I tried to concentrate on my latest venture, and for a time I succeeded in ignoring the baffling discomfort lingering at the back of my mind. On the day of the party I was just checking my lists to make sure there was nothing I had forgotten to arrange when Medlyn knocked on the library door to tell me someone wanted to speak to me on the telephone.
It was Simon Peter Roslyn.
I had invited him to the cocktail party. I hadn’t wanted to, despite the cordiality that existed between us nowadays, but it would have been an error not to have invited him. He had become friendly of late with the Trehearnes of Helston, and since he attended their parties I supposed that made him socially eligible to attend mine. I had invited all the Trehearnes and had no wish for them to think I was ostracising their protégé, but as I went out into the hall to the telephone I couldn’t help hoping he was about to make some excuse not to attend.
“Hullo, Sim,” I said pleasantly. “Don’t tell me I’m not going to see you tonight!”
He hardly allowed me to finish the sentence. “I can’t talk now,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll be able to talk to you more this evening, but we’ve just had news that I thought you’d like to know. It’s in relation to a certain party overseas.”
I felt the strength drain out of my legs as my heart thumped painfully against my ribs. “Philip …”
“You’d better watch out for yourself,” said Simon Peter Roslyn. “He’s coming home.”
FIVE
[Philip Augustus] sent his ally an urgent message: “Look to yourself for the devil is loosed,” and John fled …
—King John,
W. L. WARREN
To some this might have appeared cryptic, but for John there was only one Devil, his brother Richard.
—The Devil’s Brood,
ALFRED DUGGAN
PHILIP WAS COMING HOME. My castle in the air had dissolved at a touch because Philip was coming home. I had no money and no home and no reputation, for Philip was coming home from Canada after exactly three years of self-imposed exile.
I might have known that Philip would always keep his word to my mother.
I panicked. I was an adventurer who had misjudged the odds on a gamble, and no gambler is more despised than the man who loses even the shirt upon his back. In a series of frantic moves to recoup the barest fraction of my losses I swallowed my pride and cast around among those closest to me to see if they would help me in my time of need.
2
My mistress said she would love to have me stay but didn’t see how she could without causing the most impossible scandal. After all, she was a respectable woman living in a respectable neighborhood. Of course if there were a divorce and a question of marriage …
“There’s no question of marriage,” I said bitterly and left her never to return.
After that I suggested a friendly reconciliation with Felicity, but apparently Sir Justin had threatened to disinherit her if she allowed me to return to Carnforth Hall and so I abandoned that idea. Felicity had always treated me so well; I couldn’t make her risk losing her inheritance.
“I feel frightfully badly about this,” she said, worried. “If I can do anything to help—”
“Well, if we could carry on financially as before—”
“Yes, of course. Daddy can’t find out about that anyway since bank accounts are confidential, and I’m sure he believed me when I said I’d stopped our joint account. And if you ever want any extra money just say so.”
“You’re a wonderful woman, Felicity,” I said, kissing her, “but I’ve caused you enough trouble. I’ll try not to ask for anything else. I feel guilty enough living on your money as it is.”
“Why? Men lived on their wives’ dowries in the old days and thought nothing of it! Anyway, I want you to have the money. If a woman can’t do as she likes with her money what on earth can she do with it, I’d like to know? One might as well be a pauper if one can’t help an old friend occasionally.”
But despite her assurances I still felt uncomfortably guilty and ashamed.
I was just wondering where to turn next when all my financial juggling of the past few months began to catch up with me and I found myself in the unenviable position of having to produce over seven hundred and fifty pounds in less than a week. Felicity very decently pawned her pearls for me, but I still had to borrow a considerable sum from the king of the Penzance moneylenders and even then I was unable to prevent my past manipulation of the Penmarric accounts from being exposed to the light of day. Since Philip was returning the estate’s affairs had to be investigated in order to ensure that they were in perfect order, and it didn’t take Michael Vincent’s suspicious mind long to discover exactly what had been going on.
“So what it really amounts to,” he said grimly, “is that Walter Hubert, using his—fortunately—limited power of attorney and acting in good faith, foolishly granted you money on the understanding that you would employ it to cover certain current estate expenses, and some of the more trusting tenants enabled you to exercise your natural dishonest tendencies even more freely by paying their rent to you in person. In other words, more than seven hundred pounds has been—”
“Let me write you a check straight away to put matters right. I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced.”
“If you think I’m not going to tell Philip about this, I’m afraid you’re gravely mistaken. Men have been prosecuted for doing what you’ve been doing—and jailed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said blandly and wrote out a check for the amount in question.
It bounced. I had ten pounds less in the bank than I thought I had.
“You’re in bad trouble, aren’t you?” said Michael in contempt, and I couldn’t deny it.
My troubles stretched out ahead of me as far as the eye could see.
“Mama,” I said, “I hate to mention such a sordid topic as money, but I had rather a heavy expense this month and I’m somewhat poor. Could I possibly borrow ten pounds from you?”
“You needn’t bother,” she said politely. “I’ve already made good your bad check to Michael. Or do you want ten pounds for something else?”
“Well … no, but—”
“Where are you going to live now?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I haven’t made up my mind.”
But she did not suggest I come to stay.
That same evening I telephoned Lizzie in the hope that I could escape to Cambridge for a time, but unfortunately she was about to leave for Scotland; her husband had been granted a leave of absence for some reason and they had already made arrangements to lend their house to friends. Lizzie was apologetic but there was nothing she could do to help.
That left William.
“Well, of course you can come and stay!” he said, surprised only because I had waited so long before trying to impose myself on him. “You ought to know by now that you’re always welcome in our house.”
I wished I were a small boy again when he said that; I wished I could run into his arms, bury my face against his chest and feel safe and secure and protected from the world. There was a lump in my throat. Tears pricked behind my eyes.
“That’s good of you, William,” I said abruptly, turning aside before my lip could begin to tremble. “Thank you very much.”
3
Philip came home on the twenty-fourth of October. They said he looked well and happy. I didn’t know. I stayed in my room at William’s cottage and read books from dawn till dusk. I saw no one and made William promise not to tell anyone where I was. As soon as I had money in the bank again on the first of the month, I was determined to leave for London but in the end my resolution came to nothing; three days after Philip’s return my mother arrived at the cottage and asked if she could speak to me. William was out on the estate, and Charity, overwhelmed by my mother’s imperious manner, said she would see if I was in the house.
“Jan!” She stuck her head around the door of my room. “Your mum’s outside.
What shall I do? She knows you’re here.”
I was in a most disreputable state. I hadn’t shaved for three days and I knew I must reek of whisky. To add to my unsightly appearance I was clad only in my underclothes and was lying on my unmade bed amidst ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts.
“Ask her if she’ll be so kind as to wait,” I said, closing my book. “Say I haven’t been well and that I’m just getting dressed.”
“You can get dressed later,” said my mother tartly in the passage outside. “I’ll see you now.”
And before I could open my mouth in protest she had walked into the room and closed the door in Charity’s face.
She turned to look at me. As I swung my legs off the bed and reached for my dressing gown I saw her eyes flicker over me and take in the situation at a glance. Her nose wrinkled delicately. Presently she sat down on the chair by the tallboy and looked the other way as I scrambled into my dressing gown and rummaged under the bed for my slippers.
At last she said, “How long do you intend to remain here?”
“I plan to go to London at the beginning of November.” I tried to look her in the eyes. “I thought I’d try and get a job there.”
“How commendable,” said my mother, “but a little rash, perhaps? Philip is anxious to see you.”
I was speechless. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet.
“He’s in a good mood and not inclined to harbor any grudges against you for your foolishness. Besides, as I reminded him, you did repay in full the money you took as soon as you were asked. I didn’t tell him the check wasn’t honored and that I made up the difference. I didn’t think it was necessary for him to know that.”
“How … kind of you.”
“Not at all. I also reminded him that you ran Penmarric well—apart from your little lapse at the end with the accounts—and that you were popular with the tenants. In short, I advised him to retain you to run the estate for him.”
I was finding it hard to speak. “I don’t want—I can’t—now that Philip’s there—-”
“Don’t be so silly! Please—don’t throw away this last chance to be on good terms with Philip! I’ve smoothed over your bad behavior, so now it’s up to you to make the best of the situation. If you run off to London now with your tail between your legs you’ll have no chance to inherit Penmarric should Philip become disillusioned with that terrible little Jonas and want to alter his will in your favor. But if you stay here, work hard and do everything you can to help Philip I wouldn’t be surprised if he changed his mind eventually and named you his heir.”
I went on staring at the floor. Presently I leaned forward and put my face in my hands.
“Good heavens, Jan-Yves, what’s the matter with you? Oh, I suppose you’ve heard about Helena. But that needn’t affect your prospects. If you’re sensible now—”
I looked up. She stopped. “You haven’t heard?” she said sharply.
I stared at her. “Heard what?”
She looked taken aback but quickly recovered herself. “Philip and Helena are reconciled,” she said crisply. “She’s gone back to Penmarric to live with him.” I went on staring at her. I thought of the widow in Canada and the possibility of Philip having a normal relationship with a woman. I felt my cheeks begin to burn; my mouth was dry.
There was a long silence. We sat watching each other, my mother cool and composed, I with no composure, no words, only a dull amazement that life could ever treat anyone so unfairly as it had treated me.
At last I managed to say, “That makes it irrelevant whether or not Philip prefers me to Jonas. He’ll have sons.”
“No, he won’t,” said my mother in a quick, hard voice. “He told me Helena can’t have any children. There won’t be any sons.” She began to put on her gloves again with deft motions of her fingers. “The inheritance will lie between you and Jonas,” she said, not looking at me, “and I think you should have it. Penmarric means nothing to Jonas and everything to you. You’ve made a great many foolish mistakes and nearly ruined your chances, but all isn’t yet lost. If you’re clever and sensible Penmarric can still be yours one day if you outlive Philip.” She stood up and moved slowly over to the door. “Philip brought me here this morning to persuade you to join us for lunch at the Metropole,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s at Michael’s office now, but I’ve arranged to meet him at the Metropole at one o’clock, so I suggest you drive us there in your car.” She glanced at my disheveled appearance and added, “I’ll wait in the drawing room while you change—and don’t forget to shave! You look like an escaped convict.”
She gave me no chance to refuse to accompany her, so after she had gone I shaved, cutting myself twice, put on some clothes and pushed a wet comb halfheartedly through my hair. I looked white and sick and subdued. Turning my back on the mirror, I went outside to fetch the car from the shed where I had hidden it and prepared myself for the drive to the Metropole.
All I said to her during the journey was “How did you know I was staying with William?”
“Adrian thought you would probably be there.”
We said nothing else. When we arrived at the esplanade I parked the car outside the hotel and escorted my mother inside.
“We’ll wait in the main drawing room,” she said. “We’re a little early.”
“Would you mind if I had a drink?”
“Is it really necessary, dear? You look slightly the worse for whisky as it is, if you’ll forgive me saying so. However, you must do as you wish, of course. I don’t want to dictate to you.”
I sighed and lit a cigarette without asking her permission. I wasn’t going to let her stop me smoking.
We waited ten minutes and made desultory conversation while I became increasingly ill-at-ease. I was just wishing I had left for London before my mother had tracked me down when the swing doors of the hotel lounge were flung wide apart and Philip walked into the room as if he owned the earth.
I looked at him, my great golden handsome brother, the greatest, most golden and most handsome of all my great golden handsome brothers. I looked at his immense height and his broad-shouldered, powerful, frame. I looked at his fair hair and his suntanned skin, his firm mouth and his strong jaw. I looked at him and I hated him and wished with all my strength that he were dead.
He was smiling. Of course he was smiling! He was rich, happy and secure. Of course he would smile! I would smile too if I were in his shoes. How pleasant to be Philip Castallack with a wife who would tolerate anything, a mother who wanted only his happiness and a bunch of servants who were falling over themselves to lick his boots at his mansion by the sea.
But I wasn’t Philip. I stood up, conscious only of my lack of inches, my ill-proportioned figure, my insignificant appearance. I saw myself then as if for the first time, Jan-Yves Castallack, twenty-eight years old, sent down from Oxford, unofficially convicted of fraud, penniless with nothing behind me but misspent years which I had wasted in trying to outshine my brothers and failing in every enterprise I had undertaken. I saw myself then as Philip saw me, the irresponsible younger brother, harmless, worthless and infantile. I remembered his letter to Michael, “My little brother is hardly the man to steal an inheritance if he meets with any form of resistance …” It had been a humiliating judgment. “My little brother is hardly the man …”
“Hullo Jan!” said Philip lightly with a smile which didn’t reach the corners of his eyes. “Nice to see you again. What’s all this nonsense about the accounts? Never mind, I’m sure it’s not serious and I don’t want to spoil my homecoming by exaggerating any schoolboy pranks you may have got up to in my absence … Shall we go to lunch? I see they’ve got lobster on the menu and I’m starving.”
I said nothing because there was nothing to say. I was twenty-eight and a failure, and the lunch I spent with Philip and my mother that day at the Metropole marked the rock bottom of a wretched, dismal, contemptible career.”
4
Philip
still had business to complete after lunch, so I drove my mother back to the farm myself. Just beyond the boundary of Zillan parish she asked me to halt the car in a field gateway, and, dully surprised by her request, I obeyed her.
“Are you feeling unwell, Mama?”
“No, but I think you are. You’re driving atrociously.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling myself at all. I apologize if I alarmed you.”
“I’m not alarmed, simply annoyed. Darling, you must try and pull yourself together! Please—for my sake! I know Philip doesn’t think much of you now—how can he after all this?—but you can convince him. I’m sure you can convince him!”
“It’s out of the question.” I put my hands on the wheel and gripped it tightly. “He’ll never forgive me for this and he’ll never alter his will in my favor. It would be better if I went away and made a fresh start in London.”
“Make a fresh start here! If you were to turn over a new leaf—”
“He’ll live another fifty years anyway. What do I care about his will? He’ll outlive me.”
“I hope you both live for another fifty years and longer,” said my mother, “but sometimes fate plays strange tricks, and Philip, as you know, has never exactly fought shy of living a dangerous life in dangerous conditions. Also he is ten years older than you are. You’re hardly in the same generation.”
“It’s no good,” I said, “I can’t do it. Even if Philip does change his mind and make me his heir I can’t go back to, Penmarric now as a mere bailiff. Not after I’ve been living there as master of the house for all these months. I’ve got to go away to London.”
“Rubbish!” My mother was getting annoyed. “How can you win your way back into Philip’s good books when you’re three hundred miles away in London? Now, if you were to stay here and turn over a new leaf—”
“I can’t do it.” I was gripping the wheel, unable to look at her. “I’ve humiliated myself before too many people and everyone thinks of me as a failure. I can’t do it.”
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