The Juniper Tree

by Barbara Comyns

  With all the excitement I became quite emotional and said, ‘Dear Bernard, I can never be bored if you are there.’

  We left the following Tuesday and, although the journey wasn’t quite like my dreams, it was very pleasant flying first class and sitting close to Bernard as he worked, not very seriously, planning out an itinerary for our visit which would only last five days. Part of the time I was to be in the care of a secretary who would take me to museums and galleries while Bernard attended to his really serious business.

  The five days passed so quickly, not the nights, but the days. I was introduced to people as Bernard’s protégée and they appeared to like me. It was one of those times when I was looking beautiful with happiness and I think they felt this radiance glowing from me and it made them happy too. It was the same at parties: everyone seemed to want to talk to me and there I’d stand, almost like a queen bee, with Bernard by my side; but it was the nights that were so perfect, at least almost perfect. Even in bed Bernard had a certain reserve and in our relationship it was always like that. I must never be the one to make the first advances – answer his passion, but never make the first move. That was how he wanted it and anything he wanted was perfect to me. Just to be with him was the purest happiness. When we left our hotel bedroom for the last time, I said, ‘Bernard, how Women’s Lib would hate me if they knew how I felt about you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In Brussels we had really left Gertrude behind, there wasn’t the faintest shadow of her, but when we returned to England her gentle presence was waiting, or so it seemed to me. Bernard would say: ‘I don’t think Gertrude would approve of those playsuits Johnny is wearing. They make him look like a mechanic,’ or to Miss May: ‘I’d rather you didn’t serve boiled cod, Miss May. My wife dislikes it.’ Mrs Hicks would be asked to change the curtains in ‘the mistress’s bedroom’ or even to take ‘the mistress’s dressing-gown to the cleaners.’ The soft blue dressing-gown hung on a hook on the door; but Gertrude’s other clothes nestled in the large cupboards that had drawers as well as hanging rails and her jewel-case was locked away somewhere. Mrs Hicks and I had been greatly daring and cleared the dressing-table of Gertrude’s simple but expensive cosmetics. We kept them for a month in a kitchen drawer, then, as Bernard did not appear to miss them, Mrs Hicks took them home to her young daughter, who said they were ‘wishy-washy’ and threw them in the dustbin.

  One of the first things I did on my return was to pay a visit to Mrs Vic’s agency. I brought back a list of five would-be nurses for Johnny. There was the usual elderly nanny, the untrained girl with a baby of her own, and three experienced girls who sounded quite promising; one of them was Dutch which I thought might appeal to Bernard. But in the evening when I showed him the list, he glanced at it and said they wouldn’t do. Gertrude wouldn’t approve of them. Then he asked me to do the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do even for Bernard, give up the shop and look after the Forbes family and house. We had quite an argument about this, which ended in Bernard admitting that he was a selfish brute, then staying the night with me. It was almost as it had been in Brussels, but not quite, because I felt a selfish brute myself and hoped I had the strength of will to stay one.

  After all, Bernard chose the Dutch girl to look after Johnny. She was called Greta and spoke perfect English so the poor child didn’t have to learn a third language – as it was he spoke more Spanish than anything, but his vocabulary was still very limited. For nearly a fortnight he was cared for by two doting nurses; then Catalina left for Spain with her novio and Johnny was alone with Greta and he didn’t like it at all. Marline and I were the only ones who could comfort him. He would go to Bernard for a few minutes, but then his bottom lip would quiver and he’d hold his arms out to me. I spent all the time I could with him, but didn’t want to neglect the shop too much, particularly as it was nearly Christmas, my busy time. Gradually Johnny settled down with Greta and his relationship with his father improved. Bernard spent as much time as he could with him, which meant that he seldom called on me on his way home. Marline and I still spent Sunday and most of Monday at the Richmond house and I enjoyed it in a way, the luxury and long talks with Bernard, but we never came close to each other there. Bernard seemed to edge away if I came the slightest bit close.

  A strange thing happened in the early spring. Bernard’s gold cuff-links disappeared from the dressing-table. They had been lying there for several days while he wore some Victorian ones I’d given him for Christmas; then suddenly the gold ones vanished. Nothing else was missing. At first we thought Mrs Hicks or Miss May had flicked them to the floor with the feather duster they were fond of using, so the furniture was moved and the floor searched, then the insides of the carpet sweeper and the repulsive bag of dust, but all we found were pins and paper clips. As nothing else vanished in mysterious circumstances the cuff-links were almost forgotten until I found one under the juniper tree in Gertrude’s wild garden. I often sat there on the low bench now the weather was warmer and I’d been there the previous day; but there hadn’t been the slightest glitter of gold in the spring sun and now it was shining on something gold hanging from a twig like a Christmas tree decoration, Bernard’s cuff-link. I took it down and examined it closely, but it was quite unharmed; then I searched for its companion, but there was no more shining gold, only the magpies chattering high in the cherry tree near their domed nest. When I showed Bernard my find, he was all for climbing a ladder to hunt for the other link in the magpies’ nest. But for once our positions were reversed; I said: ‘Gertrude wouldn’t like her magpies disturbed at this time of the year, they might even fly away. Wait until the autumn,’ and he reluctantly agreed.

  As time went on Bernard became more devoted to Johnny and Johnny to him, but also to Marline. The children only spent the weekends together and they made the most of it and sometimes Bernard felt a little neglected. But, on the other hand, so did I, neglected by Bernard.

  Johnny’s second birthday came and he was showered with expensive presents and blew out both candles on his birthday cake with one breath, which we all agreed was a good omen for the future. Three days later he bit Greta on the arm when they were having a bit of a tussle about something and she slapped him in return. I wasn’t there at the time but Bernard was in the next room and came rushing in and from what he told me there was rather a nasty scene and Greta gave her notice. Bernard arrived quite late at night to tell me this. He said he hadn’t liked to leave Johnny until he was sure he was soundly asleep. ‘Do you think she has been hitting him all the time and I didn’t know?’ he asked dejectedly. ‘I always thought they got on together quite well.’

  I said, ‘An occasional slap isn’t the end of the world and biting is a nasty habit and should be checked. Greta is a little impersonal, but not a bad nurse. I think it a great pity she is leaving.’

  Bernard suddenly stood up and seemed to be towering above me. He almost shouted, ‘I’m no good at being a one-parent family and I won’t put up with it any more. It isn’t fair to Johnny, let alone me. Bella, you’ll have to marry me.’

  No mention of love, just, ‘Bella, you’ll have to marry me.’ I refused.

  Mary came round to the shop some days later and the two of us sat on some rather shaky Regency chairs, drinking instant coffee and talking about how impossible it was for me to marry Bernard. ‘You would lose everything if you did, your freedom, the shop and your individuality,’ Mary said with great emphasis, and I agreed. Tommy and I were as free as air, but if we lived with Bernard we would have to conform to his standards. I could never stay in bed late on Sunday mornings reading my horoscope in the Sunday Express, perhaps with Tommy curled up beside me. I’d have to drop some of my friends, the rather jolly antique dealers whom I sometimes had drinks with and the friendly customers who used to bring me flowers from their gardens, not important people, but kind. I told Mary how stiff Bernard was towards me in his own home. Would it always be like that if we lived there together? Would I have to
be a permanent nurse to the rather spoilt Johnny and perhaps be cook-housekeeper as well? We could find no reason for marrying Bernard except the luxury of a bath every day. Even my deep love for him was a handicap because he didn’t feel the same for me. Mary had come so that we could go over the shop’s accounts together, but we didn’t work very hard that morning. I was half laughing and half crying and figures had little meaning. I couldn’t remember why the petty cash was so heavy in September or how much it had cost to replace a sofa’s leg. I said, ‘Oh, Mary, he sometimes calls me Bel-Gazou.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We woke with a start. Flash Harry was clanking and hissing and flashing coloured lights on the bedroom wall. Bernard said, ‘We’ll miss him when you leave here. I’ve become quite fond of Flash Harry.’ Then he left our warm bed and quickly dressed in his perfect clothes, even brushing his suit in the darkness. He always returned to Richmond early because there were no proper toilet facilities in my little house.

  I half sat up and said: ‘Bernard, what do you mean? I’m not leaving here?’ and he said soothingly, ‘Go to sleep, my darling. We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ and I fell asleep again and couldn’t quite remember what he’d said when I awoke and found myself alone. I reached out for Bernard, but only found his handkerchief from under his pillow, such a beautiful one, handrolled and very fine.

  He came to collect us on Saturday evening and for once we were ready. Often there was a last-minute customer or a long telephone conversation or the garden would have to be watered – it was very dry that spring, cold but dry, and already the Green had brown patches. When we arrived at the Forbeses’ house, there was Johnny waiting for us, sitting on the bear’s back just as Marline used to do. His Dutch nurse was with him, smiling and remote, and there was no sign that there had been a great scene a few days previously. I hoped she could be persuaded to stay. I could hardly face Mrs Vic again.

  It started off being the usual sort of weekend. But after dinner we sat in the drawing-room and talked instead of playing records. It began as safe talk about the garden and what the gardener should plant and that sort of thing, but quite soon it turned to marriage. There we sat in our elegant armchairs, and talked about marriage. The only obstacle Bernard could see was my having to give up the shop: ‘But I’ll make it up to you, dearest. I’ll give you shares in the gallery and you could be a director if you liked, a part-time one, of course. It would give you an interest and be a help to me. Strangely enough, Gertrude, who was always a tremendous help, refused to be a director. She said she wanted to be free with her help and not tied to it. She was rather like you in that respect.’

  I said, ‘It isn’t only the shop, Bernard. It’s love, or rather the lack of it. I’m deeply in love with you, but you hardly love me at all, which would put me at a terrible disadvantage, don’t you agree?’

  Bernard exclaimed rather indignantly, ‘Of course I love you. Perhaps I’m not “in love”, but you know I love you.’ Then he left his formal chair and came close and put his arms round me and kissed me very tenderly. It was the first endearment he had given me in that house and I could feel myself being won over.

  When I returned to Twickenham on Monday morning, we were engaged to be married in about two months’ time. Bernard was quite calm about it and talked of a honeymoon in Madrid; but I felt strange and all shivery inside. It shouldn’t be a difficult decision to make, marrying Bernard. It was a wonderful chance for a girl like me. Perhaps I was getting into a rut with my little shop and quiet life, and it wasn’t much of a future for Tommy. I thought of her living in that beautiful house with Bernard as her stepfather and being able to have an expensive education, music – she was fond of music – and perhaps riding. There was little I could do for her on my own except to try and make her as happy as possible. I stood in my shop and looked round. The sun was shining through the pretty windows, but wasn’t it rather dusty? Almost half the stock wasn’t very attractive either – the Edwardian chamber-pot, for instance, the clumsy dining-table with insecure flaps, and the collection of not quite antique umbrella handles, what use were they to anybody? Of course there were some delightful things in the shop too, but were they worth becoming an old spinster for? I was nearly twenty-seven, with my face scarred and the mother of an illegitimate child. If I didn’t make up my mind to marry soon, I never would.

  I didn’t tell Mary that I’d changed my mind about marrying Bernard because I knew she could so easily make me change my mind again. So I waited a few days until it was more established and I’d become used to the idea. Instead, I telephoned my mother, at least she’d be pleased.

  As soon as she heard my voice, she snapped, ‘You’re not in any trouble, are you?’

  I said, ‘Well, not exactly trouble. I’m getting married and I thought you’d like to know.’

  There was a long pause: ‘Not to the child’s father, that Brazilian or whatever he is?’

  I laughed. ‘No, mother, it’s someone you know.’

  Another pause. ‘It can’t be Stephen; he’s married to that dancing girl you encouraged him to marry. Good Heavens! It isn’t Bernard, Bernard Forbes?’

  I said, ‘Yes, mother, it’s Bernard Forbes. We are getting married in about two months’ time and planning to go to Madrid for our honeymoon.’ I was quite enjoying myself.

  ‘But what about Tommy? Is he taking her on too?’

  I snapped, ‘Of course, he’s very fond of her. The two children will be brought up together as brother and sister. Oh, and mother, Bernard’s offered me a directorship in his gallery.’

  I heard her calling, ‘Charlie, Charlie, come here!’ and rang off. I guessed they’d be round in a day or two.

  I went to Bernard’s house one lunchtime to have a quiet talk with the staff. To my surprise Miss May almost gave notice on the spot when I told her Bernard and I were getting married. She said, ‘I suppose Mr Forbes won’t be needing me if you’re living here permanently and not just at the weekends.’ I assured her we would still want to keep her on, but she appeared a little doubtful and muttered something about two mistresses in the house. On the other hand, dear old Mrs Hicks was really pleased and so was Greta, and after a little persuading Greta agreed to stay for another six months: ‘Then Johnny will be old enough to go to a playschool in the mornings and you’ll be able to manage the two children on your own,’ she suggested helpfully. I said I didn’t quite know what I was doing except that I was giving up the shop. I was really glad that she had retracted her notice, otherwise we might have had to give up our Spanish honeymoon. It was only to be a short one, with business mixed with the honey, but if it was anything like our visit to Brussels it would be the happiest time in the world.

  Every day I was becoming more accustomed to the idea of marrying Bernard. We didn’t talk about it much together, our marriage, but when we did we both agreed to have a quiet registry office wedding. There was rather an attractive registry office in Richmond, with flowers, and almost as nice as a church. There was a garden too where hundreds of wedding groups had been photographed. I thought the air must have become impregnated with smiling brides as I watched two different groups arranging themselves self-consciously. I went there to inspect the place by myself and didn’t mention it to Bernard.

  When I told Mary that I was marrying Bernard after all she smiled and said she had already guessed. Although she didn’t approve, she felt it was a thing I had to go through even if it crushed me, but added, ‘That fucking gallery won’t be the same as our little shop.’ It was unlike her to use that word. We decided the best thing would be for Mary to let the shop because she hadn’t the time to run it herself. Then she made a suggestion that really interested me. Why not store my favourite things in the basement of Bernard’s house. It was only a semi-basement and not at all damp. Later on I might be able to arrange my things and have a room of my own down there, something very private. There was a large oak chest from Miss Murray’s shop, which I could fill with my best china and other treasures
, and there was a gilt console-table I was very fond of and the Trafalgar mirror that hung above it. One cannon ball of the mirror was missing and the glass was a little discoloured, but it was still very attractive. Carefully put away in my bedroom there were the twelve antique porcelain Meissen plates. They were too valuable to sell in our little shop, so I’d been keeping them on one side as an investment – they were from Miss Murray’s collection. Our eyes darted round the shop. What about the Regency sofa, rather small, but so pretty, and the two mahogany dining-chairs with striped seats? ‘You must have something to sit on,’ Mary laughed. They belonged to Mary, but she insisted I have them and a Victorian tip-up table she had at home.

  One minute we had been so happy making our arrangements and the next I found myself sitting on a queer little stool made from animals’ horns – a most uncomfortable stool it was too – and crying my eyes out. I said, ‘Oh, Mary, suppose he won’t let me put my things in his precious house. He may think I’m contaminating it or that Gertrude wouldn’t like it. He is very strange that way.’ Then more brightly, ‘He might put up with the chest; there are several rather like it about the house. Anyway, I’ll see what he says.’

  Mary said cynically, ‘If he won’t let you put a few things in his basement before marriage, he never will afterwards.’

  On Sunday morning, when Bernard was entangled in a long telephone conversation, I went down to examine the basement. I had occasionally been down there before to speak to Peter, the picture restorer, but only into the room where he worked. There was a smaller room where he kept frames and work materials, quite a large hall with trunks stacked in one corner, and a long room that had a certain amount of sun and looked out on to the courtyard. It was empty except for some built-in cupboards, deed-boxes and a quantity of photographic material. There was more than enough room for the things I wanted to store and it had great possibilities for the future.