No Fond Return of Love (31 page)

And yet, she felt, perhaps because of the conversation by the sea at Taviscombe, there was some kind of bond between Aylwin and herself, and after Laurel had gone she sat down to compose a letter. It was a vague kind of letter, referring to ‘this sad news’ and ‘your trouble’, almost as if he were bereaved. Obviously, she thought, as she opened the gate to take it to the post, it wouldn’t do at all.

The evening air was sweet with the scent of wallflowers and laburnums, and it seemed sad to think of Mrs Williton, such a true suburban dweller, sitting alone in her house facing the com-mon. Perhaps a visit might bring her some comfort? Dulcie saw herself approaching the house. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Marjorie,’ she would say. Or, better, ‘I thought you might be in need of company now that you’re on your own …’

‘You look sad, Miss Mainwaring,’ said Mrs Beltane, who was taking Felix for his evening walk. ‘Has something upset you?’

‘I’ve just heard some rather bad news,’ said Dulcie, too much taken by surprise to weigh the accuracy of her words. ‘I’ve been writing a letter to a friend – I mean, the friend to whom it’s happened.’

‘Father Benger brings wonderful comfort to the bereaved,’ said Mrs Beltane, her eyes shining. ‘I know people who have lost their loved ones – yes, and animals, too – who have been so much helped by him.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Dulcie, looking down and meeting the fierce beady-eyed stare of Felix.

‘Why don’t you come along with me on Sunday, Miss Mainwaring? I’m sure you’d find the service
most
comforting, and Father Benger would have a special word with you afterwards.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dulcie sincerely, ‘it’s very kind of you to suggest it, but there’s another church I ought to go to.’ She patted Felix, and then went on her way to the post box.

But when she reached it she saw that the last evening collection had gone, and as she stood uncertainly with the letter in her hand she knew what she had known all the time – that she could not possibly send it. So she went slowly home and tore it up.

THE UNEXPECTED news about Marjorie Forbes had made Dulcie realize how completely out of touch she was with the worlds of Aylwin and Neville and of Taviscombe. She did not even know whether Neville had returned to his church to brave the hazards of Miss Spicer and her love. It was difficult to know how best to start her inquiries, until she remembered that she had told Neville that she would visit his church some time and that he had seemed to accept this as inevitable. And if he were not there, that nice friendly housekeeper would be sure to know the latest news of

As she sat waiting for the evening service to begin, Dulcie felt that she merged almost too well with the congregation. But this was in some ways an advantage, for she was able to look around her for signs of Miss Spicer and the housekeeper and anything else that might indicate whether the clergyman who ate cold brussels sprouts in the middle of the night was still taking the services. There were several women who looked something like Miss Spicer, though as Dulcie had seen her only once, and then very briefly and in tears, a definite identification was impossible. She came to the conclusion that all churches must have in their congregations several Miss Spicers, though it was to be hoped that not all of them would fall in love with the vicar.

As the time for the service approached, a kind of hush fell on the congregation. The housekeeper entered, smiling at people around her and almost bowing, as if she were the leader of an orchestra, the last person to enter before the maestro himself. When she saw Dulcie, she gave her a broad wink.

The service began, and now Dulcie realized the full beauty of Neville Forbes in church – not so splendid, certainly, as he would have been in vestments for a High Mass, but the light and sympathetic atmosphere of an evening service lent a peculiar grace and dignity to his appearance. At Taviscombe he had seemed slightly ridiculous, wandering about the hotel in his cassock, and only for that brief moment among the tombstones in the cemetery had Dulcie glimpsed how he might really look in his proper setting.

Neville did not seem to be a particularly good preacher, though Dulcie did not set herself up as a judge of sermons. What he said was simple and obvious, almost too much so. At one point it seemed to her that his glance rested on her. She wondered how many other women had felt the same.

After the service was over, the housekeeper was quick to come over to Dulcie and ask if she would join them for a cup of tea in the hall.

‘Father Forbes is back, dear,’ she said, almost digging her in the ribs.’What did I tell you!’

Dulcie was not sure, nor could she decide whether she ought to reveal that she had already met him. She decided to let things ‘take their course’, whatever that might be.

In the hall the loud music, the dancing and the cups of tea seemed to invite the exchange of confidences, if only because they would be unlikely to be overheard.

‘My dear,’ the housekeeper began characteristically, ‘such goings-on since you were here last!’

‘Not more trouble, I hope,’ said Dulcie.

‘Well, I suppose you might call it that in a way. To begin with, Father Forbes came back unexpectedly when the other man was still here – just as if nothing had happened. I’d just made a cauliflower
au gratin
and there wasn’t really enough for two. Oh, I know it’s a trivial detail’ – she laid her hand on Dulcie’s arm for a moment – ‘but those are the things that make up life, aren’t they – Father Forbes back and no supper for him. I was upset, I can tell you.’

‘Was he?’ Dulcie asked.

‘Oh, he’s good – said he’d just have bread and cheese, and there wasn’t even all that much cheese.’

‘Didn’t the other clergyman feel he should have given up his cauliflower
au gratin
?’ asked Dulcie simply.

‘He didn’t know! That was the point. I’d kept them apart. Father Smith was in the dining-room, and I gave Father Forbes a tray in the study. Oh, the time I had! Sugar, dear?’ She thrust the pink plastic apostle spoon towards Dulcie.

‘So what happened in the end?’

‘Well, Father Smith went, of course. But he was a bit put out. I think the two of them had words of some kind in the study, but of course’ – she lowered her eyes virtuously – ‘exactly what was said I don’t know.’

‘And what’s happened to Miss er – Spicer?’

‘Oh, very good news.’

‘Is she married, then?’ For that seemed the only thing that could really be good news.

‘No, dear. She and her mother have bought a house in Eastbourne.’

‘That does sound splendid,’ said Dulcie. ‘Eastbourne. I believe the air is very good and there are sure to be lots of churches.’

‘Yes. Old Mrs Spicer has taken on a new lease of life. We shall all be popping down to Eastbourne for our holidays.’

‘I hope you won’t forsake Taviscombe, Miss Mainwaring,’ said Neville’s pleasant voice. ‘How nice to see you here. And how is Miss Dace?’

‘Oh, she’s getting married soon.’

‘Married?’ said the housekeeper eagerly. ‘The friend who came with you that other evening?’

‘Other evening?’ asked Neville. ‘Then you’ve been here before?’

‘You never told me you knew Father Forbes,’ said the housekeeper accusingly.

‘I didn’t know him
then
,’ said Dulcie, covered with confusion, hardly able to remember whether she did or not. ‘We actually met at Taviscombe.’

‘Oh, I
see
.’ The housekeeper nodded, apparently satisfied.

‘She knows my brother,’ Neville explained.

‘Yes,’ said Dulcie firmly. ‘We met at a conference last summer.’ That, at least, was true.

‘Fancy your friend getting married,’ said the housekeeper rather cryptically. ‘Are you living on your own now, then?’

‘Yes. I’ve got quite a big house that used to belong to my parents – too big for me, really.’

‘Are you thinking of moving?’

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. I find one gets rather into a rut,’ said Dulcie apologetically.

‘A nice unfurnished flat is what you want,’ said the housekeeper. ‘With a bit of garden.’

‘Yes, I should like to have a garden,’ said Dulcie. She had a dreadful feeling that something was about to be arranged for her against her will.

‘There is such a flat vacant near here,’ said Neville. ‘It might suit you very well. The lady who used to live there with her mother is moving to Eastbourne.’

Miss Spicer’s flat – oh, the horror of it! Dulcie thought. And perhaps the same story happening all over again-herself seen by another prying stranger, running into the church in tears. And yet nothing was ever quite the same, and would Neville have suggested it if he had thought that there was any possibility that it could be? But men were so naive and insensitive; he would see it only as a practical proposition for her, not realizing that she knew Miss Spicer’s story.

Afterwards, when she had said she must go, he walked out of the hall with her.

Dulcie wanted to ask him about Marjorie Forbes, but did not know how to begin.

‘I hope your brother is well?’ she said tentatively. ‘I haven’t seen him lately.’

‘Oh, there’s been trouble there,’ said Neville. ‘Marjorie, his wife…’

‘Yes, I did hear that,’ said Dulcie.

‘It was all very distressing; and most unexpected, but you know what women are.’ He sighed rather absent-mindedly, and once again Dulcie felt as she had with Bill Sedge, that she was somehow a woman manquee, who could not be expected to know what women were. She could not decide what answer to make, so said nothing.

‘Poor Mrs Williton – I tried to do what I could, which was little enough. She – Marjorie – was quite determined to do this thing. Father Tulhver – her parish priest – and I both tried to dissuade her. But there you are – ‘ He sighed again – ‘She wouldn’t listen to us.’

‘I wonder if she’ll regret it,’ said Dulcie rather smugly. ‘Was your brother very upset?’

‘Surprisingly so, all things considered. I suppose it was the last thing he expected.’

‘And your mother?’ said Dulcie, feeling slightly ridiculous.

‘Oh, Mother took it all in her stride. She’s a strange woman, with her own ideas. Things of that kind often happened in Taviscombe, she said.’

Dulcie could imagine her saying it.

‘And now I suppose’ – Neville sighed for the third time – ‘my brother will divorce Marjorie and make another unsuitable marriage.’

Dulcie, startled at his frankness, did not know what to say. Obviously he was right. Not Laurel, of course, but there were so many other young girls.

‘Really he has been rather troublesome lately,’ said Neville, using the words Aylwin had used of him. ‘Are you thinking seriously of taking Miss Spicer’s flat?’ he went on. ‘Because if you are I could put in a word for you. The landlord is one of my churchwardens and is anxious to get a congenial tenant, I know. It would be very pleasant to have you living in the parish.’

Dulcie looked up at him quickly, but his face revealed nothing.

‘I don’t think I should be much of an asset,’ she said. ‘I’ve never done any parish work or even been to church very much.’

‘Oh, we’d soon have you in the thick of things,’ said Neville, with rather alarming heartiness. And Dulcie could see how it would be. Apart from the occasional kind word and fair distribution of favours he would be impersonal and aloof-as a celibate priest must be. And might she not find herself falling in love with him – unlikely though it seemed at the moment? All that church work, with so little reward, might well become an intolerable burden – a thankless task, indeed.

‘I must think it over,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t really any idea of moving.’

‘A change does everyone good,’ said Neville.

‘Well, yes, but there are changes and changes,’ said Dulcie. ‘Goodbye!’

‘Goodbye, and I expect we shall meet again quite soon. I can somehow
see
you in that flat!’

Dulcie made her way to the bus stop, feeling at once elated and depressed. Elated at the idea that life could change so completely, but depressed because she too saw herself in the flat, becoming another Miss Spicer. Yet, after all, would it be so very different from her present situation? – unrequited love for Aylwin or Neville might amount to much the same thing, a kind of choice of brothers. But at least she need not
see
Aylwin – Neville would be always on view.

As the bus slowed down in Ladbroke Grove, Dulcie was struck by the face of a man walking on the pavement – a familiar face, she would have said, and yet she could think of nobody she knew who lived in those parts. Then it came to her – the man was one of her beggars, a particularly ragged one for these days, who shook with a kind of ague and offered matches for sale in Oxford Street. She had often given him money, though she had not seen him lately. Now he walked briskly in the evening sunshine, wearing a good suit and smoking a cigarette, not shaking at all.

Surely this was an omen of some sort? But of what sort she hardly knew. Letting herself into the house, she realized that she was alone. Viola had gone, and Laurel too; she had rejected Maurice’s offer of friendship, and even the comfort of Father Benger and his church. It only remained now for her to turn away from the life that Neville Forbes had seemed to offer her.

But she still had her work. She was in the middle of making an index for a complicated anthropological book, and this would occupy her for some weeks. And now that she really was alone she might well consider letting rooms to students – perhaps Africans, who would fill the house with gay laughter and cook yams on their gas-rings. Then there was a summer holiday to be planned, perhaps in Dorset with her sister and brother-in-law at their cottage, or at another learned conference, if there was one.

This last thought must have brought Aylwin Forbes even more vividly into her mind, so that when the telephone rang she was not surprised to hear his voice.

‘Miss Mainwaring – Dulcie. It’s Aylwin – Aylwin Forbes. I was wondering if you could help me with a piece of work.’

‘An index?’ Dulcie managed to bring out.

‘Well, not exactly.’ He sounded so vague that Dulcie said rather sharply. ‘Surely an index either is or isn’t?’