A Few Days in the Country (9 page)

He belonged to the best clubs. He and Julia attended all the state dinners, balls and receptions in honour of visiting royalty, and while Ralph cursed these social duties he had to admit that it was only fitting that the people who amounted to something should congregate to pay and receive a quota of homage.

Really, he enjoyed high life. He enjoyed dancing with Julia and her girlfriends (Ralph was apt to identify other women as Julia's girlfriends, rather than as the wives of their husbands), and talking over dinner to politicians and knights, some of whom, these days, were inclined to defer to him.

It wasn't that Ralph felt unkindly towards the men he had met on his climb to the top. He could recall one or two fishing mates who were more
congenial
than some of his daily associates. But he was wise enough to know how impossible friendship with them was. Small men always hoped for some advantage. They would want to pick his brains, ask advice, expect him to use his influence and find jobs for relations. Without thinking twice, Ralph directed his favours to men of his own stature.

There was a party one night at his and Julia's place, and Zelda Burton, the wife of a bright youngster in the company, crashed the men's end of the room to harangue them about some tragic event in the life of her housekeeper, Molly. From
their
end of the room, the other wives watched coldly. ‘Zelda
must
be with the men, have you noticed?
Our
company doesn't mean a thing to Zelda.'

‘I'll go to the rescue, if you're worried.' Julia laughed, her voice tender and teasing. ‘Wait a sec! Fear not!' Off she went…

‘And poor Molly's been starving herself to pay off her sewing machine,' Zelda was saying. ‘She makes overalls at night for some clothing factory. She's got too many kids and her husband's a no-hoper, and she's had to pay
twice
the regular price for her machine because of the interest to our company.'

All the men grinned sheepishly except Zelda's husband and Ralph.

Julia said drily, ‘
I
think your Molly should have her head examined.'

Everyone laughed, but Zelda insisted: ‘Some people have rotten luck, though, Julia. She was sick for years after the Depression from malnutrition, and
now
—' Zelda was impassioned, her dark eyes big.

Julia smiled. Her eyelids drooped. ‘Really?
Malnutrition?
'

The listeners gaped, then gasped and gave a shout of laughter as her innuendo struck them like some gorgeous, shocking snowball.

A mistress of Zen, Julia! Illumination! Obviously, Molly was a fraud. Obviously, old Zelda had been knocking back more Scotch than was good for her.

‘Now, look, my sweet,' Julia was saying. ‘Who
makes
your Molly woman pay the price of two machines for one? Who twists her arm? I'm not saying she's not a fine character! But she just hasn't got the nous to think it out, and save up, and buy the damn thing outright. Now, isn't that true? And isn't she also starving herself to pay for clothes for these kids of hers?'

Undermined, but still frowning at the mild-faced, milky men, Zelda said, ‘But the point is…When
my
kids wanted a machine to play at making dresses in the school holidays, we got one through the company
half
-price.'

Holding glasses, standing in strategic formation, the men were fascinated. Though the sum of money involved was too trivial, it was, nevertheless,
money
, and the whole story began to symbolise some problem, to involve principles…By the instant, they grew harder.

‘Just keep her out of the files,' Ralph joked. ‘That's all I ask.'

With her usual aplomb, Julia was leading Zelda to her proper place among the ladies. Back they went together across the parquet floor, past the new portrait of Julia, the windows, and the roses, into female territory.

‘But, Julia, it's
hell
finding someone to replace a worker like Molly. She used to
slave
for me. I'm just so miserable—'

With her eyes fixed on the women they approached, Julia was saying, ‘Yes, yes, but if you're worried about her dying of hunger, get on the phone and order a hamper to go to her house. That's what I did when Mrs Whatnot went to hospital, and she adored it. It made a great impression in the ward.'

The other wives remembered how generous Julia had been to Mrs Whatnot, who had rather ungraciously died just the same.

‘You sent blankets, too, before they took her away,' Rose Lewis reminded her.

‘Oh, God, yes! Ralph thought I was mad. He kept asking me for a handout. He kept saying, “Got any spare tenners today, lady?”'

Poor Ralph! The cleverest thing he ever did was marry Julia. He confessed that she knew as much about the workings of the company as he did himself. He discussed everything with her. God alone knew what he would have made of himself without her!

Julia was realistic about these things: she was superior to Ralph. He knew it. She knew it. How could she act the little woman? If she had been a
man
, if she had even been a
woman
(of course she
was
), she would have run rings round Ralph,
and
every other…Ah, well!

There were ways in which Ralph and Julia had grown alike. For instance, money was nearly the most alluring topic of conversation in the world, especially for Julia when her Grade III girlfriends, the disciples, were about. With a rakish grin and an expression of mock terror, she'd cry, ‘I've just spent three hundred guineas on three dresses. Ralph'll murder me!'

The girls always exclaimed, and looked envious and horrified and proud of her. If they ever reflected that three hundred guineas were to Ralph what three pennies were to them, they never said so.

The first two questions Julia asked potential disciple material were, ‘How much do you make?' and ‘How much have you got in the bank?' She knew how poverty-stricken the members of her Grade III contingent were. Alice Wright was a typical example: fortyish, faded, and single. She lived alone in one room, and had no family. Out of her salary she saved four pounds a week, which wasn't easy, and therefore had two hundred and eight pounds a year to represent security, to spend on clothes, cosmetics, holidays, insurance, Christmas presents, doctors, dentists, eiderdowns, coffee percolators, entertainment, chocolate bars and headache tablets. Moreover, she wanted very much to visit Europe one day, so her savings stood for hope, as well. When she confided this dream to Julia one night, mistiming it, Julia said a little cruelly, ‘What are you going to use for money?'

It was a tiny flaw in Julia that she resented, seemed—impossibly!—almost jealous of, any sign of initiative or individual desire on the part of her girlfriends. But it was only that she didn't want to lose them. After all, she had acquired these companions, one by one, over the years, by a process of most intense and flattering cultivation. They'd found themselves unutterably charmed that Julia Holt was moved by the secrets of their small lives. And now they were lucky to live vicariously through her. Only Julia had need of them, Julia, whose life was so rich in events that she needed all their help to cope with it.

‘Sweetie,
would
you slip out of the office at lunchtime and get those satin shoes from that French dyeing place?'

‘
Can
you get my pearls out to me before a quarter-past six, lamb? They're fixing the clasp at Huntley's. I must have them tonight.'

‘Darling,
would
you go and look after old Auntie Win for me this weekend? You can go straight from work on Friday.
I
can't very well leave Ralph and the boys, and she'd hate a nurse, and she's pretty sick—or she thinks she is! Someone has to be there. You haven't got anything else fixed, have you? Because if you have, I can easily get Kate, or Brenda, or Valerie, to go along for me.'

When Ralph had to travel interstate and Julia curtailed her social life, the faithful disciples came into their own. Out to the North Shore they went as soon as summoned, and along the dark avenue to the beautiful house. Like equals, they relaxed with Julia in front of the television screen and, under disenchanted expressions, half-swooned with the relief of being safe and warm within solid walls, in a lamp-lit room where every artefact was what it seemed to be. The wood was flawless and polished by hand; the roses were home-grown and hanging, heavy, from silver bowls.

While they watched the screen and smoked, and drank their whisky, Julia chatted about local scandals, her small staff and the price of grapes. If it happened that she was constrained, en route to some homely subject, to refer to her new sables, or the two new paintings chosen by that eminent art-critic man whom, unfortunately, there was less time now to see, or to some titled personages who were Grade I bosom friends, it was not that Julia had any desire to stir up envy. On the contrary, it distressed her that Kate (or Alice, or Brenda, or Valerie) should make a fuss.

‘What's
who
like?' she would repeat after them with a repressive frown and a small pained movement of her hand. ‘Oh,
him
…Oh, all right.'

Naturally, the girls had no news of any consequence. But if Kate, for instance, being present, could shed light on some suspected weakness in Brenda, being absent, Julia was warmly responsive. She adored human nature. She saw through people so easily, she should have been a psychologist.

When the pre-dinner drink or two were disposed of, Julia and her companion strolled through to the kitchen to see what Elsie, the cook, had concocted for them. In front of the screen again, with the coffee table holding the huge tray (‘Let's rough it tonight!'), they ate and drank and lounged against cushions.

‘More? Oh, go on! You know you'd like to.' Smiling and frowning at her in an odd, critical way, Julia heaped another spoonful of curry onto her friend's plate. For no reason, Julia gave a short frustrated laugh. But second helpings are often a disappointment. Julia was conscious that this same Kate (or Alice, or Brenda, or Valerie) would have been dining at home tonight on boiled eggs, or frozen fish fingers, or a single lamb chop with a tomato, and finishing with Nescafé and a sweet biscuit.

The knowledge caused Julia a confused sort of suffering. She didn't
mind
Kate eating her dinner…It was only that she was afraid that she was sinning against her own kind, that she was harbouring anarchists and revolutionaries.

But, in justice, as she quickly reminded herself, the girls never tried to take advantage of her position. It was one of the really lovely things about them that they never expected help from her though they did long to entertain her in return, in their bedsitting rooms, buying in her special brand of Scotch and coping with casseroles swimming in cream and herbs as well as their funny little ovens allowed. But Julia was never free. When Ralph was away, it was bliss to snatch a quiet evening at home. ‘Yes, I
will
truly come to your place next time, but look, lamb, you're flat out at the office all day. Elsie here can knock us up a bite, and we can put our feet up and watch quizzes on TV like a couple of old maids.'

How could they mind? She was charming. She was their claim to fame, their connection with life. Charm and Julia were synonymous to all who knew her. She admitted herself that, without her charm, she and Ralph would have been merely part of the Grade II crowd. As this was Australia, where millionaires tended to be less exclusive and eccentric than in most other countries, left to himself Ralph would not have known how to be exceptional. Julia just
was
.

Every now and then, as a sort of change of diet, Julia would invite some junior university men to an informal dinner. ‘You'll just have to take us as you find us!' she'd say, laughing a warning.

Frankness can be enchanting, especially in the rich. It seems so unnatural in them.

‘Come and sit next to me, John. Leave those old businessmen to bore each other.' With a thoughtful, almost intimate expression she would watch him, her young expert.

Patting his tie and smiling and blinking at Mrs Holt—Julia—who was not bad-looking for her age (about thirty-seven?), John approached.

The way she looked at him, with such extreme unwavering attention, it was obvious that she was interested. Wasn't it? Now that he was beside her on the sofa, blandly staring back—he
was
a good ten years younger than the woman and could afford to be bland, let's face it!—she even put a hand on his, warmly.

No. Instantly, he realised that she'd done it as an older woman innocently would. It was sweet. He had misjudged the situation altogether. She smelled marvellous. Her make-up was very pretty, though she naturally had a few lines on her face.

‘Now, what's all this?' she asked with a troubled sincerity like nothing he'd encountered in his life before. ‘Just what is all this about India?'

Wonderful woman! Out of the whole room, she had picked the one person who could tell her.