possible that she might escape detection. Hope gave Anna a desperate energy. She pulled the pram sharply into a doorway. But what if they saw her there? There was no cover and they must be upon her at any moment.
Panic possessed her. How could she get rid of this hat! She fumbled at hatpins, pulled, tugged, tore at the hat itself. Uselessly. It sat, stubbornly clamped to her head.
A neat, elderly grey-haired woman appeared from a door. ‘Perhaps I can help,’ she said, smiling.
‘Mrs Thankerton!’ she gasped. She could have screamed, though whether with mortification or relief she did not know. ‘Rosemary Drew nearly had me cornered that tine,’ she cried. ‘She's dressed to kill!’
Mrs Thankerton struggled with her curiosity. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘Mrs Drew must be on her way here now. She has an appointment just before six.’
‘What! Rosemary's coming here!’ Anna felt on the point of collapse. ‘Quickly! Mrs Thankerton!’ she implored. ‘Please help me out of this ghastly hat and–’ she had caught sight of the wonderful display inside the shop, ‘do let me try on that gorgeous blue bonnet, the one with the long feathers.’
It was the work of a few seconds. Anna was transfigured, transported even. She was in her heaven. At that moment, Martin in his pram, Jacko, the Drews, all belonged to another world. Slowly she pirouetted before the glass. ‘Exquisite!’ she pronounced at last.
Rosemary and Brian came in. Brian gave Anna a marvellous smile. From Rosemary, she won a look of grudging approval. Anna sighed gratefully. ‘I think I'll take this hat, Mrs Thankerton,’ she said.
‘Robber!’ exclaimed Rosemary. ‘You have stolen the blue bonnet. I had my eye on that beauty. Never mind,’ she went on, ‘Mrs Thankerton and I, between us, will find something nicer even if it takes all night. Brian,’ she added, ‘I’ll be here for ages. You will be so bored. Why don't you walk Anna home?’
Anna protested feebly but she and Brian pushed the pram away together. ‘Behave yourselves,’ Rosemary called after them mischievously. Jacko strained at his lead, impatient to be back.
Ralph opened the door when they arrived. He looked at the bonnet and he looked at Anna.
‘Behold your wife!’ Brian cried. He never felt quite at ease with Ralph. ‘Sporting a new headdress in your honour!’ He struck an attitude familiar to those introducing fashion displays, ‘A magnificent creation from the emporium of the inimitable Mrs Thankerton!’
Anna felt rather faint. ‘You ... you are back early, Ralph,’ she stammered. It was all she could think of.
Ralph said very little. Brian thought he seemed rather short. He waved goodbye. They went inside and closed the door.
Anna took Martin up to bath. Ralph said nothing, not even 'pompous ass,' his usual comment on Brian. It was disconcerting. Anna felt vaguely menaced. With every moment of unbroken silence, the atmosphere seemed to grow more oppressive. By the time she reached the top of the first flight, it was almost more than she could bear.
Then Ralph spoke. Anna stopped and stayed there, motionless. ‘Anna!’ he said. ‘Do you remember the slippers and pipe you were talking about this morning? Well, I should like just one slipper. One should be enough. Bring it down, please, when you have finished with Martin.’
It wasn't a question. It was an order. Anna remained silent. The heavy-handed husband, she thought. Well, anything, even that, would be easier than trying to explain. Clutching her new hat tightly, she went on up the stairs.
FOOTSTEPS
Julian Stanford sharpened his pencil for the third time that morning before starting on the other end. He looked at his cheap wristwatch and then craned his neck in an effort to make out the position of the hands on Liz Makin's Rolex. If he took the average between the two readings, converted it to a decimal, multiplied it by the number of flies on the ceiling and divided it by the loose change in his pocket, he could probably waste at least ten minutes – anything to provide a distraction from leafing through the dreary piles of estate agents' pa
rticulars in front of him. But no, a malign fate appeared to have synchronised the timepieces. With a deep sigh he turned his head to the window beside his desk, squinting between the rows of perspex frames with their property advertisements like a prisoner peering between the bars of his cell for a glimpse of the world outside.
‘If you can't keep your mind on your job, Stanford, I can see we shall have to move your desk into the corner,’ Mr Sprague boomed at him from the doorway of his office. ‘This is your second week with us and I hope we are going to get more work out of you than we did in your first. We have two negotiators on holiday so there's no shortage of work. And remember, Stanford, you are on a month's probation. We don't carry passengers in this firm.’
‘Yes, Mr Sprague – I mean no, Mr Sprague.’ Julian pushed his calculator back in the drawer and took out an old grey rubber. Mr Sprague hovered for a moment like a dark thundercloud and then stumped back to his desk. Julian worked away at his rubber until he had sketched a tolerable likeness of Mr Sprague's face and then, adding a vicious point to his pencil, drove it into the manager's scowling mouth. He skewered it round and round, excavating little tooth-like shards and then withdrew his harpoon. Mr Sprague howled in agony.
Liz Makin put down the telephone and walked briskly across the office to a board on the wall festooned with keys hanging from little brass hooks. As she stretched up, her navy-blue skirt rode up the neat curves of her rump revealing the hem of a white satin slip and affording a tantalising glimmer of white thighs above sheer silk stocking tops. She swivelled on her high heels and caught his eyes on her. Her chin went up an insolent notch. ‘I have got a viewing in Park Mansions, Julian. I'll be about thirty minutes. Try not to cause too much chaos while I'm out.’ He glowered at her, making a token swipe at the door handle as she came past him but she was there first and he watched her stride away, her dark hair scything away from her head like the knives on Boadicea's chariot.