Ivy Tree (21 page)

Grandfather came in then, followed immediately by Mrs. Bates with the tea. The old man was using a stick, which I hadn't seen him do before, and I thought he looked more finely-drawn than usual, with a waxy tinge to the skin.

"Grandfather, it's lovely to see you!" Julie, as she rose to greet him, gave him a fond, anxious look. "How are you?"

"Hra. You've controlled your anxiety remarkably well, haven't you? How long is it since you were here?

Twelve months?"

"Only ten," said Julie. "Grandfather, this is Donald Seton. He's a London friend of mine who drove me up, such luck, and he's going to be up here all summer, working at West Woodburn?"

"How d'ye do? Good of you to bring the child. Glad you could stay to tea. Working at West Woodburn, eh? What sort of work?"

As Donald answered, 1 noticed that Con, ostensibly talking to

Julie, was listening carefully. Mrs. Bates, lingering beside Lisa, hadn't taken her eyes off Donald.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bates," said Lisa, pouring tea. "That's everything, I think . . . Annabel, I wonder if you'd help hand the cups?"

"Let me, please," said Donald quickly, getting to his feet. Con slanted a lazy look up at him, and stayed where he was.

Lisa—with great restraint—poured tea for Julie and Grandfather before she attended to Con, but when she did come to Con's cup, I noticed that she not only put sugar in, but even stirred it, before giving it to Donald to hand to him. Donald carried it across with no change of expression, and Con took it without even looking away from Julie, who was telling some story or other which involved a lot of laughter. Mrs. Bates had made no move to go, but busied herself rather ostentatiously, handing scones. The little black eyes had never left Donald.

"London, eh?" This came as soon as he left his chair, and was detached, so to speak, from Grandfather's orbit. "So you've come up north for the summer, from what I hear?"

"Yes."

"And what d'you think of the North?" This in the tone of a champion throwing down a rather well-worn glove. "I suppose you Londoners think we've not even got electric light in these parts yet?"

"Haven't you?" said Donald, startled into a vague glance at the ceiling. I said quickly: "Mrs. Bates regards all Londoners as ignorant southerners who think the Arctic Circle begins at Leeds, or something."

"One wonders," put in Julie from the sofa, "if they mayn't be right, sometimes. Not this year, it's been heaven everywhere!*

"Even here?" said Grandfather, rather drily.

I saw a glance pass, like a spark across points, between Con and Lisa.

I said quickly: "Betsy, dear, Mr. Seton isn't a southerner, really; he's from Scotland."

"Oh?" She appeared only slightly mollified. "I've never been up in them parts. But you live in London, like?"

"Yes, I've got rooms there. But I usually spend die summer somewhere out on a—well, in the country. This year I'm at

West Woodburn."

"For the whole summer?" I hoped the calculating glance that Mrs. Bates shot at Julie wasn't as obvious to him as it was to me. But she underlined it. "How long are you staying, Julie?"

"Mm?" Julie had been laughing at some remark of Con's. "Who, me? As long as I can. I've got three weeks."

"Mrs. Bates," said Lisa, "there's the telephone, I think. Do you mind? . . . I'm sorry, Mr. Seton, but she's been a member of the family for so long, and of course she's known Julie since she was very small ... I think she puts all Julie's friends into the same age-group."

"And that," said Julie cheerfully, "stays at about thirteen phis. Donald doesn't mind, do you, darling?"

"Not in the least." Mr. Seton, who had, during the cross-examination, been handing sandwiches and scones round with unruffled good humour, now sat down, and took one himself-Somehow, I noticed, the stand of sandwiches and cakes had finished up in a position mid-way between his chair and mine, and within easy reach of both. No mean strategist, I thought, watching him finish his sandwich, and quietly take another. They were very good; I had made them myself.

"Now," said Grandfather, who, being a Winslow male, obviously thought it was time he was back in the centre of the stage, "about this Roman camp at West Woodburn . .."

"Fort, actually," said Donald.

"Fort, then. Habitancium, isn't that the Roman name for it?"

"Habitancum." Donald took another sandwich in an absent sort of way, while managing to keep a keenly interested gaze fixed on his questioner. "That's the name on the various inscriptions that have been uncovered. There are no other references, and the place is named solely from the inscriptions, so, in fact," that sudden, charming smile, "your guess is as good as mine, sir."

"Oh. Ah. Well, what I want to know is this—" But Mrs. Bates, laden with more scones, and big with news, re-entered the room briskly.

"The way things get around in these parts is like magic, it is that. Here's Julie only been at home five minutes before her young man's ringing her up on the phone. He's waiting." She slapped the plate of scones down on the trolley, and stared pointedly at Julie.

The latter looked blank for a moment, then I saw the faintest tinge of pink slide up under her skin.

"My—young man?"

"Aye," said Mrs. Bates a little sourly. "Young Bill Fenwick from Nether Shields. Saw you pass, he says, when they was working up near the road."

"Young Fenwick?" said Grandfather. "Nether Shields? What's this? What's this?"

"I've no idea." Julie spoke airily, setting down her cup. "Did he say it was for me?"

"He did, and well you know it. Never talked about anyone else since last time you were here, and if you ask me—"

"Oh, Mrs. Bates, please!" Julie, scarlet now, almost ran out of the drawing-room. Mrs. Bates gave a ferocious nod that was aimed somewhere between Grandfather and Donald. "He's a nice lad, Bill Fenwick is, but he's not for the likes of her, and that's the truth and no lie!"

"Mrs. Bates, you really mustn't—" began Lisa.

"I speak as I find," said that lady tartly.

"Hm," said Grandfather. "Pity you find such a lot. That'll do, now, Betsy. Go away."

"I'm going. Enjoy your teas, now, I made those scones meself. You'll not get the likes of them in London," with a nod at Donald, "nor in Scodand, neither, let me tell you. Now, did I see that cat come in or did I not?"

"Cat?" said Lisa. "Tommy? Oh, no, surely not, he's never allowed in here."

"I thought I seed him run past when I opened the door."

"Nonsense, Betsy, you're imagining things." Grandfather was poking about testily under the sofa with his stick. "There's no cat in here. Don't make excuses> now, just go away, do. The scones are excellent. Perhaps you'll get Julie to bring the hot water in, when she's finished her telephone call?"

"All right," said Mrs. Bates, unoffended. "There's nobody can say I can't take a hint as well as anyone." But, pausing at the door, she fired her last shot. "Mr. Forrest, too, did I tell you? He's back already. Didn't expect him till Friday, but he's flown. Maybe he'll be on the phone soon." And, with a chuckle, she disappeared.

There was a pause.

"Ah, well," said Con, reaching out a lazy hand, "the scones are worth it."

"Hm," said Grandfather, "she's all right. Trust Betsy with my last halfpenny, and that's a thing you can't say of many, nowadays. Now, Seton, where were we?"

"Habitancum," said Con, "just about to start digging."

"Ah, yes. Well, what are you going to find? Tell me that? If there's anything worth finding round here, I wish you digging Johnnies would find it at Whitescar. No likelihood of that I suppose?" I saw a sudden look of surprise flicker over Donald's face, to be followed by what looked like rather furtive embarrassment. Grandfather, drinking tea, hadn't noticed, but Con had. I saw his eyes narrow momentarily in a speculative look. Then I saw what was hidden from anyone else in the room. Donald's hand, with a portion of ham sandwich, had been hanging down over the arm of his chair while he talked. The skirts of his armchair almost touched the ground. From under the edge of this crept a stealthy, black and white paw, which once again patted the edge of the ham sandwich,

"There's nothing marked hereabouts on any existing map," said Donald, now serenely ignoring this phenomenon, "but that's not to say there was nothing here, of course. If you start turning up Roman coins with the plough, sir, I hope you'll send straight for me." As he spoke, he had returned the sandwich to the plate, and then his hand went, oh, so idly, over the arm of the chair, holding a substantial portion broken off. The paw flashed out and took it, not too gently. Tommy, it appeared, had had to learn to snatch what bits he got.

"And how long are you to be here?"

"Possibly until August, on this particular job."

"I doubt," said Con with a grin, "if we'll be doing much ploughing before you go, then,"

"No?" said Donald, adding, apologetically, "I'm afraid I'm very ignorant. Your—er, Mrs. Bates was perhaps not so far out in her judgment of Londoners."

"Well," said Grandfather, "if you can tell wheat and barley apart, which I've no doubt you can, then you'll be one up on me and Connor. I wouldn't know a Roman inscription from a whisky advertisement, and neither would he."

Con's protest, and my "Are you sure?" came simultaneously, and everyone laughed. Into the laughter came Julie, so blandly unconcerned, and so fussily careful of the hot-water-jug she was carrying, that the attention of everyone in the room switched straight to her with an almost audible click. It was all Con could do, I knew, not to ask her outright what Bill Fenwick had had to say.

"Julie?" Old Mr. Winslow had no such inhibitions. "What did the boy want?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Julie airily, "just how was I and how long was I here for, and—and all that."

"Hm. Well, now, let's have a look at you, child. Come and sit by me. Now, about this job of yours..." Conversation began to flow again, Con and Lisa both listening with some interest to Julie's account of her first year's work at Broadcasting House. Beside me, the skirts of Donald's chair began to shake in a frustrated fashion. I said gently: "Won't you have another sandwich, Mr. Seton? These are crab. They— er, go down rather well."

I saw the glimmer in his eyes as he took one. Half a minute later I saw the paw field a piece, very smartly, and, in a matter of three-quarters of a second, come out for more. Tommy, flown with good living, was getting reckless.

"You're not eating anything," Lisa said to me. "Have another sandwich. There's one left." Even as she turned to look, the paw shot out, and the last of the crab sandwiches vanished, whole, from the plate on the bottom tier of the trolley.

"I'm so sorry," said Donald, blandly, to me. "I took it myself. Have a macaroon."

O wherefore should I tell my grief,

Since lax I canna find? I'm stown frae a' my kin and friends, 

And my love I left behind.

 Ballad: Baby Livingston.

JULIE and I went out together that evening. Lisa's eyes followed us to the door, but she said nothing. Donald, not to be moved from his decision, had driven off to West Woodburn soon after tea. Grandfather, whom the heat was tiring, I thought, more than he would admit, had gone early to bed. Con had not come in again. No doubt he would come back at dusk for a late supper. The sound of the tractor wound on and on through the soft evening into the dusk.

Though it would have seemed the natural pilgrimage to take her to see the mare, I had had enough of the lane. We went the other way, through the garden towards the wicket-gate and the river-path that led towards West Lodge. In the half-light the rank borders looked and smelt heavy with flowers. The swifts were out, and flying high. Their screaming was thin and ecstatic, and exciting, like all the sounds that one feels one is not meant to hear; the singing of the grey seal and the squeak of a bat and the moaning of shearwaters under the ground at night on the wild sea's edge.

Now that we were alone together there still seemed curiously little to say. She had told the truth when she said that the major things of life had no need to be talked over. I supposed that for her the return of the idolised cousin from the dead was one of these. Never by word or look had she betrayed any consciousness that my advent might make the least difference to her future. It might not even have occurred to her . T . but it soon would; it must. If it didn't occur to her, it might occur to Donald. We had been filling up the eight years' gap—I with completely truthful reminiscences of my life in Canada, and Julie with a lively and (it is to be hoped) libellous account of the year she had spent in the Drama Department at Broadcasting House.

".. . No, honestly, Annabel, it's gospel truth 1" "I don't believe it. It sounds as if you wouldn't even know what 'gospel' means." " 'Good tidings'." "Heavens!"

"I thought that'd shake you," said Julie complacently.

"I suppose you got that from Donald too?"

" 'All good things—?' I expect so." Her voice had abruptly lost its sparkle. I looked at her. "He's very nice," I said, tentatively.

"Yes, I know," she spoke without enthusiasm. She had picked a dead dry stalk of last year's hedge-parsley, and switched it idly through the buttercups that lined the river-path where we walked.

"You mustn't mind Mrs. Bates, Julie. Marrying and burying is meat and drink to her."

"I know. I don't mind. I suppose I did let her jump to conclusions, rather."

"Here's the boundary. Shall we go on?"

"No. Let's find somewhere to sit."

"The stile will do. It's quite dry."

We climbed the two steps of the stile and sat side by side on the broad cross-bar, facing away from the house. It was another quiet evening, and the trees that edged the meadows were still in the dusky air. The path had left the river some way to our right; along it, here, the willows streamed un-trimmed, their long hair trailing in the water.

I said: "You know, I'm afraid I jumped to conclusions myself. I was hoping they were correct,"

"Were you?"

I laughed. "I fell for your Donald, from a great height,"