Cheerfulness Breaks In
Page 29
‘I must say,’ said Lydia, as she and Noel, after an astoundingly good dinner, sat under the Spanish chestnut in the garden at Stories, ‘that being married feels much the same.’
‘Only nicer,’ said Noel. ‘You are much the nicest girl I ever met in my life, Lydia. In fact, perfect.’
‘It is all so nice and comfortable,’ said Lydia, ‘because I know you so well. I mean it must be rather a bore to marry someone you don’t know. They mightn’t be as nice as you think. Where shall we live, do you think, when you come back? I mean when you really come back for ever.’
‘We’ll have to consider it,’ said Noel.
‘Will you ring up or send me a telegram as soon as you get back to England,’ said Lydia. ‘I should be so glad to know.’
Noel said he would.
‘Of course it might be a telegram to say you were dead,’ said Lydia, facing facts with her usual firmness. ‘But I’d go on loving you just the same.’
On the next day Noel went. Lydia came back to Northbridge Manor and took up her old way of life. Kind Kate stayed on for a time and kept Mrs. Keith from asking Lydia more than once a day if there was any news from Noel. Full spring merged into early summer with incredible riot of blossom and leaf, while the sea before Dunkirk was covered with a thousand ships. Philip Winter returned to the Carters’ house, looking aged by many years, and spent most of his time sleeping. On a hot afternoon he bicycled over to Northbridge Manor to see Kate and Lydia.
Kate was sitting on the terrace by her mother who was better that day. Bobbie was on the grass, being headed off from the flower beds by his Nurse. Lydia, in a garden apron, was weeding at the other end of the terrace, for the warm days and a reduced garden staff had made weeds spring up everywhere and it was not easy to pull them up from the sun-hardened earth. Philip sat and talked with Mrs. Keith and Kate for a little and admired Bobbie’s peculiar manner of speech, unintelligible to all, but considered a masterpiece of elocution by those best qualified to judge
‘Everard sent you his love, Kate,’ said Philip, ‘and he has some good news. Mr. Bissell told him that Mr. Hopkins has been rounded up as a Fifth Columnist and interned.’
Kate, who simply had to be kind to someone, said it would be very horrid for the people Mr. Hopkins was interned with, which is perhaps the most unkind thing we have ever known her say
Presently Palmer, who had withdrawn her notice after the gentle Kate had spoken words of fire to her, and been allowed to stay on, came out into the garden, carrying a salver
‘It’s a telegram for Miss Lydia, madam,’ she said.
Kate and Philip exchanged glances.
‘Please remember to say Mrs. Merton, Palmer,’ said Kate in her best housemaster’s wife’s voice.
Palmer meekly said she was sorry she was sure.
‘I’ll take it to her,’ said Philip as carelessly as he could, while Kate headed her mother’s thoughts towards the enormity of Palmer calling Lydia “Miss Lydia.”
Philip walked along the terrace to where Lydia was weeding.
‘It’s a wire for you, Lydia,’ he said.
Lydia looked up and her face was white, but she got to her feet and took off her gardening gloves.
‘Shall I open it?’ said Philip, his heart beating furiously with his anxiety.
‘No, thank you,’ said Lydia. ‘I think I ought to open my own telegrams. And whatever it was I’d love Noel just the same.’