Henry and Cato (18 page)

Then Henry was outside, running. He passed the lift and flew light-foot down the stairs. He ran all the way to Harrods and sprang up the steps into the men's department. He walked springily about on the thick carpet looking at himself in mirrors. A warm cauldron of emotions bubbled within him. He felt frenzied compassion, desire, triumph, wild amusement. He felt kingly self-satisfaction. As he began to calm down he bought himself four very expensive shirts.

Lucius, packing his suitcase, thought: they are all of them young, concerned with a young future. Only I am old and have an old future of illness and pain and solitude and death. Even Gerda is healthy and energetic and full of projects and full of will. And now, just when I should have thought she might have needed me, she is sending me away, and perhaps Henry will not allow me to come back. His false teeth were hurting him. He had a pain in his chest. A tear came into his eye and he mopped it off into the hairs on the back of his hand.

Audrey had grudgingly accepted his proposed visit. Audrey's husband Rex treated Lucius as an old man and clearly regarded him as an old bore. Timmie and Robbie were at home so there would be ceaseless noise. Lucius could not communicate with children. He would not be able to work, so there was no good taking his manuscript. Besides, he might lose it. His bedroom would be unheated, he would have to sit with the family and watch their choice of television. There was nowhere to go for a walk. He would have to go out to the public library and write haiku. The consolations of art at least remained to him in his old age. He was experimenting further with rhymes.

Cruel the daffodils.
Every springtime kills.
I perish faster, faster.
Ah. The young master.

Gerda, looking from the terrace to see if Henry was in view in the garden, suddenly saw Sandy's green Jensen emerge from the stables and flash away along the drive. A few minutes later the ERA, towed by a Land Rover, emerged and bumped slowly off. Gerda recognized the Land Rover as belonging to the garage man and car salesman in Laxlinden. Evidently Henry had decided to sell Sandy's cars. He had said nothing to her about it. Nor had he consulted her about the fate of Sandy's papers. Gerda had watched tight-lipped as Rhoda had carried out boxes of stuff to the bonfire.

Henry had become a little more communicative, a little less sulky. Returned from taking Colette home on the night when they fell in the lake, he had described with animation the scene with the punt, Colette's desperate plunge, his own unheroic role. They had all laughed. Henry had shown more gaiety and ordinary human friendliness than at any time since his return, and Gerda's heart stirred with timid hope. After his recent visit to London he had seemed to her even more cheerful. But he still remained somehow secretive and detached. He often disappeared. He had had two long sessions with Merriman, and the solicitor had left on each occasion without seeing Gerda. Henry had also gone over again to Dimmerstone, he said to look at the state of the cottages. (The Marshalsons owned Dimmerstone.) Gerda wondered if he had been to the churchyard.

Henry, who had walked over to the post office at Laxlinden to buy stamps for several very important letters, turned round to find Colette Forbes just behind him.

‘Why, hello, water nymph!'

‘Hello, hero.'

‘None the worse for your dip in the lake?'

‘Of course not!'

‘May I buy you a stamp?'

‘How generous. I've got one.'

‘May I walk back with you?'

‘What about the yellow Volvo?'

‘How did you know about the yellow Volvo?'

‘You gave me a lift in it the other night.'

‘Oh yes, so I did, I'd quite forgotten.'

‘Anyway, you're famous in these parts. Everyone is talking about you and your doings. Didn't you know?'

‘One prefers not to know such things. As a matter of fact it was such a lovely day I thought I'd walk, like the pigeon.'

‘What pigeon?'

‘Any pigeon.'

‘Did you know you'd got an American accent?'

‘Yes. Who was that young man we passed?'

‘Giles Gosling, the architect. He's making—'

‘What is he making?'

‘Sorry. Daddy said he was making Sandy's tombstone. He's a stone cutter in his spare time.'

‘How is your pa?'

‘Cross.'

‘With you?'

‘Yes. He thinks I'm not grateful enough for the liberation of women.'

‘Women aren't liberated yet, thank God.'

‘He thinks I should have an occupation.'

‘You have. Being female.'

‘Is being male an occupation?'

‘No.'

‘I suppose I shall have to get a job.'

‘What can you do?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Excellent girl.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘What do you mean, what am I going to do?'

‘If being male isn't an occupation, what occupation are you going to take up?'

‘Painting.'

‘Really? How marvellous! I didn't know you—'

‘I don't. I'm doing it by proxy. I'm writing a book about a painter. You wouldn't have heard of him. Max Beckmann. He liked goddesses and prostitutes. Not schoolgirls.'

‘I'm not a schoolgirl!'

‘Then why do you wear your hair in a plait like that? You look ten.'

‘You look a hundred. You've got grey hairs.'

‘I haven't!'

‘Well, one anyway.'

‘So there's nothing to choose between me and Lucius Lamb.'

‘I like Lucius Lamb.'

‘Why are you so aggressive?'

‘Why are you? Here's the turning to Pennwood. Will you come and see Daddy?'

‘No. He despises me.'

‘He doesn't.'

‘He does. Good-bye.'

‘Why are you going that way? The gate's padlocked.'

‘I know, stupid. I'm going to climb over it.'

‘Then I shall come along and see you climb over it.'

‘Who lives in those converted cottages by the pub?'

‘Giles.'

‘Giles?'

‘Giles Gosling, the architect.'

‘I hear your father has bought the Oak Meadow.'

‘Yes. I hope you don't mind?'

‘Why the hell should I mind?'

‘He isn't going to build on it.'

‘Pity. I think everybody should build on everything.'

‘Here's your gate.'

Henry climbed over the gate, not in haste, taking care with his trousers as he swung over the top. He descended on the other side and stood holding the bars and looking through them at Colette. The sun was shining between stripes of yellow cloud out of a pale blue sky. Blackbirds and thrushes were singing in concert. Colette was wearing a flimsy smock dress with a pattern of tiny green and blue flowers upon it. She had pulled her plait of hair forward over her shoulder and was holding the end of it in her hand.

‘Good-bye, water bird.'

‘Good-bye, Squire.'

Henry began to walk slowly along between the fir trees, listening to the birds singing and feeling the moist warmth of the spring sunshine and thinking about Stephanie Whitehouse.

Lucius puffed down the stairs with his suitcase and put it down in the hall and dropped his overcoat across it. He wondered whether he should take his straw hat. The weather could become hot and he got terrible headaches if he failed to shade his eyes. If he took the straw hat he would have to wear it on the journey. His cap could be packed, but not the straw hat. Or perhaps Rex could lend him a hat? But Rex's head was certainly smaller than his, after all poor Rex was bald. Sheer despair at the idea of the disagreeable journey and the annihilation of his accustomed world overwhelmed him. Coming down the stairs had made him giddy. He felt thoroughly ill and wanted to lie down. He collected his cap and his straw hat from the cloakroom and put the hat on his head and pocketed the cap. He lifted the telephone to ring for the village taxi to take him to the nearest station. There was no afternoon bus.

Gerda came out of the drawing-room. ‘What do you think you're doing? And why are you wearing your straw hat?'

‘I am telephoning for a taxi,' said Lucius in a ringing voice.

‘Why? Why aren't you having your rest?'

‘BECAUSE I AM GOING TO AUDREY'S.'

‘Don't shout,' said Gerda. ‘I'd forgotten it was today.'

‘Oh had you! You order me to go away thereby inconveniencing me and my sister very much indeed and then you haven't even enough concern and enough courtesy to remember when I'm going!'

‘Have you been drinking?'

Like a wraith light-footed Henry, entering from the front door, passed between them and flew up the stairs two at a time. His skipping footsteps could be heard receding along the landing in the direction of Queen Anne.

‘Come in here,' said Gerda, ‘I want to talk to you.'

‘I shall miss the bloody train.'

‘Come in here.'

Lucius took off his straw hat and threw it on the floor and kicked it. He followed Gerda into the drawing-room and closed the door noisily.

‘How dare you speak to me like that in front of my son!' Gerda, her dark hair pulled austerely back into the big tortoise-shell slide, her eyes glowing, her pale broad face thrust forward, her large nose wrinkled with anger, confronted him, practically stepping on his feet.

Lucius sidled round her. ‘I'm sorry, my dear, I'm sorry—'

‘I will not be shouted at in my own house!'

‘I'm sorry, but I thought you might at least have remembered—'

‘Why should I remember?'

‘I did mention it at breakfast—'

‘Well, I wasn't listening. I have more important things to worry about than your timetable.'

‘I know, it only matters to me, everything about me only matters to me.'

‘Oh, stop whining.'

‘If I don't telephone I'll miss the train.'

‘Look, I've changed my mind. I don't want you to go.'

‘What?'

‘It's just as well I caught you, otherwise you might have slunk off.'

‘You might have told me before I packed, I feel quite—'

‘Look, sit down, no, put some more wood on the fire first, will you.'

‘Do you want me not to go today or not to go at all? It would be a great relief to me if—'

‘Oh stop bothering me. Sit down.'

‘I'll have to telephone Audrey.'

‘Lucius, stop fluttering and chattering, will you. Now listen—'

‘Why don't you want me to go now?'

‘I want you to go and see John Forbes.'

‘
What?
'

‘You have been seeing him occasionally, haven't you? I mean you are on speaking terms?'

‘Well,' said Lucius. They were both sitting by the fire. ‘I meet him now and then in the village. I haven't been to his house for ages.' Gerda, who had encouraged him to neglect Forbes, now seemed to be blaming him for having done so.

Bird-headed Rhoda entered soft-footed with the tea things and laid them out with deft gloved hands upon a little frail tea table close to Gerda's chair.

When she had gone Gerda said, ‘I want you to call on him.'

‘Just like that? Won't it look odd?'

‘You can find a pretext, anything will do, take him a book or something.'

‘A book?'

‘Don't keep repeating what I say. Here's your tea.'

‘Oh, Gerda, I'm so pleased not to be going away. I'm so sorry I was rude just now—'

‘You could go and see him tomorrow.'

‘But why—why do you suddenly want me to visit John Forbes?'

‘I want us to be friends with the Forbeses again. I want there to be coming and going between their house and ours.'

‘I don't understand—' said Lucius. ‘Oh, good heavens, you're not match-making between Henry and Colette Forbes?'

‘Yes, I am,' said Gerda. ‘Of course it may come to nothing, but it's not a mad idea and it is
an
idea. I want Henry to stay here, I don't want him to go back to America, I don't want him to marry an American. Colette is young and silly and she's not exactly what I would have chosen as a daughter-in-law, but she's a decent girl, of reasonably good family, capable of loyalty and capable of learning sense, and she's used to living in the country. I talked to her a little the other night and I got quite a good impression. At the very least I'd like to see more of her. And Henry seems to like her, in fact she's the first thing he seems to have liked since he came back to England. You remember how cheerful he was that evening after he had taken her home. And altogether he's been much more lively and talkative since then. Even if nothing develops, the girl will be young company for him and he may get into the habit of staying. I want to feel he lives here and isn't just visiting. So all this is why you've got to go and see John Forbes.'

‘But supposing John Forbes won't be friends?'

‘He will be. He must have thought of this. And I'm sure the girl would jump at it.'

‘I wonder. Perhaps she's already got some chap.'

‘I don't think so. Anyway you must find that out.'

‘Well, well,' said Lucius. He added, ‘Of course if Henry married Colette we'd get the Oak Meadow back, and John owns all the land on the other side as far as the river.'

Gerda said nothing, but frowned slightly. She was thinking how little, in a way, she wanted Henry to marry, but since it was necessary to have an heir he could certainly do worse than marry this girl whom Gerda could so easily control and mould. She had been worrying in case Henry had become a homosexual in America.

Lucius, who had been moved by Colette's young beauty on the evening of the lake incident, was thinking how sad it was to be old and to have no exciting plans any more, and was feeling bitter envy of Henry who could go up flights of stairs like a bird and for whose benefit attractive girls were being schemed for. And he did not particularly look forward to going to see John Forbes. What pretext could he possibly invent? But he felt extreme relief at not having to go to Audrey's. He surreptitiously helped himself to a second piece of cake.