Gently with Love (3 page)

E
ARLE PLAYED AT
the Eavestaff miniature and Alex sang ‘Spanish Ladies’ and The ‘Foggy, Foggy Dew’. They had clearly performed together before and they gave an energetic rendition. Then Earle played ‘Beer-Barrel Polka’ in the clowning style of Chico Marx, and Verna requested ‘Green Grow the Rushes’ and other songs in which we could join. Finally, to my surprise, Earle shed his casual style and gave us Grieg’s
Piano Concerto
– performed a little flashily, perhaps, but as far as I could tell without a wrong note. We sat listening in complete stillness as that rhapsodic music trilled from his fingers. Alex sat by the piano, watching Earle’s hands, Verna was gazing out of the window. Anne’s eyes were intent on Earle’s face, which was set in a frown of concentration: there was a yearning fondness in her expression that had almost the intensity of suffering. I had no doubt of her feeling for him. Though she treated him coolly she was very much in love. And about Earle’s sincerity I had no doubt either: they seemed a couple destined for each other. And yet there was something disturbing about Anne’s gaze that I was at a loss to account for, a certain nervous tenseness: it might have been interpreted as apprehension. I reproved myself. I didn’t know Anne; clearly she was a difficult person to read. When I knew her better I would doubtless understand the subtle nuances that puzzled me now. When the music ended and we congratulated Earle, Anne kissed him briefly on the temple, and Earle hugged her waist for a moment and brushed her hair with his lips.

I left early to avoid trespassing too far on Commander Stapleton’s patience. Earle chatted to me blithely as we skimmed back through the June twilight. His was a happy disposition and he seemed to have no care in the world. His only concern was because his father would be unable to make the trip from Toronto for the wedding. But that too had its compensation. He would be taking Anne to Canada in September; and surely the fall was the time, of all others, to introduce her to his native land. Meanwhile they were spending the honeymoon in France, driving southwards as the mood took them.

‘I guess I’m a lucky guy,’ Earle concluded, as he halted the Pontiac at Copdock Place. ‘Not the cleverest, but the luckiest. Why else would Anne have fallen for me?’

I smiled. ‘You’re certainly a happy man. And not many people can say that.’

He laughed delightedly. ‘I really
am
happy. I feel I want to share it with all the world.’

I felt an impulse to ask him about Nigel Fortuny whose name had cast that sudden shadow, but I decided that it would be unfair to interrupt such a mood of bliss.

He wrung my hand. ‘Till Saturday, fella. Get round to Verna’s at the earliest.’

‘Till Saturday, Earle.’

He waved gaily and drove flamboyantly away.

I watched his tail-lights wink and vanish and then I went up to my room. Lying on my bed was a sheaf of notes with ‘For your earliest attention’ inscribed upon it. I turned the leaves. It was matter calculated to inspire me with higher-executive principles. I put it in a drawer out of harm’s way, smoked a pipe, and went to bed.

I
T IS THE
practice of policemen to write down the details of incidents as soon as possible after they occur (and if ever you are the subject of any such incident you may be advised to do the same). But of course I did not do this after the evening I spent at Verna’s, and it is possible that the account I have given above is a little inflected by hindsight. If I had indeed made notes that night I would probably have given more space to Verna. I spent much of the evening trying to read through her the sort of life that Colin had led. Apparently they had not been too compatible and her sense of loss was not overwhelming. At the same time I did not think that Colin had been gravely unhappy with her. Verna was a realist. If she hadn’t loved Colin, at least she would have arranged to live with him amicably, and because I felt certain of that I felt also a degree of gratitude towards her. She’d done her best. If her best wasn’t love, it was as much as many men would settle for. Verna would have run a happy home and have presented a cheerful face. And love there had been: it had come from Anne: that was another thing I had read. About Alex I wasn’t so certain, though I could imagine him having an affectionate respect for his father. But Anne had been close to him. She was a Mackenzie. I had the picture of Colin and James Mackenzie before me. Just so she would have run to be hugged by her father, with just such pride have introduced a friend. The grief at his death had been Anne’s grief, of which that of the others had been a pale shadow. And now, happily, that love had been transferred to a mate who I felt persuaded would not betray it; and who, though perhaps he would never realize it, was the lucky beneficiary of a man he had not known. If Colin’s marriage had not been ideal, he had yet paved the way for his daughter’s happiness. Verna, for her part, wanted to forget Colin, and I could not find it in my heart to blame her. She was young enough to begin again and it would be unreasonable to expect her to condemn herself to widowhood. One day an Alfonso or a professor would come along to supply the companionship she ardently needed, and Verna would commence a fresh chapter of felicity with no pangs or regrets for what went before. Alex, I judged, was happy in his career, and no doubt would prosper to his mother’s satisfaction; he too would find a mate, among his colleagues or their families, and give an opportunity for such a wedding as Verna was being denied by Anne.

So it was an agreeable picture that I was left contemplating in my somewhat bleak bedroom, and which I preferred to take with me to bed rather than that sheaf of edifying information. But then, I had my own ideas about the executive rank to which I was being summoned.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
was spent in lectures on administrative procedure, a necessary branch of knowledge but one that it is tedious to acquire. The second session of the afternoon, however, was devoted to the role of the Central Office, and since I might be regarded as qualified in the subject I applied for, and obtained, leave of absence. It had occurred to me that Colin’s daughter rated a wedding present from his old friend; I caught a bus at the lodge gate and was set down in Blockford High Street.

It was the busy time of the afternoon and the pavements were crowded. I was jostled as I peered into windows, trying to surprise inspiration. Wedding presents are a puzzle. They must be either useful or delightful. The one involves a knowledge of the recipients’ needs and the other a knowledge of their tastes. I thought I had better opt for the second, with which I was slightly more conversant, and found my way to an antique shop, in which I could see some pictures. One I liked. It was an anonymous watercolour to which I put a provisional date of 1820, very much English School of the period, though depicting a French landscape with a village and peasants: Prout, perhaps. I enquired the price. It was well within my means; but I had time to look further so I told the dealer that I would think about it.

Then, pushing out into the crowds again, I caught sight of Anne across the street. Here was luck! I could show her the picture and ask her whether she liked it. She had just left an official-seeming red-brick building with a brass plate on the portal, and was standing looking rather dazed by the sunlight and by the people who were thronging past her. But, as I waited impatiently for a gap in the traffic, I was concerned to see her sway slightly, and I noticed for the first time that her face was unusually pale. I made a suicidal dash across the street and caught her by the arm.

‘Anne! Are you all right?’

She stared at me as though I were a stranger. The pupils of her eyes were small and there was a mist of perspiration on her forehead. With an effort she gathered herself.

‘Oh . . . yes! But I felt faint for a moment.’

‘I’ll find you somewhere to sit down.’

‘No, please. I’m better now.’

‘You’re in a tremble. You look like a ghost.’

‘It was just coming out into this rush. It made me go dizzy. But I’m quite all right now.’

I didn’t believe her. There was a Kardomah Coffee Shop a couple of doors down the street. I assisted her into it, and we were fortunate in finding a vacant table in a window-corner. I grabbed a waitress and ordered some tea. Anne sat trembling on her chair. I took out my handkerchief and patted her brow, but she feebly put my hand away.

‘Don’t. People are staring at us.’

‘I think I’ll get a taxi and take you home.’

‘No.’ She struggled to sit straighter. ‘I shall be all right if I can just sit here.’

‘You nearly fainted, you know.’

‘It was silly. I’ll soon get over it.’

‘Has this ever happened to you before?’

‘No. And I swear it won’t happen again.’

I gave her a keen look. A hint of colour was certainly creeping back into her cheeks. She caught my eye with an attempt at her roguish, confiding smile. The waitress came. I poured a cup with a little milk and a lot of sugar. Anne sipped it. In a little while the cup ceased to tremble. She found my eye again, nervously.

‘You know, you’re behaving very properly.’

I grinned. ‘You gave me quite a fright back there.’

‘When I was a kid I had malaria. I was fibbing when I said it hadn’t happened before. But not very often. Earle knows about it. It’s just a last kick from the bug.’

‘All the same I would sit quiet for a bit.’

‘But I’m better now, really.’ She giggled. ‘I wonder if these people think you’re my uncle, or that I’m carrying on with a married man.’

‘Neither.’

‘You don’t know women. Half of them are betting that I’m the girlfriend.’

‘Then stop acting like it.’

‘Don’t be stuffy. They would change places with me if they could.’

I refilled her cup. I sensed something false in this little spurt of gaiety. She was looking more herself, yet I couldn’t help wondering if she was being entirely frank with me. I thought that perhaps I ought to get that taxi and see her home and have a word with Verna. But then I found her gazing straight at me, almost as though I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

‘Let’s get out into the air. I’m beginning to find this place close.’

‘Are you sure you’ve recovered?’

‘I never felt better. I know, we’ll take a stroll in St Cuthbert Gardens.’

She rose determinedly, so I paid for the tea and followed her into the street. St Cuthbert Gardens was a pleasant spot near one of Blockford’s churches. It was surrounded by tall limes, through which peered the grave tower of the church, and its several walks wound through shrubberies of rhododendrons and azaleas, now in bloom. Anne found a bench in view of the church and with a prospect of the riotous blossoms. We sat and for some moments she stared in silence at the brilliant display. Then she sighed.

‘Last night. You wanted to talk about Daddy, didn’t you?’

I hid my surprise. ‘It perhaps wasn’t the time to dwell on a painful subject.’

‘It isn’t painful to me. I like to talk about him. It seems to make him still alive. I don’t think that people ever die really, not people like Daddy. He isn’t dead to me.’ There was a quiver in her voice.

‘People stay alive in those who loved them.’

‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘That’s true. Daddy is still alive in me. Then he will keep staying alive in the people I am loved by. Death isn’t real at all. It just doesn’t make any difference.’

‘I used to know your father well.’

‘Oh please. Tell me about him.’

I smiled. ‘I was rather hoping that I would hear about him from you.’

‘But you knew him when he was younger. He must have been a wonderful person then. And that’s the part I can never know, it’s just some old photographs in an album.’

‘Well,’ I paused. ‘He was very like you.’

‘Go on.’

‘You could guess where he came from before he spoke. He had an air, half shy and half friendly. You felt his sincerity was absolute.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘He didn’t change. That’s Daddy as I always knew him. And he had a special laugh, do you remember that? The way his eyes wrinkled when he smiled?’

‘He had the driest sense of humour.’

‘Oh yes!’

‘I have never known him out of temper. He was a kindly man who enjoyed helping people. I’m sure he would have approved of Earle.’

She nodded but said nothing, and her eyes sank to her lap. I could see her hands creep together and suddenly clasp tight.

‘I haven’t known Earle for long,’ I said. ‘But I’m supposed to be a professional at assessing character. And if you were my daughter I would give you my blessing. I think you two are lucky to have found each other.’

She gave me a quick, grateful look, but then resumed the study of her lap.

‘Of course, he comes from another country,’ I continued. ‘And that may present a problem one day. He may grow homesick, or his career may make it necessary for him to return. Then you will have a decision to make. But I’m sure you’ll be able to work it out. Verna will be the difficulty. You must give her plenty of time to get used to the idea.’

I hesitated. The knuckles of Anne’s hands showed white. There was something at once tense and yet oddly forlorn about her droop-headed figure.

‘You do love him, don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘You don’t feel that you’re being rushed into this thing?’

She shook her head, facing me now. ‘I love him and I always shall.’

‘But you’re upset.’

‘It’s because you’re so kind. You’re talking to me like Daddy would. And I don’t deserve it, really – I don’t deserve any of this!’ She began to sob. ‘We quarrelled,’ she said. ‘Oh, it’s over and done with now. But about that. Him going back to Canada. And he changed his plans all because of me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Please, it isn’t your fault,’ she sobbed.

‘If he changed his plans it proves he loves you.’

‘You don’t understand.’ She sobbed bitterly.

I glanced round the Gardens. This certainly did seem my afternoon for awkward moments. Fortunately, nobody was in our immediate vicinity, and Anne was sobbing quite quietly. I produced my rejected handkerchief again and this time she made use of it. I let her cry. At least, I understood that she had emotions that needed this vent.