Listening Valley (22 page)

The next morning when Tonia was dusting her bedroom she heard the front doorbell jangle fiercely and came out onto the landing. Retta had gone to the door and was talking to someone in her usual voluble style. Tonia smiled to herself, for she had discovered that people calling at Melville House were usually somewhat scared when Retta answered the door; her colorful appearance and exuberant personality were unexpected and unusual. Perhaps I had better go down, thought Tonia; so she went down, still with her duster in her hand, and met Retta coming up to find her.

“He is in the drawing room,” said Retta in a stage whisper. “It is a gentleman, quite old, with a fat red face and no hair. He say his name but I cannot remember…no, it is gone from my mind…but he is come from Edinburgh to see you so we must give him lunch, and it is not very easy because we have outrun our ration and no more from the butcher this week. Look you, Antonia, I will make egg cutlets and a vegetable pie and I will talk very hard so then he will not notice no meat…and we will have
souffle
au
gratin
and a cup of coffee, what do you say to that?”

“It sounds excellent,” said Tonia, laughing, “but perhaps I had better see who he is before we make such elaborate preparations for him. He may be the electrician to look at the electric grill.”

“He is a gentleman, I tell you,” declared Retta. “He have a gold watch and chain across his stomach and his clothes is made of good stuff.”

Tonia was giggling feebly when she reached the drawing room door. She had to pause for a few moments and straighten her face before going in to meet her unexpected visitor. She paused and looked back at Retta, and Retta informed her by pantomime that she (Retta) would start to prepare the meal, so that Tonia need have no qualms about tendering an invitation to her friend.

Tonia nodded and smiled and opened the door…and
there
was
Mr. Phillips
standing on the hearth rug.

Mr. Phillips held out his hand and Tonia shook it gravely. The sight of her trustee had banished her giggles completely, for it took her straight back to the last time she had seen him in the lawyer's office in London; it revived the miseries she had endured and reminded her of the worries she had tried to forget.

“I've found you,” said Mr. Phillips, smiling at her.

“I wasn't hiding,” replied Tonia quickly.

“Not hiding, exactly. Just in retreat. That's the correct term, isn't it?”

Tonia could not help smiling. He was quite nice really. She had been thinking of her trustees as three ogres, but Mr. Phillips was the best of them; he wasn't really an ogre at all.

“I suppose Nita told you things about me,” Tonia said.

Mr. Phillips allowed this to be the case, but he did not go into details; he did not tell Tonia about his interview with the Garlands, mother and daughter. It had been a most unpleasant interview, for the Garlands were in a thoroughly excited condition and had iterated and reiterated their conviction that Tonia was in danger of being married offhand to three different young men, and that these young men were “after her money” and were pursuing her for no other reason. Mr. Phillips might have believed in one young man, but three was a little too much for him to swallow and the Garlands had found him somewhat unsympathetic. “You must go down there and see her,” Mrs. Garland had said. “You're her trustee and you're responsible. You must make her come to Edinburgh and live with us so that I can keep an eye on her.”

Mr. Phillips had agreed to go to Ryddelton, but he had not agreed to carry out the second half of Mrs. Garland's command. He had never thought it a good plan to make people live together if they did not want to (even if they thought they wanted to, it did not always work), and now that he had seen the Garlands in full fling he thought a good deal less of the plan than before. All this passed through Mr. Phillips's mind very rapidly.

“It's no use,” Tonia was saying. “I'm not going to Edinburgh. I'm going to live here. Won't you sit down?”

Mr. Phillips sat down gratefully. He looked around and said, “This seems a very good place to live.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Tonia in surprise. “But I thought…but of course you didn't say anything, did you?”

“I didn't say anything?”

“At the meeting, you know. You came all the way from Edinburgh to be at the meeting and you never said a word.”

“Didn't I?”

“No,” said Tonia, shaking her head.

“And you paid my fare,” said Mr. Phillips regretfully.

They smiled at each other.

“You have a friend living with you,” said Mr. Phillips after a moment's silence.

“Just for a short time,” replied Tonia. “I'm really living alone, and I like it. I'm not dull or lonely.”

“No, Mrs. Garland thought—”

“It's nonsense,” declared Tonia, getting rather pink. “I'm not a child. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Robert was one of my greatest friends,” said Mr. Phillips. “He asked me to look after you in the event of his death and I want to carry out his wishes. I don't want to interfere or bother you in any way, but I should like you to regard me as a friend. I hope you will feel that you can appeal to me in case of need—if anything goes wrong or if you want help or advice. Will you promise that, Mrs. Norman?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Tonia promptly.

“Good. Now then, what about money? Are you living on air?”

“On air?”

“You don't seem to be spending anything,” explained Mr. Phillips.

“Oh,” said Tonia understandingly. “Oh, that's all right. I had some money in my own bank.”

“Why haven't you drawn any of your income?”

“I didn't know I could. I mean, I thought—I thought if I didn't do as the trustees said I couldn't have the money.”

“Great Scott!”

“And anyhow I don't have a checkbook for Robert's bank,” added Tonia as if that settled the matter for good and all…

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Mr. Phillips again.

“I don't want it, really,” continued Tonia. “It would be far too much—just a bother to me—there's nothing to spend it on, you see.”

Mr. Phillips opened his mouth to say “Great Scott” for the third time, but no sound came.

“Can't you do something about it?” inquired Tonia with a frown. “I don't want a lot of money—honestly I don't—I would much rather have a little.”

“Why?” asked Mr. Phillips.

“Oh, there are all sorts of reasons.”

“Ah, there
are
reasons?”

“Yes.”

“But you aren't going to tell me them?”

“Well—no.”

“I see,” said Mr. Phillips, nodding.

“And you couldn't guess,” added Tonia hastily.

“I shouldn't dream of trying. You see I have four daughters and I never try to guess what they are thinking—never. It wouldn't be the least use.”

Tonia looked at him rather hard but he seemed perfectly serious.

“About the money,” continued Mr. Phillips. “We'll put most of it into a War Loan, shall we? And I will interview the bank agent and ask him to send you a checkbook. If you want the money you can have it, and if not it can help to buy tanks. How about that?”

“I shan't want it,” said Tonia firmly. “I've got all I want. I'm perfectly happy and comfortable as I am.”

He looked at her and decided it was true. She looked well and happy. She was certainly a little fatter—or less thin—than the last time he had seen her. She was a trifle shabby, of course; her tweed skirt was well-worn and there was a darn in the elbow of her cardigan, but that was no unusual sight in these days of clothes coupons.

“I suppose Janet is very angry,” Tonia was saying.

“Very.” Mr. Phillips nodded. “But that doesn't affect you much, does it?”

“Not very much, really,” replied Tonia with a smile.

“And what about Mrs. Smilie?” asked Mr. Phillips. “I've been paying her to keep the house aired, but now she has written to say she isn't keeping the house aired and doesn't want the money.”

“She does a
lot
,” declared Tonia earnestly. “Please go on paying her. I don't suppose it's half enough, really.”

“You could use some of your despised money to give her more,” suggested Mr. Phillips.

“But she wouldn't take it,” replied Tonia. “I know she wouldn't—and it would spoil everything if she thought I was rich. It would spoil the whole—the whole
balance
,” said Tonia earnestly. “It would alter the whole atmosphere of my life.”

“Very well,” agreed Mr. Phillips. “We'll maintain the
status
quo—
in the meantime, at any rate.”

Having settled this business Tonia offered Mr. Phillips some beer or coffee or a cup of tea, adding that she hoped he would stay to lunch. Mr. Phillips said he had a train to catch but he would like some coffee now—if it wasn't a bother—and his hostess went away to fetch it. He was sitting quietly in the drawing room, musing on all that had been said, when the door opened and a young man in Air Force uniform walked into the room. He walked in (Mr. Phillips noticed) as if the place belonged to him—not arrogantly, but just as a man walks into his own home.

“Hallo!” he exclaimed, looking at Mr. Phillips in surprise.

Mr. Phillips introduced himself and learned in return that the young man's name was Coates.

“I know your father,” said Mr. Phillips holding out his hand. “Coates of West Drumford, isn't it?”

“That's right,” agreed Coates. “But look here, you're one of Mrs. Norman's trustees, aren't you? I want to speak to you if you are.”

Mr. Phillips said that he was and added that he was prepared to listen.

“We don't have much time,” said Coates, pulling forward a chair and sitting down. “I mean, she may come back any minute. It's about this money business.”

“What about it?” asked Mr. Phillips warily.

“I think it's a beastly shame. Surely there must be something saved out of the crash.”

“What crash?”

“Oh, I don't know the details,” declared Coates. “Butter—I mean, Mrs. Norman doesn't talk about it.”

“She didn't actually tell you there had been a crash.”

“No,” said Coates, thinking back. “No, not actually. I put two and two together and—”

“What was the answer?” inquired Mr. Phillips with a touch of irony.

“The answer? Oh, I see. You think I got five.”

“Did Mrs. Norman tell you that her trustees had let her down?”

“Not exactly, but it's obvious there's been some funny business. Everyone knows that Robert Norman had pots of money—and here's Butterfingers without a penny. You can't get over that.”

Mr. Phillips shook his head sadly.

“I'm not accusing
you
,” continued Coates in earnest tones. “She told me that you weren't in with the others; she said you seemed sorry for her.”

“I was—really,” said Mr. Phillips, turning his head away and coughing into his handkerchief.

“Surely something could be saved out of the wreck,” continued Coates, more earnestly than ever. “I mean, Butterfingers isn't at all strong. She can't possibly turn to and earn her own living, and she can't rely upon her songs—”

“Her songs!”

“She composes,” explained Coates. “At least she wouldn't put it like that, but—but anyhow she has written a song that is going to bring in some cash pretty soon now. She may write others, of course, but it's rather a hand to mouth sort of game.”

“You think she ought to have a settled income?”

“Well, don't you?” asked Coates. “Surely you could scrape up something.”

“You're worried about Mrs. Norman?”

“Yes, I am, rather. That's why I'm butting in.”

“How much do you think she would need to live on?”

“Oh well—say two hundred,” suggested Coates.

“Two hundred a year!” exclaimed Mr. Phillips in amazement.

“She could manage on that,” said Coates thoughtfully. “It wouldn't be luxury, of course, but she has the house and she isn't—she isn't an
expensive
sort of girl, if you know what I mean. She likes simple things.”

“I gathered that,” admitted Mr. Phillips.

“You'll see what you can do, won't you?”

“I'll see what I can do,” agreed Mr. Phillips. He was smiling now. He looked satisfied, as if he had solved a problem that had been teasing him—and perhaps he had, for although he had told Tonia that he never tried to guess his daughters' secrets it was not entirely true. He had a legal mind and liked to have things neatly docketed and put away in the right pigeonholes.

Mr. Phillips was still smiling complacently when Tonia came in with the tray. Coates looked at Mr. Phillips and shook his head, and Mr. Phillips nodded to show that he would maintain silence. He was amused to see an expression of anxiety on Mrs. Norman's face but allayed it by winking at her behind the young man's back. He was not going to tell anybody anything; he was going home, leaving little Mrs. Norman to manage her affairs in her own way. She knew what she was doing.

Miss Delarge also appeared and they all had coffee together. Mr. Phillips had met Miss Delarge before—she had opened the door to him—and he had admired her tremendously. She was a damned fine-looking girl with plenty of go in her. He saw no reason to change his opinion now, for Retta was in good form and only too ready for a little amiable persiflage. Anything in trousers was fair game to Retta.

“You speak French?” inquired Retta as she handed him his cup and smiled at him with widely opened eyes.