The Summer House Party

by Caro Fraser

  ‘How ghastly!’

  ‘Paul says he has to stay on for a few days.’ She crumpled the telegram. ‘Dick and his wife had only been married a few months. Simply dreadful for her.’

  ‘Do you want to change your plans and stay on here for a while?’

  Meg sighed and shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I should get back. I have a million and one things to do. Our train is at five. I must go and pack.”

  The journey home was difficult and tiring. Max was a restless, fretful handful, and although the other people in her compartment were politely forbearing, Meg desperately wished he would stop crying and fall asleep. In the brief interval when he did, her thoughts immediately reverted to the conversation with Eve. She was tormented by the idea that she had been no more to Dan than a mere conquest, as Eve had put it. It shouldn’t matter, since there was nothing between them now, and never would be, but somehow it did. She had stored away the memory of the afternoon they had spent together as lovers like some precious jewel, and now it turned out to be tawdry and worthless. The thought that she had meant so little to him shrivelled her soul. She felt a fool. Worse still was the knowledge that it wasn’t secret, as she had supposed. If Dan had told Eve, might not the information make its way to Paul? Her heart contracted at the thought. What a fool she’d been to have trusted and loved Dan. He had deliberately tried to destroy her marriage, and now he might do so carelessly. She must make sure that didn’t happen. Somehow the news of Dick Seaman’s death made everything feel fragile. The security of her marriage felt more important than ever.

  *

  Diana and Roddy were married a few weeks later at St Peter’s in Belgravia. Diana looked ravishing in a sheath-like wedding dress of white satin with a decorously high neckline.

  ‘How she manages to look sophisticated and virginal at the same time is a wonder,’ murmured Sonia to Meg.

  ‘Doesn’t Roddy look proud?’ said Meg under her breath, as Paul and Diana reached the altar. She glanced at Paul, standing at Diana’s left side, looking immensely smart in his morning dress, a white rose in his buttonhole. His expression was wooden. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Paul, do buck up, she prayed. He looked as though he were at a funeral, rather than about to give his only sister in marriage. At least he’d done the right thing and settled a very generous amount of money on Diana. He’d seemed fine lately, this morning he’d been in a good humour, and last night – last night, for the first time in almost ten months, he had made love to her. It had been no better and no worse than on previous occasions – the same wordless intensity, without tender prelude or aftermath – but the fact of it had made her grateful. The fabric of her world was patched and mended. It looked and felt roughly normal again.

  As though he heard her unspoken words, Paul, like one coming awake, suddenly smiled at Diana, then at Roddy. Meg’s anxiety fell away.

  ‘There’s Dan, late as usual,’ murmured Sonia. ‘Did you know his father died? He came back from Berlin for the funeral. So sad. I was very fond of Edwin.’

  Meg glanced round to look at Dan. Despite everything Eve had told her, the sight of him brought a pang to her heart. How miserable for him, his father dying while he was abroad.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Sonia, as the priest stepped forward, ‘we’re about to begin.’

  *

  The wedding luncheon went well. Paul’s speech was stiff and somewhat perfunctory, but Roddy’s elder brother, the best man, was a splendid success. Roddy, with only the slightest and most charming of stammers, bestowed thanks where due and fulsome compliments on the bridesmaids. Meg kept a close eye throughout the afternoon on Paul. He conducted himself with his usual ponderous politeness, and clearly made an effort to be cheerful, but there were moments when she caught him watching Roddy with miserable intentness.

  *

  That evening, changed out of their wedding attire, Paul and Meg sat in the kitchen in the Kensington flat, drinking tea. Paul had spoken very little since the wedding, and seemed morose.

  ‘Do you remember how we sat here on the night of our wedding?’ said Meg. ‘When Diana left us food and a bottle of wine?’ Paul said nothing. ‘It seems a long time ago.’ After a moment Meg dropped her attempt at lightness, and said, ‘Oh Paul, I wish I knew why you’re so unhappy.’

  Paul stared at her. ‘I’m not unhappy. What on earth gives you that idea?’

  ‘You’ve hated the whole business of Diana and Roddy getting married. Don’t pretend you haven’t.’ When he didn’t answer, unable to keep her suspicions in check any longer, she added, ‘If you must know, it seems to me you have a liking for Roddy that isn’t healthy.’

  ‘Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.’

  Meg’s heart began to beat hard. ‘Do you love him? Is that what this is all about?’ Paul stood up and walked to the other side of the kitchen. Meg persisted, ‘Why do you look at him the way you do? I watched you this afternoon. Like a hungry child!’

  There was a long silence. At last Paul shook his head. ‘You reduce everything to your own crude terms. I don’t expect you to understand. But since you are so intent on trying to find some obscene truth to fit your suspicions, I will tell you.’ He looked angrily at her. ‘Yes, I’m jealous of my sister because she has supplanted me in Roddy’s affections. You’re a woman. You have no idea of the strength of feeling of one man for another. It’s deeper than anything you could ever feel. You women fill your heads with notions of love and romance, but you couldn’t begin to comprehend male friendships. They are finer and more wholesome than anything between a man and a woman. If I am unhappy, if I have any regret, it’s because something between Roddy and myself has been sundered, lost, sacrificed to a relationship much less pure and – yes, laugh if you like – less noble. There – are you happy?’

  Meg listened aghast. ‘You mean you really think – is that what you think of marriage? Of our marriage? That any one of your men friends is worth more to you than I am?’

  ‘Don’t you see that simply by making that comparison, that odious comparison, you show how little you understand? A woman’s comprehension of what it is to love rests in emotional triviality. And sex. She frames everything in terms of physical love. That is natural, for she wants children. But friendship between men is deeper than that, richer than that. Diana, like all women, uses sex for her own ends. And yes, I resent the way it has blinded Roddy to the value of his friendship with me.’

  This was worse than anything Meg could have imagined. ‘So that’s the way you see it. Your feelings for me are second-rate, imperfect. And you see Roddy and Diana’s love in the same terms.’

  ‘I told you, the two don’t bear comparison. What men feel for one another is different.’

  ‘Better?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t expect you to understand.’

  ‘Because I’m a woman.’

  ‘If you like.’

  She let out a long breath. ‘At least this is the most honest we’ve ever been with one another.’

  ‘Yes.’ He had grown calmer. ‘Meg, nothing I say is meant to devalue any marriage, particularly ours. That is a sacrament.’

  ‘Just that you and Roddy have something holier and more pure.’ She paused. ‘What about Arthur Bettany? Did you lie to me about him?’

  ‘Stop this, Meg. I told you, these are things no woman could possibly understand.’

  Meg rose from the table. ‘I’m going out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just out. To get away.’

  ‘Don’t run away every time—’

  ‘Every time what?’

  ‘Every time you lose an argument.’

  ‘Paul, this isn’t an argument. There is nothing to lose or win.’ She gazed at him, feeling further apart from him than she ever had. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  She left the flat. The warm evening had a surreal air. The shock of what Paul had told her had left her feeling light-headed. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. She did, entirely. It laid bare th
e basis on which he had married her, the shallowness of his feelings for her, expectations that went no further than… no further than what? Than her own feelings for him, if she was honest. Perhaps Dan had been right in the very beginning. Perhaps Paul had decided he needed a wife, and because he placed no special value on any woman’s love it had only mattered that the person he chose loved him – or thought she did – and that he could be fond of her. She genuinely believed that, so far as he could, Paul cared deeply for her. But only because she was his wife, and the mother of his son, and the laws of life dictated that one must and should love and protect that person. Did Paul actually have any idea what real love was? Presumably in relation to men, whom he evidently considered superior to women. What a bargain we have made, she thought.

  She walked all the way down through the park to the Serpentine, trying to untangle the confusion of her thoughts. Paul had laid bare a truth about himself that Dan had suspected, and tried to warn her about, but that she had refused to believe. She sat down on a bench and stared across the river at the evening summer sunshine filtering through the trees. Perhaps she should leave him. But where would she go? She knew, thanks to Eve, how little she had meant to Dan. That had been a ridiculous fantasy. No, leaving was impossible. She was too afraid to unpick the fabric of her comfortable life and face the consequences. Not just afraid for herself. Afraid for Max. A fearful thought came to her – if it ever went as far as a divorce, might not Paul try to take Max from her? No, no – anything was better than that. Their marriage, she now saw, was deeply flawed, but in the end it was a contract, like all marriages. So far, and for the sake of her son, it was one she was prepared to honour.

  After a long while she rose from the bench and made her way back through the park to the flat. Dusk was falling. She let herself in and found Paul in the drawing room. He was sitting on the sofa, his hands cradling a crystal tumbler of Scotch. He gazed at her as she stood in the doorway.

  ‘I thought you might not come back.’

  ‘I had to come back. Where else would I go?’ She went to the drinks trolley and poured herself a sherry, then sat down next to him on the sofa.

  ‘I thought you might have gone to your mother’s.’

  She sipped her drink and sat back with a sigh against the cushions. ‘Of course, because that’s where slighted wives always go.’

  ‘Do you feel slighted?’

  ‘I suppose I do, Paul. You told me my true value. I thought I was worth more.’

  He put his glass down sharply on the table and turned to her, grasping her shoulders and pulling her towards him, surprising her. ‘Don’t say that. You’re worth everything to me.’

  ‘Not everything. Come on – compared to someone like Roddy, or any one of your real friends?’

  ‘Please don’t twist my words. You’re my wife, and I love you. I have never loved any other woman.’

  ‘It might have been better if you had,’ replied Meg bitterly.

  His response wasn’t what she expected. He let go of her and sat back. ‘I know.’ There was a silence. ‘I haven’t led that kind of life. School, university – everything for me has been a masculine world. I’ve learned how to behave with women, but it’s not an instinctive thing. I couldn’t… I mean, I never wanted to be with any woman in what you might call a romantic way. I didn’t know how. If any of Diana’s friends tried to – I don’t know, seduce me, I suppose – I simply withdrew. I wasn’t interested. Or I was scared. With you it has always been different. We’ve known one another since we were children. Nothing was difficult. I knew you hero-worshipped me. Don’t smile like that – you know it’s true, and you must let me be honest. I knew you could love me. I knew I could love you. I thought it would be ideal.’ He closed his eyes. ‘If I have done things badly, Meg, for God’s sake teach me how to do them better.’

  Touched, bewildered, she moved closer, put her mouth to his and kissed him. ‘This has been a long day,’ she said. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

  *

  ‘No,’ she said, when he came to bed. ‘No pyjamas. Take them off.’ A moment later, when he slipped naked between the sheets, she said, ‘And don’t put out the light. You always put out the light. This time it will be different. I will show you what to do.’

  Half an hour later, Meg lay in the dark. She could tell from Paul’s breathing that he was already falling asleep. It had been awkward, but better. She had tried, and she must keep trying. Her heart shrank when she thought of everything Paul had said that evening. He scarcely understood himself, and she couldn’t help him. Perhaps he had twisted every natural tendency within him to become the kind of man he thought he should be. Perhaps the result was some dreadful lie in which they were both trapped. All she knew was that this marriage was the only security she had, and she must convince Paul as well as herself that it was normal and worthwhile. Above all, they must go on being kind to one another.

  2

  DURING THE FINAL few days of August, the weather was warm and thundery. As tension wound in Europe, as diplomatic efforts grew more frantic by the hour to find a bloodless means of fulfilling Germany’s irreducible demands, as threats and warnings flew to and fro between the nations, the last hours of careless pleasure for ordinary people ticked slowly by. Each evening they tuned in to the news bulletin to learn which way the wind of war, whispering ever closer, was blowing.

  Dan managed to speak to Rudi, who was pessimistic.

  ‘They’ve started food rationing here, which is a sure sign it’s coming. Who knows, though? Perhaps it’s just Hitler trying to impress London and Paris. Everyone’s grumbling. No one wants this war. All the correspondents have left. The Adlon bar is very lonely without you boys.’

  In London, sandbags were piled high, notices about air-raid and gas-attack warnings plastered walls, paintings and artefacts in every museum were being surreptitiously moved to storage, and hospitals were being quietly evacuated. Yet against this backdrop Londoners idled away Bank Holiday Monday with their customary round of picnics and pleasures.

  The next day Meg spoke to her mother. In response to Helen’s mood of gloomy anxiety, Meg remained resolutely optimistic. ‘The Express still says war isn’t inevitable.’

  ‘I believe that’s known as having one’s head in the sand. If you could see everything that’s happening in London.’

  As she held the receiver to her ear, Meg turned and glanced out of the window. Lotte had spread a rug out on the lawn and Max was crawling about happily in just a vest and nappy. The day was warm and tranquil. A picnic lunch was planned. ‘But surely there’s still a chance for us to make the right decision?’

  Helen sighed impatiently. ‘Meg, the decision has already been made. We’ve given our pledge to fight at Poland’s call, come what may. Anyway, I’m glad you and Max are out of harm’s way in the country. How is Paul?’

  ‘I hardly know. He went away on Monday on urgent business and he’s only telephoned once. I don’t know when to expect him back. He’s been frightfully mysterious these past weeks.’ Some tension within her broke suddenly. ‘Oh, I know you’re right and that I’m deluding myself. I just… I just don’t want it to happen.’

  ‘Well, well – perhaps Mr Beaverbook’s optimism is justified. There’s still time, I suppose. Cheer up. I shall come and visit soon. Give little Max a kiss from me.’

  All that day and the next, Europe held its breath. Diplomatic exchanges continued to wing back and forth between the British ambassador and the powers in Germany, glimmers of optimism flickered, but the sands were running.

  Then on Friday, just as Dan arrived at the office, he was greeted by a breathless colleague with the news that Hitler had invaded Poland, and the bombing of Polish cities had begun.

  Dan met Harry for a hasty lunch in the Wheatsheaf.

  ‘So, what now?’ asked Harry.

  ‘War, I imagine. I spoke to my friend Rudi in Berlin just before I came out. Hitler gave a speech at the Reichstag this morning and apparently he seemed nervous
and depressed, as if he didn’t quite know what he’d done. He’s probably hoping that Britain will back down from its promise. And France. But that won’t happen. Hitler said once that the greatest mistake the Kaiser made was to fight England, and that Germany shouldn’t ever repeat that mistake. I rather think he’s about to find out how right he was.’

  *

  Meg stood in the drawing room at Hazelhurst and watched Paul, on a stepladder, pasting broad strips of black paper down the edges of the windows.

  ‘We could have got one of the maids to do that, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll be a darn sight quicker,’ replied Paul. ‘Kentleigh said taping strips crossways would stop the glass falling in if a bomb explodes.’

  ‘If a bomb falls on Hazelhurst, I’m sure we’ll have other things to worry about. Please just do the edges. It will look so dreadful otherwise. This is all such a bother. Mrs Runcie told me this morning that Gwen is already talking about going to work in some factory that makes aeroplane parts.’

  ‘Well, we’re at war now. All hands to the tiller. You can’t expect to run a house with the same amount of staff.’ Paul stepped down from the ladder. ‘There. That should do the trick. Was that your mother on the phone a moment ago?’

  ‘Yes. She’s in quite a state. Says she and the maids spent all yesterday sewing blackout curtains, the air-raid sirens are playing havoc with her nerves, and she can’t decide whether it would be better to be bombed or gassed. London sounds so foul at the moment that I invited her to stay with us for a while, but she won’t contemplate leaving Cheyne Walk.’

  ‘Helen is very independent.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Meg. ‘She is.’

  The telephone rang, and a moment later Gwen knocked and put her head round the door. ‘Please, ’m, it’s Mrs Haddon for you.’

  Meg went to the hallway and picked up the receiver. ‘Sonia, how lovely to hear from you. How is everything at Woodbourne?’