Saddle the Wind (53 page)

Ten minutes later when she came downstairs and entered the breakfast room Marsh looked over his newspaper and saw that she was carrying her valise. Answering the question in his eyes, she said:

‘– I changed my mind. Perhaps I will stay on for two or three days.’

He nodded his satisfaction. ‘I’m glad.’

There was a ring at the front doorbell then and the maid came into the room announcing that the cab had arrived to take them to the station. At once Clara kissed her father goodbye and hurried outside. As Blanche followed her to the front door Marsh took her hand and pressed some money into it.

She frowned. ‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s towards your hotel bill. Please – take it.’

She protested for a moment or two but then, thanking him, put the money into her purse. Minutes later she and Clara were being driven away from the house.

The journey to Weston-Super-Mare passed without incident. For the first part Clara kept up an almost constant stream of chatter, but gradually she relaxed and sat quiet, either looking from the window at the passing scenery or trying – without much success – to concentrate on her book. Blanche had also brought a book to read on the journey – a new novel by Arthur Conan Doyle:
The Hound of the Baskervilles
, which everyone seemed to be reading – but with, first of all, Clara’s demanding presence, and then her own preoccupations, she did not get far into it.

Eventually they arrived at their destination where Mrs Wilmslow, Clara’s aunt, was waiting to welcome them.

After being introduced to Clara’s aunt and two young cousins, Bertha and Constance, Blanche was at once invited to the house for luncheon. She gratefully
declined, however, saying that she would like to look around the town and find a suitable hotel for the night. Mrs Wilmslow nodded understandingly. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be very glad of the chance to be on your own for a while,’ she said.

Blanche accompanied the little group from the station to where a cab waited to drive them to the Wilmslows’ house situated beyond the outskirts of the town. And after a kiss and a hug for Clara – who in her excitement at being there seemed hardly aware of the gestures – she watched and waved as the cab was driven away.

When it was out of sight she stood alone, valise in hand, breathing in the sea air. She was free now, to spend the next days as she pleased.

She set off along the main street, gazing about her with interest as she went. She would walk around for a while and look out for a pleasant little hotel near the sea-front, she decided – and told herself once again how glad she was to be there, free of responsibilities and cares for a while.

At the sea-front she stood at the railing of the promenade and gazed out to sea while the gulls wheeled in the dull sky above her head. Unable to prevent her thoughts from wandering, she imagined Gentry moving to the front door of the house in Almond Street, ringing the bell … Angrily, she dismissed the picture from her mind. It was idiocy to dwell on such matters. She turned and started off again along the promenade.

After stopping for a while in a tea-shop where she drank some coffee she went into one of the smaller sea-front hotels and inquired after a room. On being told that there was one available she asked to see it and a maid was instructed to show her to a room on the second floor. Entering the room, Blanche looked around her. The room, with its view of the sea, was pleasant enough,
but suddenly into her mind came the question: What am I doing here, staying alone in some unattractive seaside town where I have no desire to be? Turning to the maid, she thanked her, but said she had changed her mind. Then, quickly, she walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the foyer and out onto the street. There she turned her steps in the direction of the railway station. She would return to Bath at once. And it was no good trying to fool herself as to the reason for her return. The reason was Gentry. And now she could only pray that she would get back to the house in Bath in time to see him when he called.

In a little under an hour she was sitting on a train on the first part of her return journey to Bath.

She got there just after five o’clock, and as the train drew into the station she adjusted her hat and prepared to alight. She found that she was trembling and she became aware of the beating of her heart. Part of her emotion now was fear – fear that she was too late.

The train slowed and came to a halt. Following on the heels of another passenger she stepped down onto the platform. And a moment later she glanced up – and there was Gentry standing at the other end of the platform.

She came to a halt so suddenly that the man who had followed her from the carriage stumbled and almost fell over her. She was faintly aware of his muttered oath as he recovered himself and moved on. And she stood there, gazing at Gentry as he, unaware of her, stood reading a newspaper, his suitcase on the ground at his feet. And then after a moment or two, as if he had somehow felt her eyes upon him, he lifted his head and saw her.

For a second he remained still, looking at her, while the other travellers brushed past them. Then he folded
his paper and put it under his arm, took up his suitcase, and moved towards her. Standing before her he bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

‘Hello, Blanche.’

‘Hello, Gentry.’ She could still hardly believe it, his presence; she had found him.

‘I called at the house, Mr Marsh’s house,’ he said. ‘The maid told me you’d gone to take your charge to Weston-Super-Mare. She said she thought you’d be staying on there for a few days.’ He shrugged. ‘So – I was on my way to London.’ With a little smile he said: ‘Did you change your mind – about staying there?’

‘Yes – as you can see.’

He nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

Taking her arm, he led her from the platform.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Is there anywhere you would like to go?’

I just want to be with you, the voice inside her head replied. She said aloud: ‘I’m not particular. Perhaps we might have some tea and a sandwich.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Not since a very early breakfast.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll get some tea and something to eat.’

Before leaving the station they stopped at the left-luggage department and Gentry deposited his suitcase and Blanche her valise. Then together they went out into the street.

A little later, in the tearoom of a large hotel nearby Gentry chose the most secluded table available, and when they were settled ordered tea and smoked salmon sandwiches. When the waitress had gone away with their order he turned his attention back to Blanche. Returning his gaze, she said:

‘You’re looking so much better. When you came back from South Africa you looked very tired, very weary.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve had opportunity to recover since then.’ He looked so handsome. She wanted to lean across the table and kiss him on the mouth.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m well. I’m very well.’

‘Married life,’ she said – and she could not prevent herself from saying the words – ‘Married life obviously agrees with you.’

He let this pass. ‘Marianne sends you her fondest love,’ he said, ‘and demands that I persuade you to come back to Sicily with me. And if you can’t be persuaded then I’m to kidnap you, or take some other similarly desperate measures. Anything, apparently, so long as I get you there.’

Blanche laughed. ‘Oh, I’d so love to, but – I’m afraid it’s just not possible.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps in a few weeks? Couldn’t you arrange it?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ How could she go to Sicily and live in the same house as Gentry? To be in his presence for hours at a time, for days at a time? Such a thought was not to be considered, no matter how much a part of her longed for such a thing to happen. ‘No,’ she said again, ‘I’m afraid I’m quite committed at present. There’s no way that I can get away. But tell Marianne that just as soon as it’s possible I shall be there.’

The waitress arrived then, all neat black and starched white lace, carrying a laden tray. When she had gone again Gentry watched Blanche as she ate. ‘You were hungry,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘You should have eaten something while you were at Weston.’

‘No, I couldn’t do that.’ Then she added, ‘I had to get back – in case you called.’

A silence followed her words. In the silence she gazed at him for a few moments, then forced her attention back to the food before her. She was trying to provoke him, she realized, trying to provoke some response from him which, in his present situation, he could not allow himself to make – whatever his feelings. She no longer felt hungry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, eyes lowered. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair of me.’

Another little silence. Blanche dabbed at her mouth with her napkin then said, moving onto safer ground:

‘Marianne said you had inherited some property – in Brighton. Have you been to see it?’

‘Yes. A house there – left to me by a maiden aunt. There’s no point in my keeping it. I’m having it sold. I’ve put it into the hands of agents.’

‘So your business in England is finished now.’

‘Almost.’

‘When will you return – to Sicily?’

‘Tomorrow. I have appointments. But I must leave for London tonight.’

‘Tonight?’

She had not intended her voice to give away her sudden sense of dismay. Gentry nodded.

‘I have a business engagement there late tomorrow morning. I’ll start home by the afternoon boat train.’

‘Home,’ she echoed softly, her tone wistful. ‘So if I hadn’t come back from Weston today we wouldn’t have met …’

‘I’m afraid not – not this time. I’d hoped to be down here earlier – but the business in Brighton took longer than I anticipated.’

They were silent for some moments. When they spoke again it was if they had determined to speak on matters that did not concern them both. He told her that his father had not been well for some time now,
and had more or less given up all active participation in the family business, Gentry having almost completely taken over the running of it. Blanche in turn told him of her work in the Marsh household, and then of Ernest, of not having heard from him in a very long time.

‘And you’re worried about him, obviously,’ Gentry said.

‘Of course. I just wish I knew where he was, what he’s doing. If I knew where he was I would go to him.’

‘Don’t worry about him. You’ll hear from him again when he’s ready.’

‘But it’s been so long, and – he’s all I have left.’

They left the hotel after a little while longer to go back out into the sunshine of the late afternoon. As they emerged onto the street a young man limped into their path, unshaven, dirty and ragged, his open cap in his hand. Blanche recoiled from him, her disgust plain in her face, and she was surprised when Gentry took coins from his pocket and gave them to the man.

As they walked on, the man’s thanks ringing after them, Blanche said:

‘They come to the house all the time, these wandering navvies, or whatever they are. They come begging food or money, or asking for work. They frighten me. Lily and I, the maid, we send them packing – no nonsense about it.’

Gentry looked at her in surprise. ‘There but for the grace of God …’ he said. He sighed, shook his head. ‘There’s more than one way of being a casualty of war.’

‘What d’you mean?’

He gestured with a nod of his head. ‘That young man there – he was probably fighting on some Transvaal plain a couple of years ago. These poor bastards – they’re encouraged to rush off for the Queen’s shilling, but when the fight’s over and they get back and have to
cope with the consequences no one wants to know anymore. It makes me sick; there’s so much talk about Glory and Patriotism, but when it’s over the ones who do all the talking find the survivors an embarrassment. Particularly the injured survivors. It’s always the way. I was one of the lucky ones. I survived intact. But when I think of all those poor bastards who were injured, or who died for no other reason than the incompetence of the army doctors …’ He shook his head. ‘Doctors.’ His voice was heavy with contempt. ‘It wasn’t surviving the Boers that was the problem for most men, it was surviving the medical assistance and the army hospitals.’ There was a look of bitterness in his eyes. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘– it’s over now. And please God we shan’t have to suffer like it again in order to satisfy the whims and the bruised pride of some jingoistic British bureaucrats and politicians. God save me from them.’

Blanche did not want to dwell on such a melancholy subject. A little petulantly, and feeling reprimanded by his words, she said, ‘Oh, let’s not talk about such things, Gentry, please.’

He smiled down at her. ‘No, of course not.’

They walked on. ‘What time are you expected back?’ he said after a minute or two. ‘Will they wonder where you are? Don’t you have things to do?’

‘No. Not with Clara away …’ Blanche shrugged. She felt awkward. The atmosphere between them was constrained. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said, ‘I’m expecting a visit from a friend of yours.’

‘Oh? Who’s that?’

‘Signor Pastore. Alfredo Pastore.’

‘Pastore?’ And then he nodded, remembering. ‘Oh, yes, Pastore.’

She wondered why she had brought up Alfredo’s name. If she had hoped to stir in Gentry any sign of
jealousy she saw nothing of it. He just shook his head. ‘He’s not a friend,’ he said. ‘I don’t really know him. His father had business dealings with
my
father at one time – concerned with soap export, I believe.’

They walked on, to what purpose and towards what destination she did not know. As if aimlessly they wandered into one of the city’s parks, and as they walked slowly along the narrow paths she thought of that other time and that other park when they had walked together. Gentry, looking at his watch, remarked that it was almost seven-thirty.

‘I’ve booked a sleeper which will get me into London early in the morning,’ he added. ‘It leaves just after eleven.’ He paused. ‘Are you able to have dinner with me before I go?’

She nodded, trying to appear casual. ‘If you like. I’ve got nothing to hurry back for.’