The Troubadour

by Simon Raven

  Canteloupe and I went on lots of walks with the new baby, Lady Nausikaa Sarum, and her nanny, who is a funny girl from Yugoslavia, in rolled-up trousers, called Dobrila. Dobrila likes Canteloupe a lot. So do I. Sometimes we went up his Campanile, to hear the chimes strike right above us, which was more exciting than I would have thought possible.

  I think Canteloupe is having worries about money. Apparently Cant-Fun, his stately home apparatus, is old-fashioned and doing badly. I heard him telling his private secretary, Leonard Percival, about it. Mr Percival didn’t pay much attention, as he was concentrating on Tessa’s legs. Mr Percival looked hungry for legs. I think he would even have looked at mine, only I was wearing Marius’ old cords.

  But whether Mr Percival heard or not, Canteloupe was saying that he was short of money. I told him he ought to have enough, one way and the other, and that if he didn’t Lady Canteloupe would give him some, as she is very rich in her own right, owning goodness knows how many of the shares in our printing and publishing business, and now all her dead sister’s as well.

  He is so super, Canteloupe, that I’d gladly give him some of my money, but I really can’t think that that will be necessary.

  Now we are back at school, and Tessa has been to see Mr Raisley Conyngham, the Classics master, who is her new guardian. Some people think Mr Conyngham is too worldly and has a bad influence on Marius. I think he is just rather silly and pathetic – but of course silly and pathetic people can be quite as dangerous as worldly or wicked ones. Tessa says that Mr Conyngham says that he will make no attempt to interfere with her personal affairs, provided she will obey him in one important matter the nature of which he has not yet disclosed. I wonder what that can be? Tessa says there is no point in worrying about it until he tells her what it is. She says it is certainly nothing sexual, as Mr Conyngham is sexless, and that it cannot be to do with money because Colonel Blessington is her financial trustee.

  Myself, I think it will probably turn out to have something to do with Marius, but it is hard to imagine what, as Marius will do whatever Mr Conyngham asks without any additional pressure from Teresa. And what else could Mr Conyngham want of her?

  Love to Jo-Jo and Jean-Marie and especially to Oenone.

  Love from Rosie.

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Jo-Jo Guiscard, after she had been allowed to read the letter, ‘Rosie has got a pash on Canteloupe.’

  ‘Better him than some silly young boy,’ said Isobel. ‘Canteloupe will know exactly what if anything to do with her, and the thing will be quite harmless.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Jo-Jo, ‘that in your adopted role of socialist you disapproved of Peers of the Realm?’

  ‘The fact remains that Canteloupe will know how to manage Rosie.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Oenone, ‘that somebody would read Rosie’s letter to me.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jo-Jo: ‘at last she is beginning to stop referring to herself as Oenone and to use the personal pronoun.’

  ‘Oenone is very hurt,’ said Oenone, ‘that Rosie did not come here last holidays but went to stay with Canteloupe.’

  ‘You must get used to that kind of disappointment,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘I thought Rosie loved Oenone.’

  ‘She does. But she has other things to fit into her life.’

  Oenone thought about this. ‘Then from now on I shall have other things too,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the spirit, girl,’ said Isobel.

  ‘She’s really becoming quite intelligent,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘I see I shall have to take more interest in her from now on.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure, Mummy,’ said Oenone to Jo-Jo, ‘that I shall be able to fit you in. Isobel has always been much kinder to me than you have.’

  ‘At this rate it will soon be time,’ said Isobel, ‘to send her to school in England…as you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to be rid of her,’ said Jo-Jo, ‘if that’s what you mean. But now,’ she said, lifting Oenone on to her knee and kissing her for the first time since she was born, ‘she’s beginning to be amusing. I wanted a boy, but there’s no doubt that girls can have piercing insights.’

  ‘She must be given things to learn and tasks to perform,’ said Isobel severely; ‘otherwise her mind will atrophy.’

  ‘You yourself said that no proper school in England would take her as a boarder until she was at least eleven. Between the two of us we can surely educate her until then. The main thing is that she should learn to read and write.’

  ‘Don’t go getting any fancy ideas,’ said Isobel, ‘about Oenone.’

  ‘I’m her mother when all is said,’ said Jo-Jo, kissing Oenone again.

  ‘Better ignore her, as you have always done, than devour her…if only with kisses.’

  ‘It is rude to talk of me in this way in front of my face,’ Oenone said.

  ‘Another valuable lesson,’ Isobel told her: ‘all women behave immoderately in matters of emotion.’

  ‘I should prefer nobody to behave immoderately in the matter of me,’ said Oenone. ‘I shall now walk down to our church and talk to poppa Jean-Marie. He will not behave immoderately. I shall walk there alone as I know the way.’

  ‘Your father is busy,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘If he is busy,’ said Oenone, jumping to the ground, ‘then I shall just sit there with him. ’ She skipped to the door of the café and turned. ‘That will be very restful,’ she said. ‘It is never really restful with you two, or even with Rosie. But with Jeremy it was restful, and it will be with poppa. ’ She opened the door and was gone.

  ‘The brush-off,’ said Isobel, ‘for both of us.’

  ‘She is quite right,’ said Jo-Jo: ‘women as idle as us are a pain in the neck. So are men, come to that. Jean-Marie has something to do, knows how to do it, and does it. So Oenone finds him restful. Perhaps we should both have a hobby.’

  ‘We have each other,’ Isobel said.

  ‘Not enough, after all this time.’

  ‘Educating Oenone could be a hobby. Your suggestion. We both have a lot to offer.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘I still wish Oenone was a boy. I should have so much more to offer a boy. But I suppose one should make the best of what is to hand.’

  ‘You had better be quite clear from the start,’ Isobel said, ‘that we are talking about what we have to offer, not about what is on offer to us.’

  The first important cricket matches of the season were the School 1st XI v. the Butterflies CC and the Girls’ XI v. Benenden, both matches being played on the same day. The 1st XI played on ‘Green’, below an elegant terrace at one end and above a toy valley at the other; while the Girls’ XI played on ‘Harlequin’s’, a small, rectangular ground which was flanked on three sides by Surrey pines and overlooked on the fourth by a statue of the Founder, who had been a Jacobean crook. The two grounds were separated only by the Old School Chapel, which was now a medical and psychiatric complex, and a lawn, in the middle of which was a fountain on top of which was the Founder who had a shapely leg under his hose and carried (if only by courtesy of the sculptor) a rapier at his left hip and a dagger at his right.

  ‘He had himself written “esquire” on the strength of his enormous profits,’ said Raisley Conyngham to Ivan Blessington.

  ‘I know,’ said Ivan Blessington, who was an old boy of the school.

  ‘Most people think he was a knight,’ said Raisley. ‘The Headmaster wrote of him as such in the last number of the school magazine.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Ivan, who was looking for his two girls, Jakki and Carolyn, who would be playing, with Tessa Malcolm, for the Girls’ XI on Harlequin’s – and here they came now, all three, and loitering just behind them little dark Rosie, clutching the score book. How pretty they would look if they all curtsied, thought Ivan, the cricketing girls in their short white skirts, and Rosie in her inappropriate kilt. (Girls were not allowed to wear trousers, let alone their brothers’ old cords, while they performed an official function su
ch as scoring.) But of course, Ivan thought, girls do not do anything as decorative and subservient as curtsaying these days. Nor did they. What they all four did was to kiss him heartily instead; after which they bowed coolly to Raisley and went on their way to the pavilion, which resembled a log cabin.

  ‘I suppose Marius Stern is playing for the First Eleven on Green?’ said Ivan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Raisley. ‘He made a hundred before lunch.’

  ‘But the girls’ cricket match is afternoon only? God, I wish one of my girls could make a hundred before tea.’

  ‘I think,’ said Raisley, ‘there is only one thing we need discuss in the matter of Teresa’s money. Do you propose to sell Buttock’s Hotel?’

  ‘Tessa does not wish it.’

  ‘Then what will she have for ready money?’

  ‘Her share of the takings of the hotel, which is almost everything that comes in after running expenses have been met and after taxes. Fielding Gray, who owns the other half of the hotel, has long since settled for the use of a suite, and full board and service as and when he requires them.’

  ‘It would be nice for my ward,’ said Raisley Conyngham, ‘to have some liquid capital.’

  ‘Mrs Malcolm also left her about a hundred grand in blue chips and ten grand in a deposit account. I do not think, Conyngham, that there is any present need to sell the hotel. Tessa is keen to respect old Mrs Buttock’s wishes.’

  ‘What are Fielding Gray’s wishes?’

  ‘Fielding won’t starve,’ said big, bluff Ivan, ‘as long as he has Buttock’s to retreat to.’

  ‘He might like some ready money,’ Raisley said.

  ‘Fielding always likes ready money. It is best that he should not have it. If he really needs it, he can sell his house down at Broughton Staithe.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll do that,’ said Canteloupe, who had come up behind them. ‘That’s where he writes his books.’

  ‘He hasn’t been writing many just lately,’ said Ivan Blessington.

  ‘Then he’ll have to start,’ Canteloupe said. ‘He must be in pretty low water by now. Time to do some work, instead of swanning around Asia Minor with Jeremy Morrison. He sent me a postcard of the Blue Mosque, by the way. I wonder he can even afford the stamp.’

  ‘Jeremy Morrison will probably see him all right if he’s short,’ said Theodosia Canteloupe, as she came up after her husband. ‘They’re pretty thick. ’ She started clapping as the opening pair of the Benenden XI (the Captain of which had won the toss) came to the wicket.

  ‘This is not,’ said Raisley Conyngham, ‘a committee meeting about the welfare of Fielding Gray. It is a discussion, between Colonel Blessington and myself, to determine what will be in the best interest of my ward, Teresa Malcolm.’

  ‘Point taken,’ said Canteloupe; ‘we’ll go and talk to Rosie in the scorers’ box, Thea.’

  ‘You go,’ said Theodosia. ‘I shall remain here, as I have one or two things to say to Mr Conyngham about his ward, Teresa Malcolm…’

  Marius Stern, out soon after lunch for 117 and thinking that it would be at least an hour before he must take the field, decided that he would go to watch Tessa’s match on Harlequin’s for a while. As he rose from his deck chair by the boundary, the Captain of Cricket threw him a 1st XI cap. He put it on, amid applause, walked round the boundary and up on to the terrace, then round the west end of the medical and psychiatric complex and on to the lawn – to cross which was one of the privileges of a Major Blood, a title that came to him with his 1st XI cap.

  When he saw Thea Canteloupe, who was standing with Raisley Conyngham and Colonel Blessington on the far side of the Founder’s statue, he backed off quickly and entered the complex by the north door into what had once been the narthex of the Old Chapel. Then he realised that he could not avoid Theodosia in this way, no matter how ungracious her behaviour had been towards him before the birth of their daughter, Nausikaa, nor how churlish his had been towards her soon after it. He came out, crossed the grass, removed his cap as he approached the group, and bowed with his head only, as to the Queen, to Theodosia Canteloupe.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, bending to kiss her hand; and then to the two men: ‘gentlemen.’

  Canteloupe stood behind Rosie and the Benenden scorer in the little scorer’s box at the end of the pavilion.

  ‘Scoring is torture,’ he said. ‘I promise not to say a word.’

  Nor did he. He merely placed his hands on Rosie’s shoulders, knowledgeably applauding and tutting over the play. Rosie, eyeing the Benenden scorer, nearly burst with love and pride, until the Benenden scorer, a snub-nosed girl with blonde hair cut like a boy’s, said in a sharp voice:

  ‘My two brothers came to play fives at your house, Lord Canteloupe –’

  ‘– Say “Canteloupe” –’

  ‘– And they were snubbed by your wife. I shall now go and score in another part of the pavilion.’

  Which she did.

  ‘Ah well, Miss Rosie,’ said Canteloupe, easing his hands gently down Rosie’s body, ‘we can do pretty well without her.’

  Marius, having been sincerely congratulated on his Colours by Theodosia, Colonel Blessington and Raisley Conyngham, sensed that, though much admired, he was de trop. Having kissed Theodosia again (this time on the cheek, a privilege readily accorded to a new Blood) and smiled at the two men, he replaced his cap and proceeded slowly along the boundary towards the log cabin pavilion. Rosie and Canteloupe, in the scorers’ box at the far end, did not see him coming; but luckily he went behind the pavilion to have a pee in the pines, and then, hearing distant applause from beyond the medical and psychiatric complex, realised that the School XI had declared earlier than he had expected and therefore started running back over the lawn, from which Theodosia, Blessington and Conyngham had now vanished, towards Green, doffing his cap to the Founder as he ran.

  Ivan Blessington, having settled for the time being with Raisley that nothing need be done about the selling of Buttock’s Hotel, took a seat on a bench on the boundary of Harlequin’s, as far as possible from the pavilion since he wanted to watch his two daughters and Tessa in absolute peace. The bench, he noticed as he prepared to sit, had Jeremy Morrison’s name carved on the bar at its back. He waved distantly to Canteloupe and Rosie in the scorers’ box, and they waved distantly back, Rosie with her left hand and Canteloupe, a few seconds later, with his right. He then settled down to watch, gently whistling ‘Rory Gilpin’ between his teeth, trying to remember the name of the familiar tune and when he had last heard it.

  The Marchioness Canteloupe was shown by Raisley Conyngham into an ugly little room at the east end of the Old Chapel.

  ‘This is the personal relations laboratory,’ said Raisley Conyngham. ‘Boys and girls are allowed to sit here together, holding hands and talking of love. They fill each others’ heads with a great lot of nonsense. What did you want to say to me about Teresa?’

  ‘She tells me, in her letters, that you do not intend to interfere with…her personal relations…with me, provided she obeys you absolutely in one other matter. What is that matter, Raisley Conyngham?’

  ‘I shall require her help with a cherished plan, Theodosia Canteloupe.’

  ‘What plan?’

  ‘It is quite harmless from your point of view. Teresa’s part will be simple and easy. There is no need whatever for you to know about it.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Theodosia, ‘she tells me that there is a heavy sanction should she refuse.’

  ‘Let us then trust that she will do no such thing.’

  ‘But if she should refuse, you would keep her from me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Conyngham. ‘You might find that quite a lot of people disapprove of marchionesses who seduce schoolgirls. To say nothing of allowing schoolboys to get children on them because their husbands are too feeble.’

  ‘I see now,’ said Lady Canteloupe, ‘what old Florence meant. I was beginning to think that Carmilla and the rest were absurdly exaggerating your…i
ll offices…and so I told Florence. I owe her an apology. Good afternoon, Mr Conyngham.’

  A little later, after Theodosia had left Raisley Conyngham, she walked to the log cabin pavilion on Harlequin’s, where she was met by Canteloupe, who was just then emerging from the scorers’ box, lest his being too long alone in it with Rosie should cause comment on the cricket ground. Without saying anything, Theodosia took her husband by the arm and started to walk him very slowly along the boundary towards the bench on which Colonel Blessington was still sitting.

  ‘Before we reach Ivan, old girl,’ said Canteloupe, ‘I want a very brief word in your ear.’

  ‘Speak, Canty.’

  ‘Money is running low,’ Canteloupe said.

  ‘So I had supposed.’

  ‘If things get too tight, you will pass over some of yours? Rather a lot of yours?’

  ‘I shall assist you to my last penny, Canteloupe.’

  ‘That’s my good girl. Not but what I knew already. Rosie said you’d say something of the kind.’

  ‘You have been consulting Rosie?’

  ‘She overheard something.’

  ‘Very sharp ears and eyes, that little girl,’ said Theodosia. ‘She wasn’t prying or eavesdropping. I was talking too loud to Leonard – when you were playing fives that day. Rosie was watching too. She just said that you’d give me what I wanted because she knew you were a brick.’

  ‘How did she know?’

  ‘Because Tessa had told her, and because of the decent way you behaved about those two Harrovians – not showing them up in public when they were chizzing. Their sister is here, by the way.’

  Canteloupe turned back towards the pavilion and indicated the hawk-nosed girl with the short blonde hair, who was now rejoining Rosie in the scorers’ box.

  ‘An improvement on her siblings.’

  ‘And loyal to them,’ Canteloupe said. ‘She wouldn’t sit in there with me because my wife, she said, had snubbed her brothers.’