Latter End (4 page)

The only person who really enjoyed the evening was Jimmy Latter. Everyone else was relieved when it was over, but Jimmy was as pleased as Punch. He was gregarious and sociable to the last degree. It was two years since he had had all his family round him, and it delighted him to see the table full again—Ellie on one side of him, Julia on the other, Antony next to Ellie, Minnie next to Julia, and his beautiful Lois smiling at him from the bottom of the table. It was the old family party, with Lois added. Lois—his wife—his beautiful, wonderful wife! He couldn’t imagine why she had married him, when she might have had anyone, simply anyone. But there it was—she had. And here they all were together— Antony back from abroad, and Julia—he’d felt it very much when Julia wouldn’t come and stay at Latter End, he’d felt it very much indeed. Jealousy over his marriage. Very wrong of her. But that was Julia all over—passionate, headstrong. She’d been like that from a child. But so warmhearted, you couldn’t help being fond of her. He was very fond of her, and Lois had been an angel about the whole thing. Lois was an angel, there was no doubt about that. She had been an angel about Julia—said they must just wait and she would come round. And she had. And here they were.

Julia in red—a nice dark red, like damask roses—a jolly sort of colour—very becoming. And Ellie in blue. She looked tired, poor girl. Fretting about Ronnie. A bad business, his losing a leg like that. What a blessing she had Lois to look after her.

Pity poor Marcia couldn’t be here too. He looked past Lois to the portrait on the far wall—Marcia Vane in a red dress, very much like the one her daughter Julia was wearing. Julia was like her—oh, decidedly. But of course not beautiful like Marcia. Pity about that. And Ellie wasn’t like her at all. Very good-looking woman, Marcia—very nice woman. Didn’t have much of a show, being left a widow twice and dying so young herself. He had been very fond of Marcia. She ought to have been here. Quite simply and regretfully he pictured Marcia and Lois living happily side by side at Latter End. And then, of course, Julia wouldn’t have gone away, and they’d all have been one happy family. But of course they had a great deal to be thankful for. And he had Lois too. He beamed at her down the table and received a charming smile in return.

On the surface the party was quite a gay one. Lois and Antony saw to that. They kept the ball rolling, with Jimmy skipping lightly in and out of the game. Julia, if rather silent, was behaving very well. She neither frowned nor glowered, had a few things to say and said them, was polite to Lois, and affectionate to Jimmy.

It was not at all difficult to be affectionate to Jimmy. At fifteen he had been a lighthearted, curly-headed boy. At fifty-one the description would still do very well. He was no taller, no more important. The curly hair was receding a little on the temples, but it was as fair, and there was very little grey in it.

Mrs. Maniple had cooked them an excellent dinner. When Ellie got up to change the plates Julia got up too. It was nice to be doing things with Ellie again, and if Lois got a kick out of it, for once Julia didn’t care. She put a hand on Minnie’s shoulder to keep her in her seat and shook her head laughingly at Antony across the table.

“No—please, everyone—I’d like to.”

It was like old times, only it should have been Mummie sitting there at the end of the table, warm and beautiful and kind, instead of Lois in that slinky white dress which showed just what her figure was like, and how much better it was than anyone else’s. “I’m a cat about her, and that’s a fact. I don’t mind how good her figure is. Oh yes, I do, I do, I do! And she might just as well be wearing a bathing-dress! If that’s all Antony cares about, she can have him and welcome. No, she can’t—not when she’s Jimmy’s wife—Antony wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t come here if he hadn’t got over her.” Her spirits rocketed up—a long dizzy swoop with a burst of rainbow lights at the end of it.

Mrs. Maniple, handing her a dish of eggs and mushrooms, looked at her with admiration.

“Well, my dear, you’ve a nice colour and no mistake. Anyone ’ud think Miss Ellie was the town mouse and you was the country one. And it’s all your own too—I can see that. If those that puts it on knew half the truth there’s few that’s taken in by it. Now, Miss Ellie my dear, mind these plates, for they’re piping hot.”

When they got back into the dining-room Jimmy was off on one of his interminable stories.

“So I said to Haversham—not the Haversham you remember, Antony—he died, poor chap—this is a nephew, son of the brother who went up North. Now what did he go in for— blest if I can remember. It couldn’t have been engineering, because he wasn’t any good at figures. I think it must have been a shipping-office or—well, it doesn’t matter, but this Haversham is his son. Not a bad young fellow, but of course he don’t know the first thing about farming. Started to tell me about olive crops in Italy—he was there with the Eighth Army—and what he had to say about the climate! And I said to him, ‘Well, you know, Haversham, olives are olives, and all very well for the Eyeties, but they won’t grow here, and that’s that…’ ” The story flowed along. It entertained Jimmy tremendously, and it never got anywhere.

Instead of being bored, Antony found himself at his ease as he had not been for years. It was all so much the stuff of which he had been shaped and made—the family party, the girls coming and going, Jimmy so pleased that you couldn’t help being pleased, too. What did it matter if his stories never got anywhere? People who could tell a good story are three a penny. It was only among your own people that you didn’t need to shine, because that wasn’t what mattered. Your own people were your own people. You could take them for granted, and be taken for granted by them. The bosom of the family was an extraordinarily restful place.

In the middle of this he turned his head and caught a glance from Lois. It was as bright and hard as a diamond. It despised Jimmy. It beckoned Antony to despise him, too. Suddenly and fiercely he hated her for an alien.

When dinner was over Lois trailed away to the drawing-room, taking the two men with her—Antony’s attempt to stay behind and make himself useful receiving no encouragement from anyone, and Jimmy’s “No, no—the girls will see to it” being reinforced by Julia’s “Run away and play— you’ll only be under our feet.”

Out in the pantry she turned to Ellie.

“How many take coffee? I don’t, for one, so it’s no use putting on a cup for me. Which are you using?”

“The old Worcester. Minnie and I don’t take it either, and Jimmy has given it up, so it’s only Lois and Antony, and Lois takes Turkish.”

“How like Lois! Well, Antony won’t drink Turkish. And he likes milk.”

“Manny’s got it all ready. Lois just has a cup. She has a drop of vanilla in it. And put the little bottle of cognac on the tray.”

Julia made a face.

“What muck!”

The others were out on the terrace. Beyond a grey retaining wall the level turf took the shadow of the cedar which was Jimmy’s pride. It had cones on it this year, like flocks of little owls roosting on the great spreading branches. On the other side of the lawn a wide herbaceous border displayed a glowing pattern of every lovely tint, enriched by the evening sun. One of those perfect windless evenings when a sky without a cloud has lost the heat which veiled its delicate blue.

They came in reluctantly, first one, and then another. Antony’s mood of contentment deepened. His momentary anger had passed. He felt at peace with all the world.

It was when Minnie Mercer was going out of the room with the coffee tray that Lois got up and went out too. She hurried past Minnie in the hall, actually brushing against the tray and bringing down Antony’s cup with a clatter.

Minnie went on to the pantry, where she washed up the cups and put them away. Polly Pell was busy with the dinner things, wiping the glasses very slowly and carefully as Mrs. Maniple had taught her—a thin child of seventeen with a sensitive look. Minnie talked to her for a minute or two about a married sister whose first baby had just been christened, thought the name they had chosen very pretty, and then turned to go back to the drawing-room. She had to pass the downstairs cloakroom—but she did not pass it. Such a distressing choking sound met her ear that after a moment of alarmed hesitation she tried the door, found it unlatched, and went in. Lois Latter, grasping and retching, was bent forward over the lavatory basin.

Shocked and distressed beyond measure, Minnie did all the kind offices that were possible, and when the spasm had passed, tidied up in her quiet, methodical way. Lois sat where Minnie had guided her, on the small hard chair which was all that the place could offer. She was as white as her dress, her features sharp, the fine skin drenched with sweat, but as Minnie turned round from the basin, she drew a long breath and said,

“I’m all right now.”

“Shall I help you upstairs?”

Lois took another of those breaths, moved a little, and said,

“No, I don’t need help. I’m all right now. Just wait a minute.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“A little water—” She took two or three sips, and straightened up. “I’m all right—that’s going to stay. I can’t think what came over me.” Her brows drew together in a frown. “It must have been the mushrooms. Mrs. Maniple must have been careless. The fact is, she’s getting past her work. I’ll have to speak to Jimmy.”

Minnie Mercer knew better than to make any comment, but she couldn’t help looking grieved, and it needed no more than that. Lois let her temper go.

“Of course you’ll stand up for her! Even if she poisons me! But it mightn’t have been me, you know—it might have been Jimmy! You wouldn’t be quite so calm about it then, or quite so sorry for Mrs. Maniple!”

“Mrs. Latter—” Minnie’s gentle protest got no farther than that.

Lois got up, steadying herself by the chair.

“I really don’t feel fit to have an argument. I’m going up to my room… No, I shan’t need you. You’d better go back to the drawing-room. And you’re not to say a word to anyone—do you hear? Not one single word. If I don’t come down in ten minutes, you can come up. But it’s over—I’m sure about that. Only I can’t go back looking like this.”

It was really no more than ten minutes before she opened the drawing-room door and came in, her white dress trailing, a faint clear colour in her cheeks. To Jimmy and to Ellie Street she looked just as she had looked at dinner. Even to Minnie there was very little trace of what had passed. Julia thought, “Damn it all—she’s lovely!”

Antony gave her a hard scrutinizing look as she went past him. If that was her own colour, he’d eat his hat. But in the dining-room it had been her own—he was quite positive on that score. He allowed himself to wonder—

Julia put out the light, waited for the darkness round her to clear, and went surefooted through it to the window. She drew the curtains back across the bay and stood there looking out. The three windows were open, casements wide and the night air coming in like a soft enchanting tide. The room looked to the side of the house. There was a clear sky, but no moon yet. Beyond a small formal garden there were the black mysterious shapes of trees. There was no wind. Nothing moved under that clear sky.

She came to the bed beside Ellie’s and got in, humping the pillows at her back, because this was what they had both been waiting for—Ellie to talk and she to listen. As she settled down, Ellie’s hand came out and clutched hers.

“Oh, Julia—” It was a sigh of utter relief. And then without any warning Ellie began to cry.

All day long, and for many days, the tears had lain cold and heavy at her heart, and at night she had kept them frozen there because she did not dare to let them fall. It would be like letting go, and she didn’t dare to let go, because she mightn’t be able to take hold again. Only now that Julia was here it was different. She could cry, and Julia would stop her when she had cried enough.

Julia let her cry, not touching her except that she left her hand in Ellie’s—not speaking, but just being there. All their life Julia had been there. That meant security for Ellie. It was always Julia who led and Ellie who followed, Julia who dragged her into scrapes and then miraculously got her out of them again. Somehow deeply, despairingly, Ellie clung to the idea that Julia could get her out of this, which wasn’t a scrape but the threatening of everything she cared for. Even as the tears ran down and soaked her pillow, she began to feel warm waves of comfort coming from Julia.

Presently Julia’s voice came to her, warm too, and deep.

“Ellie, you’ve cried enough.”

“I expect—I have—”

“Then stop! Have you got a handkerchief?”

Ellie said, “Yes,” on a sob. She let go of Julia, felt under her pillow, and blew her nose.

“Now don’t cry any more. You’d better tell me what it’s all about.”

There was another sob, and a big one.

“It’s Ronnie!”

“He might be dead, and he isn’t,” said Julia. “Suppose you think about that and stop crying.”

“I know—it’s wicked of me, isn’t it?”

“Idiotic!” said Julia.

Ellie began to feel better. There is something extraordinarily reassuring about being told that your fears are idiotic. She felt for Julia’s hand again, and found it comforting and strong.

“I expect I am. But Matron says he’ll never get better where he is, and I’m so frightened Lois won’t have him here.”

“She won’t if you’re frightened. The more you’re frightened of people like Lois, the more they trample.”

Ellie caught her breath.

“I know. But I can’t help it—I am frightened.”

“It’s fatal,” said Julia.

Ellie clung to her hand.

“It’s no good saying things like that. I can’t help it—it’s the way I’m made. She’s a trampler, and I’m a doormat, and she’ll go on wiping her feet on me until I end up like Minnie, only not half so good.”

“She will if you let her,” said Julia.

“I can’t stop her. But I’m going to speak to Jimmy tomorrow—not that it will do any good—”

“I don’t know—it might. I could speak to him, too, and— perhaps Antony. Between us we might get him to the point of remembering that it’s his house, and that if he wants to have Ronnie here it’s his business.”

Ellie said in an extinguished voice,

“You don’t know Lois—she’d get round him somehow— she always does.”

“Well, I think we’ll have a go at it.”

She felt rather than knew that Ellie was trembling.

“It won’t be any good—she gets her own way. You know old Mrs. Marsh—”

“What has she got to do with it?”

“I’m telling you. When her son came home from India she just didn’t know how to be happy enough, and he was quite good to her in his stupid fat way.”

“Oh, he wasn’t as bad as that—I rather liked Joe Marsh.”

Ellie pulled at her hand.

“He’s got fatter and stupider. And he’s married an odious girl from Crampton—as hard as nails—she really is. Lois has her up here to sew. Honestly, she’s a most frightful girl. You should hear Manny on the subject.”

“I probably shall.”

“Well, this horrible Gladys had made up her mind from the beginning that she was going to get rid of Mrs. Marsh, and she’s done it. With her stiff leg, she can’t take a regular job, but she did things like minding babies while the mothers went to the cinema, and she liked doing it. And it was her cottage, where she’d lived ever since she married Joe’s father, and that beast of a girl just pushed her out of it and got her taken away to the institute.”

There was a little pause before Julia said,

“What has that got to do with Lois?”

The answer came in a breathless hurry.

“Lois put it into her head, and backed her up. Manny’s raging. The Marshes are some sort of cousins—”

“Does Jimmy know?”

“I don’t know—not how it was done anyhow. He thinks she’s had to go to the infirmary because of her leg.”

Julia said in a surprised voice,

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It wouldn’t do any good. It’s the sort of thing that’s happening all the time, only Jimmy can’t see it. Lois puts it her way, and he can’t see anything else. She wants old Hodson’s cottage for some friends of hers, and you’ll see she’ll get it.”

“Jimmy wouldn’t do that.”

“She’ll make him. You don’t know Lois like I do. She’ll persuade him that it’s much better for old Hodson to go and live with his widowed daughter-in-law in London, where he’ll hate every minute of it and go right down the drain. But of course that doesn’t matter to Lois—she’ll get her way, and her friends will get their week-end cottage.”

There was a silence. There were a great many things which Julia could have said. She thought perhaps she had better not say them. Soothing down was what Ellie wanted, not raking up. She held her tongue because she couldn’t think of anything soothing to say.

After a moment Ellie burst out again.

“It will be just the same about Ronnie—you see if it isn’t! Jimmy will say yes to me, and to you, and to Antony, and then Lois will get hold of him and he’ll say no, because she’ll make him believe that it’s much better for Ronnie to be in a hospital or a convalescent home, just as it’s much better for Mrs. Marsh to be in the institute, and for poor old Hodson to be in London with a daughter-in-law who doesn’t want him. I wouldn’t mind so much if she was honest about it. She isn’t. She’s got to pretend that it’s what’s best for everyone, instead of saying bang out that it’s just what she wants.”

Julia said in her deep voice,

“Stop shaking, Ellie. And stop working yourself into a state over Lois. It doesn’t do any good, and it wears you out. She’s poison all right—I always knew she was. But she’s here, and she’s Jimmy’s wife. Something can be done about Ronnie. That’s why I’m here. Now the first thing that suggests itself is a job where they would let you have him with you.”

Ellie caught her breath.

“It isn’t any good. I’ve tried. I put in an advertisement, with a box number. There were only two answers, and they were both from slave drivers. All the work of a house— cooking and everything. I couldn’t have done it and looked after Ronnie too.”

“What did you say in the advertisement?”

“I tried to make it stand out—there were such a lot of people wanting things. So I put, ‘I want a domestic job where I can have my husband with me. He has lost a leg.’ ”

“And you only got two answers?”

“That’s all.”

Julia lay frowning in the half-light. The moon had risen. She could see the footrail of her bed and of Ellie’s bed. She could see the black mass of the old-fashioned wardrobe against the wall beyond. The three bright windows showed the illumined sky. She said slowly,

“Ellie—”

“Yes?”

“If Ronnie could go to a really nice convalescent home, mightn’t it be better for him than having rows with Lois, here?”

She felt Ellie’s hand jerk and pull away.

“I shouldn’t see him—”

“But if it made him well? He would be able to take up his job, and you would be together all the time.”

Ellie said in a muffled voice,

“I didn’t think you’d be against me too.”

“I’m not.”

It was like Julia not to make protestations.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then hadn’t you better explain?”

Ellie’s hand crept back, catching at hers.

“We’re not getting a chance. We had a month together, and after that two week-ends, and since then he’s been in hospital. It isn’t giving us a chance. I go over there, and I’m tired before I start. I haven’t got any go or any colour, and half the time I can’t think of anything to say. I can’t be amusing, or gay, or any of the things he needs.” She burst into tears all over again. “Oh, Julia, he’s got such a pretty nurse!”

Out of the choking sounds that followed, a battered sentence emerged.

“Sometimes—I feel—as if I could—kill Lois.”