Hungry Hill

by Daphne Du Maurier

  Her house looked neat and clean, different altogether from this shabby, sordid villa of his mother's. The woman heard his step, and glanced over her shoulder.

  "Found everything you want?" she called cheerfully.

  Henry suddenly decided to take her into his confidence.

  "Look here," he said, walking towards the verandah, "do you know my mother?"

  The woman hesitated a moment, and peeled off her gardening gloves.

  "We smile and say good-morning, and chat over the hedge," she admitted, "but I've never been inside the villa. Mrs. Brodrick is nearly always out, as a matter of fact. I suppose you are her son? You're so exactly like her."

  She stared at him with frank curiosity, and smiled again.

  "My name is Price," she said, holding down a hand over the hedge, "Adeline Price. You may have heard of my husband, General Price, in the Indian Army. He died three years ago, and I've been living down here. Listen. Can I do anything? Make you some tea or something? It's so very cheerless to arrive at an empty house."

  "I wish," said Henry, "that you would just come in and have a look at this place. Yes, I am Henry Brodrick. My mother must know I'm coming, because I found my letter open on her desk."

  Mrs. Price came down from her verandah and through the front gate.

  "There is a maid who comes two or three times a week," she said. "I've seen her go to the back door. A slovenly creature. I wouldn't have her for a servant if you paid me. I suppose this is one of the days that she hasn't come."

  They walked through into the villa. Henry watched her face. She was looking at everything with her critical blue eyes, from the dead flowers to the dirty coffee cup.

  "H'm," she said, "bit of a pig-sty, isn't it? Reminds me of some of our married quarters out in India. Those women didn't need telling twice, I can tell you. They were more scared of me than they were of my husband. Let's have a look at the rest. You know, Mr. Brodrick, the place hasn't been touched for weeks. I've never seen anything so disgraceful, not even out in India, and that's saying plenty. Excuse me for being so downright, but is your mother awfully badly off? Can't she afford to pay a decent servant?"

  The steel-blue eyes held his, and would not waver. Henry shrugged his shoulders.

  "No," he said shortly, "my mother has everything she wants. I can't understand it. This is all very disturbing."

  Mrs. Price led the way back into the sitting-room. She glanced at the photograph of Johnnie on the mantelpiece. She ran her finger on the frame, and showed it to Henry, black with dust.

  "I suppose," she said, "that Mrs.

  Brodrick is just one of those people who don't care.

  I'm afraid I just can't understand the attitude.

  Now listen to me. You're coming next door to have tea with me, and I shall send my little maid over here to give the place a thorough clean. No, don't interrupt, please. She'll be delighted to do it, and I shall be delighted to have a visitor to tea. Come along, and don't think any more about this. I'll make my excuses to Mrs. Brodrick when she comes in."

  Henry followed her into the villa next door, protesting politely, saying that she must not dream of going to such trouble.

  Mrs. Price waved his protests away. He was not to argue. He was to sit down and have his tea.

  He laughed.

  "I think you ought to have been a General yourself," he said.

  "That's what everyone used to tell me," she said.

  "Now, you relax in this arm-chair, and put your feet on the stool, and try some of my guava jelly.

  My tea I can recommend, it's packed specially for me and sent from Darjeeling. I always boil the water myself. No servant can ever make tea."

  It was very pleasing to sit back and be waited upon in this way, thought Henry, and she was right, the tea was excellent, and so was the guava jelly. The room was clean and tidy. There were papers and magazines from England lying on the table. What a contrast to the villa next door!

  He began to talk, telling this Mrs. Price about himself, about his children. There was something so sane and encouraging about her brisk, cheerful manner. She was amusing too, her shrewd comments showed her to be no fool.

  "Of course you're put upon, all the time," she said; "don't tell me. People always take advantage of a man on his own. And you give way.

  Anything for a peaceful life, that's a man all over."

  "I admit I don't lay down the law very often," he laughed, "and when I do Molly puts up an argument in self-defence. That's the family temperament though. The Brodricks enjoy discussions."

  "I wouldn't let a girl of fifteen dictate to me," said Mrs. Price. "I've no doubt you've spoilt her, and the others too. A good thing the boy has gone to Eton. They'll soon knock the nonsense out of him there. Pity you go on keeping the governess for the girls. I always think it's a mistake to carry on too long with old retainers.

  They take advantage so, and have absolutely no control over the children."

  "Miss Frost has been with us for years," said Henry. "I think Molly and Kitty could not bear to part with her."

  "Because they can do what they like with her, that's why. I believe you're a sentimentalist, and you hide it under that gay, cynical manner of yours."

  She looked across at him and smiled. Those blue eyes were certainly very penetrating.

  "I've talked too much about myself," he said, glancing at his watch, "and it's nearly seven o'clock.

  No sign of my mother. What about dining with me in Nice, and telling me about yourself instead?"

  Mrs. Price blushed, and seemed suddenly ten years younger. Henry was amused. She had probably not dined out since her husband died.

  "Please do," he said. "It would give me such pleasure."

  She went up to change, and came down in twenty minutes in a black dress and fur cape that made a fine background to her grey hair. She looked very well indeed. Henry had also changed, returning to his mother's villa to do so. The place had been swept and left spotless by Mrs. Price's maid, his room cleaned and the bed made up. He was filled with gratitude.

  "Thank heaven she was looking out of that window," he thought. "But for her I believe I should have caught the next train home."

  They walked to the corner of the avenue and hailed a fiacre, and drove down to dinner at one of the large hotels on the front.

  "This is such a treat," she said. "I live so quietly these days. And in India there was so much entertaining. I've missed all that more than anything else."

  "You ought to come to London," he said, "not bury yourself down here."

  She rubbed finger and thumb together, and glanced at him expressively.

  "A soldier's widow's pension isn't a large one, Mr. Brodrick," she said. "My income goes farther here than it would do in England…

  Look at that minx over there. Why do French women put so much paint on their faces?"

  "Because they are not naturally so handsome as you Englishwomen," said Henry gallantly. "Come on, I'm going to order you the best dinner that Nice can provide."

  It was fun, he decided, to dine opposite this woman, who was undeniably attractive and amusing, and enjoyed her food and her wine, and made such an agreeable companion. The restaurant was filled with people, and a band played in one corner, light classical stuff he knew and liked. He had not enjoyed himself so much for years.

  "This is a great deal better," he said, "than sitting down to an egg and some of those vegetables from the coal bucket at my mother's villa."

  "Don't put me off my food," said Mrs.

  Price, with a mock shudder. "My maid has already told me what she found in the larder, but I shall spare you."

  After they had drunk their coffee, and listened a while to the music, Henry suggested a visit to the casino.

  "We may as well be real dogs while we are about it," he said.

  The night was warm and still. He hummed a bar from Rigoletto, and helped Mrs. Price into a fiacre.

  "You know," he said, "when I stood in front of that v
illa this afternoon my spirits went down to zero. It really was a miserable moment."

  "I know," she said; "you poor thing. I felt so sorry. And how are the spirits now?"

  "Higher than they've been for months, for years," he said, "for which my very grateful thanks."

  She blushed again, and laughed, turning the subject. There were many people in the casino, and they had to walk slowly amongst the crowd, pushing their way from room to room. The bright unshaded lights made a glare, and there was something monotonous in the flat voice of the croupier, the click of the little ball on the table for roulette. They watched some of the play, peering over the shoulders of the people in front of them. The atmosphere was stifling.

  "Couldn't stick very much of this," said Henry to his companion. "What a waste of time, eh, day after day?"

  "Appalling," she agreed. "I should have a splitting head in an hour."

  They moved away into the next room. Two men coming out were laughing together.

  "But she's always like that," one of them was saying: "has a flaming row with the croupier whenever she loses.

  They say she's lived here for years."

  "Do they ever throw her out?"

  "I believe so, when she gets too excited."

  As Henry and Mrs. Price drew near to the table they saw that many of the people were laughing, and several at the back were pushing those in front to get a clearer view. The croupier was arguing with someone, talking in broken English, and a woman was trying to shout him down, first in French and then in English.

  "But, madame," the croupier was saying, "do you want me to call a gendarme? I cannot have these constant interruptions."

  The woman was talking at the top of her voice.

  "It's an outrage, the whole place ought to be broken up," she said. "The management are taking my money through trickery. I've caught you at it, time and time again. In my country they'd shoot you in the back for it, and a damned good riddance too. I'll show you up; I have influence at home, I know people in Parliament, my cousin is the Earl of Mundy…"

  There was a shout of laughter as she threw her muff and her gloves at the croupier's head. A man in uniform came to her, and seized her arm.

  "Let me go," she cried; "how dare you touch me?"

  The shiny velvet cape, the cloud of white hair, the arrogant tilt of the head, all were familiar. As the commissionaire thrust Fanny-Rosa forward she stumbled, scattering her bag, her chips, her few coins on the ground in front of her.

  "You clumsy fool," she shouted. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

  And she came face to face with her son.

  For a moment they stood staring at one another. Then Henry turned to the commissionaire.

  "This lady is my mother," he said. "I will be responsible for her."

  The man let go of Fanny-Rosa's arm. The crowd around the table was whispering and staring. The croupier shrugged his shoulders, and set the ball in action again.

  "Faites vos jeux." The game went on.

  Henry bent down and picked up the bag and the coins from the floor, and gave them to his mother.

  "It's all right," he said quietly, "don't worry. Mrs. Price and I are going to take you home."

  She did not seem to realise what had happened.

  "But I don't want to go home yet," she said, glancing from one to the other. "I haven't tried my luck at the other tables. It will be different if we go into another room."

  "No," said Henry, "it's getting late. And I've had a long journey today. I want my bed."

  He took his mother's arm and began walking towards the door. She kept looking back over her shoulder towards the table.

  "I always detest that particular croupier," she said. "I'm sure he has a secret understanding with the management, and they have some means of controlling the ball. I wish you'd write to the papers about it, Henry. You're so clever, you would know what to say."

  She never ceased talking all the way to the casino steps, abusing the management, telling Henry and Mrs. Price that she was certain the casino staff had been given their orders to prevent her winning.

  They were so afraid that once her luck was in she would break the bank.

  "It's nearly happened several times," she said, as they drove away in tile fiacre. "I've had the most amazing run of luck, simply couldn't make a mistake, and then suddenly the whole thing would go against me. Of course it's done deliberately.

  They are terrified of anyone making a big win. But I'm determined to beat them. It's a matter of principle. Henry darling, how lovely to see you!

  So stupid of me to forget the time of your train. I hope you found everything all right? I hadn't realised you knew Mrs. Price. We must all three go to the casino tomorrow and try our luck. Mrs. Price has a lucky face, I expect we shall make a fortune."

  She rattled on, asking questions and never waiting for a reply.

  Henry stared out of the window, holding his mother's hand.

  Mrs. Price did not say anything. He knew now in bitterness and sorrow the story of the last ten years. He could see the life that had been hers, the pretended gaiety, the shabby flag of courage she had flaunted. And day by day, month by month, year by year, this thing taking its hold upon her, so that now she was possessed body and soul, mind and reason gone, nothing remaining but a queer patchwork of memories that served no purpose but to distract her more. Whose fault? Why had it happened? Who was to blame?

  No answer came to him, and his heart was torn with pity and anguish. The fiacre drew up in front of the villa. Fanny-Rosa fumbled with the gate. The dogs set up their barking from inside the house.

  "All right, sweets," called Fanny-Rosa, "mother is coming, and your brother Henry too."

  She began to walk up the garden-path. Henry turned to Adeline Price.

  "I'm so sorry," he began, "so terribly sorry…?

  "Oh, please don't apologise," she said; "much more of a shock for you than for me. If there's anything I can do in the morning don't hesitate to come round. Personally, I feel the right thing to do would be to get her into a Home. She'd be well looked after, you know. What I mean to say is, she can't very well go on like this, can she?"

  "No," said Henry, "no."

  "Well, you'd better go to bed and get a good night's rest, and think it over in the morning.

  Anyway, I enjoyed our dinner. Goodnight."

  She turned away to her own villa. Henry walked slowly up the path. He found Fanny-Rosa kneeling on the floor, playing with the dogs.

  "Did the silly boys miss their old mother then?" she was saying "But mother left a nicey dins for the boys, and the dins has been taken away. That damn fool of a servant, I suppose. And I always tell her not to tidy the sitting-room. Henry Iamb, you look worried. Is anything the matter?"

  "No, darling, but I want you to go to bed."

  "I'm going. I always have to kiss the boys goodnight, though. Did the servant make up your bed? I laid out the clean sheets, but I have a frightful feeling I forgot to air them."

  "Yes, everything was all right."

  She stood in the doorway of her room. Mrs.

  Price's maid had swept and tidied here, as well as downstairs. The clothes were put away, the bed was turned back neatly. His mother did not seem to notice that anything had been done. She was staring in front of her, biting the end of her nail. Henry wondered if some flash of memory had come to disturb her wandering mind, she looked suddenly so lost and strange. He put his arms round her, and held her close.

  "Mother darling," he said, "will you tell me what's the matter?"

  She smiled up at him, and patted his cheek.

  "Dear Henry," she said, "always so thoughtful about everyone. No, I was just thinking what an extraordinary thing it was that not once this evening did the nine come up. But not once. And I backed it every time."

  He sat in Adeline Price's drawing-room, turning over the pages of a magazine from India. The pictures conveyed nothing and the words even less. He glanced at the clock on the man
telpiece. Surely she should be back by now?

  The appointment was for three o'clock. He got up and began walking about the room. The maid came in and laid the tea. Fresh-cut bread and butter.

  Water-cress. Home-made scones. A new pot of the guava jelly. And last of all the shining silver kettle. He heard a fiacre drive along the road. He glanced out of the window, and saw Adeline Price step out and pay the driver. The tip she gave him was not enough, apparently, for he began to grumble.

  "It's all you're going to have, my good man," she said cheerfully. "Don't you try to work that sort of game on me. You've met your match."

  She waved her hand to Henry, and hurried up the garden-path.

  "They're all the same," she said; "they think we're made of money because we're English. Is tea in?"

  "Yes," he said.

  She came into the room, peeling off her gloves.

  She was dressed in grey, simple and yet striking.

  She looked very handsome.

  "Well, it's all most satisfactory," she said; "the doctor was an extremely nice man, and understood the situation perfectly. Of course he's had dozens of these cases through his hands. There's no cure, he said. Especially in someone your mother's age. He agreed that you are doing absolutely the right thing."

  She lit a match and put it to the wick. The kettle began to simmer. Adeline Price reached for a piece of bread-and-butter, frowning at the water-cress.

  "Why did she bring that?" she said. "She knows I don't touch it. It's never safe in France. You mustn't have any either. These girls need watching all the time."

  "Go on about the place. What was it like?" said Henry.