Anna and Her Daughters

by D. E. Stevenson

  Ronnie ran up the steps and disappeared.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” said Mrs. Orton to me, and she added, “Just leave your suitcase, one of the boys will bring it in.”

  I followed Mrs. Orton into the drawing-room; it was a delightful room, large and airy with three big windows, and coloured rugs on the parquet floor. It was curious to see some of Helen’s possessions here in these alien surroundings; the lovely old desk which Mother and I had given her as a wedding present (we had found it in an antique shop in Ryddelton and had had it cleaned and polished and done up). On the desk stood a little wooden dwarf which had been broken by me when I was dusting the sitting-room at Timble Cottage — I had knocked it off the chimney-piece. Helen had made a fuss and said it was her mascot, and old Tom Gow had taken it home and mended it so skilfully that you could hardly see the join.

  It was a long way from Timble Cottage to Adruna and suddenly I felt most horribly homesick.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” repeated Mrs. Orton. “We’ve done what we could of course, but it isn’t much. Val is the problem. I don’t mind having him in the daytime, he’s no trouble at all, but it’s difficult at night. He won’t go to sleep unless his father is here. I don’t know much about children, we never had any of our own. I’ve done my best to get him to go to sleep but it’s no use. He lies and stares — it frightens me — so now I just sit and read to him until his father comes. He’ll go to sleep now,” she added with a sigh.

  “Ronnie told me how kind you have been.”

  “We’ve done what we could,” repeated Mrs. Orton. “Of course it has been a frightful shock to us all. Ronnie looks ill, doesn’t he?”

  “Desperately ill.”

  “I could kill that girl,” declared Mrs. Orton. “Oh of course I shouldn’t say it to you — you’re her sister — but I feel very strongly about it. All this business has interrupted the work. Helen never considered the work — never. She was no help at all.”

  “Could she have helped?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. She could have helped by making him comfortable at home. The work they’re doing is tremendously important. It’s a privilege to serve people who are doing work like that; just to be there when you’re wanted; to have a meal ready; to see that things run smoothly and they aren’t worried by petty details that don’t matter at all. Sometimes it isn’t easy,” admitted Mrs. Orton, “If you expect your husband to dinner and he doesn’t come back until midnight — or after — it’s apt to be a little annoying, but that can’t be avoided because it’s impossible to leave an experiment in the middle and go home to dinner. If you marry a man you’ve got to take that in your stride. You’ve got to stand by and help him all you can. It’s no use whining.”

  “Yes,” I said. Obviously Mrs. Orton did not whine. I admired her for it but I could see Helen might have found it difficult to live up to her standard.

  “Of course he’ll have to divorce her,” continued Mrs. Orton. “Tom says there’s nothing else to do … but Ronnie will be telling you all about it.”

  “Yes, I expect so,” I said. Somehow I had never thought of that.

  “You must be tired after your long journey,” said Mrs. Orton briskly. “You’d probably like to have a bath and go straight to bed. Your supper will be ready in about twenty minutes, so you had better have it in bed.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” I said, and I meant it, for I was absolutely exhausted.

  Mrs. Orton looked at me searchingly. “You aren’t a bit like your sister,” she declared.

  These words had been said to me before, quite often, but always in pitying tones. Mrs. Orton said them differently and she added, “Tom and I never liked Helen from the very beginning. She was very pretty, but good looks aren’t everything.”

  I noticed that Mrs. Orton was speaking of Helen in the past tense — as if she were dead.

  *

  My room was bare but comfortable and the bed was very comfortable indeed. It was delightful to stretch out my legs and relax … and then, quite suddenly, I remembered what Mother had said, and I remembered Andrew’s cryptic statement that it would be unwise to stay in Ronnie’s bungalow ‘in case of future complications’, and I realised what Andrew had meant. Andrew had been thinking of divorce proceedings when he had spoken in his legal manner of ‘future complications’.

  I sat up and wondered what to do. Here I was, snugly in bed in Ronnie’s bungalow, and Mrs. Orton had gone home. Well, what could I do? Should I get up instantly and make a fuss? Should I explain to Ronnie and ask for a bed at the Ortons’ or demand that Mrs. Orton should come back? It was impossible (or at least it was impossible to me) I simply could not do it … and, anyhow, who was to know? Adruna was a long way from civilisation, Who was to know I was here? And Ronnie had so many troubles already that I was loath to add even a little trouble to the pile.

  I had just made up my mind to say nothing whatever about it when the door opened and Ronnie came in followed by a large black man with a tray.

  “Here’s your supper, Jane,” said Ronnie. He said it cheerfully, more in his usual manner, and busied himself with arrangements for my comfort. Two pillows were piled behind my back and a bed-table was fixed across my knees in the correct position. When all was in order the black servant went away and Ronnie sat down on the end of my bed.

  It seemed a little strange to have Ronnie sitting on my bed, but I reflected that he was a doctor and therefore quite used to seeing people in bed — and, whatever I might feel, he obviously saw nothing strange in it.

  “I can’t believe it,” declared Ronnie with a fleeting smile. “I can’t believe you’re really here. You’ve no idea what I’ve been through — wondering what to do and trying to find some way out of the tangle. Just having you here to talk to has made me feel more human. I couldn’t talk to anybody else, you see. The Ortons are infinitely kind, but I couldn’t talk to them — so it has all been bottled up inside me for days and days. I hope I’m not wearing you out; I’ve done nothing but talk since you arrived.”

  “I want to hear all about it, Ronnie.”

  “Well, eat your supper before it gets cold, and I’ll tell you …”

  He went on talking, first about Helen and then about Val (who had gone to sleep quite peacefully).

  “Val isn’t like her,” said Ronnie. “He’s thin and pale and his hair is — sort of mousy. He’s — rather an ugly little boy. You’ll see him to-morrow but I’m just warning you in case you’re disappointed. Of course I think he’s grand,” said Val’s father apologetically. “But even I can see he isn’t — good-looking. Helen always says …” he paused and amended. “Helen used to say she couldn’t understand how she could have such an ugly child.”

  Helen would say that! I thought. Aloud I said, “I’m sure I shall love Val.”

  “I hope Val will love you,” said Ronnie seriously. “We’d better not tell him that you’re going to take him home — at least not at first — not until he gets used to you.”

  “Don’t worry, Ronnie,” I said. All the same I was worried about it myself. It had been so easy to say I would fly out to Adruna and bring Val home, but Val was not a parcel. From what I had heard he was a sensitive human being and could not — or would not — go to sleep unless his father was there.

  “It’s not knowing what to do,” declared Ronnie, rising and beginning to pace up and down the room. “That’s what worries me. You can’t tell me what to do — I’ve got to decide for myself — but just letting me tell you about it helps. I’ve thought and thought until my head goes round and round, but I can’t make up my mind what’s right. There are three things, you see. There’s the work here: we’re on the track of a virus which causes a great deal of trouble amongst the natives. It’s no good bothering you with technicalities but now, at last, after prolonged research and experiments — and several failures — we seem to be making progress.”

  “It’s important?” I asked.

  He nodded gravely. “Yes,
it’s important. If Orton’s idea is right, and we succeed, it will save a lot of suffering. That’s the fact in plain language. There’s still a good deal to do before we can be sure, but in another three or four months we’ll know definitely whether or not we’re on the right track.”

  Ronnie paused and looked at me and I nodded to show that I understood.

  “Should I throw it all up?” said Ronnie. “If I throw it all up and take Val home it will hinder Orton a good deal. We’ve worked together and I know his ways. If I leave Adruna he will have to get somebody else, somebody who hasn’t got any idea what we’re doing. It wouldn’t stop him — nothing will stop Orton — but it would put him back several months.

  “Then there’s Helen. Should I throw it all up and go after Helen? I might be able to get her to come back. You see, Jane, I promised to take her for better for worse … ‘to have and to hold till death us do part’. To have and to hold,” he repeated. “I promised that — and I haven’t done it. I’ve let her slip out of my grasp. Perhaps you think it’s silly and old-fashioned to worry about that?”

  “I’m old-fashioned, too. I think one should keep one’s promises.”

  “Yes, I know you do. That very first day when we met at Aunt Edith’s club you said ‘Promises are important’,”

  “Fancy your remembering!”

  “I remember all about that day. I tried to talk to you, but you weren’t having any nonsense —”

  “Oh Ronnie, it wasn’t that! I wanted to be friendly but I was too shy. I was an absolute idiot!”

  “I thought you disliked me,” said Ronnie.

  He thought I disliked him!

  There was a little silence and then Ronnie said, “Oh well, it’s a long time ago. Things that are past are past and it’s no good thinking about them. We’ve got to think about the future. I’ve got to make up my mind what to do.”

  “What is he like?” I asked.

  “You mean Dick Lancaster?”

  “Yes, who is he? Has he got money?”

  “Money?” said Ronnie vaguely. “Yes, he must be pretty well off. He was here with a party. It was one of those luxury tours — camping and shooting — you can’t do that for nothing. He’s about forty, or perhaps a little older. He’s travelled a lot and talks well — drinks a bit too much. I told you I didn’t like him — neither I do — but you can’t help being interested and amused in his conversation.”

  “He sounds horrible!”

  “No, he’s not horrible. If I’ve made him sound horrible I’ve given you a wrong impression. He’s rather attractive in his own way — but he’s an egotist. Quite honestly I don’t believe he ever thinks of anybody but himself.”

  “Helen won’t be happy with a man like that.”

  “No, I don’t think she will be happy. At least I think she may be happy for a few months — and then miserable. What will happen then?”

  “Is that your responsibility —” I began.

  “Yes,” said Ronnie firmly. Obviously he had no doubts about that. “Yes, it’s my responsibility — because I promised. If she’s miserable — or if he takes a fancy to someone else …”

  “Oh Ronnie!”

  “He might,” declared Ronnie. “He’s that sort of chap.”

  I thought it over for a minute and then I said, “What does Helen want?”

  Ronnie took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “This is her letter,” he said. “Parts of it are rather — odd. I’ll just read you this bit: ‘I can’t stand it any longer, I am going away with Dick, We will stay at the usual hotel in Nairobi and you can get the evidence there, I want you to divorce me so that Dick and I can be married. You must divorce me — please Ronnie — Dick and I love each other. It’s real this time —’”

  “This time!” I echoed.

  “Yes — well — it did happen before — in London,” said Ronnie miserably. “I got her to come back,” he added.

  “Oh, Ronnie!”

  “Honestly, Jane, I feel like putting a bullet through my head. That would solve everything.”

  “Nonsense!” I exclaimed, trying to smile and speak lightly. “What about Dr. Orton? What about Val?”

  He smiled back wanly and replied, “Yes, a bullet would only solve one of my difficulties.”

  We talked for a little while longer and I asked if Dr. Orton had given him any advice.

  “Yes,” said Ronnie. “Orton’s advice is: do one thing or the other. Go after her and get her back or else start proceedings at once. But that’s what he’s like, you see. He’s one of the Do Something Brigade.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The opposite of the Wait and See Brigade. He’s like that in everything. He’s like that at the hospital. It’s his nature. I admire him tremendously but — but sometimes he’s wrong. Sometimes it’s quite a good plan to wait and see.

  “You’ll like him, Jane,” continued Ronnie. “He’s got a sense of humour, and a brilliant brain. It’s a pleasure to work with him and he’s taught me a great deal. That’s why I should hate to let him down.”

  “You mustn’t let him down,” I said impulsively.

  “You really think I should stick on here?”

  Ronnie had said he must decide for himself, and this was true, but it could do no harm to offer him my advice.

  “I think you should,” I said. “That’s my opinion for what it’s worth.”

  “But I want to,” said Ronnie doubtfully. “I want to stay on and see the thing through. I want it so much that I feel it must be wrong. Does that sound crazy?”

  It did not sound crazy to me for I suffered from the same complex: if two courses were open to me and I particularly wanted to take one of them the other must be right. I explained this to Ronnie and added that it was illogical. It was allowing one’s feelings to cloud one’s judgment.

  “Yes;” agreed Ronnie. “Yes, I see that. To make a right decision one should have no feelings at all … but how can any human being do that?”

  “No human being can,” I replied, smiling at him. “And anyhow it’s far too late at night to start discussing psychology. You had better go to bed, Ronnie. Go to bed — and go to sleep. Can’t you take a pill or something?”

  “I believe I shall sleep to-night,” he said, stretching his arms and yawning. “I feel — more peaceful. It’s having you here, Jane.”

  When Ronnie had gone I decided to lie and think about things for a few minutes and then get up and wash my teeth … but the next thing I knew was the sun shining into my room through the open window.

  It was morning — and the enormous black man whom I had seen last night was standing beside my bed with a tray in his hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had nearly finished my breakfast when Val came in. He stood at the door and looked at me without speaking.

  Val was not in the least like Helen, nor was he like Ronnie. He was not good-looking — except for his eyes. His eyes were beautiful, large and clear and hazel, they seemed ridiculously large for his small thin face.

  It was important to make the ‘right approach’ to Val and I had thought about it a great deal. I knew very little about children (as a matter of fact I had never taken much interest in them). What was the mental age of a child of seven? I had tried to think of myself as a child, and I remembered how much I disliked being patronised and ‘talked down to’. I preferred people who spoke to me as an equal, even if I could not always understand what they meant. When I saw Val standing there gazing at me with his huge eyes I realised that it was going to be difficult to treat him as if he were grown-up. He looked so very young and defenceless.

  “Hallo, Val!” I said cheerfully. “I suppose you’ve had your breakfast.”

  “I have it with Daddy at half-past seven,” he replied.

  I had smiled at him but there was no answering smile — first that unblinking and somewhat embarrassing stare. I had made up my mind not to rush him, and not to ask questions (questions and answers are not conve
rsation) so I said no more but went on eating toast and marmalade.

  Presently Val said, “You aren’t like — like what I expected.”

  “People often say that,” I told him. I saw him considering the matter so I added, “They usually say it in a disappointed sort of way.”

  “They do that to me, too,” said Val. He removed his gaze from me and stared out of the window. “I don’t care what I look like,” he added with a defiant air.

  “I would rather look like myself,” I said. This was perfectly true. At one time I would have given a lot to have golden hair and a skin of milk and roses, but I had got over that long ago.

  Val was silent for a few moments and I thought he had not understood, but at last he said, “You mean you would rather not be like — someone else — even if they were very pretty?”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

  He turned and went away without another word.

  It had been a very odd conversation. I wondered if I had said the right thing or not.

  I had got up and dressed and was brushing my hair when Val came back. He said, “Daddy told me to ask you if you wanted anything, and I forgot. Do you want anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You had better tell me,” said Val. “Daddy has gone to the hospital and the boys don’t understand English — at least they pretend they don’t.”

  “They pretend they don’t!” I echoed in surprise.

  “Do you want anything?”

  “Well, perhaps I had better write a letter.”

  “There’s writing-paper in the desk in the drawing-room. Ebra will bring you coffee at eleven — or would you rather have tea? Daddy said to ask you.”

  “Coffee, please,” I said meekly.

  “Well, if you don’t want anything else I’ll go out,” said Val, and vanished forthwith.

  *

  When Val had gone I went into the drawing-room and began a letter to Mother but I did not get on very fast. It was an odd feeling to be alone in the bungalow with an unknown number of large black servants whose language I could not speak … and not at all reassuring to know that if I spoke to them in English they would pretend not to understand. Why would they pretend not to understand? There was something a little sinister about it — or so it seemed to me.