Mrs De Winter (25 page)

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I could not go to him. Then who should I see? How would I find out? I knew no one to ask. If either of us were ill, I imagined we would easily find out the name of the local man, probably from Dora or Mrs Peck. But I shied away from the idea of seeing anyone I might have to meet socially some day — for we would get to know people, I wanted to be friendly, to fit in to our neighbourhood, and the doctor was such an obvious person to invite. I felt that I could not face someone I knew, or might come to know, if I had consulted them about this, it seemed too worrying, too intimately connected with our life here.

I wanted to go to London, just as Rebecca had done, I thought, in an impersonal way, to consult someone quite formally, who knew nothing about me. In the old days, I would have been able to ask Beatrice for advice. Now, I knew no one. How did one find a London doctor? I felt oddly panic stricken and helpless, isolated here for the first time, out of touch with the world.

Maxim came out of the door, stood for a few seconds looking around him, taking in the house, the garden, the slopes, I saw the pleasure lighting his face, the air of satisfaction. He was happy, as I was, he loved Cobbett’s Brake. We could not moulder here by ourselves, there would be so little point in restoring everything, adding to the land, building it all up to something even better, if we were to slip down into old age as the previous owners had done, and leave it empty again, falling into neglect, because we could no longer manage and there was no one else to carry it on into the future. I must have the boys, I thought fiercely, I must, I will have them, for myself, because I have seen them,

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I almost know them, but even more, for Maxim, and for Cobbett’s Brake.

And I went up the path towards him, and the children were there, just out of sight, following me.

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fourteen

I had forgotten about calling, that dreadful custom in the old country society that had caused me so many agonies of embarrassment and awkwardness at Manderley. Everyone had come, there was a new visitor every afternoon, it seemed, inquisitive women and occasionally a husband, too, curious about the new bride. I had had to sit on the edge of a chair in the formal drawing room, making light conversation, trying to answer their questions, for half an hour or so, and even worse, return the calls, never knowing what to say, waiting for the clock to tick the heavy time away. But that was a lifetime ago. We had been away for so long, and then there had been the war, which had changed so much - I could tell that even in the course of those first few weeks at Cobbett’s Brake; some of the old formalities and social barriers were breaking down and I was relieved, glad things were to be less rigid and pre-ordained. I had never felt at ease, never been confident of knowing the code, and Maxim had cared about it all so much in those days, I had been so anxious never to let him down.

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I knew that he had introduced himself to a couple of neighbouring landowners and the local farmers, and was sure that Mrs Peck and Dora would have spoken about us, though I had tried to explain that we were very private people, liking each other’s company and a quiet life — I did not want to risk news of our arrival spreading too widely — people here were not familiar with our story, perhaps, but someone might remember, dig out an old paper, talk to a relative, perhaps, from our old part of the world.

So that I was apprehensive at once, hearing the sound of a strange car, the crunch of tyres on the gravel at the front of the house. I had been talking to Ned Farraday, who was working in the garden now, about whether or not to try and rebuild an old, dilapidated wall that bounded the south side, or whether it was too far gone and should be replaced. In the Manderley days of course, Frith would have come to find me, in his solemn, stately way, bearing a white visiting card on the silver salver. Now, Ned looked over to the drive and said, ‘Mrs Butterley — you’ll have met her then?’

‘No,’ I said, and at once was aware of the nervous churning starting up in my stomach, and that I was clenching my fingers tightly into my palms. ‘No, I don’t believe I have. Is she a neighbour, Ned?’

Tfou might say,’ he grinned. ‘Lives over at Thixted — married to the old colonel — only everybody’s neighbour to that Mrs Butterley, forty miles around.’

‘I see.’ I left him, full of apprehension, already forming the polite sentences, and the evasive answers, in my head, resenting her for disturbing us. I had such a selfish, greedy |attitude to my days at Cobbett’s Brake. I felt time slipping

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past and that we had lost too much of it already, I could not bear to waste any more on people I did not have to know, I wanted to arrange everything in the house, plan the garden, be with Maxim. And brood, dream, make my plans. I felt like an old, bad tempered recluse, jealous of our privacy. ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, and smiled what felt like a stiff, false smile. ‘How very kind of you to call,’ and walked up the drive to meet her. But even as I did so, even as I spoke, and before she did, I knew that I was wrong, quite wrong, and felt a barrier fall and my defences and reserves dissolve away. I looked into her broad, eager, open face and saw that of a friend, someone from whom could come no possible threat.

She was a tall woman, broad shouldered, with wildly straying, auburn hair going grey at the sides, and she was carrying an armful of roses bundled up into newspaper, and something else wrapped in a tea towel. Well,’ she called, bursting into peals of laughter, ‘coals to Newcastle I see, I might have known you’d have got all the old roses back simply too much of a temptation and besides, really, they were so well established, they simply have a mind of their own and will flower where they will flower. Still, here are some of ours and you can never have too many, I like bowlfuls all over the house don’t you?’ She had grasped my hand firmly in hers. ‘How do you do — I’m Bunty Butterley, neighbours more or less — of course, we knew the old Dennises well, poor things. They struggled on here for too long, I’m only glad it’s got someone to give it lots of love and attention. That’s all a house needs, isn’t it? Love - like the young and the old, really -‘ She turned and stood, surveying Cobbett’s Brake with pleasure.

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‘And my God, what a house — it’s perfect really, isn’t it, nothing wrong at all? You should see our Victorian monster — I love it in its way, of course, wouldn’t be anywhere else, but we put up with its ugliness and discomforts. You’ve nothing to do here but admire and enjoy and keep it going in the old way.’

Won’t you come in — I was just going to have coffee. Dora would call me in five minutes.’

Tes, you’ve got that angel, Dora Ruby. Salt of the earth that family - ‘

She followed me in through the side door, calling out, going towards the kitchen. I knew that it was all right and

I need not be concerned — this was a friend, not a ‘caller5, I could take her happily into whichever room I chose.

‘I brought you a cake, because I suppose one feels one should, instinct to feed and so on, and what a joy to be able to give away food after we all had to be so greedy and secretive and squirrel it into our own little stores through those dreary years. Mind you, with Dora you don’t need me and my offerings — hello Dora, my dear, you’d know I’d get here in the end. I don’t suppose Mrs de Winter has been overburdened with visitors, we’ve rather given up on all that and a good thing too. We’re all properly busy now, and call when we want to, not because we think we ought.’

She is like Beatrice, I thought as I stood, smiling, listening to her boom out so cheerfully, seeming to fill the kitchen full of herself, she has the same easy, open way with people, no side, no falsity, that’s why I feel at ease with her. And I went forward and took the tray from Dora. ‘I’m so glad you came,’

I1 said. Tve been wondering when I would have someone to

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chat to.’ And I realised it was quite true, I found I wanted to talk, to ask questions, to enjoy her company.

‘Bunty Butterley,’ she said, following me to the small sitting room, which got the best sun at this time of day. ‘Isn’t it a hilarious name. I was born Barbara Mount, much more staid but somehow all Barbaras were Bunty to our mothers’ generation and then I upped and married Bill and took Butterley on board. I’m used to it now of course.’

She plumped down in the armchair beside the window, and looked round the room immediately. Tes. You’re loving it, I can see. Freshening it up, making it sprucer, but keeping its heart and soul intact. I approve of that.’

‘It felt so right when we came in. I didn’t want to make many changes. It was the outside of the house I fell in love with.’

“Who wouldn’t? It had got rather bleak in here, you know — we came over one afternoon the winter before last and it was cold as a vault and everything was so shabby and to tell the truth, a bit grubby, too. You took a good look at your spoon before you stirred your tea with it and gave it a surreptitious wipe on your skirt! We all wondered who’d take it over once it was obvious Raymond wasn’t interested — he’s a career soldier, of course, can’t wait for another war I daresay. Bill was never like that, for all he was a colonel. He’s years older than me, I don’t know if anybody’s told you - married twice, first wife died after only a few months, poor little thing, and then he had the army and so forth—I was quite long in the tooth, well over thirty, when he took up with me, but we’ve managed four girls all the same - all left home now, of course, though they’re back this weekend with boyfriends

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and whatnot in tow, such a sweat. Still, we wouldn’t change it, so long as they leave us in peace in between. Yours are off at school I suppose?’

‘No,’ I said briskly, ‘no, we don’t have any children, it ‘

‘Oh, dear — is that a problem? My dear, do forgive me, how very tactless - it’s nothing whatsoever to do with me, forget I said it.’

‘No.’ I got up quickly, and refilled my cup. The sun was brilliant, flooding the comfortable little room, and I felt a sudden urge to talk, to pour out feelings and worries I had kept locked tightly within myself for years. I had never met anyone with whom I felt so instantly at ease, and trusting. She was not a subtle or an oversensitive woman but she was kind, warm, generous of spirit, I did not feel that she would be dismissive or critical.

‘Actually —’ I said, ‘to tell you the truth, it is a problem - it’s very difficult. Perhaps you could tell me of a doctor I might see? We’ve been abroad — I don’t know of anyone really, or how to go about finding the right one. Only — I wouldn’t want it talked about.’

I felt my face flush. She looked at me squarely, her eyes quite serious. ‘Absolutely understood. You may be surprised but I am very good at not blabbing - my father taught me. Tittle tattle about any old stuff, he’d say, but never betray what matters. I’ve tried to stick to it.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I believe that. Thank you.’

‘And as to your doctor - I’ll have to make a few very discreet enquiries. I’m afraid I had mine just like that, you see, and old Broadford, the local chap looked after me - he’s retired now, of course, there’s a sharp new young man I don’t

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much take to but he’s fine for all the coughs and colds and Bill’s arthritis. We’re never ill much, though I suppose one has to look to old age. But I’ve a niece and a sister in London who’ll be able to advise. I’ll let you know and I won’t keep you waiting. Shall we go out and look at the roses and I’ll tell you what’s been lost through neglect, if I can, you might want to put something back, though of course you’ll have your own ideas and quite right too. Are you a very keen gardener? We are, frightfully.’

And she was off, striding out of the house, calling out to Ned. I wondered what Maxim would make of her, whether he would find her tiresome. But it did not matter. She was good for me just now, her forthrightness was what I needed. And she had asked no questions about us at all, only appeared to accept whatever we were at once and carry on from that point.

We went out, into the sunshine of the garden.

‘His name is Lovelady.’ She had telephoned me early that evening. Which you will have to agree is the most divine name for a gynaecologist, and my niece says he’s the absolutely top man, she wouldn’t look at anyone else, and very sympathetic and all that, which I’m sure you want, but no smarm either, tells you what’s what.’

‘I think I’d prefer that too.’

“Well, of course you would, you want to know where you are. He’s not in Harley Street either, which is a blessing I should say, it’s such a dreary street. He’s in Kensington, a nice quiet square.’ She gave me the address and telephone

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number. Td offer to come with you, I wouldn’t mind a day up in town, and of course you’ve only to ask, but I should think you’d rather go alone, wouldn’t you?’

Tes, actually I do think I would, Bunty. But thank you.’

‘No bother at all — now don’t worry, my dear — what will be will be - you might as well be philosophical — but of course it’s stupidly easy for me to talk. Good luck.’

I had written the name and number on a piece of paper and now, hearing Maxim on the staircase, I stuffed it into my pocket, as if I were guilty of something. I felt guilty. I did not understand why, but I wanted to do all this in secret, never to tell him. If the doctor suggested that he wanted to see Maxim too, I would simply say it was impossible, and bury the whole matter, it seemed almost a matter of pride that I saw to it alone. We never spoke of children now.

I tried to plan out very carefully how I would broach the subject of a visit to London, turned phrases and reasons over in my mind, even mouthed them to myself. I thought that I would choose the right moment, say it as I went out of the room perhaps, casually, as if it were of no particular importance, an afterthought.