A Tale of Two Families (9 page)

‘I said, the night we moved in, that it was like being on our honeymoon.’

They went out into the sunshine. Fran, setting Penny down again, said, ‘Will she follow?’

‘Until she gets tired – which will be pretty soon. You’ll soon learn to find your way about our lilac maze. I must show you the little hidden garden.’

Walking along the narrow, tunnel-like paths, Fran could see little except the twisted green trunks of the ancient lilacs and a network of branches overhead. Scarcely a head of lilac was visible from below. But once they reached the grassy central space around the sundial the lilac was all around them, some of it fully out.

‘This really is lovely,’ said Fran. ‘And all the more so because one feels one’s enclosed in a world of lilac.’

‘May and I knew you’d love it – and so do we. Lilac’s part of our childhood. Father used to bring you such masses and masses.’

Fran felt belatedly guilty. She must, then, have told the poor man it was her favourite flower – as indeed it had been but for a reason she wouldn’t have liked him to know. She ought to have kept her fondness for it to herself. Still, she’d made him pretty happy, she believed – deservedly happy, good, kind man. And there was no point in feeling guilty towards a man who’d been dead all of thirty years.

June continued, ‘I always feel this is somehow a
secret
garden, which makes it more fun. And it’s completely sheltered from the
wind. That garden seat’s surprisingly comfortable. It’s an old one. May had it painted white.’

Fran was admiring the graceful, intricate pattern of the iron-work when a gong boomed from the Dower House.

‘May’s installed that to call people in for meals,’ said June. ‘You can hear it as far off as the cottage. We needn’t hurry, though. She gives us fifteen minutes’ grace.’

They returned to the maze-like paths and came out into the sunshine. ‘Well, this certainly is a delightful place,’ said Fran. ‘The house, the cottage, your miraculous sea of lilac. I don’t wonder you’re all so happy here.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,’ said June. ‘Mother, do you remember Rudolph Valentino?’

Fran stared. ‘Now what in the world made you mention him?’

‘I’ve no idea. His name just flashed into my mind.’ June, feeling herself blushing, was thankful her mother had stooped to pat Penny, who had collapsed on the grass, indicating exhaustion.

‘Isn’t it extraordinary the way things do that? You’ve probably seen some photograph of him recently.’

June clutched at this. ‘Yes. It was shown on television.’

‘Wish I’d seen it – though I was disappointed when I saw a bit of one of his films not long ago. Such a smooth, blank face. A wonderful smile, though.’

‘Funny I should suddenly mention him. I suppose I remembered that you admired him.’ Really, one must be more careful. She’d mentioned Valentino simply because she was thinking of George, thinking of how much he had to do with her present happiness. But no harm had been done and it was a useful warning. Her darling mother was, as a rule, both observant and intuitive.

A pleasant smell of asparagus floated towards them. They went in to May’s truly magnificent lunch.

Life at the Dower House, Fran discovered, could be at the same time full and leisurely. She talked, ate, walked, explored the locality in Tom’s taxi and, when the sun shone, put in a good deal of time lying in the hammock now installed on the lawn outside the Long Room windows. ‘The creature’ usually lay on top of her; after a few disasters their joint hammock technique became masterly.

As her first weekend approached Fran became worried in case Penny showed too much devotion. Hugh might resent it. But Hugh had nothing to resent as Penny instantly transferred her allegiance. (Fran, though relieved, was also slightly piqued.) And Hugh was grateful for his grandmother’s interest in his dog.

‘You’re doing her good, Fran,’ he said. ‘She’s far less nervous.’

‘And I really believe she’s grown since we saw her on Monday,’ said Corinna.

Fran, seeing Hugh and Corinna together, reconsidered her views about them. June had been right in considering them idealistic, and idealism obviously suited them. And though, in Fran’s opinion, Corinna’s goodness was merely that of a sweet, pretty, harmless girl, there was something positive about Hugh’s goodness – he was good, as it were, from strength, not from weakness – rather the opposite to his father. Fran considered Robert’s vagueness a sort of weakness; only in a famous writer would she have found it completely excusable. She thought him a distinguished writer but not an exciting one and she found his occasional novels difficult to read. Still, she was proud when they received such critical acclaim, she liked him, appreciated his many good points, and greatly admired his good looks. But he never attracted her as much as George did.

George, in Fran’s opinion, was wildly attractive, all the more so because he was not noticeably good looking. She thought of his very ordinary brown hair and eyes, rather round head and face, childish nose (quite a good mouth, though) as simply a background waiting to be lit up by his charm. Indeed, the charm lit up more than George’s personality; it lit up his surroundings. When he came home in the evening the atmosphere at the Dower House became that of a house where a party is due to start.

And he never missed an evening – or, for that matter, his train. Day after day he returned, apparently untired, to hand round evening papers and – as often as not – small presents, dispense drinks and have a pleasant conversation with Fran before they all settled down to one of May’s dinners.

Fran was alarmed about the amount of food she was eating. Her first lunch had been asparagus, grilled sole, and strawberries; her first dinner, smoked salmon, roast chicken, and crème brulée. She had said, while tucking into the crème brulée, ‘Darling May, a month of food like this and I shall have to slim for a year. Surely two courses would be more than enough?’

George said, ‘It’s no use, Fran. We all have to give in to May’s ruling vice, which is vicarious gluttony. She loves seeing people eat.’

‘You need a good dinner, George,’ said May firmly. ‘But you can refuse anything you don’t want, Mother. I shan’t mind.’

‘It’s a case of lead us not into temptation,’ said Fran. ‘Oh, well.’ She accepted a second helping of crème brulée.

But after a couple of weeks, having put on a skirt that was suspiciously tight, she decided she must seriously watch her weight. And there were no bathroom scales. She mentioned this while having morning coffee in the Long Room, with May and Baggy.

‘They got left behind in London,’ said May. ‘I’ll buy some.’

‘No,
I
will. I’ll go shopping this afternoon. There are several things I want to get and I shall enjoy poking around that nice old town.’

May, who had already poked round their nearest town as much as she cared to, said she would be tied up that afternoon but she’d order a taxi for two-thirty. Baggy, then, in a very tentative tone, asked Fran if he might come with her. He added hastily, ‘I only mean in the taxi. I won’t bother you while you’re shopping. It’s just that I’ve some shopping to do myself.’

‘But of course, Baggy,’ said Fran heartily, having noticed his tentative tone. There was no doubt about it; Baggy was very often tentative and she was less and less sure he was happy. ‘I shall love having you.’ She had rather fancied an afternoon on her own but must certainly jump at this chance of giving him an outing.

‘Time you started for your walk, Baggy,’ said May briskly, as she carried the coffee-tray to the kitchen.

Baggy, when the door had closed behind her, said he would like Fran’s advice on his shopping. ‘But it’s a secret from May for the moment,’ he whispered.

Anything said in the Long Room was liable to be overheard in the kitchen. ‘Then I’ll come to your room,’ said Fran.

She accompanied him and prepared to be very interested in his secret. She waited until he had settled her in his armchair and then said, ‘Now, Baggy.’

‘Remember that first lunch you had here when there was asparagus? May asked you if you’d had enough and you said you’d never in your life had enough asparagus.’

‘Did I, Baggy?’ said Fran, slightly bewildered.

‘Of course May offered you more but you said what you meant was that, as asparagus was a first course, one always had to
save some appetite for what was to follow – so one never,
really
, had enough asparagus.’

Fran laughed. ‘Yes, I remember now. It’s something I’ve often felt.’

‘And you said it was much the same with strawberries because
they
come at the
end
of a meal when one hasn’t enough appetite left to eat a lot. I was very much struck because that’s how I feel and I’m sure lots of people do. So I thought… you see, I want to give everyone a treat.’

He then plunged into explaining that he had often given June and Robert treats – ‘It was easy, then, because there were lots of expensive things they never had. But it’s difficult with May and George as they have expensive things at almost every meal. And I do want to buy them something special for next Sunday, to make a celebration!

‘It is somebody’s birthday?’ May’s was over, June’s not yet – how she’d once disliked those names her husband had fancied, but she’d long ago got fond of them. ‘May’ was so old-fashioned that it was positively distinguished. ‘Perhaps it’s yours, Baggy?’

‘It’s nobody’s. It’s in honour of me being still alive. You see, I made Rosehaven over to Robert to save him death duties but I had to live seven years or he’d still have had to pay them. I was a bit afraid Fate might bump me off just to spite me but now it looks as if I shall make my bet – that is, if I can hang on till Sunday.’

Rosehaven? Of course, it was his singularly ugly suburban house. She said, with feeling, ‘How kind and sensible of you to make that plan. It’s sad I shall have so little to leave. I’ve often wished my husband hadn’t tied up so much in my annuity.’

‘No doubt he wanted to make sure that you’d always be safe. Still, it’d have been a bad investment if you’d died young.’

‘I’d never have done anything so wasteful,’ said Fran. ‘But about this celebration…’

‘I’d like to give them all an asparagus feast for Sunday lunch – a real glut of asparagus, and then a glut of strawberries.’

‘It’s a marvellous idea.’ Fran meant it. She couldn’t imagine a more delightful meal. But would May settle for a lunch without a middle course?

‘We shall need dozens and dozens of bundles. There’ll be eight of us and May likes those women in the kitchen to have what we have. I’d say we’d need four dozen bundles.’

‘Baggy, dear!’

‘Yes, really. And baskets and baskets of strawberries.’

‘I wonder if we can get them, Baggy. Strawberries must still be fairly scarce.’

‘There’s a good shop May patronises. They’ll be able to order them – and enough asparagus.’

‘You don’t think we ought to discuss it with May?’

‘If we did, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Oh, I know it can’t be a complete surprise because she’ll have to cook the asparagus, but the surprise will be when we tell her it’s ordered.’

‘Of course it will,’ said Fran heartily. She found his desire to give this treat extremely touching – and really rather clever and original. May must be made to see the cleverness and originality. ‘That’s settled, then. I won’t say a word. Now oughtn’t you to start your walk?’

But he said he would skip his walk and she realised he wanted to go on talking. She didn’t mind, except that talking to him usually meant that one had to call the tune, start all the subjects, and it wasn’t too easy to find ones that interested him. There was no more to be said about her flat as she’d not yet had an answer to the letter he’d drafted for her. However, she managed to keep
the conversation going for an hour or so and then said she must dress for their outing. ‘I’ll change before lunch so that I shan’t keep the taxi waiting.’

On her way upstairs she asked herself how she could make the afternoon pleasurable for the old man. They would have tea somewhere. And she’d wear clothes she thought he would like. She had a pale blue tweed suit. Most men liked pale blue and the older they got the more they liked it. She herself thought it insipid but not bad if mixed with other colours. She would wear a yellow sweater. Quite a good combination. And she’d do a little something to her hair and make-up.

Her trouble was rewarded at lunch when Baggy said how nice she looked. ‘Mabel would have liked that shade of blue. She always admired the way you turned yourself out.’

‘How nice of her,’ said Fran warmly, trying to remember Mabel. All that came to mind was a bundlesome figure reminiscent of a small-size cottage loaf and a face like a pretty cauliflower.

May saw them off in the taxi, after arranging that Tom would pick them up in the market square for the return journey. ‘And of course charge it to the account, Tom. Don’t let them pay you a penny.’ She closed the taxi door on them, glad of an afternoon to herself. She was now considering a quite new line on the conservatory.

Fran had been none too certain that the little town would be equal to Baggy’s needs, but she found that the largest fruit and vegetable shop was considerably better than the one she dealt with in London. The manager did not flinch at the mention of four dozen bundles of asparagus and, though strawberries were still expensive, any amount could be obtained for a definite order. Everything would be delivered early on Saturday morning. The only surprise shown was when Baggy produced
his cheque book. The Dower House credit would have been good for any amount.

‘Well, that was all very satisfactory,’ she said as they came out of the shop. ‘And a truly princely present, Baggy. Now what ought we to do?’ She looked around, slightly bewildered. This wasn’t the sleepy little market town she had expected it to be. One was in some danger of being pushed off the pavements by the crowds. ‘Will you come with me while I do my shopping?’

But Baggy stuck to his undertaking to let her shop on her own, and this wasn’t only out of consideration for her. He planned to buy a new pair of country shoes and then study the windows and showcases of the town’s three house agents. There would be photographs and particulars of properties for sale. Always interesting to note what prices were being asked. But he told Fran he hoped she would do him the honour of having tea with him.

‘Oh, Baggy, I meant to ask
you
!’

‘Well, I got in first,’ said Baggy, looking pleased. ‘Shall we say five o’clock? That looks like a good tea-shop.’ It was a few doors along the street in a handsome Georgian house, its façade little changed. ‘Now off you go. Women always take longer over their shopping than they expect to. Mabel always did.’

Fran, amused by this suddenly dominant Baggy, started off at a brisk pace but soon slackened it; one really could not walk fast through so many shoppers, most of whom were dawdling. They were also jostling – and the perambulators were the worst jostlers of all. Their pushers seemed to think they had an invincible right of way. Well, they probably deserved it; shopping while coping with a pram must be exhausting. What handsome vehicles most of them were, positively the Rolls Royces of pramdom. She extracted her instep from under a wheel and turned into a side street that looked worth exploring.

Here there were fewer and smaller shops and far fewer shoppers. This was more like the town she had expected. How delightful the houses were, some Tudor, some Georgian, some imposing, some quite humble – she came to a close of ancient cottages which were little better than slums but still beautiful in their decay, with geraniums in their none-too-clean lattice windows. Fascinating that they should still exist little more than a stone’s throw from the busy High Street with its Woolworth’s and supermarkets. She wasn’t against progress. One mustn’t expect little country towns to crumble uncomplainingly just to oblige one’s sense of the picturesque, but it was pleasant to find survivals such as this. But the whole street, much of it well preserved, was a miracle of survival.

A clock with a deep, musical chime struck the half hour. How right that sound was for her surroundings, how it crystallised the moment – in a way, made time stand still. Strange that a chime denoting the passage of time should somehow annihilate time. She was pleased with the thought… But she must get back to the High Street and do her shopping before exploring the town further.

She walked springily, enjoying the afternoon sun and feeling extremely well. A little tune was running in her head. After lunch, while waiting for the news on television, she had seen a cartoon teaching children how to cross roads. There had been a song – ‘Fanta, the elephant, going to school…’ The
baby
elephant had to learn its kerb drill. ‘Left, right, keep to the rule.’ It was a catchy tune. She found herself prancing along to it, absurdly feeling that she was Fanta. But even a baby elephant must feel heavier than she did. She was herself as a child, at any moment she might take to skipping instead of walking. What nonsense…

Back in the High Street she wondered where to buy bathroom scales. A good chemist would have them – and she
now remembered she’d said she’d give Baggy some bath oil. There was a large chemist on the other side of the street. She crossed without difficulty owing to a hold-up in the traffic – though eeling between the waiting cars was something of a feat; Fanta, the elephant, wouldn’t have had the figure for it. Yes, there were some scales in the chemist’s window. But before going in she’d just glance at the dress shop next door.