The Red Cliffs (10 page)

“
Nonsense,
”
he said.
“
It was child
’
s play to my mechanics.
”

“
But their time
...”

“
As a matter of fact, I did it very guiltily,
”
he said, and
h
is next words quite disarmed her.
“
As soon as I had dropped you at Deeprose
’
s, I rang up my man and told him to go and get your car; and then I spent the rest of the morning wondering if you would resent it. I haven
’
t forgotten, Miss Springett, that you warned me off very thoroughly, and could hear you saying, What the blazes is that man butting in for? But I didn
’
t see how you were going to get to your office until the car was seen to, and after all, you can
’
t let Harvey Deeprose down, can you?
”
He smiled at her and she saw that he could be very charming when he wanted to be.
“
So you won
’
t tear a strip off me this time, will you?
”

In spite of herself, she smiled.

“
I did resent it, I admit,
”
she said.

“
But now you don
’
t?
”

After a moment
’
s hesitation, she said:

“
Now I don
’
t.
”

“
Thank you. Now please excuse me for a moment—I can see some empty glasses.
”
He went away, and his place was filled by a grey-haired but youthful-faced vicar, and then by Clive Rolands
’
wife Betty, who had felt that she was the only smart woman in the room until Alison came in and eclipsed her. Later, Mrs. Marport descended on her again.

“
I hope you
’
ve met everybody now,
”
she said.
“
And do you feel quite settled down among us?
”

“
I
’
m sure I soon shall be,
”
said Alison.
“
I
’
ve been wondering why, when you have this beautiful little house, you should want to change.
”

“
But I don
’
t want to change,
”
said Mrs. Marport.
“
I love it here.
”

Alison
’
s eyebrows shot up in astonishment.

“
But you did try to buy my house,
”
she said.

“
Ah yes, indeed. But failing yours, there is nowhere else I want to go. But think of the position yours is in—those wonderful views. It gives me a pang of regret to think of it now. In fact, dear Miss Springett, if you ever want to sell do give me the first refusal, will you?
”

“
Why not?
”
smiled Alison.
“
But it
’
s rather lonely, you know. You
’
re very snug among neighbours here.
”

A little later, she saw Neil and Mrs. Marport talking together and was surprised that they knew each other so well. Suddenly a suspicion came into her mind and would not be dislodged. Neil had. tried to buy her house through Clive Rolands, and been unsuccessful. Why should he not try through Mrs. Marport, whose kindly and innocent air would be most disarming? She became convinced that Mrs. Marport was completely happy where she
w
as, and that if she had bought Combe Russet Cottage, it would have been simply to re-sell to Neil; and her mood, which ha
d
been mellower today where Neil was concerned, hardened again.

So that when Neil, dragging himself away from a conversation with Dr. Perth and the vicar, looked for her again, she had gone. She drove home through the darkening lanes and went into the dark house. This first moment of going into a dark and empty house was one she did not like, but as soon as lights were switched on in hall and living room and kitchen, she was comfortable again. She changed the silk suit for a pair of tartan trousers and a sweater, and went into the kitchen to get herself some supper. She was in a mood that had frequently recurred during her growing-up years: thrown back upon herself and half detached, half depressed about it,
“
You
’
re on your own, Alison,
”
she reminded herself. It was no good to rely on other people. In the last resort, each person was solitary and had to manage alone. Whenever she had forsaken her independence, had gone halfway to meet somebody, especially a man, she had been thrown back upon herself to face this fact. She had been
on her own for so long. She had
had time to test it. The latest instance, and perhaps the hardest, had been Ralph
’
s behaviour. She had gone gladly halfway to meet him, thinking that this was the meeting of two solitudes that would
“
protect and touch and greet
”
each other, and it had turned out to be the most disappointing of all relationships, the most disillusioning. She had been inclined to give Neil the benefit of some doubt today, but perhaps it was a good thing to be reminded that he was interested only in getting his own way.
“
The thing is to be independent of everybody,
”
she resolved once more.
“
I can do it, if I set my mind to it. I have a job and I have a profitable sideline, and the two combined ought to produce enough to run this house. I have enough clothes to last me for years; and I don
’
t need help from anybody. I can make a fine life for myself.
”

Firmly decided to make a start on this
“
fine life
”
, she left the office at five o
’
clock next day. was taken home by the now sweetly running car in twenty minutes, and a quarter of an hour later had changed her clothes and was in her workshop.

She was not ready yet to start on the mother and child. She had made preliminary drawings and sketches, but it needed more thinking about. There were two or three unfinished pieces of work, and she decided to go on with one of these. She rejected the mare and foal, which she had grown tired of; it was the sort of thing the big stores could sell for her at any time, a good pot-boiler, but not very interesting to her. She began to work on the head of a young miner—a rugged face beneath the helmet and lamp, and one to which Alison was trying to give strength and grandeur. As she worked with her bright, sharp tools, she began to experience again the feeling of utter content that this work gave her. Time didn
’
t matter any more. Frustrations were eased away. The burden of everyday trials and troubles, which sometimes weighed so heavily, lifted. She was so absorbed that she did not hear approaching footsteps, and only looked up with a start, when a voice said to her:

“
Good evening, I hope I don
’
t disturb you.
”

It was the vicar she had met at the cocktail party the evening before, Hugh Berritt. Most reluctantly, she stopped her work, but kept her chisel in her hand.
“
Good evening,
”
she said.

“
Don
’
t let me stop you. Do go on,
”
he said.
“
I saw your car was here and thought I would call, but I only have a minute or two.
”

“
May I go on? I have so little time to do it.
”

She went on working and the vicar watched her.

“
What a wonderful head,
”
he said.
“
May I look round? I had no idea such a gifted person had come to live among us, of course there was no reason why I should. Ah, this is going to be a Madonna, I think.
”

It was a long, solid piece of wood, at present only lightly outlined.
“
What I have always wanted to have in my church is a really beautiful crib at Christmas time. The loveliest I ever saw was in a
s
mall church in Austria—it has been my standard of excellence ever since.
”

“
I have done several in my time,
”
said Alison.
“
The first was for my school when I was about fourteen, the last was for a church in London.
”

“
Ah,
”
said the vicar. Alison glanced at him and he laughed. After a moment, she laughed with him.
“
I
’
m not sure,
”
he said,
“
that you haven
’
t let yourself in for a long siege of persuasion. You shouldn
’
t have told me that, you know: we are persistent beggars where our churches are concerned.
”

“
Consider i
t
unsaid,
”
said Alison.

“
I can
’
t do that. There is a lot of time between now and Christmas.
”
He watched her intensity and he knew that he was in the way.
“
I won
’
t disturb you, I
know you want to work, but I hope I shall see you again, Miss Springett. Don
’
t stop. Goodbye.
”

“
Goodbye,
”
she said, surprised at the brevity of the call, at the suddenness of his putting an end to it.
“
I hope I haven
’
t been rude,
”
she added,
“
but I do want to work.
”

“
Of course. I quite understand.
”

“
That
’
s very nice of you. Goodbye.
”
He went away and, on impulse, she called after him:
“
And I
’
ll think about the crib.
”

A moment later she wondered what on earth had prompted her to say that. In her heart she knew that she was committed; that she had committed herself. It was a piece of foolishness when she needed to make money from her work. For a moment or two she was angry with herself; then, with easy fatalism, she shrugged off the annoyance, and soon she knew that she would enjoy making really beautiful figures for a Christmas crib for the church. It could take up her spare moments, she thought airily, ignoring the fact that her spare moments were going to be few.

She worked until she was tired. The evening was getting dark, and the light in the workshop threw a wide beam of yellow light into the darkness. Roger saw it as he propped his bicycle against the fence, and made his way towards it.

“
Hullo,
”
he said from the doorway.
“
Hard at it?
”

She threw down her chisel.

“
I
have been,
”
she said,
“
but I
’
m tired now.
”

“
No supper?
”
he asked her.

“
No time,
”
she replied.

“
What a stupid girl,
”
he said.
“
You must eat. I
’
ll go and cook some for you.
”

“
It
’
s all right,
”
she said.
“
I
’
ve finished now. I can do it.
”

“
So can I. I learned in a hard school, from times when, if I didn
’
t cook myself, nobody would do it for me. If you
’
ve finished, you can put your feet up until supper
’
s ready.
”

“
What a wonderful idea,
”
said Alison.

He refused to let her help. She washed her hands, and brushed sawdust and shavings from her clothes and put her feet up on the living room sofa until supper was ready. She and Roger ate in the kitchen, and the food was good.