by Caro Fraser
Charles blew out a plume of smoke. ‘Jarama.’
‘Would you care to tell me about it? I’d be interested.’
Dan listened as Charles talked about the battle, about the day that had dawned clear and sunny over the olive groves, and had ended in rain and mud and blood. He described the onslaught by the Nationalists, the pitiful carnage wrought among the young Republican recruits as they were mown down by Franco’s elite fighters. ‘I don’t know how many died,’ said Charles, taking a long pull at his beer. ‘And I don’t know how or why I wasn’t among them. The miracle is that in the end we won, we saw them off. And I’m proud to have been part of it. Though how much good it will do in the long run is anyone’s guess.’ He shrugged and took a last drag of his cigarette, then ground out the butt in the little tin ashtray. He picked up his box of matches and turned it over. ‘Funny, when I was living in those trenches, I would have sold my soul for just one match. What good’s a fag without a match? You can’t imagine a more beastly existence than living in a muddy trench.’
‘Still, you’re out of it now.’
‘I’m being sent back to the front in a week.’ He glanced at his surroundings, then at Dan. ‘Last summer seems a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? That house party. Tea on the lawn, everyone dressed up for dinner. Fishing for trout by moonlight.’ He shook his head. ‘I liked Mrs Haddon. How is she?’
‘She’s well, I believe. I haven’t seen her since. Just letters.’ Dan knew only too well the implausibility of Meg’s theory that Charles was the father of Madeleine’s baby, but since he was here, he might as well put it to the test. After a pause, he said, ‘That girl, Madeleine – do you remember her? The nanny?’
Charles nodded. ‘Yes.’ He reached for his cigarettes and lit another.
‘She’s having a baby. But she won’t say who the father is.’
Charles was about to say something, then he caught the expression in Dan’s eyes. ‘What?’
‘I just wondered – you know, you and she, that day in the woods – whether—’
‘You think I might be the father?’ Charles pinched his cigarette between finger and thumb and took a sharp drag, shaking his head. ‘Good God, no. I kissed her once, that’s all.’ There was something so simple and dismissive in the way he spoke that Dan believed him. ‘I must say, she didn’t really strike me as that kind of girl. Don’t you have any other candidates?’
Dan took a sip of his beer. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you. But no, no one has a clue.’
‘I don’t feel insulted. The truth is, I’ve never slept with a woman. Sad, isn’t it? But there it is.’
There was an embarrassed silence, and Dan turned the talk to other things. After half an hour they had finished their drinks. Dan paid, and they walked back to the barracks.
Dan pointed to the book stuffed in Charles’s jacket pocket and smiled. ‘That’s the one where Gussie Fink-Nottle gets drunk at the prize-giving, isn’t it? And P. K. Purvis wins the Scripture Knowledge prize.’
‘G. G. Simmons.’
‘G. G. Simmons, that’s right! I don’t know when I’ve read anything funnier.’ He shook his head. It seemed bizarre, and rather touching, that someone of Charles’s political and social views should seek escape in the world of Jeeves and Wooster.
They stood together in the spring sunshine for a moment, reflecting, then Charles said, ‘Well, so long.’ He shook Dan’s hand. ‘Thanks for coming to visit me. It was kind.’
‘I would offer to come again, but I’m making arrangements to leave shortly. Perhaps we’ll meet in London.’
‘Perhaps we will.’
But after saying goodbye to him outside the scruffy little bar, Dan never saw Charles Asher again.
*
A week after he returned from Madrid, Dan went to visit his godmother. Over lunch he talked about his exploits in Spain.
‘I’m just glad you’re back safe and sound,’ said Sonia. ‘I think anyone who goes there, soldier or journalist, is either brave or foolish.’
‘I certainly wasn’t brave. Not like some of the journalists, who went right into the thick of the fighting to get their stories. I had no intention of risking my life. It makes me wonder whether I’m not rather a coward. I wonder if I would feel differently if England went to war.’
‘But you were living in Madrid. By all accounts it’s a dreadfully dangerous place.’
‘It’s strange – a lot of the time it didn’t feel like it. There was rather a sense of…’ Dan paused, looking for the right word, ‘of fun, if that doesn’t sound too trivial. Fun and adventure.’
‘The young take most things in that spirit, which is either all to the good or most regrettable, depending on how one chooses to look at it. Certainly it makes wars possible. Helen tells me that your pieces in the Graphic were first-rate. She said everyone talked about them.’
‘That’s nice to hear. My bosses seem happy, at any rate. Being a foreign correspondent is a sight more interesting than writing up the Summer Exhibition.’
‘And did you manage to visit Charles Asher? When I heard he’d been wounded I thought he might be grateful to see a friendly face.’
Dan nodded. ‘I saw him just before I left. He was on the mend, but he’s going back to the front line.’
There was silence for a moment, then Sonia said, ‘You’ll have heard all about Madeleine’s baby, I suppose?’
‘Yes. Meg told me at Christmas.’
‘Did she tell you that Charles Asher is probably the father?’
‘I’d heard something like that. But I can tell you that he’s not.’
‘Can you be certain?’ Sonia gazed at him intently.
‘Pretty much. I asked him, and he said he couldn’t be. I believed him.’
Sonia nodded slowly, as though settling something in her mind. After a pause she said, ‘The intention was always to put the baby – her name is Laura – up for adoption. But when Meg told me about these speculations that Charles Asher might be the father, it seemed to me he should be told, in case… in case he chose to be involved. But if you’re sure he’s not…’
‘I’m quite certain.’
‘…then it makes all the difference.’ She paused. ‘You see, Madeleine is going away in a matter of weeks. For good. Daphne Davenport helped to find her a situation in Yorkshire, a large family in want of a young nanny. She’s very lucky to be making a fresh start. And I want Laura to stay here.’
Dan was taken aback. ‘You’re going to adopt her?’
‘I’ve grown so attached to the little thing, and it seems pointless to send her to strangers when she could have the best of homes here. She would want for nothing, and she’d be company for Avril when she’s older. Having another child around might do her the world of good.’ Sonia glanced through the open French windows and saw Effie wheeling the pram across the lawn. She put down her napkin and got to her feet. ‘Come with me.’
Dan rose and followed her out to the terrace, and down the steps to the lawn. Effie had pushed the baby’s pram beneath the shade of some trees, and was settling her blanket over her.
‘I thought she could do with some fresh air, ma’am, seeing as it’s such a nice day.’
‘A very good idea. Thank you, Effie.’
Sonia bent over the pram. ‘Isn’t she a darling?’
Dan looked down at Laura. She really was the most extraordinarily pretty infant. She had large, expressive grey eyes, with well-defined brows, a soft thatch of golden hair, and a rosebud mouth. She wriggled and stretched tiny hands.
‘I can see why you’re smitten. What does Madeleine think? About you keeping the baby, I mean.’
‘Well, that’s just it. For some reason I can’t fathom, she doesn’t seem happy with the idea. She won’t say why exactly.’
‘Perhaps she feels it would be harder for her to cut her ties.’
‘I don’t see what possible difference it can make to her. She’s been utterly indifferent to the baby since the day she was born. I just wish
I could persuade her that it would be in Laura’s best interests for her to remain here. I’ve even offered to let her stay here with Laura, but she won’t hear of that. I’m worried that she’ll take it into her own hands, speak to an adoption agency, and then Laura will be taken away.’ Sonia sighed. ‘But it’s Madeleine’s choice.’ She bent and stroked Laura’s cheek, then straightened up. ‘Let’s go inside and have coffee.’ They walked back across the lawn. ‘I have a few things I must attend to this afternoon. Can you amuse yourself till teatime?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll loaf about here for a while and then go for a walk.’
‘Splendid. Then we can have tea on the lawn.’
*
Dan idled away an hour in the library with the newspaper, then took a stroll into the village. On his way through the orchard he caught sight of Madeleine sitting beneath a tree, reading a book.
‘Hello there,’ said Dan.
Madeleine regarded Dan apprehensively. They hadn’t seen one another since the day of Henry Haddon’s death. Everything about that day in August last year lay between them.
‘Hello.’
He dropped his jacket on the ground and sat down next to her.
‘What’s the book?’
She closed it and showed it to him.
‘Villette? Can’t say I’ve ever read it. Any good?’
‘It takes a bit of getting into, but yes.’
He nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments, insects humming in the warm air around them. Dan knew that Madeleine was thinking about those moments in the barn, the final moments of Henry Haddon’s life, and their shared secret.
‘You know,’ said Dan at last, ‘I have never told a soul about you and Henry Haddon.’ He met her eye. ‘And I never shall. You have my word on that.’ Her gaze held his. ‘Do you believe me?’
She took a moment to answer. ‘Yes.’ She laid the book down, put her hands over her eyes and drew her knees up. The posture was childlike. Then she took her hands away and let out a long breath, as though rid of something.
‘I’ve just had lunch with Mrs Haddon,’ Dan went on. ‘She says you’re going away soon.’
‘I’ve got a job in Yorkshire. Mrs Haddon says she doesn’t want me to go. She says the baby and I can stay here. She’s grown very fond of Laura.’ She shook her head. ‘If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want either of us here for a second.’
‘And what do you feel?’
‘I just want to get away, pretend none of it happened. Before the baby was born, I thought people were going to do things – to have her adopted, to make it all disappear. Then when she came, no one did anything. Mrs Haddon kept fussing over her, and buying her things.’ She shook her head. ‘The last thing I want is to stay here and look after a baby I never wanted.’ She turned to look at Dan. ‘You may think that’s heartless, but it’s true.’
‘Then why not leave the baby here with Mrs Haddon? It’s what she wants.’
‘I know it is, but how could I, after what I did? It would feel like an even worse deceit. And she’s been nothing but kind to me.’
Dan plucked and chewed on a stalk of grass. ‘Well, there is another way of looking at it, you know. Laura is her father’s daughter, as well as yours. Some would say she belongs here. That Woodbourne House is where she should be. She is a Haddon, after all. If no one ever knows’ – he turned to meet her gaze – ‘then no ill can ever come of it. Can it?’
She looked away. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. But I still feel it would all be a horrible lie.’
‘Madeleine, only two people know the truth. You and me. And neither of us will ever say anything.’ He chucked the chewed grass stalk away. ‘I think you should let Mrs Haddon look after the baby. Let her have a good home. Let her stay where she’s loved.’
Madeleine pondered this, and at length said, ‘Perhaps.’
Dan picked up his jacket and got to his feet. ‘I’m going into the village. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
She watched him go, shading her eyes with her hand, then sat for a long while, thinking.
*
When Dan reached the village, he went into the Swan, bought himself a pint of beer, and took it outside to a table overlooking the village green, where he settled himself comfortably with his book.
Ten minutes later he looked up and was mildly astonished to see Meg coming out of the post office. She was wearing a dark blue suit with a nipped-in waist, and a little hat with a fetching brim that dipped over her brow, her dark hair neatly pinned up. Dan thought, with a pang, that if she was trying hard to appear grown-up and sophisticated, she had succeeded. She was busy putting her purse away, and as she snapped her handbag shut and looked up, he was ready with a smile. She hesitated for a moment, then crossed the green.
‘What an extraordinary surprise,’ she said. ‘You’re quite the last person I expected to see in Chidding.’
‘I came down for the day to visit my godmother.’
‘That’s a coincidence. I was going to pop in and see her. I just stopped in the village to buy some stamps.’
‘Congratulations, by the way. You and Paul.’
‘Thanks.’ They gazed at one another for a long moment, then Meg added, ‘Paul and I have bought a house just a few miles away, in Berkshire.’
Dan nodded. ‘I see.’
‘It keeps me very busy, decorating, furnishing and so forth. And we’re building a tennis court. Such upheaval. I have to come from London on a regular basis to keep an eye on things. Paul is so busy with his racing car business, it all seems to be left up to me. Driving back and forth is so tiring.’
‘I can imagine.’ She was clearly still trying on for size her new role as the future Mrs Latimer. It amused him to see her so determined to be grown-up.
‘Won’t you join me?’ he asked. ‘The pub does a very good beer.’
She gave a little grin, looking more like the Meg he knew. ‘I’m not much of a beer-drinker, but perhaps a cider would be nice.’
Dan disappeared inside the pub. Meg sat down, quelling her mixed feelings of pain and pleasure at seeing him. The last thing she wanted was to feel anything at all. She told herself firmly that what had happened was in the past, and quite inconsequential, and this was a good opportunity for them both to behave like civilised people, and re-establish themselves as nothing more than friendly acquaintances.
Dan returned a few minutes later with a glass of cider.
‘Cheers.’ Meg picked up Dan’s book and glanced at the cover. ‘Plato Today – what’s this all about?’
‘Just a review copy I found lying around the office. I thought it looked rather interesting. Some chap imagining Plato coming back to today’s world to see how the ideas he sets out in The Republic are being used – or rather, misused. I’m at the bit where he visits Nazi Germany and weighs up what’s going on there.’
‘Sounds terribly dry. Give me a good detective novel any day. Frankly, I hear quite enough from Paul about the Nazis. He seems to enjoy scaring everyone with the idea that there’s going to be a war.’ Her eyes sought Dan’s. ‘Do you think there might be?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I so don’t want there to be.’
‘It’s not worth thinking about. Tell me about yourself instead.’
Meg talked about the coming wedding, and about her new house, and about Paul. As he listened, Dan could tell how much she wanted to be kept safe, to shut out the wider world and focus on her home, her kitchen garden, her tennis court, and the needs of her husband, so that she need never unlock the gate in the garden wall and peep out at the savagery of the wild woods beyond. A war, for Meg, would simply mean the spoiling of all that was agreeable. It wasn’t that she was shallow – she was like a child asleep. He watched her face, her lovely eyes glancing around as she spoke, occasionally skirting his gaze but never quite meeting it. He wanted to put out a hand and catch her chin, hold her face still, level with his. He fantasised about bending forward to kiss her, gently unp
inning her hat, letting down her hair, pulling off her clothes and taking her across the pub table in full view of the scandalised village. The savage sexuality of his thoughts, in the face of her chatter about Diana’s intractability over the matter of bridesmaids’ dresses, made him smirk.
Meg caught his expression. ‘I’m sorry, going on about myself. When did you get back from Spain?’
‘A week ago. I saw Charles Asher when I was out there. You remember him?’
Meg nodded. ‘Of course. I suppose you know that Madeleine and her baby are still at Woodbourne House?’
‘Yes.’
‘Madeleine says Charles Asher isn’t the father, but I don’t see who else it could possibly be.’
‘It isn’t Charles. He told me so himself.’
‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? If he wanted to avoid responsibility, I mean.’
‘I believe he was telling the truth. And I think it’s quite irresponsible to gossip about it.’
Meg lifted her chin, then said, ‘You know, you seem different, Dan. You don’t seem very… friendly.’
‘Don’t I?’ There was a moment’s silence. Dan lit a cigarette and asked, ‘Tell me, are you happy?’
She paused in surprise, her glass halfway to her lips. ‘Of course I am. Enormously.’ She laughed. ‘What a question.’ She sipped her cider, then added, ‘Are you?’
‘On one level, yes. My career is going well, I’m earning more money – nothing by Paul’s standards, but at least I do work I’m proud of now – and life is amusing. I have good friends, and the world is an exciting, interesting place. But on another level – the one where I have to watch you marry someone you don’t love, and who doesn’t love you in the right way – no. Not happy at all.’
‘Oh, don’t start all that nonsense again. You don’t understand the first thing about me, or about Paul, or what we feel for one another.’ She paused and added in what she thought was a kindly manner, ‘I hope you’ll come to the wedding. I know Paul sent you an invitation.’
‘What a bloody silly thing to say.’ He ground out his half-smoked cigarette. ‘But your capacity for being bloody silly no longer astonishes me.’