The Lemon Tree (24 page)

He smiled. ‘You ask any ship’s officer,’ he said. They’ll tell you.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘You can tell Georgie that I have stopped smoking – in the soapery.’ At the same time, she wondered if Benjamin considered himself a Liverpool man and was warning her that he could bring down the soapery if he wanted to.

With Alfie’s help, Wallace Helena moved to The Cockle Hole. Later that evening, encouraged by Eleanor Al-Khoury, Benji called on her to see if she was comfortable.

The door was answered by a young woman in the late stages of pregnancy. There was none of the formality of Mrs Hughes. The woman wiped her hands on her apron and said, ‘Come in, Sir.’ She opened a door to his right and called, ‘You’ve got a visitor, Miss.’

When Benji entered, he found his cousin standing by an open window looking onto the river. White curtains billowed in the breeze.

‘Would you like a fire made, Miss? John’d do it in a tick,’ the woman asked Wallace Helena.

‘No, I’m warm enough, thank you, Elsie.’ She turned to Benji and said, ‘This is Mrs Fitzpatrick. She cooked me a beautiful fish dinner.’

Benji bowed to the blushing young woman, who smiled, and said, ‘It were nothing.’ She closed the door softly, as she went out.

Benji looked round the austere little room. Its whitewashed walls and bare, scrubbed floor gave a sense of coolness and space. A rag rug by the empty fireplace and cretonne-covered cushions on a pair of rocking chairs gave a touch of colour. A plain wooden table and two chairs stood under the open casement window, through which he had a view of the river. Another table with a single chair tucked under it held Wallace Helena’s books
and papers, not yet put in order, and an unlit oil lamp. Additional light was promised by two big brass candlesticks sitting on the mantelpiece, each with a large, fresh candle in it.

Wallace Helena sat down in one of the rocking chairs and invited Benji to take the other one. As he sat down, he told her that his mother was very tired after a day’s baking, and that he had persuaded her to go to bed early. She would come to see her on Sunday afternoon.

‘I’m sure she needs the rest; she works very hard.’ She wondered if Benji had told her about the row they had had, and whether she had sent him to mend his fences. She told him she would be delighted to see his mother, anytime, and then said, ‘Elsie was going to bring me a tray of tea, so she’ll probably bring an extra cup.’

He nodded. Because of the fight they had had, he was not sure what to talk about. Yet, for his own and his mother’s sake, a truce must be declared. She had offered him the chance last time they had spoken, and on the surface they had parted amicably. Inwardly, he had still been boiling with rage, and he guessed that she had realized it.

Finally, he cleared his throat and, for want of anything better to say, inquired how many rooms she had.

‘I’ve two. I’ve the bedroom above this room. It looks out on the river, and there’s a window-seat to sit on to watch the ships going to and fro. It’s got a washstand – and Elsie has promised me as much hot water as I want. There is a water closet in the yard. It’s all very simple, but I like it – and it is very quiet.’

He nodded. It certainly was peaceful and the air was fresh.

‘I think I shall enjoy Elsie and her husband, John. They’re unpretentious – unlike Mrs Hughes.’

He did not know Mrs Hughes, but her address was enough to suggest the type of woman, and he could
understand that Wallace Helena might find the atmosphere in her old rooms oppressive.

He had had an argument with Eleanor over the need for this visit. He simply did not want to face his cousin for a little while. His mother had said, however, that one of them should go down to The Cockle Hole to inquire if she were comfortably settled. In her anxiety to keep on good terms, she had said desperately and almost in tears because her feet were so swollen from long hours of standing, ‘Well, if you won’t go, I must.’

Because he knew how very tired she was and could see her feet bulging along the edges of her shoes, he had given in. She had said he ought to take some flowers; but the only flower shop was closed, so she had pressed upon him a bottle of lavender from the soap works, wrapped in crumpled tissue paper. He now presented the little parcel to his cousin with apologies for the lack of flowers.

She was pleased. She had handled the sample bottles in the soap works, but had not thought of taking one for herself. Now she unscrewed the bottle and shook a little of the scent onto her wrist. Immediately the small room was flooded with perfume.

She inhaled luxuriously. ‘It smells sharp and sweet at the same time – like citrus fruit.’ She glanced up from sniffing her wrist, and her voice became wistful. ‘You know, I miss the smell of the orchards in Lebanon. Oranges, lemons, apricots – they all smelled so lovely.’

‘I’ve never seen them, of course,’ Benji replied a little stiffly. ‘Mother’s got a mock orange blossom in the back yard. It’s got a nice smell. When girls we know get married, they beg bits of it to make wreaths to hold their wedding veils.’

‘What a charming idea.’ She put the stopper back into the scent bottle. ‘You’ve never thought of getting married, Benji?’

She had rarely asked a personal question of him, and this one made him more uneasy than ever.

‘No,’ he said, and then, feeling that he should give some explanation of the single state of a man of twenty-five, he said, ‘Father wanted to find a Lebanese girl for me, and I wasn’t too keen.’

‘He’d have a long search in England, I imagine?’

‘There are a few, I suppose.’

The advent of Elsie with the tea tray saved him from further questioning; she had brought a dish of hot, buttered scones to eat with the tea.

Wallace Helena busied herself with serving him, and then sat down again herself. She began to cough, and hastily put her teacup down in the hearth, in case she spilled some of its contents. It was not such a violent spasm as the one she had suffered in the office. When it lessened, she dabbed her lips with her handkerchief and picked up her cup again.

Her mind had obviously continued to run on the subject of marriage, because she said chattily, ‘I’ve never married myself, though once a Cree Indian asked my stepfather for me. Tom had to be very diplomatic about turning him down – because we live outside the Fort we could be attacked very easily by anyone feeling disgruntled! I have quite a number of Cree friends now.’ She went on to tell him of the sufferings of the Indians round her. ‘My partner is half-Cree, and his relations come to call from time to time.’

‘Must be an interesting man,’ responded Benji, feeling an unaccountable pang of jealousy, despite his resentment at Wallace Helena’s treatment of him.

‘He is,’ replied Wallace Helena. Then she said thoughtfully, ‘I’ve written to ask him what he feels about my taking over the Lady Lavender; whether he would like to buy my share of the homestead.’ She was lying because
she felt suddenly embarrassed at having brought up Joe in a conversation about marriage; she had, after all, only asked Joe whether he would like to come to Liverpool. If he came, then it would be possible to sell their holding and he could invest his share in an English farm, if he felt like it. She fumbled for her handkerchief.

‘I don’t think, really, that he would want to run the farm by himself – there is too much work. But it’s cleared and yielding well most years, so we could probably sell it to an immigrant – a few of them have money to invest.’ She stopped to dab her nose, which was threatening to run, and Benji tried to visualize her life in Canada and what kind of a man her partner was.

She tucked her hankie back into her waistband, and then said she thought that Joe might like to consider moving to England and buying a farm, because the winters would be much less severe.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The letters she had written to Joe suggesting that he should move had been difficult to compose, and she was sure Joe would think she was quite mad.

Benji said thoughtfully, ‘Good farm land is costly in Britain – in spite of the depression.’

‘Well, Joe was with my stepfather when he first squatted on Hudson’s Bay land, so I mentioned it as another option he could consider.’ She did not say that she had not mentioned the option of her return to the Territories; she wanted to live in a decent city or near one – with Joe by her side. In truth, there was little hope of his deciding to leave Canada; but she clung to that slender thread – he just might like to try something new.

Apprehensively, Benji asked if her partner would ever consider working in the soapery. He was relieved when she answered, ‘Not him. He’s an outdoors man, through and through.’

‘Do you really like Liverpool?’ Benji inquired.

Her face lit up. ‘Yes, I do. I understand the kind of problems we face in the Lady Lavender – but, believe me, doing business here seems less trouble than in the Territories – despite Mr Lever!’ She had opened her eyes, and she saw his astonishment at this remark.

She grinned, and then told him what a bitter struggle it had often been to stay alive and provide for themselves on Tom’s land. Now that they had surpluses to dispose of, they constantly pursued Government contracts to feed the Indian tribes round about. ‘We watch, like lynxes, for news of surveyors and other travellers passing through – they need supplies to continue north or west. I try to find out who is expected at the hotel or the Fort; I even made the acquaintance of the man who runs the telegraph office, because he often gets news first!’

For the first time in his visit, Benji relaxed a little and laughed. He could well imagine her striding in where other women would fear to tread. She had the same drive as his father and himself.

Wallace Helena picked up her teacup and drained it. ‘You know, when I set out from Canada, I never expected to find you here. I knew Uncle had fathered a child – but since he never mentioned you or your mother in his letters to me, I assumed your mother had left him and taken her baby with her; I’m told it’s common enough. I imagined him living alone, except for some kind of house-keeper.’ She paused to reflect for a moment, and then said, ‘Mr Benson didn’t mention you either.’

‘In the circumstances, I don’t suppose they would.’ He fidgeted uncomfortably.

‘You mean because Uncle didn’t marry your mama?’

‘Yes.’ There was a world of bitterness in the single word.

‘Tush! People cohabit for all kinds of reasons,’ she responded briskly, suddenly acutely aware of her position
with regard to Joe. They’d never even discussed marriage. Isolated, and with no intention of having children, they had not thought it mattered.

Benjamin looked down at the painted wooden floor, his expression grim and disillusioned. His situation certainly mattered to him, Wallace Helena realized. She examined him curiously in the light of the setting sun glowing through the window.

His eyelids were darker than those of English people she had met, the eyebrows heavier and smoother. His newly clipped hair was like a black satin cap on his big head. His hands, loosely clasped between his spread knees, were wide and stubby-fingered, the hands of a heavy, powerful man. When she had seen him walking about the soapery, he had given every indication of self-assurance and incisive confidence. Only when she asked stupid questions, she told herself, did he show the hurt man beneath.

He did not reply to her last remark, and, when the silence began to be painful, he lifted his eyes to look at her. Though his face was more youthful than hers, she had, once more, a feeling of looking in a mirror and seeing herself slightly distorted; they both bore lines of suffering and had the same air of cynicism and disillusionment.

‘You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?’ she asked gently, as if trying to reach out to him. ‘Was it because your parents weren’t married?’

‘Of course. Marriage is very important here,’ he replied with sarcasm.

‘I suppose it is,’ she agreed reluctantly. She got up from her chair and went to the side table to get herself a cigarello. As she lit it, she turned and inquired, ‘Have you ever asked Mrs Al-Khoury
why
she didn’t marry Uncle James?’

He was shocked. ‘You can’t ask a parent a thing like that! You don’t mention such things – at least, not in this society, you don’t.’ He spoke in English and, as a Liverpudlian, he muddled up his negatives in his confusion. ‘Actually, I thought Father must have a wife in Lebanon, perhaps an arranged marriage when he was very young?’

‘No. He was not married in Lebanon. But I don’t see why you could not ask your mother. You’re obviously very fond of each other, and you’re grown up. I could ask Mama anything.’

Benji gathered up his scattered wits, and said diplomatically, ‘You must have been unusually close, being a daughter.’

‘We were very close. We went through a lot of terrible things together, she and I. She was wonderful under the most appalling circumstances.’ She took another puff at her cigarello, and said absently, ‘I miss her very much.’

Benji’s father had said to him once that his sister-in-law was one of the most charming women he had ever seen. He said, ‘Father was upset when he heard how she had died – smallpox! Poor lady! A terrible death!’

Wallace Helena felt her eyes prickle, as if she were about to cry. She swallowed hard and tried to control herself.

Noting her struggle, Benji said with compassion, ‘I’m sorry.’

A tear ran down his cousin’s sallow cheek. She nodded her head as if in disbelief, as she told him, ‘It was horrifying. Afterwards, I stopped believing in God! The God for whom we had endured persecution had abandoned us. Mama and my stepfather – and Joe – suffered such agony – and each of them had already endured so much hardship in their lives.’ She sounded savage, as she went on, ‘If God exists, He is infinitely cruel.’