Part of the Furniture (27 page)

Still Robert watched.

‘You’ll run all the fat off ’em.’ Bert came to meet her. ‘I’ve mixed their meal for you.’

‘Oh, thank you, Bert, thank you. You should not have bothered.’ Their voices carried in the frozen air.

‘No bother.’ (Robert raised his eyebrows. Well, well.)

‘You need to get back to your own.’

‘They are safe with Ann. In you go, Eleanor.’ She held the sty door open; the sow pushed in, followed by the piglets.

‘Maybe, but Ann can’t feed ’em,’ Bert nagged.

‘They will still be asleep, they are always sleeping when I get in. We have this exchange every night, Bert,’ she teased.

‘Maybe so.’ Bert watched her pour the pigswill into Eleanor’s trough and shut the sty door.

Juno said, ‘Anything else?’ She looked round the yard.

‘No, you get along up.’

‘Goodnight then, Bert, thank you, goodnight.’

Bert watched her go. ‘Goodnight, girl.’ Then he shouted, ‘Why don’t you take the path?’

Juno’s voice, diminishing as she climbed the hill, called back, ‘I prefer my short cut.’

You’ll trip,’ Bert called, ‘fall, hurt yourself.’

‘No, I won’t.’ She was laughing.

‘Bert.’ Robert came up beside the man.

‘Sir? You’re back? Didn’t hear no car. No-one said you was coming. Made me jump.’

‘The taxi was busy. I walked, glad to stretch my legs. Did I give you a shock?’

‘Was just packing it in for the night, glad to see you. That Juno just called the pigs in from the wood; they are after the acorns.’

‘I was watching.’

‘Got a touch with animals, that one. Didn’t allow so at first, but she has.’

‘Good. Everything all right here?’

‘Yes, sir, seems so, ticking over.’

‘Good.’

‘Very glad to see you back, sir.’

‘Thank you, Bert. Eleanor’s litter look fine.’

‘See a difference in them babies, too, sir. Quite plumping out, two fine little babbies.’

‘Oh yes, the babies, good.’ Since when had Bert been interested in babies? ‘You sound quite proprietorial,’ Robert said.

‘I sound what?’

‘Interested, Bert, you were never a babies man.’

‘Well, I am now, we all take a turn,’ Bert snapped. ‘’Tis nice for a change to care for something you ain’t going to eat.’

Robert said, ‘I had not thought of it in that way. You have turned philosopher while I’ve been in London.’

Bert snorted.

Robert said goodnight. Turning to go he added, ‘Where’s this short cut?’

‘You stick to the path, sir, or you’ll fall.’

Robert said, ‘I think I already have.’

R
EACHING THE HOUSE ROBERT
let himself in, took off his coat and breathed the familiar smell of wood fires, furniture polish and something new. There was a bowl of hyacinths on the hall table. He stooped to sniff; not since he was a child and his mother planted them had there been hyacinths. The library door was ajar. He went to put a log on the fire. There was another bowl of bulbs on the table by the window. A patter of paws brought Jessie and her puppies to greet him and from the kitchen he heard voices and a gust of laughter. Caressing the dogs, he was glad to be home.

In the kitchen Ann exclaimed, ‘Here’s Sir! You did not say you were coming.’ A baby lay across her knees; she was changing its nappy. Juno was in the rocking chair by the stove, nursing the other child. She said, ‘Oh, Robert! How lovely. We did not hear you arrive.’ The infant let go of her nipple then reached for it back, clutching her breast with its fist.

Robert said, ‘I walked from the station. The taxi was busy, he will bring my bag later.’ He returned her smile, amazed by her breasts. ‘I am interrupting,’ he said.

Juno said, ‘Nonsense, how could you,’ and moved the child to her other breast.

Ann said, ‘Sit down, you must be tired, I’ll make a pot of tea.’ She pinned the nappy, laid the baby in its basket and went to fill the kettle. The baby made an indeterminate protest then lay quiet.

Robert said, ‘And how are they?’ He peered curiously into the basket. ‘Which one is this?’

Juno said, ‘Inigo. They are flourishing.’

‘And grown a lot,’ Robert said. ‘I saw you calling the pigs in as I came up the hill.’

‘Oh?’

‘I was too far away to shout. I had a word with Bert,’ he said.

Juno said, ‘And?’

‘He tells me everything is tickety-boo.’

‘I bet he didn’t say tickety-boo.’ She grinned.

‘No. And I don’t think I have ever said it before, it’s not a word I use.’ (I am ridiculously nervous.)

‘That’s a very smart suit.’ Juno appraised Robert’s appearance.

‘Evelyn suggested I have it made at the beginning of the war. He was percipient. He said clothes would be rationed and it would help my morale, if the Germans won, to meet them properly dressed, not shabby.’

‘And now you only meet me!’

‘It rarely gets an airing.’ (Fuck my suit, I want to tell her how beautiful she is and I can’t.)

Ann said, ‘Strong or weak?’ She had made the tea.

Robert said, ‘Strong, you should know by now.’

‘Thought a trip to the metropolis might have altered your tastes.’ Ann poured tea into cups.

Robert said, ‘I have something for your sons, Juno,’ and went back into the hall to extract parcels from his overcoat pockets.

Watching him go, Juno said, ‘But it is a beautiful suit,’ meaning that she had not realized that Robert was so good-looking, and Ann, handing her a cup of tea said, ‘Yes, and he’s had his hair properly cut. They all had those long legs, the Copplestones. Evelyn was the same.’

Juno changed the baby’s nappy and laid it in the basket beside its brother as Robert, returning from the hall with parcels, put two in her lap. ‘If they have one already, chuck them away,’ he said.

Juno undid the parcels, two teddy bears. ‘Robert! Thank you. They will be so precious, their very first toys. Thank you.’

Robert said, ‘Good,’ taking the cup Ann held out to him. ‘I hoped—’ I hoped, he thought, that I would not be so pleased to see her, I hoped that she would have lost her looks, I hoped I would be sane again. ‘I hoped you would be pleased,’ he said.

Juno said, ‘I am, I am very pleased.’

They sat drinking their tea and the silence full of the unsaid stretched until Juno broke it. ‘And London? Tell us about London. Did you meet a lot of friends, interesting people?’

‘A mixture. There’s my generation, who think they know what’s going on, opinionated bores, amazingly revengeful. Want to bomb Germany to pulp. They anger me. Your father’s lot had the right ideas. There are not many like him, they come thin on the ground. The armchair lot would start a third war in time for those two.’ Robert nodded towards the infants.

‘God forbid! Who else?’

‘Oh, Evelyn’s generation, too old to be called up but could join up if they tried, but are cossetting their careers: writers, journalists—’

‘They might be useless,’ Juno suggested, ‘but didn’t Anthony say Graham Greene is in his Ministry? He would be useful, and there’s Evelyn Waugh. I read something about him—’

‘Oh, don’t mind me. I make odious comparisons.’ (I would rather like an argument. I’d like to shout, lose my temper, let off steam.)

‘… asking where is Sassoon, Robert Graves, Wilfred Owen?’

‘You’ve read them?’ He had not somehow imagined her to be a reader.

‘I have made use of your library. I hope you don’t mind. I read when I can’t sleep.’

‘I am delighted.’

‘Who is new?’

‘There’s Orwell, we shall hear more of him, Peter Quennell, Cyril Connolly, I suppose, and Henry Moore is making the most amazing drawings of people sleeping in the tube. I spent a lot of time walking about. I felt useless, though, I needed to get back here.’

‘Tell me more.’ She drew him out, making him describe what he had seen and who, until he protested, ‘I did not know I had seen so much. You are an inquisitor. Now, tell me about you. What has been going on, apart from Bert’s transformation into geniality?’

‘Nothing much. The babies and the farm and oh! Bert allowed me to do the muck-spreading.’ She could not tell him that recently she had woken with no thought of Jonty or Francis, that her days were no longer obsessed, that somehow they had evaporated, as bad dreams do. She was happy. She said, ‘As you see, I am busy and happy, and fancy Bert allowing me to do that!’

‘I’ll have to have a word with Bert,’ Robert said, ‘but first this is for you, I thought it might complement the bears,’ and he gave her his present.

Juno unwrapped the packet. ‘Oh,’ she said in awe, ‘scent! I have never had proper scent. How wonderful, how delicious, now I won’t stink of muck!’

And Robert, though pleased, thought, muck or Guerlain, it won’t make a blind bit of difference to me.

P
RISCILLA LOOKED UP TO
see Robert coming up her path. Mosley barked. She stopped weeding and got up from her knees. ‘I am trying to get some sort of order in the garden before the weeds take hold; how are you, old friend?’

Robert kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t let me interrupt. I have brought you a joint of pork.’

‘Oh, wonderful! Black market?’

‘No, Priss, legit.’

‘Juno will be sad.’

‘Juno foresaw its fate, she is philosophical.’

Priscilla stuck her hand-fork in the earth. ‘I have done enough for the day. Come indoors, it’s been the most wonderful day but not warm enough yet to sit out.’

Robert said, ‘No,’ as if he had not noticed, and followed Priscilla into the house.

She said, ‘Tea? Coffee? A drink, perhaps?’

‘A drink, if you can spare one. I must not rob you.’

‘Anthony and Hugh contrived to find a bottle, I can spare you a swig. Sit down, old friend, and tell me what’s new. How are Juno’s twins?’

‘In rude health.’

‘How old now? Three months?’

‘Four.’

‘Beginning to look human?’

Robert did not answer.

Priscilla said, ‘Spring busting out all over quite cheers me up!’

Robert said, ‘Good,’ his tone glum.

Priscilla poured him a generous measure and, looking at him closely, handed him the glass. ‘What’s eating you, Robert?’ She stood, bottle in hand. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Matter?’ He took the glass from her.

‘This is the fourth time in two weeks you have dropped in on me for no reason.’

‘I brought you a joint of pork,’ he protested.

‘I am grateful for the excuse. You don’t look yourself, Robert, what is it?’ she persisted.

‘I am all right, fine—’

‘You have lost weight and you can’t afford to do that.’

‘Don’t fuss, you are as bad as Ann.’

‘I am stating a fact.’

Robert swallowed some of his drink. ‘I am not sleeping very well,’ he admitted grudgingly.

‘It’s the worry of the war.’ Priscilla examined his face. ‘You are mourning Evelyn, for one thing.’

‘No, I am not.’

‘You did not give yourself time to mourn him properly and now it hits you.’

‘Priscilla, be your age. I mourned Evelyn from when he came back, lungs wrecked, in nineteen-eighteen, until he died. Don’t talk rubbish.’ Robert had raised his voice irritably, took a gulp from his glass.

Priscilla leaned forward and topped up his drink. ‘Then what
is
the matter?’

Robert said, ‘Nothing, as I said, nothing.’

Priscilla said, ‘Oh, but there
is,
and it must be serious to bring you my way four times in two weeks!’

Robert burst out laughing. ‘Is it so obvious?’

‘So what
is
keeping you awake?’

Robert did not answer.

‘It
is
to do with Evelyn, isn’t it?’ Priscilla pried.

‘In away.’

‘So I am not barking up the wrong tree?’

‘It was I who barked up the wrong bloody tree.’ Robert set his glass down and stood up.

Suddenly enlightened, Priscilla whispered, ‘Oh my God! Damascus! You thought what I thought, what we all thought.’ She leaned forward with the bottle and poured again. ‘What you pretended
not
to think? Oh, goodness, Robert. Oh my goodness me!’ Reaching for his glass, she took a huge gulp from it. ‘Goodness, I needed that.’

Soberly Robert said, ‘Priscilla, I feel such a fool. I was jealous of Evelyn.’

Priscilla, enhanced by her gulp of whisky, said, ‘He wouldn’t half laugh if he knew and could see Juno’s twins!’

Robert did not reply but stood looking out at Priscilla’s view, lovely spring-touched country, a gentle valley leading seawards.

Priscilla said, ‘And now? What?’

Gloomily Robert muttered, ‘Love.’

‘Love?’ Priscilla sat down. ‘The real McCoy? Heavens!’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s wonderful,’ she said.

‘It’s ridiculous.’

‘So it’s caught up with you after all these years. When did it happen? When did it dawn on you?’

‘I saw her footprints in the sand—’

This meant nothing to Priscilla. She said, ‘And you still don’t know who the father is?’

‘That’s immaterial.’

‘I suppose it is. What a turn-up for the book.’

‘You are enjoying this,’ he said.

‘No, I am not. You look too miserable, though why I can’t think.’

‘Priscilla, I am fifty-seven next birthday. She is barely eighteen.’

Robustly Priscilla answered, ‘It’s been known. Old John Morgan, who remarried at eighty, is having his fifth child. His wife is sixty years younger than he is. It works a treat, a very good marriage.’

‘Ridiculous.’

‘Unusual, I grant you, but have a look in the Old Testament.’

‘No thanks.’

Priscilla drank some more. ‘Losing sleep because you are in love, what a hoot!’

‘I knew you would laugh—’

‘I am not laughing, not really, of course I am not.’ Priscilla put the empty glass on the table. ‘And what does she say? Juno?’ At the mention of Juno by name, Robert span round. ‘For God’s sake! She hasn’t the least idea. That would be—’

‘What?’ Priscilla’s mouth hung open.

‘A disaster.’

The two old friends stood face to face. Priscilla said, ‘I take it your cock and balls are in working order?’ knowing she should have left the whisky alone.