Nothing

by Henry Green

  He gave a wry smile. “Might be,” he agreed.

  She took his hand under the table, stroked the ring finger with her thumb. A silence drew across them.

  She watched a couple up at the bar with a miniature poodle on a stool in between. Its politeness and general agitation appeared half human. But when a man came in with a vast brindled bull terrier on a lead as thick as an ox’s tail the smaller dog turned her back to the drinks, ignored her owners at once, and gazed at the killer with thrilled lack-lustre eyes. For his part the bull terrier lay down as soon as the man on the other end of his lead let him, and, with an air of acute embarrassment gazed hard at the poodle, then away again, then, as though he could not help it, back once more. He started to whine. Miss Pomfret smiled. The other occupants began paying attention to these interested animals.

  “Rather sweet isn’t he?” she said.

  “Who? Your father?”

  “Oh no, Daddy always is. The bull terrier I mean.”

  “So long as he doesn’t take it into his head to murder that other wretched brute in front of our very eyes.”

  “But he won’t Philip. She’s a lady.”

  “I’ve known it happen.”

  “The man who’s with him’s got him safe.”

  “They’ll do something crazy to let them meet before the evening’s out. We’ll see blood spilt yet,” he opined.

  “Philip darling do you like dogs?” she enquired.

  “I do and I don’t,” he said.

  “Because I was thinking when we were married I’d rather love to have one for my own.”

  “Might be a bit awkward if we both went out every day to work.”

  “Oh I expect the landlady would look after things.”

  “I wonder,” he said.

  She dropped his hand.

  “You’re in rather a filthy mood this evening,” she remarked.

  He drew himself up to finish his glass of beer.

  “I’m sorry Mary,” he said and appeared to be so. “I say I saw Uncle Ned at tea today.”

  “What, did he come round?”

  “To Mamma’s? Good Lord no. I went to him.”

  “Was he pleased about us?”

  “D’you know I didn’t dare tell.”

  “Not dare tell him!” she echoed. “That’s not very nice to me, now then!”

  “Oh it wasn’t that. It simply seems he detests Mamma and won’t have her mentioned in his presence hardly. Seemed very surprised when I sent up my name. Even told me he’d been in two minds whether to say he was at home. Me, his own nephew!”

  She laughed. “But perhaps he was busy darling.”

  “No Mary it’s no laughing matter. And when I can’t remember ever having met the man. You’d think he’d have some family sense! And then when he started on Mamma like that!”

  “Oh I am so sorry Philip. What on earth did he say?”

  “Nothing much actually. I came away with the idea he really must be rather mad. In fact of course I had to stand up for her and so on. But that it should happen at a time like this, with marriage on our hands! After all a wedding is a family affair isn’t it?”

  “Of course darling,” she agreed with every appearance of concern, took his hand back in her own under the table and began to squeeze it hard. “Oh dear you mustn’t get upset.”

  “It all came as a bit of a shock,” he said in a calm voice.

  “But Philip you’d seen him before?”

  “Never that I remember.”

  “And there was Daddy telling me you went to your Uncle Ned’s tailor.”

  “Well I do.”

  “Then you must have met Uncle first for him to recommend you.”

  “Mamma gave me the name. My father went there too.”

  “Oh of course darling. How silly of me!”

  “What on earth was your parent doing to talk about my tailor?”

  “Oh nothing really.”

  “Doesn’t he like the suits I wear either?” the young man asked.

  “You mustn’t bother about Daddy darling. He’s tremendously of his own generation can’t you see? I expect in their day it was only possible for them to get their clothes from the one man.”

  “But my father went to Highcliffe too.”

  “Of course he did. I’ll tell you what,” she announced. “The next time I think of it I’ll ask Daddy what he really meant.”

  “And you might get him to give you the address of his tailor.”

  “Oh Philip darling shall I really?”

  “I’ve been rather disappointed in Uncle Ned,” the young man said, “I don’t see why I should favour his tradespeople any longer.”

  •

  A day or two later, in what for once was brilliant sunshine, Mary Pomfret and Philip Weatherby were sitting on a Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park.

  “D’you mind what part of London we live in?” she asked.

  “Wherever you like,” he said.

  She frowned. “That’s not quite what I meant,” she pointed out. “If you had your dearest wish just which district would you prefer?”

  “I don’t mind,” he replied.

  “Because darling I think we ought to start looking about you know?”

  “I leave it to you,” he said, his eyes out over the Serpentine as a dog swam to a thrown branch in the foreground. “I shan’t interfere. A home’s a woman’s business.”

  “But Philip before I begin to search I shall have to know what we can afford.”

  “I’ll hand over my salary every week less ten cigarettes a day. I’ve decided to give up beer. If we like to go to the pub you can take me on the housekeeping money.”

  “Oh darling aren’t you making it all sound rather grim?”

  “I think marriage is. We’ll have a lot of responsibilities.”

  “Philip don’t you want to marry me?”

  At that he turned and took her hand. He did not say anything but there must have been something in his eyes or expression for she sighed as though satisfied.

  “Oh darling,” she said. “You had me quite worried for a moment.”

  They sat on in silence for a while. He gazed at his feet. She searched every cranny of his face with her eyes.

  “Because I don’t think we need be right down to the bone,” she began again. “I mean Daddy’s said he’d be able to help a bit.”

  “D’you believe one ought to accept anything from one’s parents Mary?”

  “They haven’t much I know, that is compared with what they were once accustomed to,” she said. “And yet what they’ve been allowed to keep is family cash isn’t it? Savings handed down from father to son?”

  As she put this forward she allowed a small smile to play almost imperceptibly about the corners of her mouth.

  “That’s a sound point certainly,” he replied. Then he stopped. He did open his lips once more after a minute but relapsed into silence instead. She waited. At last he went on,

  “As a matter of fact Mamma has been to see the dread Mr. Thicknesse.” He laughed. “You don’t know who he is now, do you?”

  “Of course,” she gaily answered. “Your family lawyer.”

  “How did you find out?” he demanded and looked sternly at her again. Meeting his eyes she stuck her chin up in rather an attractive manner.

  “Daddy told me!”

  “You discuss quite a lot with your Father don’t you?”

  “If you talked over things more with me I mightn’t have to.”

  There was a silence.

  “Oh Philip don’t be so absurd. You’re forever speaking about the family though I notice you don’t ever seem to mention we might have children of our own, and now you object to my going into things with my Father. I think you’re beastly.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said “darling truly I am,” and took her hand once more. “The fact is I get worried. You were dead right just now when you pointed out people of our parents’ age had the experience over us. You see I’m not sure it’s ri
ght to accept money from them.”

  “But your father may have left you some Philip.”

  “Oh if he had they’d tell me. They could hardly not could they?”

  “Still why don’t you go and see Mr. Thicknesse?”

  “Me?” he echoed. “But Mamma’s been.”

  “I see,” she said in an unseeing voice.

  “It won’t be a great deal cheaper for her with me gone,” he went on. “There’s Penelope to consider. I mean I don’t see how we can afford Arthur Morris’ flat do you? Three whole rooms!”

  “We might have to if we had children.”

  “Oh I don’t suppose it will ever fall vacant,” he answered. When she did not say anything he continued,

  “As to the little Weatherbys they’ll have to wait till they arrive.”

  She gasped and then she laughed.

  “Little Weatherbys,” she cried. “How extraordinary! All this time I’ve been thinking of them as little Pomfrets. Darling Philip I am absurd. I never even imagined I’d have to change my name!”

  “Well that’s the idea isn’t it?” he said.

  “Then if I must I’d like to sooner rather than later darling.”

  “Whenever you say,” he said.

  She frowned and bit her lip.

  •

  A few days afterwards Mrs. Weatherby had John Pomfret to dinner alone for the second time since their respective children had become engaged.

  The meal was announced almost before his sherry was poured and now he found himself seated by candlelight in front of some fried veal and unable as yet to start discussing arrangements.

  “Me dear,” he broke in as soon as he decently could “I’m very flattered. Here I am enjoying the most delicious dinner. But we have a lot to go over. Time is never short I know. All the same I should be glad to get down to things.”

  “Darling John you were always so tempestuous.”

  “Thank you Jane. I don’t know that I usually let the grass grow under my feet. But this has to do with Mary’s happiness.”

  “Well then I went to see Mr. Thicknesse like I promised.”

  “And what did the old fool say?”

  “Oh my dear,” Mrs. Weatherby began as though a roll of drums had preluded a performance which was late only owing to the negligence of the conductor out of sight in the prompter’s box “it was terrible, I never thought I should survive. You know he always seemed to take such a curious view in the old days about our case John. I’m sure if they had ever come to court I’d’ve had more real true sympathy from the judge, although we were paying Mr. Thicknesse weren’t we?”

  “Damned expensive he was into the bargain.”

  “Well I went,” she repeated. “When I got back I had to take one of my little tablets and lie down. It’s really too bad Philip is so young and can’t help out with these business things. As for you John dear Mr. Thicknesse’s manner to me was so strange once you might almost have knocked him down if you’d been there. Oh how does one change one’s lawyer?”

  “Simply by leaving him.”

  “Leave Mr. Thicknesse, I’d never dare! After all I’ve been through with him! But do you know I can’t understand a word he says.”

  “Hasn’t he a clerk then?”

  “Oh yes. A young one. He’s sweet. He’d do anything for me. When I’ve something very urgent and I get on the telephone they put me through sometimes to Mr. Eustace. Isn’t it a queer name? I suppose that’s only when the old devil of a man is engaged. Really isn’t one’s life too awful, to be at the mercy of men like Mr. Thicknesse!”

  “Don’t beat about the bush Jane.”

  “It’s simply I can’t be hurried. John do be sensible dear. I won’t be rushed, just won’t.”

  She left her veal, went over to the sideboard and fetched a china dish of chocolates across to Mr. Pomfret.

  “Beautiful bit of meat you have here,” he said.

  “It’s always such a pleasure to entertain you John,” she replied. “No but I mean what can all the hurry be?” she went on. “Only three weeks ago when they so startled us all and now their whole lives in front of them!”

  “You do feel they’re too young?”

  “I may have done at first but it was you, surely, confounded us both with my own marriage as though you were prosecuting me darling. We went to Folkestone for the first night of the honeymoon.” She sighed. “My beloved mother sent her maid until we crossed to France next morning and the woman got so excited when she unpacked for me I couldn’t get rid of her, so awkward. No I don’t say they’re over young now though Philip of course has a lot still to learn, not too young exactly, but where’s the violent haste in all this John dear?”

  “Oh none. But before there may be there’s so much to discuss.”

  “You don’t mean . . . ?”

  “Of course not Jane. Only engagements often end in a race. Nerves turn ragged.”

  “All right but don’t you get cross!”

  “Jane darling I’m not. Of course we must take our time.”

  “That’s much better,” she said, giving him her great smile. “Because I think Mary’s the sweetest child in the whole world. So lucky for dear Philip. But we must be practical. After all we are their parents. Oh who would’ve ever imagined darling us sitting opposite each other like we are solemnly eating our dinners with the children’s marriage to decide!”

  “It’s a sobering thought certainly.”

  “Aren’t you pleased then?” she asked.

  “It makes me feel so old,” he replied in a bantering tone of voice but with evident caution. “Something like this can happen before one is ready for it.”

  “Then you do think they’re rather babies?”

  “No no,” he said quickly. “What I meant was I’m the one who’s too young. And I know you are.”

  She laughed. “One can forever be certain you’ll make delicious fun out of serious moments and I love you for it darling. Though I don’t say I did always.”

  “We never made a joke of our affairs in the old days. It might’ve been better if we had.”

  “How d’you mean?” she demanded sharply.

  “Well we were very very serious weren’t we?”

  “I should hope so too,” she said.

  “It was most painful at the time though.”

  “Oh I thought I would die,” she sighed.

  “And did we get anywhere by waiting Jane?”

  “No don’t,” she moaned. “We must simply never go over all that again.”

  “It’s a thought what I’ve just said just the same.”

  “Oh dear I sometimes feel men must be wildly insensitive. If I knew enough of the language I’d ask Isabella if it’s like this in Italy.”

  “You wouldn’t want a fat man about the house always singing opera.”

  “I might be able to put up with it.”

  “Now Jane you know how quick-tempered you can be, particularly when you’ve those headaches of yours and won’t stand any noise.”

  “I’m not like that now,” she answered. “But we mustn’t talk over ourselves and the old days tragically sweet as they were. We’re here to be practical and I think we have been John.”

  “Well well,” he said with an edge of sarcasm on his voice.

  “My dear what’s the matter with you now?” she asked at once. “I thought I was being exactly as you wished.”

  He laughed. “You’re too many for me Jane,” he admitted.

  “And just don’t you forget it,” she replied, once more beaming upon him.

  Upon which she changed the conversation and in spite of one or two halfhearted efforts on his part he was unable to discuss the children further that evening.

  •

  A week later Philip Weatherby sought his mother out in the living room of their flat. He blurted,

  “Mamma I don’t think I want to be married after all.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t think I want to
be married Mamma.”

  “But how about Mary, Philip?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You mean you haven’t told her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh my dearest!” his mother cried. “And what are we to say to John?” Nevertheless there was something in her voice which could not be discouragement and when he replied it was in stronger if still bewildered tones.

  “I thought you might have him round Mamma.”

  “Me?” she asked. “Tell him instead of you Philip?”

  “Well of course it’s for me to see Mary.”

  “But dear boy are you sure about all this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know!” she echoed. “Oh my God where have things come to?”

  “Mamma why is it Uncle Ned won’t have anything to do with us?”

  “Ned? You poor child he’s simply an idiot and always was. How does he enter into this?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh my dearie,” she announced, albeit almost gay “I feel quite faint. Tell me though! Why must you turn round like you are doing?”

  “I’m an awful nuisance I suppose?”

  “Nuisance?” she exclaimed. “I hope I shall be the last to say that ever, your very own mother! No it’s the shock.”

  “Somehow I didn’t imagine you’d be altogether surprised.”

  “What was I to think?” she demanded. “Getting to your feet as you did in the middle of my party to my friends. I backed you up you must admit and I should hope so too, who would if I couldn’t!”

  “Oh you’ve been wonderful” he said with conviction. “You always are.”

  “I love you when you’re like you’re being,” she said with fervour.

  “Well, there’s no closer family relationship after all.”

  “Yes but when you get to my age, have my experiences, though heaven forbid you should, my dear you’ll realize I really do believe, that you only truly meet people even your nearest and dearest once or twice in a long long while and this is one of those minutes. I just never could feel you were suited to Mary.”

  “I don’t think myself I’m right for her.”

  “Philip there’s not a soul else is there? It can’t be Bethesda?”

  “Don’t be so absurd Mamma.”

  “Forgive that,” she said “I must be wandering. Oh I know Mary’s a sweet child. But no one will stop me saying marriages between the children of old friends are so often a quite disastrous muddle.”