by James Hilton
She leaned her bicycle against the portico and entered the house with him. As they crossed the hall she whispered: 'Tell me first, though--is it true he's a little mad?'
Charles answered: 'Yes, we all are. The Mad Andersons. Didn't you know that? We're the talk of the county.' How else could one deal with such a question? He would rather have snubbed her, but he could not think of a snub in time, so the badinage would have to do, and if she caught behind it a reproof, so much the better. Meanwhile, without helping her to search for Havelock, he left her standing in the hall and went upstairs. When he came down she had apparently gone without seeing Havelock, but Havelock had seen her through the window and asked who she was. Charles explained.
'Yes, I heard somebody had bought Burton Bridgwater,' he mused. 'Coppermill--COPPERMILL. If it's the newspaper Coppermills, they're rich.'
They were indeed, and Jane was their youngest child. Not so much of a child, though. She was thirty-one, unmarried, and completely unafraid--even of remaining a spinster. She went through life armoured by personality, so that she could be herself, whatever behaviour that involved, and more often than not she got away with it because it was all over, clearly well meant and forgivable, before anyone could stop her. She was not pretty, but she was healthy and vigorous and lively, and there were times when one examined her features separately and wondered why the total did not add up to real beauty, but the very fact of wondering made the discrepancy less. She had clear blue eyes and a downright look. She would talk to a butcher boy, if she met him in the course of her day's affairs, as abruptly and frankly as she would to the Third Secretary of a Legation (Charles had recently been so promoted). This was not because she felt herself to be consciously democratic, but simply because a natural inclination to follow her impulses had been reinforced by long experience that she could always afford the luxury.
During this particular leave Charles did not see her again, but a few months later when he was back at work he was called to the Legation telephone; it was Jane Coppermill, just ashore from a cruise liner. She would be staying in the city for three days and wondered if they could meet. Charles was mildly pleased, for he suddenly thought of the Tunnel of Love and realized that his life in the neutral capital, though increasingly agreeable, was still somewhat lacking in fun. Unfortunately all three evenings were taken up with official engagements he could not get out of--one of them a rather big reception which all the corps diplomatique would attend. After he had explained this she said: 'Oh, tell your boss I'm here--he'll probably invite me.' Afterwards Charles thought it would have been more correct for her to announce her own arrival, if she knew the Treveses, but it was too late then to suggest it. When Treves came in later that afternoon Charles mentioned that Jane Coppermill had telephoned. Treves immediately remembered her. 'Anyone would who was at Berne in those days.'
Charles looked his interest and Treves continued: 'She must have been in her late teens then--at some finishing school--just before the war. The Minister was away and I was in charge, which made it all the worse--for me.'
'What happened?' Charles asked.
'She fell into the bear-pit among the bears. It's a well-known show place at Berne. Goodness knows how it happened. She poked at the bears with an umbrella to hold them off till she was rescued, but the keeper broke a leg doing it and the Swiss said it was all her fault. There was an enquiry and letters in the Berne papers-- then London got to hear of it--oh, quite a set-to. In the end I believe her father had to pay the man a very handsome amount. . . . The Bernese, you know, really love those bears. I think if she'd poked one in the eye even in self-defence we should have had a real international incident. . . . She's probably less of a hoyden now. Why don't you ask her to the reception if she's going to be here to- morrow?' Charles said he would be glad to.
* * * * *
When he met her he was startled by her appearance. Naturally he had expected her to look very different in evening clothes from the only recollection he had of her--leaning on a bicycle in rough country tweeds; but he had not realized the strikingness of her. She was a woman one would look at twice and wonder who she was, whether or not one afterwards decided that it mattered. Moreover, her personality had an air of challenging without breaking the rather stiff protocol which marked the opening proceedings of a reception of this kind. Afterwards, of course, formalities could be relaxed, though it was still a wise precaution not to forget them altogether.
Charles had already discovered that in the small world of a diplomatic corps there were always white sheep whom one personally liked and could treat as friends, and black sheep whom one didn't like or who represented countries suspect by one's own government; but to all, of course, one must behave with correctness. So much was elementary, but a problem could arise when someone personally liked fell into the black category. This had recently happened in Charles's world to a foreign Attaché named Davanrog, who had been very popular till his country did something unpopular, after which everyone was so sorry for Davanrog that he was in some danger of becoming more popular than ever. However, the cautionary word was slipped by Treves to his staff, with a resulting cancellation of several projected hunting and fishing trips. And Davanrog, who must have known there was nothing personal in it, probably did not take it too much to heart.
He was a fine-looking fellow, and when Charles saw Jane Coppermill greet him at the reception like an old friend he wondered if his own instant feeling could have any personal jealousy in it; but he decided not--after all, Jane was nothing to him, just a country neighbour he had met once and hadn't bothered to meet again till she herself made the effort. They had met for this second time with cordiality, but no more--not as much, it would seem, as there was between her and Davanrog. Charles wished, though, he had had a chance to tell her that Davanrog, for purely political reasons, was somewhat out of favour with the British; noticing that Treves also had his eye on her, he hoped his chief would not feel he was to blame. It was not clear how he could be, but the niceties of diplomatic behaviour were apt to carry such vague and indefinable responsibilities. Anyhow, Charles was relieved when he saw her leave Davanrog and allow herself to be taken to supper by one of the Dutchmen, with whom she also seemed extremely cordial; but Charles was troubled again when, after a minimum of polite circulation amongst the throng, Davanrog made his excuses to the Treveses and left early. It was a perfectly proper thing to do, but it left glaringly obvious the fact that the man's only fun at the party had been with Jane.
Later in the evening Charles danced with her. She was a good dancer; he was just average. He did not much like dancing anyway, but it was a social accomplishment he could not disdain as he did golf and tennis. 'So you know Davanrog?' he asked casually.
'I met him once before--in Copenhagen.'
With such a cue, and knowing so little about her, Charles was quick to comment: 'You travel about a good deal, don't you?'
'I enjoy seeing new places.'
'But do you go alone?'
'Unless I can find the right companion. I like a lot of people but I don't like everybody a lot.'
'That sounds reasonable. You don't have to.'
'No. I'm more or less free to do as I choose. I know I'm lucky. Luckier than you. You probably have to do plenty of things you don't care about--dancing, for instance. Why don't we sit down somewhere?'
'Well . . .' he exclaimed. He was amused and not ungrateful. They found a corner in a conservatory that overlooked the lights of the city. 'Getting settled in at Burton Bridgwater by now?' he said, unable to think of anything else.
'Oh yes, the family is. I don't think I'm a very good settler anywhere. You know what I like to do most?'
'Am I going to be horrified?'
'Probably. I like to climb mountains.'
'Well, that's just where you're wrong. I like it too.'
'But I mean REAL climbing.'
'Try me some day.'
'Clogwyn Du'r-arrdu?'
'I've done it.'
&nbs
p; 'The North Wall of the Grandes Jorasses?'
'No, and neither have you.'
She laughed. 'You evidently know something. To tell you the truth, I'm good--quite good--but not as good as that. I've done most of the standard Alpine climbs, and I was with Melrose and Linmayer in Corsica last year. That's some sort of testimonial, maybe.'
'I should think it is.'
'What I'd like now is to go further afield--say the Caucasus.'
'Not by yourself, surely?'
'Oh no, it would have to be a real expedition. But I know Melrose and some of his friends would come if it could be arranged. Unfortunately you need all kinds of permits even to get near the place. I was talking to Davanrog about that.'
'Could he help you?'
'That's what I had in mind. But he wasn't very encouraging. I pressed him for a reason--I'm the sort of person who expects a reason for things--but all I could get out of him was some mumble about possible trouble in that direction during the summer. That old Turkish-Armenian business, I suppose.'
'He mentioned that?'
'What he actually said was "les querelles intérieures du pays Turco- Arménien".'
'Well, well . . .' It was part of Charles's training that when he was told anything important he did not betray that it was. In this case he did not know whether it was important or not. But when the party was over and the hired waiters were clearing up in the banqueting hall he wandered into the office and found his chief there, whisky and soda in hand, going over some cables that had arrived. 'Nothing much,' he remarked, passing them to Charles. 'A good party, I thought.'
Charles said he thought so too.
'That Jane Coppermill of yours certainly has changed.'
Charles didn't altogether approve the 'of yours'; after the bear- pit story he would have considered her just as much Sir Lionel's. (He had mentioned that incident to Jane and she had told him how it had happened--she had been trying to retrieve an umbrella which had slipped through the railings while she was watching the animals, and with which she afterwards defended herself. 'But it was nothing--they were a mangy lot. I only had to prod them to keep them off.')
Charles said to Treves: 'Yes, and for the better, I should say.'
'She seemed quite friendly with Davanrog.'
'They met in Copenhagen once, she said.' Charles then told Treves what Jane had told him about Davanrog's discouragement of a climbing expedition in the Caucasus that summer.
It was part of Sir Lionel's training that when he was told anything important he did not betray that it was. In this case he thought it was probably not important at all, but to be on the safe side he might send a memo to London about it.
So he said, sipping his drink good-humouredly: 'What does she think she is, that young lady? International spy or something? Did you happen to notice a bundle of stolen treaties tucked away in her corsage?'
What Charles had noticed in her corsage--while they were dancing, in fact--had been more tempting than stolen treaties. Thinking of this made him smile as he answered: 'She's reliable, I should say. I'll bet she's good to climb with.'
* * * * *
Later still that evening, or rather early the next morning, Treves conducted the usual bedroom post-mortem with his wife. They were a very devoted couple, behind the façade of being chef and chefesse.
'That Coppermill girl heard an interesting thing from Davanrog.' He gave the details.
Lady Treves said: 'I don't suppose she got it out of him deliberately.'
'Oh no, she'd never have managed it if she'd tried. What WAS smart of her, though, was to pass it on to Anderson.'
'I wonder if that was accidental too.'
'Anderson said he thought she knew it was something we'd be interested to hear.'
'Does Charles know her well?'
'They're neighbours. Some place in Gloucestershire. She's one of the Coppermills that bought the Record when Derry sold out.'
'Plenty of money?'
'Far more than you and I will ever have, my dear.'
'I rather liked her, what I saw of her, and if she's so smart and has money--might not be a bad thing for Charles--'
'Oh, I don't think there's anything like that in contemplation.'
'Well, you never know. He's attractive, and she looks to me the sort of girl who gets what she wants.'
* * * * *
Six months later Jane Coppermill got what she wanted. They were married in Salzburg, where Charles had gone for the Festival and she for some climbing in the Dolomites. Since each had known that the other would be there at the same time, it was always a matter of argument afterwards whether they had planned it, consciously or subconsciously; the fact that Jane, who did not particularly care for music, went to several concerts with Charles was reckonable against the fact that Charles, who enjoyed climbing, allowed himself to be considerably seduced from Mozart to the mountains. After a few weeks of this sort of thing the decision was made. They did not tell anybody, but somehow the announcement got into the English papers (and here again there could have been an interesting argument--was it Jane's or Charles's minor importance that made them worth a three-line wire?). Charles then wrote to his father and received an elegant letter of congratulation and an invitation to bring Jane to stay at Beeching as soon as they returned to England. Charles, of course, was to be similarly welcomed at Burton Bridgwater by Jane's family, and as the houses were less than a mile apart it was easy to combine the two invitations. Havelock also seemed to like Jane personally, the more so when she took up from the outset a no-nonsense attitude towards him which cleared away many difficulties. 'I heard rumours you were mad and now I'm convinced you are,' she told him sportively before she had been a guest at Beeching a full day. It was because of something he had said--not too outrageous, for him. But Jane could match him in outrageousness, both of speech and action. 'You're just a wicked old man,' she told him at a party in front of a crowd. 'And it's not just weakness with you, it's strength, isn't it?' Havelock's eyes flashed back a response in which there was an amused awareness that Jane was a person to be reckoned with.
Both Charles and Jane, however, were glad to leave England at the end of the extended leave, especially as Charles had been appointed Second Secretary in a city much nearer to the crossroads of world affairs than his previous post. It could be regarded as a speedy promotion, and though he wondered if Jane, through her various family connections, had pulled any strings to get it for him, he felt confident of being able to justify himself. He was very happy indeed as they crossed the Channel from Croydon to Le Bourget. It was for both of them a first trip by air.
Jane soon showed her qualifications not only as a wife but as a Second Secretary's wife. She tackled the job with a respect for it that muted the strings of her personality without putting any of them out of tune. The Ambassador, Sir Richard Thornton ('Papa'), was a senior diplomat who (someone once said) possessed many merits developed to a marked degree of averageness; he had married late, and for the second time, and it was his wife who set the key and pace of the Embassy. Older than he was, sharp-tongued and domineering, of an aristocratic family and twice widowed by men who had won high distinction in the Foreign Service, she had an air of making comparisons that must always be unsatisfactory. Perhaps Sir Richard guessed this. He was completely under her thumb, and therefore astute enough to pretend not to like Jane as much as he did; while Jane, sizing up the situation, knew that sooner or later Lady Thornton would have to be tackled.
The clash came over Jane's behaviour at a reception given by a foreign Embassy to a visiting royalty. The entire diplomatic corps was present and protocol reigned heavily. Somebody, however, must have spilled the bear-pit story, for when Jane was presented to His Majesty, he mentioned it, and the result was a rather long and jovial tęte-ŕ-tęte later in the evening, which nobody failed to observe. Jane happened to have lived for a time in His Majesty's country and to have a smattering of the language, all of which helped. When the affair was over she thought s
he had done quite well to give royalty such a chance to unbend, but the next day Lady Thornton made a point of snubbing her for it in Charles's presence. 'I suppose,' she remarked, 'he was your first king and he went to your head?'
Since Jane was not one to take rebukes of this sort easily, Charles jumped in with excuses for her before she could reply. But then Lady Thornton turned her guns on him, interrupting: 'When you've had more experience, Mr. Anderson, you'll perhaps be less ready to contradict me.'
'He wasn't contradicting you,' Jane retorted, prompt now to defend Charles. 'He just can't think what I did wrong, and neither can I.'
'Exactly,' Charles agreed. 'After all, it was the King who started it--I daresay he felt in the mood for a joke. Those fellows must get awfully bored with formalities--it seems rather hard if they can't ever be allowed to relax like anybody else.'
'Nonsense,' Lady Thornton snapped back. 'It's no harder for them than it is for us. They EXPECT to be bored. They're usually on guard about their rank, and if you forget for a moment who they are-- no matter how much they've seemed to encourage you--they're apt to see a slight. Of course there are exceptions, but when you've met as many kings as I have, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, you'll know it's much safer to bore them than to try to amuse them.'
'I never like doing things that are too safe,' Jane said, but she caught Charles's eye and could see that he too was somewhat disarmed as well as astonished by Lady Thornton's frankness.
'Then you'll run grave risks of damaging your husband's career. And believe me, that warning is well-meant.'
Afterwards Charles exchanged a glance with Jane and burst out laughing. 'Well, well . . . we're still alive, that's something. But what a crushing old battleaxe!'
Jane said, more seriously: 'I wonder if she's right--about kings. I don't suppose we shall meet as many as she has, anyhow.'