very nearly turned round my tail and went home, but I'm
much better now.'
'Oh, of course I realize it must have been an awful
strain -'
'I just wouldn't let him leave me. I was very selfish, I'm
afraid -'
'Oh, you mustn't think that. Your marriage, your husband.
Anyway, look at you now, running the shop -'
'How about lunch?' I asked, interrupting. 'I've booked a
table at the Queen's, Flick, in your honour. Are you ready,
Kathe?'
'M'm, rather! Oh, but just one thing before we go, Alan;
about those Bow figures - you know, the Five Senses - oh,
Deirdre, quick! Angela-'
Deirdre had let her attention wander and Angela, forgetting
the horses, was investigating a bee crawling over a
potted fern. Deirdre grabbed her hand just in time.
'Ah!' said Deirdre, 'don't you touch 'im! 'E've got 'ot feet!
Mistralan, d'you want me fang on 'ere till you gets back?'
'No, Deirdre, don't. I tell you what, we'll put up the
"Closed for Lunch" notice just for once, and all go out until
two. Mrs Taswell, will that suit you all right?'
'I really don't think you need go to those lengths, Mr
211
Desland. I've brought some sandwiches today, so I can quite
easily stay until you return. But after that, if you don't mind,
I'll slip out for half an hour. I have to buy a pair of running
shorts, and-'
'For yourself?'
'Actually, no, Mr Desland. But I must get them today.'
'Well, that'll be quite all right, Mrs Taswell, and thank
you very much. You're welcome to a full hour from two till
three, of course.'
After lunch, Flick and Angela went happily off with Kathe
to do some shopping before going up to Wash Common on
the bus.
'I'm going to do a bceuf en daube for to-night,' Kathe was
explaining as we came out of the Queen's. 'I've got the beef
out of the deep freeze last night and it's marinading now,
but I still need to buy a bouquet garni and one or two other
bits and pieces.'
'You like cooking?' asked Flick.
'Well, I like eating, anyway,' replied Kathe, with a laugh,
'and I must look after Alan and keep up his strength, mustn't
I? It's a very nice kitchen at Bull Banks, isn't it?' she went
on. 'And that lovely, old-fashioned kitchen table - very
steady and lots of room. Oh, that reminds me - I don't suppose
Mrs Spencer knows - about the grill - could you tell
me -'
I left them at it and went back to the shop.
'Alan, she's awfully nice, as far as I can judge in such a short
time. And I don't mean her looks, either - fantastic as they
are.'
The bceuf en daube (followed by strawberries and cream)
had been eaten and highly praised, and Flick and I had finished
a light-hearted game of Scrabble. Kathe, having opted
out to go on reading Godden's British Pottery and Porcelain,
had gone upstairs to have the bath first and, as she must
have known, to give Flick a chance to talk about her.
Flick, sitting in her old, accustomed place on the carpet
212
by the French windows, stirred her tea and went on before
I could answer.
'You were asking what I thought about the money. Well,
don't sell anything - not a damn' thing. Raise a loan from the
bank instead.'
'Why so catmatic?'
'Oh, you always were thick! You don't deserve Kathe, do
you? My dear boy, you've obviously no idea of the potential
of a girl like that. Unless there's something wrong with her
that doesn't show on the surface, she'll make your fortune.
Everyone will want to meet her and once they've seen her
no one will be able to forget her. All you've got to do is
make sure she gets enough elbow-room. She's damn' clever,
too, I'll give her that.'
'How d'you mean?'
'Well, you wouldn't notice, but all to-day she's been building
up a picture of herself as a wee waify brought to a
frightening foreign country and so dependent on her darling
Alan that she'd be utterly lost unless he stayed with her night
and day -'
'Well, she's fond of me, incredible as it may seem to you
- and to me, too, come to that.'
'Oh, yes, she's obviously nuts about you - that's what's so
clever. She's not pretending at all; she's simply emphasizing
the particular bit of truth that happens to suit her book. "I
know I kept him to myself, but I couldn't help it; you see,
I love him so much and I was all alone. I'm sure you'll all
understand." Oh, I rumbled her all right. Actually she's pretty
tough, if I'm any judge. 'Could even be ruthless if she wanted
to, I should imagine.'
other than wanting you to like her?'
'She might have - how would I know? I still think it's very
odd that she's told us nothing about her family and that she
wouldn't be married in church. But now I've met her I don't
think that really matters. I admire her. And I mean, she loves
you, she's a smasher and an asset and she's clearly got her
head screwed on the right way. Sense of humour, too. I think
213
you're doing more than all right, provided she's what you
really want - and she obviously is.'
'Oh, I'm so glad, Flick! What about Mummy, then?'
'Well, now we come to it. To use your own word, you've
been so ruddy uxorious that you seem to have completely
overlooked the real problem. Do you want Mummy to go
on living here - that's assuming she wants to - or d'you
want her to move out, or what?'
'Well, I'm blest if I know, to tell you the truth, Flick.'
'No, you wouldn't, you clot, that being the most important
thing.'
'Well, first of all, obviously, I want her to be on good
terms with me and Kathe. I mean, could she be persuaded to
come back for a bit and see how we all get on, and then I
dare say she and Kathe will talk it over -'
'Well, that's a good idea as far as it goes, and I'll work on
it when I get home. But I think Mum may not be coming back
for - well, for a few days, yet, anyway.'
'Oh, why not? I hope you don't think she's going to go on
feeling -'
'No, no, don't worry, dear boy. As a matter of fact she's
absolutely longing to get it all straight. But I just don't think
she'll be back for a few days yet, that's all.'
'I don't get it. D'you mean -'
At this moment there were piercing screams from overhead.
Flick raced upstairs and I followed, to find Angela
standing up on her bed, crying hysterically. Her face was all
blubbered with tears. Flick flung her arms round her and
rocked her to and fro.
'There, there, darling, it's all right. Mummy's here! What
happened? Did you have a nasty dream?'
Angela - a hefty, normally rather impassive little girl,
whom I had always found it difficult to get much out of seemed
utterly distraught. She
buried her face on Flick's
shoulder, clutching her with both hands and sobbing.
'It's all right, darling. Did you wake up all alone in a
strange bed, was that it? We're at Uncle Alan's, remember?
Look, here's Uncle Alan come to see whatever's the matter.
214
He thought something dreadful must have happened to his
Angela.'
'The water, Mummy!' sobbed Angela. 'The water!'
Kathe appeared for a moment in the doorway in her white
dressing-gown and, seeing that the situation was under control,
nodded to me and slipped out again.
'What about the water, darling?'
'It was all - water. I was lost - lost in the water!'
'It was only a dream, love. There isn't any horrid old
water - look!'
'I was under the water, Mummy! Ohh!' And poor Angela
began to cry again.
'You know, that's funny,' I said, taking one of her hands.
'I had a silly dream like that - oh, a long time ago now - and
it frightened me too, although I was quite grown-up. Blue
Ted, do you ever have frightening dreams?'
'Yes, sometimes,' replied Blue Ted in a squeaky ventriloquial
voice, 'but then Angela comforts me and makes it
better.'
Blue Ted obliged with a short touch of conversation and
clowning and after a bit Angela began to cheer up. I left her
to Flick and set off for bed myself.
There was no light on in the bedroom, but the curtains
were not drawn and the full moon, high above the downs
to the south, was shining in with almost dazzling brilliance.
Kathe had carried the dressing-table stool over to the long
window and, kneeling on it, was leaning forward, hands on
the sill, gazing down into the garden below.
'Is Angela all right now?' she asked, without turning.
'Oh, yes, she'll be O.K. now - 'probably be asleep again
in two minutes. That's not like her at all, you know. She's
rather stolid as a rule.'
'I thought it would be best if I just kept out of it.'
'Yes, of course; you were quite right.'
'Oh, Alan, I love this house so much - our beautiful home!
It's far, far away, isn't it? Far away from all those - those
wrong things. I feel so happy and safe here with you. Do
hurry up! I want to thank you.'
215
While I undressed and briefly cleaned my teeth, she continued
her luxurious enjoyment of the moonlight.
'D'you think moon-bathing would be nice, Alan? Could I
'Moonstruck, perhaps.'
'Oh, I'm that now. What are those trees up on the downs
- the big ones along the top?'
'Beeches. That's Cottington's Clump. Ladle Hill over to the
right.'
'They look so strong and beautiful. Will you take me up
there?'
'Yes, indeed I will.' Lifting her dressing-gown, I caressed
her naked thighs and buttocks.
'Oh, that feels so nice! Don't stop! Look, everything's
silver out there - the roses, the lupins, everything! Have you
noticed, they've got no colour at all by moonlight? I keep
saying to myself, "I want it all!" and then I remember I've
got it all - you've given it to me! I want it all - I want it
all! I won't leave any on my plate! What do you want,
Alan?'
'I want to make love to you.'
'Well, good gracious, I'm not stopping you, am I?'
'You're not co-operating.'
'I am! You see if I'm not! I just want to go on looking out
of the window, that's all.'
I stood close behind her and she, without turning, reached
back and drew my hands along her sides and up to her pendent
breasts, sinking down a little where she knelt on the
stool.
'Ah! Oh, ;a! Oh, Alan, I love you so much! Deeper! That's
right! Oh, you're marvellous!'
'You made me."
'Oh, I've never seen a more beautiful night in my life!
The lovely moonlight! Alan, would you say you were in the
background? Sort of background music?'
'I can certainly play it like that. Andante con moto, I
think, don't you? Now come on, tell me all the things you
can see.'
'Well, the yard, for a start.'
216
'No, that you can't. It's like the eagles and the trumpets
- buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.'
'The downs and the corn-field and the moon - I'd like to
take them all inside me, everything. Those big poppies and
the cypress tree and that funny little animal scuttling over
the lawn.'
'That's a hedgehog. I think I'd leave him out.'
'Well, a nice goat, then, Alan. Aren't you my beautiful,
sacred goat?'
'Yes, the bounty of God.'
'Are you? What am I, then?'
'The work of God, it says.'
'Oh, Alan, careful! Not too soon! Tell me one of those
lovely Heine poems. That'll steady you up a bit.'
I pondered for a moment, collected myself and pitched in.
'Wenn ich in deine Augen seh',
So schwindet all mein Leid und Weh;
Dock wenn ich kusse deinen Mund,
So werd' ich ganz und gar gesund.
Wenn ich mich lehn an deine Brust,
Kommt's fiber mich wie Himmelslust; -'
'But there's not a word of truth in all this, darling. Where
you are now you can't do any of those things.'
'I know. I was hoping it might give you some ideas. I'm
getting jealous of the downs and the garden, you see. They're
getting more than their share.'
'Oh, poor, frustrated lad - so patient and kind! Komm!'
Laughing and bending forward, she slipped down from the
stool, flung off her dressing-gown, ran over to the bed and
threw herself supine across it, her body chequered black
and white in the moonlight.
'Mach schnell!'
217
18
THE following morning, waking to find Kathe already up and
gone, I pulled on a shirt and trousers and made my way downstairs.
She, Flick and Angela were having breakfast in the
kitchen.
'If you're really sure,' Kathe was saying, 'that your mother
won't be coming back for a few days yet, do you think it
would be all right for me to alter one or two very small
things, just while I'm looking after the house? You know how
it is when you're running a house yourself - it's easier if you
can do some things your own way.'
'Oh, I'm sure that would be all right,' replied Flick.' 'Morning,
Alan. Eat it up, Angela dear! Tell me what you've got
in mind, Kathe. Improvements, I'm sure.'
'No, not really,' said Kathe. 'But I just thought I might put
up a line in here for drying the tea-towels, and perhaps rearrange
the store-cupboard a bit. Oh, and then, if you're sure
it's all right, could I move the dirty clothes-basket out of
the bathroom and put another chair in there? Only little
things like that; just to suit myself, really.'
'I'll tell Mum. I'm sure she won't mind. Alan, look, I'm
taking this suitcase with me. You can spare it until Mum
comes back, can't you? Only
I'm packing a few clothes she
asked me to bring for her, and some of her jewels and one or
two other bits. Kathe and I got them together this morning
while you were still snoring.'
'Oh, yes?' I said pleasantly. 'Now I remember someone
who really used to snore - when she was only twelve. Well,
as long as you've got all your own stuff together, too. I don't
want to be posting sponge-bags and hair-brushes off to
Bristol after you've gone. You always were a great leaver behind,
you know."
'You useless twit -'
'Such a nice, domestic atmosphere here,' said Kathe.
' 'Makes me feel really cosy. Alan, mein Lieber, I thought per218
haps I'd stay at home today and see to one or two things.
Can I? You could bring back some fish for supper if you
like - plaice, if they've got any: we're all right for vegetables,
though.'
An hour later I saw Flick off at the station, promising to
telephone that evening for a talk with my mother. I wished
she could have stayed longer. It wasn't only my affection for
her, and the reassurance and comfort of our talking and
sparring together, as we had for the last thirty years. It had
also given me intense pleasure to show Kathe off to her and
that, as it were, by not showing her off. Flick was
shrewd; we were deeply attached to one another and in the
matter of whom I married it would, I had always known,
take a lot to satisfy her. If Bill was an incontrovertible one
up to her, Kathe was indisputably all square to me. There
was no need to thrust her forward. As with Tony, I had
simply stood aside and let the wheels roll. Like George Orwell's,
my gold brick was made of gold (whoever would have
thought it?), and like him, I found the discovery moving.
All that happened at the shop that day - apart from some
encouragingly good, brisk trade - was that Barbara Stannard
dropped in, looking very much her best in a multi-coloured
sun dress and matching white bag and shoes.
'Hullo, Alan,' she said, in Deirdre's hearing. 'Nice to see
you back! Where's the Queen of Sheba?'
'If you mean Kathe,' I replied rather frostily, 'she's at home
to-day. How are you, Barbara?'
'I'm fine - but disappointed by what you've just told me.
Alan, everyone's talking about your wife and how lovely
she is and your incredibly romantic marriage. Is it true you
eloped with her to Florida?'
'No, not quite. It just happened that I had to go there and
we got married at the same time.'
'How super! But what a shame to deprive us all of Mendelssohn
and bells and cars with white ribbons. How could
you be such a spoil-sport?'
'Oh, I'm a terrible spoil-sport, Barbara: I thought you
knew that.'
219
This seemed to set the poor girl back a little, and I felt
rather ashamed of myself. After all, I had no earthly reason
to be malicious to Barbara.
'We wanted a quiet wedding. Kathe naturally felt a bit
nervous, miles from home in a strange country and being
German, you know. It just happened that I had to go over to
Florida anyway and the idea of a honeymoon there was
rather attractive.'
'And did it come up to scratch?' I gave a slight frown and
she hastily added, 'The sea and the weather, you know. Nice
hotel? Good food?'
'Well, we were lent a house to stay in, actually; complete
with black lady housekeeper. The swimming was splendid.
Certainly nothing wrong with the food - I put on three
pounds, I'm afraid.'
'I'm so glad you had a nice time; and I do congratulate
you. What I really came in to say, Alan, is that even though
it wasn't a formal wedding we'd very much like to give you
a present. We all feel we're old friends of yours - and Mother
says Kathe's such a beautiful girl," she added rather irrelevantly;
perhaps it was something she had set herself to say.
'Will you let us know what you'd both like? You won't forget,
will you?'
I felt touched. So far no one else had bothered to offer us
a present. I thanked Barbara warmly and promised to talk
it over with Kathe. We chatted on for a few minutes, but I
was saved from possible questions about my mother and
the future set-up at Bull Banks by the entry of three or four
customers in quick succession.
That evening, as I returned home (with the plaice) it was
raining; a gentle, scented rain, the sort that holds up Test
matches and makes people remark, 'Ah, but it'll do a lot of
good.' I came up the garden through a smell of wet leaves
and grass, noticing how well the gladioli were coming on.
('Can't be too much rain for they buggers,' Jack Cain once