The Complete Short Stories (42 page)

Past the Cathedral, past the ‘Fighting
Cocks’ which will not be open till later, past the ice-cream stand, past the
mill-race, past the lake which was once a monastic fishpond, they come. The
year is 1950. June Flinders is her name, Bill Dobson his. The ancient site of
Verulamium is the place. Arm in arm they advance towards us.

Miss Finders was still a
student at a university in the north of England. Mr Dobson was a teacher of
domestic science at a technical college in the Midlands. They had met at a
holiday course. There was a Mrs Dobson but she was far from their thoughts.

They dallied awhile by
the mill-race, leaning over the bridge. A cow came down and stepped daintily
into the water farther up where the river was calm. Silent and patient as a
tree standing in its own shadow, she stood and accepted the cool water about
her feet. Where the stream broke up noisily at the mill-race a few barefoot
boys were playing. Neither June nor Bill were fond of children, but they felt
pleasantly inclined towards these boys. Because they were two together,
illicitly, and in secret, a sentiment of indulgence entered their hearts and
caused them to buy five cones at the kiosk, and distribute them among the
children.

The boys took the
ice-creams and deserted the mill-stream right away as if they felt this
unforeseen treat might be snatched away.

‘Don’t go, boys,’ said
Bill. But that finished it. They recognized the teacher in him, and were gone.

‘It must be funny,’ said
June, ‘suddenly inheriting a fortune.’

He was glad she had
opened the subject. There was something he wanted to tell her.

‘I couldn’t believe it,’
he said, ‘at first.’

‘I’m sure,’ said June.

‘I showed Maisie the
letter. Maisie couldn’t believe it,’ he said; ‘at first.

A look of sad reflection
overcame June’s face. Maisie was Bill’s wife and June felt sad and reflective
whenever she was mentioned. Moreover, this expression was one to which June was
adapted by nature. She wore her light hair parted in the middle and drawn back
in a bun, and she had rather a long white nose, think of this, and you will
understand how the dolorous look fitted in with the whole.

She pursued the subject,
however.

‘It will make it easier
when we break the news,’ said June.

‘Yes,’ he replied
eagerly, ‘that’s the important thing about the money. Maisie won’t be dependent
upon me, now or later.

‘As a matter of fact,
June,’ he said, ‘I have left her the lot in my will. I’m sure you will agree,
that’s the best thing in the circumstances. But, of course, we shall have
enough to live on, June. Only, I thought it only right, June, to leave her the
lot in my will. It will make it easier when we break the news.’

‘The lot?’ said June.

‘Yes,’ said Bill. ‘It
will make it easier for us, you see.

‘It’s a great deal of
money,’ said June.

‘The tax would come off
it, the death duties,’ he said pacifically. ‘But we ye got our life ahead of
us, and who knows who will die first?

‘Don’t let’s talk about
it,’ he added.

‘Let’s live and make the
most of it,’ he added further.

Bill was forty-two. To
June who was eighteen, he did not seem to have his life ahead of him. But then,
she was in love with Bill; surely that was all that mattered. His ways were
almost exactly like the ways of the Professor of Botany, with this exception,
that Bill had run away with her and the Professor of Botany had not and never
would.

It worried June that
Bill had not made a clean break with his wife. Indeed, Maisie knew nothing
about her husband’s romance, and fancied he was gone to give a series of
lectures.

‘I wish you had made a
clean break with Maisie,’ said June, ‘I always hate deception in cases like
this.’

‘Why,’ said Bill, ‘have
you done it before?’

‘Oh no,’ June said
swiftly, ‘I just meant that I always hate deception.’

June had not done it
before. This worried her. They had left their luggage in the hotel bedroom.
Bill had signed ‘Win and Mrs Dobson’ in the book. Suppose he ceased to want to
live with her always? Suppose he only wanted her for one thing. If he only
wanted her for that, it would explain why he had not told Maisie. It would be
too late afterwards. What a muddle.

‘I always hate
deception,’ June repeated.

‘I thought we should see
how we get on together before doing anything final,’ Bill was careless enough
to say.

‘You said it was all
over between you in any case, said June.

‘It is,’ said Bill. ‘It
is.’

‘Bill,’ she said, ‘will
you do something for me?’

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘Just for tonight,’ she
said, ‘I’d rather we didn’t — I’d prefer not to — I mean let’s not —’

June sought round in her
mind for the correct phrase. She was anxious to convey her meaning without
seeming either coarse or prim. With relief she lit on the words she wanted.

‘I would rather we were
not intimate tonight,’ she said.

Bill looked put out.
There were some very surprising elements in June.

‘Don’t you want to stop
at the hotel?’ he said.

‘Oh yes,’ said June
impatiently, ‘but I’d rather we waited. Don’t you see. It’s a very important
and big thing for me.

‘Tomorrow night, though,’
she added, with a searching look at Bill.

‘That’s all right,’ said
Bill who was still a bit bewildered. ‘If you don’t want to come across with it
— I mean,’ he said, ‘if you would rather wait my dear, then naturally I will
respect your wishes.

‘I hope,’ he said,
warming to the idea, ‘I hope that I am man enough for that. And I love you very
dearly, June.’

June felt relieved. She
would have liked to go on about the final break with Maisie, but she thought it
wiser to wait.

‘Let’s go and see the
old Roman wall,’ she suggested.

She had thought it wiser
to wait before mentioning Maisie again. However, she was only eighteen and very
excited.

‘I’m only eighteen and
very excited, what with it all,’ she told herself.

In a few seconds she was
back on the subject of Maisie.

‘Have you made a
settlement on Maisie?’ she inquired. ‘Because I hope you will make her a small
income. Have you done that?’

‘Yes,’ said Bill.

‘Sufficient for her
needs?’ said June. ‘They can’t be much, there are no children involved.’

‘Yes,’ said Bill.

June was longing to ask ‘How
much?’ She was thinking of the best way to frame this question when Bill spoke
again.

‘I must remember to send
a flyer to my old cousin Leonard. He lives near this place, in fact. At Bricket
Wood.’

‘Who is he?’ said June. ‘Oh,
I hope we shan’t meet him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Bill
laughed. ‘He wouldn’t recognize me. He’s been simple all his life. He lives all
alone, poor chap. I daresay he gets a disability pension now,’ Bill mused on. ‘Still,
I must get Maisie to send him a flyer, now I can afford it.’

‘Why Maisie?’ said June.
‘Can’t you do it yourself?’

‘I don’t know his
address,’ said Bill. ‘Maisie knows it. She has kept up with him. Out of
charity, you know.

‘Maisie has got her
better side,’ Bill said, stopping in the pathway to stress his point. ‘I’ll say
that for her, darling.’

‘Oh, everyone’s got
their good side,’ said June, looking at him anxiously. ‘But she sounds a terror
otherwise.

‘Yes,’ said Bill. ‘I’m
afraid she is a terror all right. But I’m going to buy my freedom now, at last.’

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s
go and look at the Roman wall.’

He took a few paces
forward and stopped. ‘Stop,’ he said.

About fifty yards ahead,
on the left side of the path facing the lake, was a bench. It was placed on a
small raised bank under a hawthorn. A man and a woman were seated on the bench.
Owing to the bending sprays of hawthorn, it was impossible to see their faces
properly.

‘That looks like Maisie,’
he said.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
‘Don’t move, dear. Let’s wait a moment. ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘Oh, Bill!’ she
said. ‘I’m going back to the town.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he
said, ‘I’m not at all certain it is Maisie. It just looks a bit like her. I can’t
quite see the face. But I’m certain she never comes here.’

‘Maybe she has come to
see your old cousin,’ said June. ‘Oh, let me get back, quick.’

‘That’s possible,’ said
Bill. ‘It might be old Leonard with her there. But I’m sure she would have told
me she was coming.’

‘I’m going,’ said June.

‘No. Wait here. Don’t
panic,’ said Bill. ‘I’ll find out.’

‘It might all get into
the papers,’ said June, ‘my name and all.’

‘It won’t get into the
papers,’ said Bill.

Alas, it got into the
papers.

In their present predicament, Bill kept his
head.

‘Wait here,’ he
repeated. ‘I’ll skirt round that wooden hut and get a look at their faces. I’ll
soon see if the woman is Maisie or not.’

I daresay that even if
you once knew the place you would not remember the wooden hut. It was a modest
building situated on the lake side of the path, about halfway between the mill-race
and the bench where the couple were seated. It was a building less crude than
it looked. Perhaps it was built to look rustic, with its rough overlaid planks.
It was lined with brick. All round this simple structure was a narrow space
fenced off with wavy wire. You might enter this enclosure at either end,
according as you were a Gentleman or a Lady in large print. These were the days
before a skirted or trousered figure indicated your rightful door. The two ends
of the public lavatory were separated by a shaky fence.

It is doubtful if Bill
noticed this. In any case, he went in at the right end, and passing the wooden
door marked Gentlemen, began to skirt round the building with his eyes fixed on
the bench.

He could not make out
their faces. Keeping close to the wooden walls he passed under the Gentlemen’s
windows. Still he could not see the couple on the bench. The hawthorn tree was
still in the way. If, at first, he had observed what the building was, he had
by now forgotten it. He was intent on seeing the occupants of that bench.

It took him three
movements to climb over the wire fence separating the two ends of the
enclosure. A second, and he was under the windows of the Ladies.

Nearer, nearer, he
crept. Yes — it is Maisie! But, is it? No. She has no hat on. Maisie always
wears a hat. It is not Maisie. But look — she is holding her hat! Yes, and isn’t
that Leonard there beside her, with his mouth wide open?

To make quite certain,
Bill started to heave himself up on to the sagging wire. He gripped the ledge
of one of the Ladies’ windows; he placed his hand on the ledge of another
Ladies’ window. Thus poised, he turned and got a clear view of the bench. It
was Maisie! It occurred to him how like June she looked; older, of course. Yes,
and that was Leonard sitting all slack and silly beside her.

Thus poised, he surveyed
them, calculating his retreat with June. They had better leave the town. No one
would see them. Thus poised, he signalled to June; and thus it was that they
caught him.

Advance warning of the
ensuing disturbance came with a fanfare of outraged shrieks from inside the
building. There was a splash followed by a child’s loud yell.

‘Hold him!’ said a thin
wiry woman, rushing out of the Ladies. ‘The dirty Peeping Tom, the swine!’

She got hold of Bill’s
feet, and with the aid of two passing girls who laid down their bicycles for
the purpose, floored him.

June turned and started
to run for it.

‘Wait here, you!’
shouted the wiry woman. ‘Stop her, someone. She’s a witness, an accomplice.’

A middle-aged couple
caught at June, who did not resist.

‘I know nothing about
it,’ she said.

‘I saw nothing,’ she
said.

‘Didn’t you?’ said the
thin woman. ‘Well I did.’

‘So did I,’ said one of
the girls. ‘He was peeping into the Ladies. Broad daylight, too.’

‘Low,’ said the
middle-aged man. ‘I call it low. You hold him down while I get a policeman.’

Three more women had
emerged from the Ladies a-tremble with the fuss. One woman held a little girl
under her arm, and with her other arm she wielded her handbag, landing it on
Bill’s upturned face.

‘Let me get up,’ cried
Bill, ‘I can explain.’

‘Yes, you sneaky peeper,’
said the mother of the wailing child, ‘You’ll explain all right. You wait till
my husband hears of this.’

‘Ask my friend there,’
gasped Bill, pointing to June.

‘Your friend!’ said a
pretty young redhead who had been inside the Ladies. ‘If she’s your friend, she’s
for it too. Part of the game, she is, I’ll bet.

‘With a face like hers,’
added Redhead inconsequently.

‘I didn’t see anything,’
said June helplessly.

Bill managed to lean up
on his elbows. The thin woman was sitting firmly on his legs. His feet were
being secured by the child’s mother.

As Bill saw the
policeman approach, so also did he see Maisie arise from the bench. Curious
about the little crowd which had gathered, Maisie ambled in her familiar casual
way, over to where he was lying. Behind her shuffled Leonard, shaking his head
a little.

Suddenly, Maisie jammed
on the brakes, her nonchalant stride ceased. ‘Bill!’ she said.

‘This,’ she informed the
crowd haughtily, ‘is my husband. Is he ill? Make way for me if you please.’

‘Oh, is he?’ said the
wiry woman, ‘Well, he’s been up to his tricks, the back-door squinter.’

June made one more
attempt to retreat.

‘You stop right there,’
said the redhead.

The policeman arrived. ‘Stand
up,’ he said to Bill.