“My dears! Darlings! This is nice! Jane, did you plan this? How are you, Henry? Felicity! What a magnificent basket of fruit! Virginia! Darling, would you take that basket of fruit into the kitchen? My daffodils. Dear Margaret. I would know this parcel for yours anywhere, Carol, my dear, so charmingly packed. Hallo, Simon!” She patted George’s arm. “I am so very glad to see you, George.”
They all spoke at once. Telling Anna how the day had been planned. That food was in the cars outside. That Miss Doe was on her way. That they had brought their own drinks. That the grandchildren were coming. Anna, raising her face from Margaret’s daffodils, told them the excitement was almost too much for an old lady. That they had thought of everything, even to collecting Miss Doe. That she hoped one of them had brought a camera; they must have a family group. They all laughed a little more heartily than the joke warranted. A family group! Of course. It could go with the other groups, next to those heavenly photographs of everybody having tea. Jane said:
“We must go and look at the photographs; you ought to have the one of Henry in uniform, Carol, he looks so patriotic.”
Felicity gave Carol an understanding smile.
“Spare her family museum pieces.”
Virginia was back from the kitchen. She had been watching her grandmother. Her voice sang with relief.
“I adore everything in Grannie’s bedroom. Especially the bull.”
They laughed again but this time without effort. There had never been a time when the bronze bull with a fancy history had not been a family joke.
“You wait until old Cousin Tom dies,” said Anna. “I should not be at all surprised if somewhere he had not put away the medals that bull won.”
Virginia fetched Slipper from the car. She held him in her arms.
“Look, Grannie! This is Slipper. Isn’t he a blessed boy?”
Anna ran Slipper’s ears through her fingers. A dog! She had not prepared for that. Dogs smelt things. Dogs dug things up.
“He’s beautiful, but I’m afraid, darling, I’ll have to ask you to keep him on a lead.”
“Not in the wood part, Grannie. It’s his first day in the country and I do want him to enjoy it.”
“I’m afraid it will have to be a lead all the time. Old Smith has been a little cantankerous lately. I don’t want him to leave me for he suits me so well.”
They scattered. The men to park the cars in the drive; Jane and Carol to unpack the food; Felicity to wander alone. Anna stood in the drive watching the cars. Virginia, with Slipper on a lead, rushed round the garden, flying back to Anna to report. “Grannie, the rhododendron has lived all right. I told Smith it would.” “Grannie, the water butt looks terrible, somebody must paint it.” “Oh, Grannie, somebody’s pulled up some of the bluebells in the glade. I can see the places where they were.”
“Where’s your car, George?” Anna asked.
“Leaving it outside. Got to beetle off soon to collect the children.”
Henry and Simon joined them. Henry asked:
“How’s your car doing, Mother?”
“All right, dear. I don’t use it much in the winter, you know.”
George pricked up his ears. The day had looked empty of occupation. Overhauling a car was just his idea of a Sunday amusement.
“Tell you what. Might have it out while we’re here. What you say, Simon? See she’s running all right. You’ll want her soon, nice weather coming.”
There was an infinitesimal pause while Anna thought what to answer.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, George dear, but somebody is seeing to it next week.”
George saw no reason to be deprived of harmless amusement.
“Two heads are better than one. Might give her a toot round. What you say, Simon?”
Anna spoke firmly.
“No, thank you, George dear. I’ve engaged a man, the garage is locked. I don’t want my car touched.”
Simon gave Anna a quick glance. His ear had caught uneasiness in Anna’s reply. He wondered what the old lady was hiding. Had she smashed the car up? She had always been a damn bad driver and, in his opinion, should have given up driving years ago. Perhaps the car being smashed was at the back of this recluse business. Could be. She was an independent creature and wouldn’t fancy the hat being passed round to replace her car. He and George must try and get a quiet look at that car. It would be a shame if the old lady had nothing to get about in.
The children, in wild spirits, danced out of the train. George carefully counted them. Carol and Henry’s two, Jane and Simon’s three, making five. That was right. He must not forget Simon’s instruction that he was to tip the children off that if Anthea was late in arriving they were to say she was walking up from the station.
Helen was the first to reach him. He had an eye for a pretty face. He held her from him.
“You are growing up. Quite the beauty!” He held out a hand to Lucia. “How are you, old lady?”
Lucia felt he should be put at his ease.
“You needn’t worry. I can see Helen looks simply marvellous. That coat and skirt is American styling for the teen-ager. This is utility, bought two years ago for Anthea. The only thing to say is I look better in this than in the brown Mother meant me to wear, a message which Dad nobly forgot to give me.”
George was staring at Andrew.
“Why the luggage?”
The children exchanged glances. On the train different replies to that question had been compiled, amidst wild laughter, for the different relatives who might be on the platform. George had received high marks for trustworthiness and full marks for non-interference. Paul answered.
“It’s a bit of shopping Andrew did yesterday.”
“I was sick after having gas.” Andrew’s voice became Jane’s. “He’s perfectly fit to go back to school, it will be the best place for him.” He returned to his own voice. “But it wasn’t. He was too ill to travel. He went shopping instead.”
The children laughed so much they had to prop each other up and mop their eyes. George waited for their amusement to die down.
“What you want to do with it?”
Paul snatched the parcel from Andrew.
“In a way it’s mine because I was the financier. Would it be safe from being opened in your car?”
Peter was clearly nervous of the parcel being seen.
“I’m sure the left luggage would be safest.”
George had no idea what the parcel contained and cared less, but he remembered his own schooldays and things that had to be kept from parents. He spoke with comforting authority.
“Put it in the back of my car.” He jerked his thumb towards the exit. “Come on. If somebody else drives you back to the station, remember to shift it.”
The children climbed into the car. Lucia asked:
“How is Grannie?”
“Never looked better.” Nudges and exchanged glances ran round the car. George knew they were going on. He said: “Virginia thought she might be ill, skin disease or something. Nothing’s wrong.”
Lucia was in front next to George.
“How very peculiar. Then why wouldn’t she let Virginia stay with her?”
George raised his voice so that all the children could hear his answer.
“Never believe in wondering why anybody does anything. Their own business. Your Grandmother’s got reasons, no doubt. You kids have a good day, that’s the important thing.”
The kitchen was in a state of bustle. Jane and Margaret had been willing to help but Carol had got rid of them. Jane was in an aggressive mood, prepared to insist that everything was done her way. Miss Doe was not standing for such behaviour in a kitchen in which she usually ruled, and Carol did not blame her. Margaret, though charming to Miss Doe, was just about the worst person in a kitchen Carol had ever seen, and she had met some inefficie
nt cooks since she had been British. She and Miss Doe would get everything prepared more easily if left alone.
“You planned this family day as a wonderful surprise for your mother. Now, don’t disappoint her by shutting yourselves up in the kitchen. Miss Doe and I will fix everything. Won’t we, Miss Doe?”
Miss Doe had never known Carol. She turned, in her head, what Carol said, and what she felt about her, into a conversation she would have later with Emma. “Well, I speak as I find. I never thought I’d care for Americans, after those ones who were here in the war, I mean you did see them doing things which weren’t very nice. But Lady Caldwell isn’t like that at all, just as simple to talk to as you are. You know that way Henry has of suddenly ringing up and saying ‘Buy this, Buy that’; she never knew. She laughed when I told her. ‘Isn’t that like Henry,’ she said. ‘He’s like a child when it comes to running a home,’ and she told me about the couple called Fitch that look after their country place; the woman sounds a proper terror, but she’s got a good daily for the London flat. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have seen the way she laid the food out. It’s a knack, I suppose, and having the things to do it with. The plates looked like an advertisement in one of those American magazines Felicity sends her mother. She was as excited as a child that the children were coming. We had coffee and cakes waiting for them, and long before they could get to the house she kept running to the window to see if she could see them. She asked me a lot about Mrs. Caldwell, not in a curious way, you know, but nicely, knowing I’d know everything. I told her there was nothing to worry about at the moment. That my old dears all had their little ways, but I dropped a hint about what you’d said—you know, it might be the beginning of softening.”
The children raced in at the gate. They had quite a reception committee. Carol, with an apron on and a fork in one hand, ran out from the kitchen. “Helen! Paul!” Virginia and Slipper rushed to meet them. Simon and Anna were waiting in the drive. Margaret, who had been standing in a trance in front of the forsythia, heard their voices and hurried to greet them. Lucia—she must make a fuss of Lucia—and she had promised to try and have a talk with Peter.
“Come into the kitchen, dears,” said Carol. “Miss Doe and I have been fixing some food for you.”
Anna kissed them all and held them from her to see how they looked.
“Dear Peter, how have you been?” “Why, Helen, you’re quite grown up and how nice you look.”
Simon drew his children to one side to know if they had seen Anthea. They had. They had passed Jim Bury’s car on the way up from the station.
“Do you suppose, Dad,” Lucia said, “he’d let me drive back in the car? There’s a sort of place at the back I could squeeze in.”
Simon put an arm round her.
“I wouldn’t suggest that if I were you.”
“It would be no good suggesting it,” Andrew pointed out. “You couldn’t squeeze in, but I could.”
“But you won’t. You’ll go back to school with Paul. You’ve caused enough trouble.”
Andrew said softly:
“I know his mother said to send him back by the afternoon train, Mrs. Miggs, but I couldn’t, he did look bad . . . Nor couldn’t I ’ave, Miss Jones. Many’s the time I’ve said to Miggs, no matter what the school says I’m keeping our Ursula at ’ome.”
Peter and Lucia looked at their father. Would he appreciate the imitation, or was he too cross with Andrew for that?
Simon laughed.
“Go and have some food, and don’t be flippant about yesterday to your mother; she won’t like it, and she’s quite right. I expect I ought to beat you.”
Lucia hung back.
“You will stand up for me when Mother sees me. You didn’t say anything to me about wearing the brown, did you?”
“Entirely forgot the message.” He looked at her. He did not see an awkward, rather plain adolescent in a far too tight frock and coat, he only saw anxious, honest, innocent eyes gazing with pathetic anxiety up into his. He would have liked to have hugged her, but it would have embarrassed them both. “What was that nonsense you said about shaming me?”
“Well, Dad, you should face the truth. They tell us that at school prayers. The truth is, I am the sort of daughter that relations look sorry for you for having. Just imagine how proud you’d be if I looked like Helen.”
His answer was so spontaneous she had to believe him.
“I wouldn’t change you for anybody in the world. I love you exactly as you are.”
“Do you, Dad? You do surprise me. But you would like me not to stick out everywhere, and to be better dressed.”
“If you stuck out less there would be less of you. Are your clothes wrong?”
She looked at him, pityingly.
“Terrible—particularly against Helen’s and Virginia’s.”
“Well, that’s easily put right. Your Aunt Carol will help. Perhaps she could get you some things from America.”
Lucia clasped her hands.
“Teen-age styling! Oh, Dad, if only she would! But it’s too good to be true. Things like that only happen in dreams.”
“You trust me. I’m a great persuader.”
The kitchen was full; the children standing round the table eating; Carol, Margaret and Miss Doe filling up cups with coffee. Miss Doe saw the scene as a word picture prepared for Emma.
“You ought to have seen that little Helen. I never saw her before; she’s not visited her grandmother since she was a tiny. She is a smart little thing, smarter even than Virginia and that’s saying something, for you know how nicely she’s always turned out. She was wearing sort of grey with a longer skirt than Virginia wears hers, and very pretty shoes. Suede they were, flat-heeled, more like house shoes but smart. You should have seen poor Lucia. Of course there are girls you can’t make look nice whatever you do, and I’d say she’s one of them. Worst thing is she didn’t seem to know how she looked alongside Helen and Virginia; marched into the kitchen as if she’d bought it. ‘Come on, slow coach, or we’ll have eaten everything,’ young Paul said. ‘I don’t mind,’ Lucia said, ‘I’ve been talking to Dad.’ Proper Miss Pert.”
Margaret was studying Peter, noting the too narrow chest and the words hurrying out of his mouth, as if he feared that unless he got them out quickly he would not have the breath to get them out at all. She wished Simon had asked her about him when he was younger; presumably everything had been tried, but she would have liked to see what swimming could do for him; no messing about but train him as for a championship. She observed him as if he were a boy brought to her surgery. He looked nervous and what she unprofessionally called hangdoggish. If he were a boy in her surgery she would have suspected trouble at home, or that he was not happy at work. She would have started her treatment by attempting to put him at ease and getting him to talk.
Helen’s chirrupy voice called out:
“Have you seen your mother yet, Lucia?”
“No. I’ll feel better when I’ve got it over.” Lucia turned to Virginia. “Mother wanted me to wear that brown.”
Virginia helped herself to a bun.
“The brown! You couldn’t.”
“That’s what I thought. Dad forgot to give me the message.” She saw Carol’s eyes on her. “I know you’re thinking I couldn’t look worse than I do in this blue, but I could. I look much worse in the brown, don’t I, Virginia?” Margaret found the excuse of seeing if the cups were full to give Lucia a kiss. Lucia was surprised. “Was that for pity, because you needn’t be sorry for me? I’m used to myself.”
Margaret laughed.
“Look at me. Do I look as if I cared what any one had on? It was just auntish love.”
Miss Doe, storing the chatter for Emma, again turned her thoughts into narrative form. “I felt sorry the doctor had said that, for you know she’s nothing to look at and I was afraid the children might laugh
. I always say, Emma, tact is my middle name. So I called out as quick as quick, ‘You seen your American Grannie, lately, Paul?’ and I was glad I had for though the children laughed and laughed, almost hysterical they were, it looked as if it was something to do with the Grannie and Grandfather in America and not at the poor doctor. I could see Lady Caldwell—well, Carol, I should say—was grateful to me, for she smiled ever so nicely and said, ‘I hope to take them over next year, all being well. The world being in the state it is I don’t like to make plans that far ahead, but I surely would like to take them if it can be arranged.’”
The children’s giggles had died down. They had heard what Carol said. Helen came to her mother and put an arm round her.
“Mum thinks I ought to have boy friends. When she was my age she was ‘dated up,’ weren’t you, Mum?”
Carol, without looking at Margaret, Miss Doe or the children, knew that being a young girl with plenty of dates seemed to them all vaguely unpleasant. She could not make them see her young self and the good times she and her mother had choosing her frocks. That to be popular with boys in the way she had been popular had been important; that both her mother and father had thought her having fun while she was young was something that really mattered.
Paul said:
“I don’t want to go to America.”
Carol heard in his voice that the Paul of yesterday who had cuddled up to her to confide his little money worries had gone, and the remote Paul, the very English schoolboy of last holidays, was back. She stifled a sigh.
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing, Miss Doe.”
“Yes, I do, you said Grandfather would take us to his summer place and there’d be riding and shooting and fishing, and I don’t like any of those things.”
“What do you like doing?” Margaret asked.
Helen made a face.
“Reading. He’s disgustingly clever; he would read all day long if Mummie would let him.”
Carol nodded.
“It’s quite true, Margaret. He takes after Henry. I guess he was always reading when he was that age.” Because she would have liked to have hugged Paul and told him she did not mind what he did, but knew how ashamed he would be at such behaviour before his cousins, she picked up one of the plates on which she had arranged food for luncheon. “While the children are eating shall we get the dining-room set?”
Mothering Sunday Page 22