Nuns and Soldiers (33 page)

The crouching position became suddenly agonizing and he moved, half kneeling, tearing his clothes, tearing his flesh. He could feel the blood coursing upon his arms, his legs, his face. And then, as if a god or a fairy-tale magician had touched his eyes, he saw an entirely new scene, a possible path to liberation. Just beyond the layer of brambles in which he was now entangled there was, roofed by a higher dome of branches, an open space; and beyond the space, near to the ground, there was a sort of shadowy archway. Oblivious now of the tiny spears which were clinging to him, scraping and scratching, he leaned forward through the leafy thorny screen and fell upon his elbows into the space, then gingerly drew his legs after him and kneeled in the green twilight.

Before him was a tunnel leading away through the bramble thicket, a clean clear tunnel with a floor of hard beaten earth. The tunnel resumed on the nearer side of the space, veering in towards the wall of the house. This was clearly a pathway made by some animals, foxes perhaps, and the domed space was perhaps their meeting hall, or playground, or dancing floor. Tim did not waste time in speculations about the fauna. He set off on his hands and knees along the arched pathway which led away from the house. It was, for a man, distinctly low and narrow, but Tim was slim and lithe and he crawled and wriggled his way rapidly along it. He was now so mauled by the brambles that he was indifferent to further scars.

After what seemed a long way, but was probably no more than about five yards, Tim saw something white before him and guessed that this must be the whitewashed wall of the garage, and the exit from the bramble patch. He was right. Now he could see ahead of him the sun shining upon the peeling trunk of the eucalyptus tree. The brambles thinned and ended in a sort of ditch occupied by other plants which ran along the side of the garage wall. Tim slithered gratefully out into the ditch and was about to rise cautiously to his feet when he was aware in front of him of something unusual, something large and black. He peered out through the foliage. The large black phenomenon was Manfred’s big car, which was parked on the gravel outside the garage. And there, leaning back against the bonnet, not more now than twenty feet away from Tim, was Mrs Mount.

Tim did not wonder if she had seen him. It was immediately evident that Mrs Mount thought that she was alone, she had the fussy, self-absorbed movements of a private animal. Frowning, she scratched the side of her nose, then examined her finger. Then she pulled up her skirt and began to hitch up her tights. She noticed a hole in the tights, upon the thigh, and she examined this, observing how the flesh rose very slightly in a little mound through the hole. She resumed hitching up her tights, then, still frowning, carefully pulled her white petticoat and the skirt of her dress. She was wearing a smart silkish red and white dress and was clearly feeling rather hot. She thrust her hand in through the neck of her dress, loosening the petticoat and feeling her perspiration. She wiped her hand upon her neck and picked up her handbag which was lying beside her on the dusty bonnet of the car. She saw the dust, shook the bag and then shook out her dress and resumed her pose, opening the bag and taking out a powder compact. She examined her face in the mirror of the compact and as she did so a remarkable change came over her expression. The frown vanished and was succeeded by a look of angelic calm. For a moment Mrs Mount blew out her cheeks like a zephyr, and then positively smiled into the mirror, not a grin but a calm sweet reflective smile. She touched her forehead lightly with her fingers, smoothing away lines, and gently stroked the skin around her eyes. Then she very lightly powdered her face. She examined the results, maintaining the calm plumped-out expression which perhaps she had adopted long ago as a routine protection against wrinkles. And indeed she had none. Bronzed by the southern sun she looked, for the moment at any rate, younger, almost handsome. The bright light showed the clear dark blue of her clever nervous eyes. Only a slightly seamed upper lip and her fairish-grey hair made her look like ‘an older woman’. She put her compact away, picked up her bag, shook out her skirt again, moved round the car and disappeared in the direction of the house. She seemed to be dragging one foot a little. Her footsteps on the gravel receded, then as she turned the corner to the terrace the sound ceased.

Tim sprang up like a terrier, dodged round the car and ran lightly down towards the road whose trees soon screened him. He began to run along the road in the direction of the village, soon slowing down, panting and holding his side. Sweat poured, mingling with the drying blood. At least he knew he could not have missed Gertrude, she was bound to come back this way. After a little time he saw her, not bicycling but sitting by the roadside. He ran towards her crying out.

‘Oh Gertrude, help, something terrible has happened!’

‘Tim, what is it, are you all right? My God, you’re covered in blood!’

‘Oh that’s nothing, I crawled through some brambles - but, darling, the worst has happened. Manfred and Mrs Mount have turned up!’

‘Oh Lord! What did you say?’

‘They didn’t see me. I got out of the kitchen window -’

‘Oh - poor Tim - look, quick hide the bike, we’ll get into this field. They might decide to drive to the village to look for me. Thank God they came the other way.’

There was nowhere to hide the bike except by lifting it over the bank. This they did, dropping the eggs in the process, which smashed in the road. Then they climbed into the field, which was ploughed and full of fruit trees, probably apricots, and sat down with their back to the grassy bank on the other side, invisible from the road.

‘Now let’s think - oh Tim, you’re all scratched, like you were that first evening, remember!’

They sat holding each other’s arms like hidden half-frightened children.

‘Perhaps they’ll go away if no one turns up.’

‘No they won’t, not they, they’ll stay and make themselves at home!’ said Gertrude. ‘Besides it’s obvious I’m there.’

‘Oh God - I’d better hide. I’ll stay here, you go back and get them to leave, then you can come and fetch me.’

‘It’s not so easy, they may want to stay the night, and besides -’

‘Oh crumbs, oh Christ, I left all my painting kit at the sitting-room door, that rucksack with my name on it - we’re blown!’

Gertrude in her willow pattern robe, sitting on the little bit of bumpy grass at the foot of the bank, hitched up her skirt over her brown legs. She now held onto the wheel of the bicycle with one hand and onto Tim’s shirt with the other and she thought.

‘Oh my darling, whatever shall we do?’ said Tim.

‘We can’t conceal you. We must go and see them.’

‘But not tell them?’

‘No. Tim, listen, I
hate
this - but perhaps it’s providence that we have to start it so soon -’

‘Start what?’

‘Lying. But I can’t see any other way. Listen, I’ll go back now and find them, and I’ll tell them you’re on a painting tour of France and you turned up unexpectedly yesterday and that you’re out painting somewhere -’

‘Better say walking somewhere, in case they see I haven’t got my stuff.’

‘All right. And I’ll arrange to go back home with them at once -’

‘Yes, Tim,
think.
We can’t be there in that house with those two watching us. And we can’t let them leave us alone together, that might sort of interest them.’

‘I could pretend to leave, then come back again when the coast’s clear.’

‘It’s too risky. Even if they say when they’re going they may change their minds, or they may hang around in the neighbourhood and come back. It’s much better if I go off with them, as soon as possible, this afternoon. We might make some blunder, they might notice something.’

‘And what do I do?’

‘You say you’re going on with your tour. Don’t forget, you’re travelling, you’re on a tour. I’ll tell you to lock up and leave the keys at the village hotel, only don’t do that, bring them with you, and -’

‘But won’t you come back?’

‘No. You must make your own way home and we’ll meet in London.’

‘Oh Gertrude, no, please not - And they might take you to Rome or something -’

‘Do you think I like this? I hate it! But now they’ve come we mustn’t mess around with the situation. I can’t suddenly rush back to France or disappear. I’ll get back to London, if they’re going on they can drop me. Please Tim, you must do as I say. We won’t be parted for long.’

Tim knelt beside her, pulling her towards him until she knelt too, letting go of the bicycle and they faced each other with the high splintering sun narrowing their eyes.

‘Gertrude, if we part suddenly like this we won’t find each other again. We haven’t had long enough. I’ll turn up at Ebury Street and you’ll be a different person, you’ll have forgotten me. Don’t go away with those two, they’ll take you over, Mrs Mount will marry you to Manfred.’

‘Tim, please, we’re bound to each other, you know that, I love you -’

‘And you’ll marry me - sorry, I mustn’t ask -’

‘I love you. I hope - Oh don’t torment me now. Please be sensible - it’s best - anything else will turn into some kind of awful muddle.’

‘But then when I get back, I mean how will I find you, what -’

‘Just ring up. I’ll be at Ebury Street.’

‘But I’ll not say - no, of course - and I won’t come round, I’ll ring - I’ll be discreet - I’ll do whatever you say - oh what
hell
this is, why did those bloody people have to turn up and spoil it all!’

‘We would have had to go back soon anyway. Our reality lies there, Tim, over in London, and we’ve got to go and find it there. Now help me with the bike.’

‘Wait, I’m all confused. I’m to stay here a bit and then come back and pretend I’ve been out painting, I mean walking -’

‘Yes, and don’t forget to be surprised, and don’t you forget you arrived
yesterday.
Oh you’re so dirty and covered in scratches - poor dear Tim, poor sweet love -’

‘I’ll say I fell in a bramble bush.’

‘You’d better give me half an hour or so, don’t leave it too long. I’ll keep them to lunch and then we’ll go.’

They got the bicycle back onto the road and Gertrude mounted. She seemed now in a frenzy to get away.

‘Gertrude, wait, you will remember me, won’t you -’

‘Tim, don’t be a
fool.
’

In a moment she was away, pedalling hard, speeding along the narrow tarmac road, her dress fluttering on either side.

Tim gazed down at the mess of broken eggs and touched it with his foot. He groaned and looked at his watch and stood there miserably. All his scratches were searing hot and his head ached.

 

 

‘So Tim Reede just arrived and foisted himself?’ said Mrs Mount. ‘Poor old you.’

‘Well, he only came yesterday,’ said Gertrude, ‘I’ve hardly seen him. He’s just passing by, you know. He’s been out sketching or walking this morning, I don’t know where he is. I went to the village to shop. I imagine he’ll be back for lunch.’

‘And it’s OK if we whisk you off?’ said Manfred.

‘Oh absolutely, you’re heaven-sent. I was wanting to get away. I’ve done what I came to do. But are you sure you don’t want to go on to Italy?’

‘No, we changed that plan.’

‘We couldn’t stop worrying about you,’ said Mrs Mount.

They were sitting on the terrace on wooden chairs in the shade of the fig tree drinking white wine.

‘Why there he is,’ said Gertrude.

Tim had appeared in the valley near the stream and was now coming up through the olive grove as he had done on the first day. There was a moment’s silence as they watched the approaching figure.

‘
He
won’t want to come with us, will he?’ said Mrs Mount.

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

‘I’ll ask him,’ said Manfred.

Tim crossed the meadow, his shirt sleeves rolled up, swinging his arms. His face looked very red against the white shirt. He glared at the assembled company.

‘Why, what a surprise!’

‘Hello Tim.’

Gertrude noticed that he must have washed himself in the stream and the bramble scratches were less evident, though his shirt was stained with blood.

‘I fell in a bramble bush.’

‘What people suffer for art!’ said Mrs Mount. ‘Why, he’s as red as a lobster! Give him a drink, Manfred.’

‘Manfred and Mrs Mount are very kindly taking me back,’ said Gertrude. ‘We’ll be leaving after lunch. You can stay on a bit if you like, leave the key at the village hotel when you go.’

‘Oh, OK, thanks. I might stay a day or two.’

‘I liked your drawing of that rock,’ said Manfred.

‘What rock?’ Tim glared at him.

‘That big rock over the pool. I was looking at your sketch book, I hope you don’t mind. Is it for sale?’

‘How do you know about that rock?’

‘Manfred has often been our guest here,’ said Gertrude. ‘Now you all stay. I’ll just quickly put some lunch together.’

‘Can I help?’ said Mrs Mount.

‘No, no, stay here.’

‘Is it for sale?’

‘No. Sorry.’

 

 

What’s happened? thought Gertrude, giddy and frightened as she laid the table in the shadow of the archway. I’ve suddenly told a lot of lies, I’m involved in a whole lying situation, yet what was the alternative, and I suppose it’s sensible to go off with them at once, but it’s so awful and I won’t have a chance to speak to Tim again, and we simply mustn’t make a mistake. Tim and I could have found it so hard to decide to leave. Perhaps it’s just as well Manfred has decided it for us. But this deception is absolutely hateful.

She looked out at the three people sitting in the sun. How small Tim looked compared with Manfred, how red and agitated. He’s so thin, she thought; and she thought suddenly, that’s what it’s going to be like, in the future. He has such thin arms. He’s not an impressive figure. Now Tim was leaning forward tilting his chair, staring into his glass, scratching his ankle. Manfred, dressed in a dark lightweight suit and wearing a tie in spite of the heat, had stretched out his long legs and was telling some motor car story. Mrs Mount, looking unusually smart in a red and white dress, was laughing at Manfred’s story. Gertrude was visited by a very precise desire to comfort Tim by touching his cheek, by stroking his rough glowing cheek very gently.