Family Gathering

by Elizabeth Cadell

  Duncan, regarding Alexander with anything but a jolly look, walked a little way and then appealed to Lucille.

  “Hasn’t he got a nurse or something?” he asked. “We won’t get more than a couple of hundred yards with him in tow.”

  “Alexander?” said Lucille, in surprise. “Oh no, he walks quite a long way sometimes—we can go up that nearest hill and I think he’ll manage it nicely. We couldn’t,” she ended gently, “leave him behind.”

  “S’pose not,” agreed Duncan, in a resigned tone. “Well, come on, let’s go. Hey—look,” he added, “he’s brought his snail along.”

  “He won’t hurt it,” said Lucille. “He always likes to carry something.”

  The trio set off and soon afterwards Jeremy brought his car round to the front of the house and went inside to fetch Helen. After a glance at the barometer, he decided to prolong his outing, and, telephoning to his housekeeper, asked her to prepare a light lunch for Helen and himself.

  Helen came out to the car in a warm dress and loose coat, hatless and wearing a brightly coloured scarf at her throat. She was a sight to rival the freshness of the morning, but Jeremy’s eyes went to her thin, unsuitable shoes.

  “For God’s sake,” he entreated, “go and put something farm-like on your feet. Those shoes—”

  “I swear,” said Helen seriously, “that they’re the best I’ve got. I know you think they’re silly, but I’m used to them and I couldn’t walk in anything else.”

  “Well, have it your own way,” said Jeremy, “but by the end of the day you’ll feel like the fellow who had to walk to wherever it was with peas in his boots.”

  “End of what day?” asked Helen. “We’re coming home to lunch, aren’t we?”

  “No,” said Jeremy. “I’ve rung up to say we’ll have some food there. Won’t be much, but they can scrape up eggs—I’ve got a loaf and some butter in the car, and a couple of bottles of cider. Now pop in.”

  Helen hesitated, looking at him with a faint frown.

  “If I’d particularly wanted to come back here for lunch—” she began.

  “I know, I know,” said Jeremy. “I know—we didn’t organize it properly. We didn’t call a committee and draw up an agenda. Well, pop in and don’t worry about organizing this expedition, because the sun’ll disappear and it’ll get damn cold again before we’ve started. Comfy? Tie that scarf round your head and then your hair won’t blow all over my face. And don’t kick the cider—it’s fragile. Now we’re off.”

  They were soon rounding the first bend of the road. Coming towards the car they could see two figures which they recognized as Duncan and Lucille. Jeremy drew up as he reached them.

  “Hello,” he said. “Thought you were bound in the opposite direction.”

  “We’re just strolling,” said Duncan. “Here and there. Sort of round and round.”

  Jeremy, looking at him, saw that route was a small matter to Canny. The day was perfect, the girl was perfect, and he was walking, with Lucille’s hand clasped lightly in his, in a beautiful dream world.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” said Lucille to Helen. “We climbed a little, but it’s almost too warm to climb. We let Alexander throw some stones and now we’re going towards the wood.”

  Jeremy drove on, and Helen leaned back comfortably once more. Presently, however, she sat up and gave a little exclamation.

  “Shoe pinching already?” asked Jeremy.

  “Wait,” said Helen. “Stop a minute.” Jeremy drew up once more and she looked at him with a frown. “Alexander,” she said.

  Jeremy waited.

  “Well?” he inquired after a time. “What about Alexander? I’m not going to take him with us, if that’s what you want.”

  “No,” said Helen. “But—where was he?”

  “What d’you mean—where was he?” asked Jeremy irritably. “I suppose he’s where he always is—all over the place. What’s the panic?”

  “Well, they said he was throwing stones,” said Helen.

  “Why shouldn’t he throw stones?” inquired Jeremy. “This is a nice big place and you can throw quite a lot of stones without hurting anybody. You can—”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, listen!” exclaimed Helen. “They had Alexander with them, and when we saw them, they didn’t have him. They’d forgotten him— you could see they were going along in a dream. They’ve lost him!”

  Jeremy put his elbows on the steering wheel, rested his chin on his hands, stared into space with an expression of despair, and then addressed his companion.

  “Nobody,” he said, slowly and emphatically, “can lose Alexander. He isn’t a losable quantity. You can try to lose him—I’ve tried to lose him—but he won’t lose. The fact that Alexander is not with the people he set out with means nothing at all, except that he got rather bored with them—and, in this case, do you wonder?” he ended.

  “But you can’t just go on and—and—”

  “If you think,” said Jeremy, starting the car once more, “that I came out this morning to tour the countryside looking for Alexander, then you’re—”

  “But you’ve got to see where he is!” cried Helen.

  “Why?” asked Jeremy reasonably. “Those two will get home eventually and they’ll have to go back for him—that’s all. Now stop fussing. You’re not in London now, and nobody here picks up little boys that don’t belong to them.”

  Helen, dissatisfied, but feeling strangely helpless against a hard undertone in Jeremy’s voice, sat back and tried to forget her anxiety. In a moment, however, she sat bolt upright and pointed with a cry.

  “Look!” she said.

  Jeremy brought the car to so abrupt a halt that Helen bounced in her seat.

  “What in hell now?” he inquired.

  “Alexander—up there—sitting on that hill,” said Helen. “On the wet grass. Now,” she said, “you’ll have to go and get him.”

  “Are you sure you’re entirely sane?” asked the exasperated Jeremy. “First you yell because you’ve lost Alexander. Then you yell because you’ve found Alexander. Why don’t you mind your own business and let Alexander mind his? Men don’t like to be pushed around. If they like to sit on a wet patch, then they like to. If sitting on a wet patch isn’t better than following Lu and Canny round and listening to their crackpot conversation—”

  “You’ve got to drive him back,” said Helen.

  Jeremy turned in his seat and looked at her.

  “I’ve what?” he asked.

  “You’ve got to drive him back,” said Helen, in her most decided tones. “I don’t know what your family does, but I don’t leave three-year-olds stuck up on lonely hillsides with nobody to look after them. If you won’t take him back, then I will.”

  “Well, I,” said Jeremy, “certainly won’t.” He leaned across and opened Helen’s door. “Exit,” he informed her, “on your left.”

  Helen stared at him.

  “You mean—you—you’d let me—” she stammered.

  Jeremy leaned back in his seat.

  “Nothing,” he said smoothly, “can happen to Alexander. Your anxiety does you great credit, but it’s unreasonable. This is a private road, so he can’t get run over. He can, of course, get drowned, or roll over the hillside or throw a large stone at himself by mistake, but these things haven’t happened to him so far and I don’t see why they should happen this morning. We’ve all,” he continued, “wandered at will ever since we could walk alone, and we would have loathed, very deeply, any strange young woman who snatched us up and placed us within range of an authoritative eye. If you want to take Alexander back,” he ended, “there’s nothing to stop you—the door’s wide open. But I, personally, am going on to my farm.”

  There was a pause. Helen looked from the door to the small form of Alexander perched on the hillside. She saw that he was looking very happy. If he always wandered about by himself—

  She looked at Jeremy, and Jeremy, his expression calm and almost uninterested, watched her w
ithout speaking. She put a foot on the road. She was going to get out. He did not stir.

  In a few seconds, however, she had turned back, and Jeremy, looking at her face, saw that spring had, indeed come. Helen’s eyes, which had blazed a moment earlier, were soft and troubled, and her lips, no longer firm and proud, looked tremulous.

  “Oh—oh,” said Jeremy. “We’re not walking.”

  “No,” said Helen. “I—” She paused and began again. “Look, Jeremy,” she said steadily, “you win. I mean, I know he’s all right and it isn’t necessary, and I’d go on and leave him, but—but if I do, it’s no use— I simply won’t enjoy the day. I’ll keep thinking about him and—”

  “I tell you,” said Jeremy, “that—”

  “I know—I promise I know,” said Helen. “But don’t you see that it’s a habit?—you’ve always thought like that, but I’m used to seeing babies in perambulators on pavements and always in charge of somebody, and—please,” she pleaded, “let’s take him back—it won’t take a minute and then it’ll be over and we can have a—a wonderful day.”

  Jeremy studied her face wonderingly. After a few moments he put his head on one side, and, putting out a hand, cupped her chin in his palm and turned her face from side to side gently.

  “You know what?” he said at last. “I never noticed before—you’re quite a pretty girl. When you stop snarling and get unwound, your mouth looks all nice and curly and soft—it’s extraordinary.”

  “Please, Jeremy,” said Helen, “will you take Alexander back?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jeremy. “I don’t think so—once I’ve done it, you’ll get back that Now-now-girls-no-talking look and I’ll never see you looking like this again. I like you this way—I’m going to stay here all day and watch you pleading for Alexander. Go on— plead some more—you look sweet.”

  “I promise,” said Helen, “to look like this all day.”

  “Not enough,” said Jeremy. “Promise until you go back to London.”

  “All right—I promise,” said Helen, and felt her face being drawn slowly but steadily forward.

  “No!” she exclaimed.

  “No what?” asked Jeremy. “I was only going to kiss you.”

  “I know,” said Helen. “But my fiancé wouldn’t like it.”

  “Bosh!” said Jeremy. “He won’t know. Besides, you’re my sister.” He leaned forward and laid his lips lightly against hers. “I always,” he said, “wanted two pretty sisters.”

  “Alexander,” said Helen.

  “Well, yes,” said Jeremy, releasing her and leaning back. “There’s still Alexander. I’ll sit here,” he offered, “while you pop over and get him—you don’t have to go up—he’ll come down if you yell.”

  “You can honk on the horn,” said Helen.

  “So I can,” said Jeremy, putting his finger on the button.

  There was an instant response. Alexander, who had been gazing into the distance, looked about him at the sound of the horn and, espying Jeremy’s car below, began a leisurely descent.

  “Come on,” called Jeremy, as he came into earshot. “I’m giving you a lift back. Round the other side— that’s it, no, not on Helen’s knee—your pants are damp. Now we’re off.”

  He turned the car and went in the direction of the wood. Alexander sat contentedly beside him, his sturdy legs stretched out in front. In a little while Helen spoke nervously.

  “He’s got something in his hands,” she said. “I think it’s a—a—”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jeremy. “It’ll only be a snail or some worms or something—nothing that bites, anyway.”

  They had not driven far when the figures of Lucille and Duncan were seen once more. Jeremy drove up beside them and halted.

  “Hello,” said Lucille gently.

  “You left something,” said Jeremy.

  “Hello, Alexander,” said Lucille.

  Duncan, with no sign of welcome, watched Jeremy lift Alexander out and deposit him on the roadway. This done, Jeremy turned the car once more and drove swiftly away.

  “Now,” he said, “we’re off at last.” He increased speed and broke into a loud, melodious whistling, the tune clear and true and embellished with an astonishing number of trills and arpeggios. “Spring fever I’ve got—or something,” he said at the end of the recital. “Lovely day. Tell me,” he invited, “about your fiancé.”

  “No,” said Helen. “Let’s talk about your farm.”

  “Well, that would be more interesting, certainly,” said Jeremy. “Let me see. It’s eleven miles away; it’s called Ragged Edge because its land goes practically into the sea at one point and ends in a very ragged edge indeed. It’s all mine and I don’t even have to work it— I bought the people with the place, and the old man and two of his sons and one of their wives all live there and look after my ten cows, four calves, two pigs, eighty acres and my furniture and effects. All this industry goes on round me while I sit in my studio—two rooms knocked into one—and do what Granny calls my signposts. I think that’s all about my farm.”

  “Why did you buy it?” asked Helen.

  “Why? Oh, because I had to live somewhere,” said Jeremy. “I left London feeling that I couldn’t ever get enough living space to suit me—then Grandfather heard that this place was going, and offered me a bit towards it—and there you are.”

  “Couldn’t you have lived in—I mean, there’s such a lot of room at Romescourt,” said Helen.

  “I’ll be there one day,” pointed out Jeremy. “At the moment I’d rather be on my own—like my father and Natalie. Now tell me about you. Don’t you ever get tired of looking at those pasty city faces?”

  “No,” said Helen. “I like faces—I’ve got used to them. And I like noise and wireless and music with—with punch in it. Don’t you ever want to put a wireless set in every room at Romescourt and turn them all on together?”

  “Not at Romescourt, no,” said Jeremy. “Noise of that sort doesn’t suit the place, somehow. I make a pretty good row sometimes at Ragged Edge, and now and again I get an urge to go to a cinema—not often, thank God. But at Romescourt, somehow, I find the atmosphere—well—restful.”

  “Yes,” agreed Helen. “That’s the part of it that I find so difficult to fit into. I like things to go—I thought you put it a bit brutally yesterday, but then, look what happens when nobody does make things go the proper way.”

  “Well, what happens?” asked Jeremy.

  “That’s it—nothing does,” said Helen. “Take Lucille —she’s going to be married soon and her fiancé’s miles away, nobody seems to know quite where, and she’s walking in the woods with a man she’s obviously in love with and who’s obviously in love with her—and nobody does anything.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?” asked Jeremy.

  “Nothing,” said Helen. “When I go back to London I’ll think of heaps of good plans, but down here—well, it doesn’t seem to lend itself to planning of any kind. Do you notice that?”

  “We haven’t got your drive and decisiveness,” said Jeremy, “but we drag along.”

  “When you throw things in people’s teeth,” said Helen, “you ought to be prepared to justify your accusations. You said I bossed everybody. Well, I say that you sit and do nothing while your own sister wrecks her life—I think that’s worse than bossing.”

  “Nothing,” stated Jeremy, “is worse than bossing. And you’ve shifted your ground—when you came here you tried to shove Duncan around. Now you’re on his side.”

  “I didn’t know that Lucille was in love with him,” said Helen.

  “Well, all you’ve got to do now is go to work shoving Philip,” said Jeremy. “What a fine thing it is to have you here to do it.”

  “Why,” inquired Helen, “don’t you do the shoving?”

  “Because,” said Jeremy, “I believe that people manage their own affairs best by themselves. I had nothing to do with Lucille and Philip’s boy-and-girl attachment, as the books call it, and
I had nothing to do with her falling in love with Canny in London. I don’t know anything about her feelings and I don’t want to. She’s grown up and she can’t have me—or anybody else—running round after her, straightening out all the tangles she gets into in life. Nobody’s pushing her at anybody. If she wants me to do anything, she’ll come and ask me—and until she does, I shall keep my nose—and, incidentally, your nose and everybody else’s nose out of the affair. It’s a private fight—a three-cornered contest—not an all-in.”

  “So you won’t do anything?” asked Helen.

  “How quickly you grasp things,” said Jeremy admiringly.

  “And your grandmother won’t do anything and your grandfather won’t do anything and of course Mother won’t and so nobody will,” said Helen. “Well, I don’t understand it. How do people get like that?”

  “Something in the air, I suppose,” said Jeremy. “In London you breathe an air that makes you push and shove and rush and hurry and chase your own tail and tread on other people’s. I began to choke after a time. I can breathe this air all my life. Look,” he went on, pointing. “You can see Ragged Edge—not the buildings, but the trees—you see how nice and sheltered it is on the right side of the hill.”

  Helen looked round. They were in a valley and, as the car began to climb round the low hill on which the farm buildings stood, she saw green fields and red Devon soil stretching far away and, beyond, the blue of the sea. A few cottages nestled in a hollow; the road they had just left wound on and pointed to the roofs and towers of a little town a few miles away.

  “Like it?” asked Jeremy.