‘That would be awful. But I really don’t think Rafe’s going to feel burdened by a millstone of gratitude because he has no idea what I’m giving up to marry him. He isn’t at all interested in ballet.’
‘In this case, don’t you think there may be grounds for incompatibility?’
The church clock struck half past the hour. I sprang up. ‘I must go. Thank you so much for the coffee and the heavenly doughnuts.’
Conrad murmured, as if talking to himself, ‘Was hat es, daß es so hoch aufspringt, mein Hertz?’*
‘What did you say?’
‘I say you must hurry or you will be late.’
*Do what I say, not what I do.
*‘What is there about her that makes my heart leap so?’ GOETHE
33
‘Anyone would think you wanted that ruffian to seduce your mother,’ said Rafe in a tone that was almost angry as we sped towards Carlisle to see a performance of Separate Tables by Terence Rattigan. ‘By getting them both involved in that squalid little café you’re practically throwing them into each other’s arms.’
‘It’s much less squalid now,’ I said pacifically. ‘Honestly, it looks quite inviting. We’ve taken down the neon sign that said EATS AND TREATS and Jode’s painted a beautiful new one. He’s very artistic in a neat sort of way. Being interested in the visual arts is something he and Dimpsie have got in common and it’s so nice for her.’
I did not say that the other thing Jode and Dimpsie had in common was a consuming appetite for sex at all hours and in all places. When duties to the café, the craft shop and Harrison Ford permitted, they took themselves off to any nook or cranny that offered and bolted themselves in, to emerge later with red faces and tousled hair. No one could have objected to this. They were discreet about their departures and refrained from public displays of affection. Apart from the occasional strangled moan they were as quiet as mice.
‘And that nephew of Mrs Peevis’s is a bad lot,’ Rafe continued as though he hadn’t heard me. ‘He’s been up before the bench for receiving electrical goods. It was a first offence so he got off with a fine, but I thought he was a nasty piece of work.’
I couldn’t disagree with him. Dale had an ingratiating manner, but the bold lechery in his eyes made me dislike being alone with him in the kitchen. He spent much more time with ‘Auntie Edna’ these days, dropping in at the Singing Swan at all hours to persuade her to increase the size of her flutters on the gee-gees, now the place was in a fair way to becoming a tidy little earner. If you disregarded his greasy hair, which he was always combing over the teacups, and a nose covered with blackheads, Dale had the looks of a second-rate film star in a third-rate gangster movie. He spread a roguish smirk over his oily countenance whenever he spoke to Nan, who responded with sniffs, flounces and tart remarks to show him she could not be taken in by men’s wiles. But her large grey eyes followed him everywhere and it must have been as obvious to him as it was to me that she was far from indifferent.
‘I don’t like him but I can’t help him being Mrs Peevis’s nephew.’
‘Why won’t you let me make you an allowance?’ Rafe put his foot on the accelerator and I closed my eyes to shut out the headlights of cars and lorries that rushed pell-mell towards us. ‘I must confess I find your refusal hurtful.’
‘Do you? I’m so sorry. I had no intention of hurting you. It’s the very last thing I want to do.’
‘Can’t you see that it seems like a rejection? As though you can’t bear to be under any kind of obligation to me. People who love each other ought to exchange sympathy and counsel and every sort of good fortune, spiritual and material, without even thinking about it. A marriage is a repository for the common good of the two people involved. I want to look after you, to give you everything I have in the world. And I hope you want to look after me. Because if not—’
‘Oh Rafe. Of course I do.’ I put my hand on his knee to reassure him. ‘Really, you shouldn’t see it as a rejection. It’s just that I’m so conscious of how much you’ve already given me, you and Evelyn, and I seem to have so little to give in return.’
‘I wish I could make you see that what you give me is far above pounds, shillings and pence. Beauty, tenderness, companionship, someone to love wholly and openly and honestly … I can look the world in the face as long as I have you beside me. Let me take care of you now, as I mean to do for the rest of our lives.’
I always found Rafe’s rare moments of demonstrativeness tremendously touching. ‘Of course I will if that’s what you really want.’
‘Thank you, darling.’ He took his hand from the wheel to clasp mine. I bit my tongue to stop myself yelling at him to put both hands on the steering wheel. ‘I’ll get on to Armstrong in the morning.’ Armstrong was his bank manager. ‘To be frank I’m hugely relieved. I’ve hated the idea of you skivvying at that ghastly place with those awful people. Working at the surgery’s a different matter. The family connection makes that perfectly respectable. But if I’m allowed to express a preference, I’d like you to tell your father to find someone else as soon as possible.’
I had not perfectly understood that an agreement to give up work was a constituent part of accepting the allowance. Actually, there was much to be said in favour of resigning from my job at the surgery. My relationship with my father had deteriorated to the point where we spoke only when we absolutely had to, not always managing to prevent some exchanges of the hissing and spitting kind. Though the patients and Nurses Bunker and Keppel seemed to find our spats exciting, it was probably not good for the efficiency of the place.
Working at the Singing Swan, however, was fun. I was going to miss the challenges and the sense of achievement, even if it came from something as mundane as defrosting the freezer. The bottom six inches of ices and snowfrutes had thawed so often they had formed multicoloured layers like the geological cross section of the Continental crust in my school atlas. But Rafe could not object to me visiting my mother at the Singing Swan, so long as I abstained from menial tasks unbecoming to the future mistress of Shottestone. He was not buying me outright for his sole use. Immediately I was ashamed of this rebellious thought, which seemed petty and ungrateful.
‘All right, I’ll tell him. But I’ll have to stay until they find another receptionist.’
‘Of course.’
Rafe squeezed my hand, then let it go. Keeping my eyes closed, I began to breathe more easily now I could imagine those strong brown fingers firmly on the wheel at ten to two as Mr Lugg, my driving instructor, had demonstrated a few hours earlier. I heard Rafe humming as he often did when he was pleased about something.
‘Some talk of Alexander an-nd some of He-er-cu-u-les,’ he sang.
I was sorry to have given him pain, and for a while I felt quite cheered by the idea of marriage as an investment of good things from which we both could draw strength and inspiration. Then I started wondering again about my own contribution to this nuptial fund. Beauty? Though others raved about the colour of my hair I didn’t particularly like it, and I always thought myself too small and thin to be beautiful … but anyway, whatever pretension I might have to good looks, they could not last. Tenderness and companionship: I hoped I would be adequate to the task. It occurred to me that so far all I had put into the conjugal pool was a willingness to give things up.
‘Of Hector and Lysander an-nd such great m-en a-s these.’
Satisfaction radiated from him. He had got what he wanted. The Prestons almost invariably triumphed. They practised a kind of tyranny through benevolence that left the tyrannized feeling grateful, even as they bent their necks beneath the yoke … I accused myself of disloyalty and reminded myself how much I owed them. Only a few days ago Evelyn had given me a set of garden tools for my own use. They had wooden handles and shining stainless-steel blades and prongs. Evelyn said they were the very best sort and would last me all my life. She had cut short my thanks with, ‘If it isn’t raining on Saturday we’ll get going on the tulip border. You ca
n be here by ten, can’t you, darling? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you exactly what to do …’
‘How did the driving lesson go?’
‘Oh,’ I felt a stab of guilt because Rafe was paying for my lessons, ‘not awfully well, I’m afraid. I ran into the back of a caravan. Luckily no one was injured. And Mr Lugg says the driving school’s insurance will pay for the new bumper. After that Mr Lugg said he didn’t think I’d be much cop, as he put it, after the shock, so he drove me home. It wasn’t a very good beginning.’
‘Poor sweet.’ Rafe patted my knee kindly. ‘All that matters is that you weren’t hurt.’ Here were the dividends from that investment of mutual sympathy. ‘Caravans provoke dangerous driving – either they’re ridiculously slow or so fast they get blown over.’
‘This one was parked. I don’t think I’m ever going to be much cop. I simply can’t persuade myself not to shut my eyes whenever I see something alarming. Perhaps I might learn to ride a bicycle, or even better a tricycle—’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. You don’t want to be a figure of fun. You’ll conquer your fear with a little practice, I promise you.’
I was thankful he was not annoyed. In fact he was the soul of sweet reasonableness for the rest of the evening. Until we got home, that is.
In the theatre he took my – Bobbie’s – coat to the cloakroom, bought me a programme and steered me to my seat with a firm grip on my arm. Perhaps he thought I might miss my footing and somersault over the edge of the grand tier into the stalls below. When the lights went down for the first act I felt a terrible pang of regret that I was not on stage myself, but soon managed to lose myself in the drama which was about the loneliness of the human condition. In the interval we went to the crush bar which was appropriately packed. Somehow Rafe managed to procure champagne and an ice for me while everyone else was complaining about the queues; he found a table near an open window so we were cooled by a refreshing breeze. Gracefully he acknowledged the greetings of people he knew, which seemed to be almost everybody. I encountered speculative glances wherever I looked and knew myself to be an object of curiosity. I shook hands and thanked for compliments, laughed at witticisms and accepted invitations. It was a relief to be ushered back to my seat by Rafe before he departed for the lavatory.
I entertained myself in his absence by looking at the audience. I recognized Lady Pruefoy’s helmet of white hair in the box to the right of the proscenium arch. In the left-hand box I was surprised to see Conrad and Fritz, with Isobel sitting between them. Fritz was looking down into the empty orchestra pit and Conrad was reading his programme. Isobel put her hand on Conrad’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He replied briefly and resumed his reading. Isobel gave a petulant shake of her shoulders and slumped in her chair, pouting. I saw that she was unhappy and that Conrad was the cause.
I wondered what could be wrong. Conrad was not unkind to her, in public anyway. He was not assiduous with his attentions like Rafe, but neither was he neglectful. He was a good host, providing food, wine, music, warmth, comfort, even breakfast, all of a high order. He did these things with a detached, almost negligent air, but he noticed if your cup was empty or you were cold or in need of a handkerchief. He could be critical, and sometimes harsh, but surely Isobel was a match for him? When he was in a certain mood those black eyes teased maliciously. They seemed to ask to be amused, at your expense if necessary, but Isobel would hate a compliant husband. On the other hand she was used to being petted. In the old days she had always had a string of suitors who submitted humbly to her caprices and hung on her every word. Conrad never showed the least inclination to do this. Sometimes he was cool to the point of indifference. Usually he was unromantically cheerful.
Isobel’s expression grew sulkier. Conrad closed his programme, folded his arms and ran his eyes over the auditorium in a bored sort of way. With his extraordinary physical beauty he made the rest of the men in the audience look colourless and uninteresting. I hoped he would notice me but he seemed to look everywhere but in my direction … suddenly I knew with absolute certainty that Conrad and Isobel must be prevented from marrying. They would not make each other happy.
The strength of this conviction made my heart race and a most uncomfortable sick feeling gripped my internal organs, as though I had eaten something that disagreed with me. Rafe was the only person who had any influence with Isobel. I must make him see as a matter of urgency that their engagement was a mistake. Just as he came back to his seat, the lights went down and the curtain rose. Throughout the second act, though I registered the comedy and the poignancy of the play, the disturbing undercurrent of anxiety remained. We stayed in our seats for the next interval as I was incapable of eating or drinking another mouthful.
‘Isobel and Conrad and Fritz are here.’ I pointed to the box.
‘Oh yes. Isobel said they were getting tickets. She asked if we wanted to join them but a box only holds four and as Conrad insists on taking Fritz everywhere … anyway, I’d much rather just be with you, darling.’
I was touched by the warm look that accompanied this remark. Rafe was an angel and I ought to be ready to give up anything and everything to make him happy.
‘Besides,’ he went on to say, rather spoiling it, ‘it would have meant having supper at the Castle and there might have been awkwardness about who was picking up the tab. It’s an expensive place, but on the other hand I’ve no wish to be Conrad’s pensioner.’ While he was talking, Rafe acknowledged waves and salutations from other members of the audience.
‘I suppose everyone’s here because there isn’t really much to do in the evening in the country,’ I suggested. ‘Apart from dinner parties and you can’t have those very often for fear of getting fed up with the same old people. Perhaps we ought to join a spiritualist society or a Zen poetry group so we could get to know a different sort.’
Rafe assumed the expression he reserved for my more absurd remarks, one eyebrow raised and the other drawn down, nostrils arched. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting an evening spent in my company would be so dull you’d rather spend it with a bunch of crackpots speaking in tongues and wearing hand-knitted underclothes? Surely you’ve had enough of the Bohemian way of life? From what I saw of Sebastian Lenoir he didn’t look like the sort of man who would make a girl happy for very long. Charming, of course, but I’d have said an absolute bastard.’
He looked at me very directly then, without smiling, and I read in his eyes a question.
I dropped my eyes under his gaze and fidgeted with the battered red plush on the arm of my seat. ‘Rafe, I’m worried about Isobel. I’m not sure she’s going to be happy married to Conrad.’
Rafe glanced across the auditorium. Isobel, prompted by that uncanny sense that tells you when you are being stared at, looked in our direction, waved and then pointed us out to Conrad and Fritz. Fritz smiled and Conrad lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Isobel said something to Fritz and laughed. Suddenly she seemed to be enjoying herself. Conrad tore a sheet of paper from his programme and began to fold it into smaller pieces.
‘She looks all right to me,’ Rafe said with brotherly unconcern. ‘Anyway, she wouldn’t take kindly to interference. There’s the archdeacon.’ He pointed along the row. ‘I wonder what he makes of this play? I never met anyone so convinced of being perpetually in the right. Human nature must be a mystery to him.’
Something white flew from Conrad and Isobel’s box in a wide arc over the auditorium. It came to rest on the padded top of the balcony only three seats away from where we were sitting. I leaned forward and saw a man brush it to the floor with his elbow, without noticing it.
‘Isn’t that your father?’ Rafe was looking down into the stalls so he did not see the paper dart. ‘Third row from the front. No one else, apart from you, could have hair that colour.’
Though I could not see Tom’s face, I recognized not only the flaming head but also his ears and the set of his shoulders. Marcia Dane was sitting next to him. As we watched she
put her arm round his neck and leaned towards him. He lifted his shoulder and leaned a little away from her. A slight movement but it spoke volumes.
Rafe took my hand discreetly in his. ‘It looks as though Miss Dane’s rule is nearly over, darling. I know how angry you are with him but, if your father’s return is going to make Dimpsie rejoice, I think you ought to put a good face on it and pretend to rejoice too, for her sake. Perhaps next week we’d better ask him to Shottestone for drinks. I know you won’t enjoy it but it’ll reassure him that he’s going to be welcomed back into the fold.’
I squeezed his hand. ‘I honestly think it’s probably too late for both of them, but it’s nice of you to care.’
‘Of course I care. Even if you weren’t so important to me, I’ve always been fond of Dimpsie. She’s eccentric, of course, but so obviously on the side of the angels.’
I reproached myself for having accused him in my heart of caring too much about appearances. ‘I’m not sure I deserve you,’ I said solemnly.
‘What nonsense … sssh! The curtain’s about to go up.’
34
‘Wasn’t it odd seeing Ronald Dunderave and Bunty together?’ I said as we drove back afterwards. ‘What a hopeless mismatch!’
We had run into them in the foyer as we were leaving the theatre. As soon as Bunty saw Rafe, her entire face and neck had reddened, but she had made a gallant effort to talk about the play. Then she had asked me about my leg and, with a yet deeper blush that made her eyes glitter, how the wedding plans were going. Ronald had tried to persuade Rafe to join a club of which he, Ronald, was secretary, called the Oenophiles.
‘I’m pretty busy at the moment,’ said Rafe.
Ronald looked at me for the first time. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ He wrinkled his upper lip showing rabbity teeth. Only Siggy’s were miles more attractive. He muttered something to Rafe in an undertone. I heard, ‘… Mustn’t let it take you over entirely, old man … like good wine … pleasures of the flesh … occasional abstinence, you know?’
Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs Page 42