Long Summer Day (48 page)

‘It should take us about three hours each way,’ he said, ‘and Branwell will give us lunch. He keeps a big place near Dulverton!’

Grace agreed to go and Roddy asked his father if he would accompany them but Rudd, with too much work on his hands, declined but promised to wait dinner for them. He watched them chug down the drive with Grace at the wheel, her wide straw hat tied on with a chiffon scarf and her body shrouded in a long white dustcoat, borrowed from Roddy. He thought, ‘I suppose I understand their enthusiasm for the honking, snorting little abortion! It’s their world, one of machines and gadgets of one kind or another and Paul might as well invest in a motor, if only to keep her happy, for she seems to get plenty of fun out of Roddy’s!’ He made a mental note to suggest as much and this led him to a morose contemplation of Paul’s entry into politics and the change it had wrought in him. It was only temporary, he hoped, for ordinarily the youngster was a tolerant, easy-going soul but the campaign had shattered the rhythm of the estate and this displeased him, for things had been progressing very well lately, particularly over at Four Winds, where the Eveleigh family were proving their worth. Life was quiet in the Coombe, too, now that Smut was out of the way and even Tamer seemed resigned to using hired labour and the equipment the estate had loaned him. It was years, John reflected, since Low Coombe fields had been properly ploughed and now the old rascal was said to be going in for sugar beet, as had Derwent, on his new cliff fields. Willoughby’s lad was proving his mettle too, and so were Will and Elinor over at Periwinkle, whereas he had never seen the Home Farm so fruitful after its record lambing season and the introduction of a small Guernsey herd during the winter. It was a pity, he reflected, that Paul had to be absent now, when the promise of the Valley was so rich. Political issues were ephemeral but the land was always there, waiting to be loved, coaxed and cared for and he would have thought that Paul was old enough to get his values right. It did not occur to him, however, to give more than a casual thought to Roddy, driving off with an unchaperoned Grace, for he had never been able to take Roddy or his enthusiasms seriously. He was like his mother, who had romped through her short life without a thought beyond how pretty she looked and he wondered what she would have thought of her son and his obsession with mechanical toys. Then, remembering he was due at a sale across the county border, he forgot about Paul and the motorists and did not remember them again until a message reached him from Paul saying he would be away for the night and he was to tell Grace what had happened and how they now had a more than even chance of ‘giving old Gilroy a thrashing at the polls’. He thought, ‘Much she’ll care!’ and ordered dinner for seven-thirty, returning to the lodge and sitting at his open window smoking as he watched the ford over which the Benz would come. Soon the heat went out of the day and the shadows of the chestnuts fell across the paddock but there was no sign of the motor. Grumpily, because he was both hungry and lonely, he trudged up to the house and ate a solitary meal. By nine o’clock he was irritated; by the time darkness had fallen he was worried and considering saddling up and riding along the river road down which they must come.

It would have availed him little. At that moment the Benz was stationary in a deep, leafy lane, fifteen miles north-west of Paxtonbury and about the same distance from the house where Roddy and Grace had lunched.

The outward journey had been made in record time, forty miles in one hour forty-five minutes, and after lunch Roddy’s host had taken them for a drive in his Panhard, allowing Grace a turn at the wheel and encouraging her to coast over a flat stretch of moor at a speed just under forty miles per hour. They had returned about tea-time and Roddy had persuaded Grace to stay for dinner, pointing out that the drive home would provide them with appetites for another at Shallowford. Branwell, his friend, had been so kind and hospitable that Grace did not like to refuse, so they made a latish start, taking a cross-country route aimed at the main road north of Paxtonbury. It was growing dusk when they stopped in the lane to light the big brass lamps and then, to Roddy’s astonishment, the Benz refused to start. He swung her until he was wet with perspiration and had Grace hold one of the unscrewed lamps while he opened the bonnet and probed in the engine. It was no use. The Benz remained silent and Roddy said they would have to accept a humiliating tow from a cart-horse.

They set off together for the nearest farm but this proved all of three miles and when they got there the farmer, an unobliging fellow, declared that he had a market-day ahead of him and needed a fresh team for the twenty-mile journey to and from the city. He sent them on to another farm but they could get no response to their knocking and as it was now past eleven o’clock Grace said they had better return to the car and try in the opposite direction at dawn. She made very light of their dilemma, although Roddy was depressed by it and a little anxious about her reputation. When he mentioned this, however, she laughed and told him not to be stuffy, adding that both Paul and John would rejoice in the triumph of horse over motor.

Fortunately it was a fine night, with stars blazing and no breeze but under the trees, where they had left the Benz, it was pitch dark and they had to grope their way down the long lane towards the owlish glimmer of the lamps. All the way Roddy stammered apologies; he was an idiot, he ought to have set out before; he ought to have been capable of restarting the blasted car; she would think him a fine kind of escort to get her stranded in this ridiculous fashion, until at last she said, ‘Oh, stop accusing yourself, Roddy! It’s my fault as much as yours and anyway, I don’t care that much! It’s a long time since I had any kind of adventure and if you want the truth I’m rather enjoying it.’

He was very thoughtful at this, interpreting it as meaning she found little joy in her life at Shallowford, or in marriage to that hectoring fellow Craddock who was such a crashing bore about politics. His experience with women, although fairly wide, did not include anyone like Grace who was calm, competent and beautiful but also so much wiser than any of the girls he had met voyaging round the Empire. She was essentially English but without the helplessness or the coyness of the average English country girl. She treated him as an equal but she did not try to flirt with him, as so many married women had done in the past and she was, moreover, genuinely interested in the really important things of life, such as petrol-driven engines and heavier-than-air-machines. Looking back on the past two weeks it seemed to Roddy that they had known one another for years, that she was a kind of heaven-sent sister, but a sister who was able to disturb him in a way he had not yet been disturbed by a pretty woman. She had a stillness that he had not found in another human being, man or women, and also a self-sufficiency that, in most girls, would have intimidated him but in her could be dissolved by a single light-hearted remark so that she was both attainable and unattainable. He could even marry a woman like that and decided that Craddock, who did not seem to appreciate her uniqueness, did not deserve his luck. He supposed she had married him for his money and he did not blame her for that, for he too intended to marry for money and yet, as he continued to reflect on their relationship as man and wife, he could not help wondering whether Craddock would be capable of rousing her as he felt himself capable of doing, given the opportunity.

His musings had made him very thoughtful during their progress back to the car and it was only when they arrived there, and had made one more unsuccessful attempt to start the engine, that he realised the open Benz would afford inadequate shelter for the night and suggested sitting under the bank and lighting a fire to ward off the night chill. She said this was a good idea but that it had better be at a safe distance from the car. A hundred yards back they had passed a shelter of the kind used by sportsmen on a winter shoot and she suggested they should return there and seek help at first light. He was just the slightest bit shocked by this suggestion but accepted it eagerly enough so they took the unscrewed lamp and retraced their steps to a three-sided shelter built on the edge of a wood above the level of the road. Here, in the glow of the lamp, they got a small fire going and in its light saw that the hide was carpeted with dry bracken. They went inside, sitting with their backs to the log wall and watching the fire flicker in the opening. She refused the loan of his coat, declaring that she was quite warm and when he suggested that she should try and sleep she said that she did not feel sleepy and would rather talk. As she said this she came a little closer to him, leaning some of her weight on his shoulder, so that he began to think benignly of the obstinate ignition of the Benz.

She had taken off her hat, tying her scarf about her neck and the scent of her hair mingled with the pleasant tang of resin and burning twigs, so that he found it very easy to convince himself that all she awaited was his seizure of the initiative. Yet the courage to take it eluded him and he wondered if he was losing his touch, as they talked of one thing and another and the scent of her hair stole upon him like incense, so that he found himself growing vague and leaving her questions unanswered. At last, when the fire had burned low, he made a rather clumsy essay to get things going. Turning, he tilted her chin and kissed her lips. He kissed them expertly, or so he thought, but the kiss did not seem to give him the license he needed, so he kissed her again, this time extending his arm round her shoulder and slipping his hand under her breast. Gently she disengaged herself saying, with laughter in her voice, ‘You can have my lips, Roddy, but no more! I’m very comfortable here and not inclined to spend the remainder of the night wrestling with you!’

He was very piqued at this, muttering, ‘I don’t know what to make of you, Grace! You put a fellow in an intolerable situation!’ and she laughed again, saying, ‘Come, be fair, Roddy!
I
didn’t get us in this situation, I’m just making the best of it, so why don’t you?’

‘Because you obviously don’t intend to let me,’ he said, his sense of humour reasserting itself.

‘No, I don’t, Roddy, but not for my sake, or even Paul’s.’

‘Whose then?’

‘For yours and your father’s.’

‘Now where the devil does the Guv enter into it?’

‘Because he’s proud of you and very fond of Paul! In addition, he doesn’t wholly approve of me although I believe he is beginning to!’

‘Then he must be senile,’ Roddy said, ‘because any man between twenty and sixty ought to approve of you! I did, the moment I set eyes on you and now … well, now I’m very much in love with you, Grace!’ He felt her shrink a little at this so he went on, hurriedly, ‘I know I don’t stand any sort of chance and that you aren’t in the least in love with me but you can’t blame a chap wanting to make something of an opportunity like this! I’ve never met anyone the least bit like you before, Grace.’

He waited, feeling that he had said enough and she was silent for some time. Finally she said, ‘You aren’t in the least in love with me, Roddy! Paul is, but you aren’t and I don’t think you’ll be capable of loving anyone until you’re about thirty-five!
Then
you might, when you’ve had your fill of gadding about. You might even make someone a very charming husband!’

‘How can you know that?’ he demanded, irritably.

‘How? I imagine because I’ve never been in love myself and that gives me a rather special kind of detachment. I made a misjudgement, Roddy, and my only excuse is that I didn’t, as you probably imagine, marry Paul for money. I really did think myself capable of making a success of it and in a way I suppose I have, or still could! What I won’t do, however, is to make a fool of him the conventional way, or console myself by imagining that I can still try elsewhere and involve somebody I like, such as you. You don’t understand love, Roddy. You could make love to me here, and persuade yourself it was extra-physical, and as for me, well—I’m sensual enough to enjoy it more than you but what could it lead to but self-deception on your part and cheapness on mine? No, Roddy, my dear, we shall have to behave I’m afraid, whether we like it or not!’ and she settled herself comfortably against his shoulder and half-closed her eyes, looking out at the dull glow of the fire and the blue blackness of the trees on the opposite bank.

Her bland summarisation had a finality that divorced this from any parallel situation in his past. He had never thought deeply about anything but her honesty appealed so strongly to his commonsense that he remained silent, and presently (incredibly when he looked back on the occasion) he dozed but she remained awake, half-aware of the night scuffles of hunters in the wood behind them and the blaze of stars in the gap of sky between the belts of trees. She thought, ‘He’s just another Paul but he’ll never suffer like Paul! All the men I met when I was capable of being hurt were so-called men of the world, who enjoyed putting the screw on women, but now that I have learned to give as good as I get all I meet are boys with men’s bodies! There ought to be some kind of half-way house between these extremes but there isn’t. One has to settle for one or the other. If Paul could see me now he would never believe how innocent Roddy was and would still be if I did let him take me in his arms but thank God he’s kind enough not to exploit the situation.’ She found that she could think of Roddy Rudd objectively, as she had often thought of Paul in the last few months, and of how he would have behaved had she given him the chance. The speculation amused her a little, for Roddy, thinking himself such a ladies’ man, would surely pride himself on a fancied technique but his love-making would probably lack Paul’s masculine approach, which was something she had deliberately fostered knowing that Paul Craddock would always need an injection of confidence in everything he attempted. She half wished it was possible for a woman like herself to experiment with men. It would be interesting, she thought, to really know men, all kinds of men, and acquire knowledge in such a simple way. All they needed to persuade them that they were godlike was a little physical flattery and one could practise in gratifying them in this respect. The fire was a heap of red ash now and disengaging herself from the sleeping Roddy she moved to the entrance of the hut to replenish it, sitting there watching the sky pale and wondering what she should tell Paul and John Rudd of this escapade. Perhaps it would be better to lie and pretend they had spent the night with Roddy’s friend, Branwell. He was an ex-sailor and could easily be persuaded to back the story, and thinking this she was relieved that she would not have to comfort Paul with real lies.