The Bazaar and Other Stories (45 page)

 

But the girl was in a race of her own thoughts. “Nothing I ever
want does he ever do! And there really seem to be times when I
don’t exist for him! For instance,
now
he’s gone off with the cigarettes

 

– what am
I
to smoke?” Joanna supplied her with one. “Thanks,” said
the girl. She inhaled, then slowly turned her eyes on Joanna,
studying her as though for the first time. “Or do
you
,” she asked,
“wonder why he loves me?”

 

“Why in the world should I? It’s not my business.”

 

“I agree, it’s not,” said the girl. “But I thought you might. A
number of people do.”

 

Joanna crossed the room, to the kitchen door.

 

“Where are you going?” the girl cried, instantly.

 

“To put the kettle on. This is tea-time.”

 

“I implore you, not!
Tea
, to me, is the end.”

 

“I’m sorry, but this
is
, still, my house.”

 

“I asked you a question. I wish you’d answer.”

 

Joanna paused, and turned round. “Listen,” she said, “I look on
this afternoon as a business occasion, simply and purely. You and
your
fiancé
are here, by formal appointment, to view my property. I
require to sell; you may be
⁶
thinking of buying. Should you find you
want – that is, that both of you want – to go further into the matter,
we’ll talk further – but, please,
about that only
. All and everything else

 

– and this I think you
should
see – is outside my province.”

 

“You’re not very human, are you?”

 

“I’m not inclined to be human, just at present . . . And
I
want tea,
whether you do or not.” Joanna disappeared through the kitchen
door. The girl was left to gaze after her – not abashed, but a little
stricken, and wholly mystified. After a moment, she crushed out her
cigarette, and followed Joanna – as far as the kitchen threshold:
from there she continued talking, propped in the doorway.

 

“If you mean, being human hurts,” she said, “
I
know that. It’s a
mistake to love, I’m inclined to think. It upsets you fearfully, does it,
leaving this cottage? In that case, why on earth do you? – why do
you
have
to? Have you got yourself into some hideous financial
mess?”

 

“No,” Joanna said (from within) shortly. She was to be heard
filling the kettle from a tap – later, setting china out on a tray.

 

“You don’t
look
like that type – but one never knows.” The girl
paused, thought, then asked: “I say – do you hate us?”

 

Unhearing, Joanna appeared in the kitchen doorway, bearing
the tray with cups, loaf, jampot. She steered her way past the girl
and put the tray down on the parlour table, beside the primroses.
Having done so, she turned, asking vaguely: “
What
did you say?”

 

“
Do
you hate us?”

 

“‘Hate’ you? – but what an idea! Why?”

 

“The idea of us. The fact that we
can
be here – that is, if we
choose to – and you have to go? The fact that we
have
the power to
buy you out? The idea of
us
here – doing what we like here – instead
of you? I once read some story, somewhere, about an outgoing
owner putting a curse on a place – because she loathed the idea of
having successors. You wouldn’t” – the girl looked dubiously at
Joanna – “
you
wouldn’t do that, would you?”

 

Joanna started, quite dumbfounded. “Goodness,” she exclaimed,
“what a morbid story! I couldn’t imagine anyone having
that
men tality – that is, if they truly cared for a place. Where I’m concerned,
certainly, quite the contrary. Whoever comes after me here will have
my goodwill – for this reason – ” She glanced around the beloved
room. “What I could
not
bear would be, thinking of this cottage with
people in it who were not extremely happy! . . . That’s what it’s used
to,” she added, tenderly laying her hand against the chimneypiece as
though touching a living thing.

 

Tonia, looking at Joanna broodingly, said: “
You
’ve been so
⁷
happy
here – all alone?”

 

Joanna nodded. “But that,” she added, “is how I happen to be.”

 

“I’m beginning to wonder,” Tonia said, “whether it isn’t easier for
one person to be happy, than for two.”

 

“Surely not – I’d be sorry to think so. Two are more . . . natural.”

 

“So one might hope – but look at Andie and me. We’re in love,
all right; but look how we’re both on edge! You’re shrewd, you know

 

– I can see. You’ve had quite a fair sample of us this afternoon. What
I wanted to ask just now, when you slapped me down, was –
whether anybody
could
think we had got a hope? Many people who
see us together don’t. We’ve so little in common but
love
, it does
sometimes seem to me. And sometimes, when he goes silent – he
often does – or stares at me in that thoughtful and broody way, I
suspect that that’s how it seems to
him
. We have awfully different
outlooks, on several things, and I more and more see we have
different tastes. The attraction of opposites, I suppose. At the start,
marvellous. But how about when we’re married?”

 

Joanna, in her austere and distant way, said: “I understand,
marriage solves many things.”

 

The girl did not heed. She went on: “For instance, I get him under
the skin. I know I’ve behaved like nothing on earth today – poking
about your house, shouting brash remarks. The devil got into me,
but I’ll tell you why – ”

 

From the kitchen sounded the whistle of a “whistling” kettle.
Frustrated, the girl broke off. “There’s that
kettle
of yours boiling,” she
said drearily.

 

Joanna had already made for the kitchen. Once again, Tonia
followed her to the threshold; where, again, she propped herself, to
continue talking. “I don’t want to be mean,” she went on, “ – don’t
think I am! But no sooner were we out of the car and into this
cottage than Andie was like a cat on hot bricks, all on
your
behalf!
Whatever
I
did, it seemed, I put a foot wrong! You and he were
instant sympathy, I could see at a glance – and don’t think I mind!
Or rather,
that
’s not what I mind. What I do mind is, being totally
written off. You’ve got your feelings, I know – but how about mine?
After all, he and I
are
lovers, and we
are
going to be married, and we
are
looking for
⁸
a home – surely that’s important?”

 

Joanna, to be heard filling the teapot from the kettle, did not
answer. Now, she reappeared – with the teapot and hot water jug –
in the kitchen door, and crossed the room to the table. “You don’t
think,” she said, making room for the teapot, “that possibly you’ve
imagined the whole thing?”

 

“Oh my hat,” said the girl, resigned, “how maddening you are!”

 

Joanna, for an instant, gave her a smile – a smile that said: “I
do
understand, partly – and that ‘partly’ is slightly more than I want to!”
Aloud
, however, all that Joanna said was: “Would
he
– would your
fiancé
– like some tea?”

 

Tonia, ruefully, said: “That’s just what he’d love. He’s oldfashioned – that’s been one of our troubles. Do you bang on a gong,
or anything? – Or I’ll find him, shall I?”

 

“Do – will you?”

 

“I shouldn’t half wonder,” said Tonia, “if he’d taken to the woods.
Primrosing” – she shrugged her shoulders at the bowl on the table
⁹

 

– “and so on.” She worked her heels back into her pretty shoes –
lately, half off; as though already the country had made her feet
¹⁰
hurt. Leaving the parlour, she was to be heard limping across the
uneven floor of the kitchen – next, through the parlour window, she
could be seen in the garden (now in a dazzle of late-afternoon
sunshine) shading her eyes, looking helplessly this way, that way.
Finally she disappeared, to the left.

 

Joanna seated herself at the table, opposite the teapot, waiting.

 

The parlour window was darkened by a large shadow: here was
Andie, having come from the right. He leaned through the open
window into the room. “What, tea?” he said.

 

“Yes. Come in.”

 

His eyes travelled round the room, again. “Where’s Tonia?”

 

“She’s gone off looking for you.”

 

“Then she’s lost,” he said – with a tender exasperation which in
itself bespoke endless, protective love. “No girl ever had less sense
of direction! Keep that tea hot – if you can? – while I look for
her
.”

 

Joanna pulled a cosy over the teapot.

Tonia’s wanderings had landed her up in the old woodshed. She had
snagged a stocking. She was sitting – by no means securely – on a
stack of chopped logs near the open door, inspecting the damage to
the stocking, when Andie found her. From her manner, she might
have broken a leg. “What on earth have you done?” he said in alarm.

“Only my lovely stocking. And where have

you
been?”
“Oh, round the place.”

 

“A stroll round ‘our’ country estate?”

 

“Well,
I
wish it were. As we know, it could be. For a minute or

two, just now, I let myself imagine it really was. Down there, the
orchard ends in the woods, and there’s a plank bridge over a stream.”
A blend of vision and longing lit up his face, then were slowly
clouded.

She ran her finger, again, down the run in her stocking, and said
nothing.
¹¹
He sat himself on an ancient carpenter’s bench, opposite
her. “But the thing is, how do
you
feel, Tonia – Tonia darling?”

“You don’t really like it?” he said. “You

don’t
‘see’ the two of us
living here?”

 

Instead of answering, she looked, behind and around her, at the
dusky woodshed crammed with traditional, ancient, country junk –
broken harness, a wheel propped up with a chicken roosting on it.
With detachment, she said: “I suppose, this
could
make a garage . . .”

 

“What’s the
¹²
point of planning?” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Come on: we’ll say our goodbyes and get back to London.”

 

“She’ll be disappointed.”

 

“Oh, she’ll
sell
this place, soon enough.
That
needn’t worry her. I
should think, the next people who see it will snap it up.”

 

“I didn’t mean that,” said Tonia. “I mean, she’s keeping tea for
you.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

Bobbin, the big tabby, strolled into view in the woodshed door.
He stared, for a moment, neutrally at the strangers, then twitched
his tail and walked off – lord of the earth.

 

“We’ll never get
that
out,” said the girl. “Cats stick to places; they
own them.
He
’ll boss us around – you watch!”

 

“We shan’t need to watch,” he said in a deadened voice, “we shall
not be here.” He burst out: “Tonia, are we never to want the same
things?”

 

“
Who
said
I
said there was anything the matter with this cottage?
And I’m the one who could tell you, as a matter of fact. You go
daydreaming off among the birds and the bees;
I
at least took the
trouble to look at the top floor.”

 

He said: “You
could
have waited, I thought.”

 

“What else are we here for?”

 

“It’s still her house.”

 

“That, she’s made
very
clear to me!”

 

“I don’t suppose she intended to. She’s been more than . . . civil.”

 

“Oh, she’s been marvellous! It’s a pity she’s not me.”
“What on
earth
do you mean?” he said, frowning.

 

“She suits you,” said Tonia, turning away her head. “
I
don’t seem
to know how to, these days – I merely love you.” She put a hand up,
to ward off interruption. “It’s all right; I realise you do
love
me. But
any decision brings a fight to the surface. This afternoon, for
instance,
should
have been fun . . .” She stood up, and, twisting her
handkerchief miserably, uttered a sob.

 

He said: “The way we’ve been living, the pace we’ve been living
at – we haven’t given ourselves a chance. Scrappy half-hours and
hectic evenings. I’m certain, all we need is time – time together. And
peace; we could have
that
here. – Tonia, my love, don’t be miserable:
I can’t bear you to!” He stepped to where she was standing and put
his arms round her.

 

In his arms, already a little comforted, she gave a final sob and
said: “
I
don’t know. In a way, this place frightens me – it’s so all-ornothing. For us, it would be either heaven, or – quite the other
thing.”

 

“Why should it be ‘the other thing’?” he said. He kissed her. For
an instant they stayed together; then she raised her head from his
shoulder, listening. – “Someone’s coming!” They stepped apart.
Tonia, to appear as disengaged as possible, brought out her compact
and went to work on her face.

 

Joanna, with Bobbin under her arm, composedly appeared in the
woodshed door. If she sensed an “atmosphere” in here, she did not
show it. “Good,” she said, “you’ve discovered the woodshed. I meant
to show you. It’s useful; there are no other outbuildings. Most of this
junk,” she said, with a nod at it, “is not mine; I found it here – it
could always go. On the whole, this old roof’s wonderfully good –
though one or two of the tiles at the far end” (she pointed) “look
loose, to me. I expect you noticed?”

 

Andie said: “No, actually . . .”

 

“Well, look again, after tea. – Won’t you, now, come in?”

 

“Oh dear,” cried Tonia, “I suppose tea’s got cold?”