As Vanessa ran lightly up the stairs she thought again of Emily’s feet, and the thought took her into the bathroom that she shared with Susan, and there, from her own particular cupboard, she took a plastic bag and filled it almost to the top with a proprietary brand of bath salts that promised to relieve all the aches and pains the body harboured.
Downstairs again, she went hurriedly into the kitchen where Emily was sitting down now and, putting the bag in her lap, said under her breath, ‘These are very special salts. Bathe your feet with them, they’re bound to do them good.’
‘Aw, lass, aw, that’s real thoughtful of you, Miss Van. Ah, that is. Thanks.’
Vanessa stood for a moment looking down into the smiling face; then she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs again with a strange feeling of happiness inside her. There was something in what you learned at church, she supposed. Kindness had its own reward. She felt very good.
The dinner was over. Emily, her feet encased in black shoes, had brought the coffee into the drawing room and now Susan and Brian were going to run her home. They had just gone out of the room together. They looked happy and self-satisfied. Vanessa thought perhaps Susan, too, was feeling the rewards of charity. The conversation over the last fifteen minutes had been between her mother, Mrs Braintree and Susan, and it concerned Emily. Their mother said, as always, she didn’t know how she would exist without Emily. She spoke of Emily as if she was a very old family retainer. She said as much without actually using the term. Mrs Braintree said how lucky she was to have such a faithful servant, yet such service could only have been maintained through kindness. Susan put in with deceptive casualness that she was in the habit of running Emily to and from her home. Her mother said it was all a matter of consideration.
The Braintrees had brought their younger son with them. He was eighteen years old and pimply. His name was Alan and he talked big about cars. He was standing now, talking to her father. She watched her mother rise from her chair and come towards her. She was smiling. She still smiled as she bent over her and said under her breath, ‘What is the matter with you, Vanessa? Have you gone dumb all of a sudden? Why can’t you talk to Alan?’
‘Because he wants to talk, you can’t get a word in.’ Vanessa’s face looked sulky.
‘Don’t be difficult, child. Your father’s noticed it. You’re being difficult. You don’t want to make him angry, do you? Now you get up and go and talk to Alan.’
As she looked back into her mother’s face Vanessa almost said, ‘He’s no good wasting time on, he’ll never come into the title, not unless Brian dies,’ but what she said was, ‘I’d like to go upstairs.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the kind. You’ll stay here until they go.’
As she turned away she was smiling again.
After a while Vanessa rose to her feet and gradually made her way towards Alan Braintree, but he took no notice of her; he continued to talk cars to her father. Cars were his only interest, the only thing he could talk about. What was more he did not want to be left alone with Vanessa Ratcliffe. She made him uneasy. She was one of those clever sticks of girls, and he had no time for clever sticks.
Half an hour later, when Susan and Brian returned, they all sat down to a game of bridge. It was a comparatively short game and the guests left at half-past eleven. At twelve o’clock all the lights in the house were out, and at five past twelve Vanessa went down the fire escape and into the garden. It was moonlight again, but tonight the clouds were scudding across the sky and the wind was high.
It was nearly four weeks since Brett had found her in the summer house, and she had been down there at least half a dozen times since. Twice when it was black dark. She had been a bit scared those times, yet excited. The first time she had gone into the woods after that particular night she had half expected Brett to appear again, and on each occasion since she had hoped she might see him. He was nice, was Brett. But tonight she didn’t expect to see him. It was too late; the whole world was asleep.
She could have fallen asleep at any time during the dinner or after, particularly during he bridge, but now she felt wide awake. She had never felt so wide awake and so filled with unrest. She felt unhappy. Was it because Susan was so happy? Was she jealous of Susan? Yes, she supposed she was. She wasn’t jealous of her having Brian, or marrying into the Braintrees, but she was jealous of her getting married. She was nodding at herself as she went through the gate and into the deep shadow. One had to be honest with oneself.
Perhaps if she had a boy she would feel different. But boys didn’t make for her. Look at Alan tonight. Not that she’d wanted anyone like him, the spotty oaf. But still, he hadn’t been attracted to her at all. Boys didn’t seem to be attracted to her; what was wrong with her? Rona and Kathy, they’d had boys since they were fourteen. Of course, their mothers hadn’t known, but Rona’s mother knew now, and Kathy took Harold Blackett home. And neither Rona nor Kathy were good-looking. She considered she was better looking than either of them; she wasn’t being conceited. No, because she knew she wasn’t as good-looking as Lucy Fulton, because Lucy was beautiful. But she wasn’t bad-looking; she had nice hair and eyes. So, what was wrong with her? It was the same when she went to a party. Look at the parties last Christmas. All the necking that went on, but the boy that was with her just sat and played with her fingers. There must be something wrong with her somewhere. It must be something inside that boys sensed.
Further on, the wind lashed a branch against her face and she covered her cheek and bent her head against the pain of it. When she looked up again she saw the figure crossing a dappled moonlit space. First of all her heart seemed to stop still in fright because it didn’t look like Brett, not as tall; then she realised he was walking with his head down. Before he was aware of her she called softly, ‘Brett! Is that you, Brett?’ She watched him stand motionless, looking in her direction, and when she reached him she said, ‘You gave me a start again, I didn’t think it was you. What would have happened if it hadn’t been you?’
He didn’t speak, he just stared into her face, which was illuminated in moving patterns of moonlight.
‘What’s the matter, Brett? Are you sick?’
‘No, no. I had the beast of a headache, I had to come out. But…but why are you out at this time? It’s well past midnight.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She turned away from him, walking in the direction of the river. ‘I felt all het up inside. Oh, I don’t know.’ She turned again, expecting to find him by her side, but when she looked back he was still standing in the same place, and she retraced a few steps and said anxiously, ‘There’s something wrong, Brett. What is it? What’s the matter? You…There’s nothing happened to Paul?’
‘Oh, no, no; he’s all right.’
‘You’ve heard from him?’
‘Yes, we had a letter yesterday.’
‘Is he having a good time?’
‘By all accounts, the time of his life.’
‘You’re missing him, aren’t you? Going off like that the second day of his holiday. You…You didn’t expect it.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, I did.’
‘No, not until the summer, and remember,’ she gave a little laugh, ‘he was going to take me to dances. You promised.’ She took hold of his arm and shook it. She was endeavouring in her own way to lighten whatever depression had fallen on him, because even in this light she could see that his face was almost the colour of chalk. He never had much colour but she had never seen him looking so pale.
‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘Come on down to the summer house and let’s talk.’
‘No, not at this hour. You’d best get back indoors. What if they should miss you?’ His voice was stiff.
‘They won’t miss me.’
‘I’m going up, Vanessa; it’s late.’
‘All right then.’ She made her voice sound a little huffy. ‘You go on up and I’ll go and sit in the summer house and muse.’
She had gone half-a-dozen steps towards the
river again when he joined her. He had his head bent once more, and he muttered something that she couldn’t hear above the wind, but she didn’t question what he had said. She suddenly felt gay and excited. It must be the wind and the moonlight and the fact that she—and Brett—must be the only people in Fellburn to be walking in a wood at this time of night.
When she slipped her hand into his arm she brought him to a stop again and he turned his face to hers, pleading with her now. ‘Van, be a good girl, come on back.’
‘Look, we’re there.’ She pointed across the clearing to the summer house, then tugged him forward.
They sat on the step and she pulled the rush mat from the middle of the floor to make the seat more comfortable, and then, joining her hands round her knees, she said, ‘There.’ She had the same feeling now as when she had taken Emily the bath salts, she felt good. What she was doing she felt was good for Brett. He was lonely. She knew that he didn’t get on with Irene. She had gauged that much from snatches of conversation she had overheard between her mother and father, and latterly between her mother and Susan.
‘What is it, Brett?’ she said now. ‘You’re worried. You can tell me. Is it about the yard?’
He was about to say no, but he said, ‘Yes.’ He’d have to tell her something. ‘Your father gave me the chance to go to Holland, Germany and round and about. You know Mr Cribber is in hospital and likely to be there for the next two or three months. He’s the representative. Your father wanted me to take his place. Temporary, that is…’
‘And you’re going to?’
‘No. No, I turned it down.’
‘But why? Why, Brett? It would be a kind of holiday for you.’
‘Oh, for a number of reasons. But the main one, I think, was I’d have to be away from here for weeks on end. You know I’ve never been away from this place for longer than three weeks in my life, and even after a week I long to be back.’
‘You are funny, Brett.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Their faces were turned to each other, and she nodded slowly at him as she said, ‘But I can understand. I can understand how you feel. It’s the trees and the river and the house, and it’s yours. Yes, I can understand. I often wish we had a bit of woodland. Oh. Oh,’ she put her hand on his arm again, ‘I don’t mean that you should sell it to Father. I would say don’t sell it to Father, hang on to it. I would if it were mine. But I would like a garden with trees in it. Ours is so formal, you feel you’re in the park. I wouldn’t be surprised any day to see some women coming through the gate pushing prams.’ She laughed, but he didn’t laugh with her.
She said now, ‘Are you worried because you refused? I mean, did it upset Father? He hates doing anything without getting loud applause.’
‘Oh, Vanessa!’ Now he was laughing a little.
‘Oh, I know I shouldn’t talk like that, but you see I know him. I’ve said that before to you, haven’t I, that I know him?’ She joined her hands once more round her knees and began to sway a little back and forwards as she asked, ‘Why isn’t love a sort of natural thing like growing hair or cutting your second teeth, I mean loving your parents. You’re theirs and they’ve brought you up, and you should just love them out of gratitude if for nothing else. It worries me.’ She stopped swaying and turned her face towards him again and repeated, ‘It worries me. Can you understand that, Brett? I don’t love them and it worries me.’
He nodded, then said thickly, ‘You can’t love to order, even your parents.’
‘I think about it a lot, Brett, I mean loving people. I…I can’t even like them. There are so few people I really like. I thought I used to like Rona and Kathy and Lucy, but I don’t any more. I used to have a thing about Kathy when I was fourteen and now I think she’s silly and I was stupid for having a pash on her. And, I…I don’t like Susan, Brett. Fancy me saying that about my own sister, but I don’t like her. And Ray. At times I loathe Ray. You know the only person I like in our house is Emily. She’s fat and at times doesn’t look over-clean, and she’s common. I mean…Well, Mother says she’s common, they all say she’s common. They need her services but behind her back they say she’s common. And she is, but I like her. Why should I like her better than Susan or Mother or Father?’
‘I can’t answer you that one, Vanessa; perhaps because she’s more natural, hasn’t got so many skins.’
‘Do you dislike people, Brett?’
‘No, not really. I find it hard to dislike people.’
‘Even Father?’
‘Yes. Yes, even Jonathan.’
‘As you get older will it become easier to love people?’
‘In your case perhaps.’ He smiled tenderly at her. ‘You’ll find somebody that stirs you, makes you feel warm, somebody that you can’t bear to live without seeing every minute of the day and night; you’ll love like that one day, then everything will be ironed out. You’re going through a difficult period; it happens to us all.’
She said now, ‘You know I was thinking today there were only two men I could talk to, Angus and…and you. I could love you, Brett.’
She didn’t know why she had said it, perhaps because he needed comfort. When she leant her head on his shoulder and put her hand through his arm, the result of her action surprised and frightened her for a moment; she felt his whole body quivering, and then to her dismay she saw his head droop over his knees, and she watched him cover his face and his hands.
‘Brett! Brett! What is it? Oh, Brett, don’t. Don’t. What have I done? What have I said?’ She put her arms round his shoulders, and when her hand covered his it became wet with his tears. ‘Oh, Brett, Brett. Dear Brett.’ She pulled him round to her. His head drooped onto her shoulder; his wet face was buried in her neck. When she heard him murmur, ‘Oh God! Oh God’ as if he was in pain, she held him more tightly to her, stroking his hair, patting him, soothing him. When, a few minutes later, she held his tear-stained face between her hands and looked into his eyes she became consumed with pity and love, a first love, a love that expected no future, a love that consumed itself in its very creation, a love that was made up of curiosity and desire.
When, locked together, they dropped sideways onto the wooden floor, he hoisted her farther into the summer house, and when his hands moved over her she could not have stopped him if she had wanted to, for the gentle Brett had vanished and a strange man was tearing her apart, choking her with his tongue and rending her in two with his body.
Her curiosity was being satisfied.
Two
‘It’s the beer talking,’ said Emily.
‘Now, Mam, it isn’t the beer. I haven’t passed me quota; I’ve had me six and that’s all.’
‘You can’t kid me.’
‘No, I can’t kid you, Mam.’ Angus bent over the back of the chair where Emily was sitting with her feet up on a cracket, and he nipped one of her sagging chins as he repeated dramatically, ‘No, I can’t kid you. I’ll have to confess, I’ve had a drop of hard.’
‘I knew it, else you wouldn’t be talkin’ so damn soft. You know you can’t carry it. As for this hare-brained scheme of joining up with Fred Singleton, you can forget it. You’re not leaving the yard. Head of a shop at your age and wantin’ to give it up. And for what? To start a one-man…all right, a two-men, haulage business, when the neighbourhood is infested with haulage businesses.’
‘I know that, Mam, the big bods. But…but the big bods can’t carry all the work they’ve got in. That’s what I’ve been tellin’ you. They sub-contract, you know, let it out.’
‘I know all about it.’ Emily now brought her feet from the cracket. ‘And I’m tellin’ you this, you’re not puttin’ your bit of money into any bloody racket Fred Singleton can think up.’
‘Fred’s a good lad.’
‘Then why hasn’t he made his fortune afore now?’
‘For the simple reason he didn’t have enough to start with; he’s just got one lorry and he’s on his own. Now if he had two or three…’
‘Bought with your money like.’
‘Aye, bought with my money like, then we would be in clover.’
‘Do you know where the most clover grows, Angus Cotton? In the Bankruptcy Court. You big gowk, I’ll talk to you in the mornin’ when you’re sober.’
Angus was standing with his hand to his brow and his eyes closed when the door opened and Rosie came in, accompanied by Stan, and before they had time to close the door Emily cried at them, ‘You want to hear what this ‘n is on about now; he’s talkin’ of puttin’ his bit in with Fred Singleton and startin’ a haulage business. Haulage, I ask you. Bloody silly bugger.’
Rosie looked from Angus where he was sitting at the end of the table now, his head resting on one hand, an oily smile covering his face and his lips moving back and forward over each other, and she laughed outright. Their Angus always looked funny when he was carrying a drop; he was never bad-tempered, like some. Wanting to rouse her mother still further and wanting a laugh, she said, ‘Well I don’t think it’s a bad idea, not really. I mean if you put five thousand down and pay the rest in instalments.’
Angus let out a roar of a laugh and cried, ‘Aw, Rosie! Aw, Rosie! That’s good. Trust you.’
‘I don’t see anythin’ to laugh at.’ Emily was glaring at Rosie now. ‘He’s serious, it isn’t a joke. He started this afore he went out an’ he was solid and sober then.’ She turned to Stan now and demanded, ‘What do you think, Stan? You’re on the factory side of cement, you should have your ear to the ground about this kind of thing, haulage.’
‘Well.’ Stan walked to the table and took a seat opposite Angus. Then looking at Emily, he said, ‘If you had a few hundred about you, and the strength of a bull an’ plenty of nerve you could get through.’
The Round Tower Page 8