‘Do exactly as Mutt tells you,’ Mummie said to him in that terrible place of heat and terror, and he’d felt her relief that he would be going to safety with Mutt.
Sometimes, now, Mummie and Mutt seem to be one and the same person, just as Emma – who was once called Lottie – now seems to be baby Em too. He is glad, though, that Daddy is just Daddy and can be talked about with Mousie or Grandfather, even though he has to be careful that it doesn’t lead on to other things. This is why the stories are good – because he can make the terrible sadness into something exciting or brave and then he feels better. He wonders how Mutt manages and sometimes hugs her consolingly to show that he understands how frightened she must be. She has that look, then; an odd look of someone who is grateful and ashamed at the same time. Flustered.
Bruno climbs off his bed and goes into the nursery where Mutt is lifting Emma from her cot, and Emma is crowing with satisfaction, and he feels safe and happy.
Downstairs, James folds his newspaper and rouses himself. Although he is often glad to slip away to the peace and quiet of his study, he likes the sound of the family bringing life back to this old house. Listening to the footsteps overhead, Emma’s shouts and Bruno’s childish treble, he smiles to himself with satisfaction as he relives the gift ceremony.
It was Julia who nudged him into awareness.
‘It would be a nice touch,’ she said. ‘Hubert’s wife should have Margaret’s jewels and it would be a very generous gesture. Welcoming her here, James, d’you see? A little formality in showing her that she belongs. Margaret would have wanted it.’
He was distressed that he hadn’t thought of it for himself but hastened to gather together the few pieces Margaret had treasured. Not that she’d set much store by it, his dear Meg, being more concerned with the garden and her tapestry work than with personal adornment. Julia was right, though. He’d never been very good at flowery speeches but this time he’d made a pretty good fist of it, all things considered, and Honor was moved by the gesture.
As he sits listening to the noises above him, James thinks about how she gazed at the trinkets with a kind of humility, as if reluctant to accept them. He had to be quite firm, saying that Margaret would have wanted her to have them, and then he was knocked sideways again by the thought that his dear old Meg would never know this lovely girl or Hubert’s children and he came over choky and gruff. Honor saw his distress and thanked him very sweetly, overcoming her own emotions and ignoring the fact that he damned near broke down, just giving him a quick kiss and saying that she’d love to have the gewgaws. Nothing more: no gushing or anything of that kind. He was grateful for that: couldn’t be doing with all that fuss and nonsense.
He puts the newspaper aside and goes out to greet them as they come downstairs.
‘Rafe telephoned,’ he says. ‘Wonders if you’d like to go sailing?’
Later
Rafe took us sailing today. I am at my happiest on the water, Vivi, free of the land and all the responsibilities it holds. We row out past the rocks – I’m getting strong and can manage quite well although Rafe and I usually take an oar each – and then, once we’re past the headlands, we raise the sails. The boat was built here in the boatyard before the war. It’s odd to think of a boat as beautiful, I suppose, but the Kittiwake is. She has such lovely lines. Rafe is so proud of her, and he is teaching Bruno to sail. He allows him to take the tiller and shows him how to watch for a breeze, the cat’s-paws dimpling across the water. Emma is simply ecstatic, laughing with delight, rapt with the wonder of it all.
One day I shall take the Kittiwake out alone – oh, what freedom that will mean to me; to feel her responding to my touch, to see the sails filling with wind. One day – but not yet. I have a great deal to learn. I know now that the sea is strong – not cruel but simply indifferent – and I understand that it has to be respected. Rafe knows so much that I am completely in awe of him but he loves to share his skill and is thrilled when we make progress.
The children are rosy with sun and sea air, falling asleep over their tea, whilst James sits by and smiles benignly upon us. His flannels fall sharply from his thin, crossed knees and his faded shirt is as soft as butter. I lay my hand upon his shoulder as I stand up to fetch something and he smiles at me, heart-breakingly like Hubert.
‘I loved Hubert so much,’ I say to him – just suddenly. And it’s true, Vivi, I did love Hubert, though not in that way. Is it wrong to deceive James so badly? We comfort him, I’m sure of it. He looks so kindly at me and says, ‘So did I, my dear.’ Bruno is watching us, across the table, and I feel that familiar sensation of guilt. I can’t explain it to him, yet, you see; he’s too young. Suppose he grows up hating me for making him a liar?
No, no, don’t think of that. Think of the sea, the exhilarating sensation of the soft warm air pouring over my skin, the chuckling sound of the water beneath the keel. Hubert would love to see Bruno sailing the Kittiwake – perhaps he does see him. I have this deep-down conviction that, despite everything, God still watches over me.
Lots of love, darling,
Madeleine
15th September
Such fun, Vivi. Simon is here for a few days. We’re all so pleased to see him. Did I tell you that he’s a GP – he has a practice in Exeter – and spends one day a week at the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital? It’s nice because it means that I can talk intelligently to him about his work. It is clear that he takes his duties as godfather to Bruno very seriously, and asked me all about schools and so on. Well, you can guess my reaction as these new pitfalls opened up before me. Apart from the fact that I had no idea where Hubert had been at school, I also began to see how tricky this whole area of education might be. Imagine taking Bruno along on his first day and saying, ‘I’m Bruno’s mother.’ How shall I deal with that? How will he?
James stepped in with, ‘Well, of course he’ll go to Truro just as Hubert did,’ which gave me a clue – and then they were off, discussing schooldays, and giving me a chance to pull myself together. Thank God that Bruno’s not five until December, which gives us another year to prepare for that first ordeal. On the other hand Emma has her second birthday while Simon is with us. Can you imagine how odd it is, Vivi, to celebrate your child’s birthday on the wrong date? Lottie was born on 13th October, and now will spend the rest of her life exactly one month older than she really is. I tried not to think about it and, despite the rationing and the difficulties of buying anything really good, she had a splendid time. Dear old Dot had saved up everyone’s fat and sugar ration and made a wonderful cake – with two candles on the top – and Aunt Julia had knitted her the most delightful dolly stuffed with old stockings for which Emma immediately conceived an enormous passion. I was so pleased to see Aunt Julia’s face – utterly gratified but trying not to show it. Rafe, bless him, had made a wooden cradle for the dolly and Mousie and Jessie between them had sewn tiny sheets and pillows and crocheted a coloured blanket.
I can’t tell you how emotional I felt seeing this combined effort: a true family present. I had to slip away into the kitchen, on the pretence of putting the kettle on the range, and wept briefly but violently into the dishcloth. Do you remember our birthdays, Vivi, and our father always thinking up the most wonderful surprises? Do you remember Flopsy, the angora rabbit, and your fairy bicycle? Oh, how I envied you that bicycle; I was speechless with desire for it.
Well, I had made Emma a party frock from an evening gown that I’d seen Honor wear only twice: a pretty blue-coloured taffeta and not at all my kind of thing. I was able to detach a length of trimming which, with careful removing of the old stitching and then washing and pressing, Bruno was able to give her as a hair ribbon to match the frock. He’d also done some negotiation over his sweet ration with the baker in Polzeath and had obtained a pink sugar mouse. What riches! James was rather baffled by the whole event, his idea of a decent present being a book, but rather charmingly picked a posy of flowers from the garden and put them in a tiny vase by her brea
kfast plate.
To be honest, she hadn’t really any idea as to what was happening but enjoyed herself enormously. We sang to her at tea-time as she stood on her chair in her party frock, her eyes blazing as blue as the taffeta and the dolly clutched to her chest, and when the cake was brought in with the candles alight she positively screamed with excitement. Bruno helped to blow out the candles and then Simon produced his present. Two tortoiseshell kittens, Vivi, the prettiest you’ve ever seen. It was so sweet and clever of him to bring two because, the moment he saw them, Bruno’s eyes simply shone with joy.
‘One each,’ Simon said firmly. ‘I expect you to take care of them, Bruno, until Emma’s a little older.’
Emma was fascinated by them, but – to my relief – her affection was not transferred from the dolly, which might have hurt Aunt Julia. Oh, it was good to see Bruno going off with Simon to find a box for the kittens to sleep in and an old blanket. He suddenly looked taller and older – Bruno not Simon – and I wished that I’d thought of it earlier. It’s exactly the thing to distract Bruno from his terrible loss and give him responsibility. Thank God we eat so much fish here!
When I looked in on Emma later that evening she was fast asleep – still in the frock from which she’d refused to be parted – with Dolly clutched to her stained and crumpled chest and a blissful smile on her face.
Once Bruno was in bed Simon took me out to dinner at one of the hotels in Polzeath and we danced.
She puts down the pen and rests her elbows on the desk, wondering how to continue. Simon will be leaving very soon, to drive back to Exeter, and yet she needs this small respite from him; from all of them. The letter is an excuse – ‘Long overdue,’ she says ruefully. ‘Must catch the evening post’ – and she slips away, hoping that if she tries to put down the events on paper it might help her to be more rational. It calms her to write like this to Vivi; in analysing her feelings to her sister she is able to see things more clearly. She pushes her hair away from her face, closing her eyes: what with Emma’s birthday party and the dance, it has been a very emotional weekend.
The light knock makes her jump and as Mousie puts her head round the door Mutt hurriedly shuffles the paper away, turning quickly with a smile.
‘I wondered if you’d like me to take your letter to the post?’ Mousie smiles back at her. ‘I’ve got my bicycle with me so it won’t take me long and I’m off home now.’
‘That’s very sweet of you.’ She makes a face of comical despair. ‘You know, I still haven’t finished it. Utterly hopeless but I’m simply not in the mood. Thanks anyway.’
Mousie nods and leaves her sitting there but she frowns to herself as she slips on her cardigan and goes through the kitchen and out into the dusk. She reflects on Honor’s reaction; how she instinctively made as if to hide the letter just as a schoolchild might shield her work from a neighbour she suspects of cheating. The invisible barrier is always there between them and Mousie feels partly saddened and partly irritated by Honor’s behaviour.
In attempting to analyse it she wonders if perhaps Hubert and Honor were not happy together and whether Honor has to make an effort to hide the fact that the marriage wasn’t all that Hubert’s family assume that it was. Deep down she suspects that this is a rather horrid kind of wishful thinking, all a part of her jealousy, but she cannot account for Honor’s reluctance to talk about Hubert and her own instinctive feeling that something is wrong.
As Mousie hoists herself into the saddle, freewheeling down the drive and into the lane, she wishes that they could be friends. Intermittently she catches glimpses of a different Honor, light-hearted, warm, funny, and she believes that they could become much closer if only the barrier could be dissolved. She guesses that Simon sees this other Honor too, and is very much attracted to her. Today there has been an odd restraint between them as if they are afraid of showing too much of their true feelings to each other and to the family.
Mousie wonders if anyone else has noticed but has no intention of bringing it to her mother’s attention. She has been accused too often of an overactive imagination, and her mother is very protective of Honor’s widowed state. Nevertheless, as she sweeps over the little bridge towards The Row, Mousie can’t help remembering Honor’s reaction and she wonders to whom she is writing.
In the drawing-room at Paradise Simon is wondering too. He is rather put out when Mutt murmurs something about a letter and slips away. Good manners dictate that he should smile and nod at her as she goes, whilst continuing to listen politely to James, who is holding forth on Denis Compton’s fine batting form this season, but he has been hoping for a few minutes alone with her and he feels frustrated. Soon Mousie says that she must go home; she has been helping to bath the children and put them to bed and now she says that she’ll be late for supper if she doesn’t get a move on. After she’s been gone for a decent interval, Simon begins to indicate that he too must be on his way. James glances at the clock, apologizes for monopolizing the conversation and begins to get to his feet.
‘No hurry,’ says Simon quickly. ‘I’ve got to get my bags down. I’ll look in when I’m ready to go.’
James nods, settles back in his chair and picks up his newspaper. Simon goes out into the hall and stands for a moment, listening. He hears a noise on the landing and, glancing up, he sees Bruno staring down at him.
‘Hello, old chap,’ he says quietly. ‘Got a problem?’
Bruno comes slowly down the stairs, one step at a time. His hair is peaked and his eyes are wide and confused. Simon goes swiftly up to him and sits down on a stair near the top.
‘Bad dream?’ he asks sympathetically – and when Bruno nods, he slips an arm about him protectively and gives him a hug. ‘Want to tell me about it?’
Bruno shakes his head but sits beside Simon, leaning against him. As they sit together Simon looks down into the hall, holding the child gently but mentally planning ahead. It’s a nice little house, a charming gentleman’s residence, and the valley is a delight, but he can’t imagine settling here. He is interested in cardiovascular research, which might mean studying abroad in America or Australia. He wonders how Bruno would react to another move after such an upheaval and whether he would resent being taken from his father’s home to a far-off country. Emma is too young to remember her father, and he has no doubts that she will adapt very readily, but Bruno is a different proposition. He is an imaginative and sensitive child and it might be difficult for Mutt to explain her new allegiance …
Simon grimaces to himself. He’s jumping the gun a bit, taking a lot for granted, but he could tell when he was dancing with her that she wasn’t indifferent to him. Oh, they behaved very properly, stuck to all the social conventions, but underneath all that he felt her response to him. He mustn’t rush her, he reminds himself – that could be fatal – but she is too warm, too much in love with life to spend the rest of it as a widow here in this backwater, no matter how beautiful it is; and she’s intelligent, that’s so important, and can talk about his work.
He smiles reminiscently as he sits there waiting for Bruno’s nightmare to fade. When he took her out she’d looked so beautiful in her strange-coloured frock, apparently unaware of the other men’s admiring glances, but the really good thing was that they had a wonderful time together. It was such a relief to be away from the family, to be able to relax, though just at first they were tongue-tied with a kind of shyness. But once they’d had a drink they loosened up; they laughed at the same things and he loved the naughty twinkle in her eye that mocked the rather stuffy couples, so proper and upright as they danced.
‘This has been such fun,’ she said – but then she got that stricken look, probably remembering poor old Hubert and feeling guilty, and he had to remind her that she was still a young woman and was allowed to be happy now and again. He was very restrained and he could see that this was winning him points. She was so grateful that he’d found the kittens and brought them along for the kids and they got a lot of amusement out of thinki
ng up silly names for them.
‘Bruno wants to call them Pipsqueak and Wilfred,’ she told him.
Remembering, Simon looks down at Bruno, who leans against him, relaxed now and half asleep.
‘OK now, old chap?’ he asks.
Bruno nods and Simon takes him back to his room, tucks him in and goes to fetch his bag.
In James’s study, Mutt stares at the sheet of paper, rereading the last sentence but quite unable to continue with the letter. Now it is Simon’s turn to knock, telling her that he must be on his way back to Exeter, and she folds the sheets into the writing case and comes out to him, shutting the door behind her.
Later
It’s over a week since I wrote that last sentence, Vivi. You’d have guessed at once, wouldn’t you, if you’d read it? Guessed that it wasn’t a bit as casual and straightforward as it sounded just written down like that in one easy sentence. I simply didn’t know what to write after it, you see.
Oh, the heaven of dressing up in something pretty – another of Honor’s frocks but this one made of a dark prune-coloured silk and only needing a little effort to make it fit properly. Thank goodness that Mother made us work hard at our dressmaking. I can’t wear Honor’s shoes, though. Her feet were bigger than mine and I’ve been able to say – with some truth – that since we mainly wore sandals in India I shall have to get some sensible shoes before winter. I’ve hidden quite a lot of her stuff in a trunk in an old lumber room and one day I must destroy it. Meanwhile I had to do my best with an old pair of strappy sandals although I did find her very pretty black velvet beaded bag that added a little glamour.
He looked so handsome in his dinner jacket. Simon is not quite as tall as either Johnny or Hubert, but he has very dark hair and disturbing brown eyes. So different from Johnny, who was blond and ruddy-looking. We took each other by surprise, once we were dressed up, and suddenly we both felt shy. There was an absolute silence in the car – until he suddenly announced that he’d been saving up his petrol ration for weeks for this visit – and it wasn’t until we’d had a drink or two that we began to relax. I pulled myself together and began to ask about his work, which I find fascinating, and it wasn’t until we got up to dance that I lost my self-control.
The Golden Cup Page 15