In the Time of Greenbloom (12 page)

At the mention of the Archbishop there was silence and
Michael looked out of the window. “We're nearly there. Cheer up Mother pet, we're all with you and we'll back you up.”

Suddenly gallant, she smiled at him and getting out her handkerchief dabbed at her nose. Then, opening her compact, she smeared the tiniest trace of lipstick on to her lips and fluffed a little of her fair powder on to her cheeks.

“Now you see what they've done,” she said suddenly to Victoria, “they've upset me and spoiled this absurd makeup.”

“I think you look very sweet Mrs Blaydon, younger even than Mummy!”

“No I don't,” said Mother. “I'm just a tired old woman. I'm nearly fifty and I look like seventy. I've had seven children—”

“Six dear,” said Father.

“What do you mean six? If you'd had them you wouldn't have forgotten the first one—my little dark-haired daughter.” She resumed her smile and looked at Victoria. “Yes I've been married over thirty years and now I'm losing my David; and though that's bad enough I wouldn't mind if I didn't feel that God was losing him too. But don't worry, I shall accept it as I've accepted everything else. Just remember, though, all of you, that this is
our
wedding as much as theirs. I want you to see that our parishioners are looked after, each of them's worth half a dozen of these Londoners with their proud faces—now where's my bag, Victoria? We'll wait for the others and then we'll all go in together.”

“I don't see how we can, Mother,” said Michael. “For one thing we'll have to go to different cloakrooms. And for another, I'm sure that Mrs Cable will expect you and Father to stand with her behind the bride and groom.”

“Oh no!” said Mother. “If she's going to take him over, and I know she is, then she can do it without my help. I have the rest of the family to think of. David will understand.” The taxi drew up and the driver opened the door.

“Victoria! you come with me you poor little thing. It's
a dreadful thing to be born a woman. If I only had my Mary with me it wouldn't be so bad; but even she is denied me until this horrible day is over. We'll find Melanie and we'll have our refreshments together in our own corner.”

Holding Victoria's arm she joined the stream of people moving through the glass-fronted entrance and disappeared into the hotel.

Michael paid the taxi and then, having collected old Smith, the four of them made their way to the downstairs cloakroom.

“I'm very worried about her,” said Father very contentedly, “and now I've put my foot in it—Silly of me, of course, but I didn't think she'd take it like that.”

“I shouldn't let it spoil things,” said John. “See if you can make her drink a glass of champagne. That will cheer her up.”

“Never touches it, says that if she once started she'd never know when to stop—like old Pall.”

“Poor old Pall!” said John. “I wish he were here now, he'd have known how to manage her.”

Father turned to Michael. “I say Mick, what did your Mother mean about the wedding present? What
did
she give David?”

“Who? Mrs Cable?”

“Yes, but not so loud, the walls have ears in these places; whisper it!”

“A cellar-allowance,” said Michael.

“A
cellar
-allowance! Is that all? Good Heavens! I couldn't think what it must have been, but she's funny about wine, always has been. It's old Pall of course, he led 'em an awful dance.”

In the Reception Room, brightly lighted by the frozen inverted fountains of the chandeliers, Mother had taken up her position in the corner farthest away from the bridal group.
Throughout the rest of the room, flanked by two gleaming tables on which a buffet luncheon was spread, people stood in twos and threes making an aimless pattern between whose motifs pale waiters moved with trays of half-full glasses. Somewhere, lost behind the murmurs and cascades of sudden laughter, a quartet played chamber music. The long room, warm and scented, was strung with polite hostilities, and late arrivals stood hesitantly in the doorway searching uneasily for a route or direction which would lead them safely past the bride and groom to their own particular friends.

Mother's party consisted principally of backs; for all the people she had gathered round her in a green corner of palms on pedestal tables, springing ferns and hydrangeas, were evidently facing her where she stood concealed as she talked eagerly to Alexander Flood, with Victoria still by her side.

Following the others, John saw the back of Mr Boult with Grace Boult by his side, Lizzie and Mrs Mudd, the Hadleys and Mr Scrutton-Thompson, one of Father's churchwardens. Simpson, with two of the prettiest bridesmaids smiling up at him as he drank gingerly from a champagne glass, was standing next to Melanie and Nanny; while Mary, he noticed, was on Alexander's other side listening to his exchanges with Mother and wearing what he privately called her sweet-intelligent-look-at-me-looking-at-you expression.

Father and Michael took their places on the outskirts of this large group forming a tall black outpost against all comers as they plied Mr Smith with glasses of lemonade and asparagus rolls. Occasionally, blundering strangers, remote members of Mrs Cable's entourage, would wander up to the corner and try to get into conversation with Mrs Mudd or Emma Huggins, and finding that they were apparently not understood, would drift away again carelessly as though they had never really intended to say anything in the first place.

At last, however, David and Prudence accompanied by Mrs Cable and her brother Major Albright, came slowly up from the far end of the room and paused on the outskirts of the corner.

“Where is my little Mother?” David asked. “Has anyone seen the Bridegroom's Mother?” He stood on tiptoe and caught sight of Father. “Oh hello, Father dear! what have you done with my Mother?”

Near him there was a swift lull in the talking as everyone turned to look openly into the corner they had hitherto so scrupulously ignored.

“I am sure,” said Mrs Cable loudly, “that Mrs Edward Blaydon must be holding court in there somewhere.” And she waved her ringed hand vaguely at the palms. “But then David dear, your mother
is
so small that no one could be quite sure.”

David, dropping Prudence's hand, leaving her brown and smiling by her uncle's side, dived dramatically into the group and shouldering everyone aside picked Mother cleanly up in his arms.

“
Here
she is! We've found the Bridegroom's Mother. We've rescued her from the dragon of obscurity and exposed her to the serpent of publicity.”

Mother, bright as quicksilver, her tiny feet thrashing the air, her pale blue eyes smiling delightedly up into David's face as she lay in his arms, called out:

“Put me down at once David you naughty boy! You must have had far too much champagne.”

David took no notice of her, gleeful and shining, his brown eyes looking straight into Prudence's he deposited Mother neatly beside Mrs Cable and said, “Photographs, Mother! in the next room; and after that, speeches toasts and telegrams—and then we're off, off your hands for ever and a day.”

“Not for
ever
, David!” she said seriously.

“Of course not, darling; you'll
never
be rid of your eldest. He'll always need you.” He kissed her swiftly. “Come on, Father; you're wanted too.”

Mother smoothed down her blue silk dress and took Father's hand. She looked minutely pretty, suddenly and secretly radiant like a person who has received a promise.

“Really,” she said to no one in particular. “It's a good thing we're getting rid of him at last, he always was expensive and difficult; but now he's getting
quite
out of hand.”

“Ah!” sighed Mrs Cable, “
we
haven't found that! David is quite easy to manage if one has the hands, isn't he Prudence?”

“I'm sure he is,” said Prudence fondly. “I've had no trouble with him so far.”

“You just wait,” said Mother, “both of you! In twenty-five years I never succeeded in breaking him in—”

“No,” David interrupted, “but then you see I'm not a harness horse, Mother darling, I'm not even much good on the flat—I'm a 'chaser by nature.”

“
That
,” said Mother quickly, “is exactly what I meant.” And she smiled triumphantly at Mrs Cable who turned down her mouth like an elderly débutante and said:

“Well, we shall see! but in the meantime I do think that we ought to get these tiresome photographs taken.”

Somebody laughed, little conversations were resumed and the musicians who had been silent for some minutes, struck up surprisingly into “
Jeannie of the Light Brown Hair
”. The bridesmaids followed the others out into the foyer, and John, ignoring Melanie's questions, made his way over to Victoria who was standing a little forlornly where Mother had left her.

“Have you had any champagne?” he asked.

“No I haven't had anything yet—but I don't mind.”

“Neither have I; but I
do
mind! To me, everything seems to be going wrong! This isn't at all the sort of wedding I imagined it would be.”

“Isn't it?”

“No it isn't. I thought everything would be gay and friendly. This is worse than a railway train. And another thing, I've hardly seen you and you've hardly seen me.”

“I know. I've been talking to your Mother.”

“So I saw. Didn't you want to talk to me?”

“I think your Mother's wonderful! She's the most wonderful woman I ever met. I'd no idea she was like this.”

“Like what?”

“Oh
different
—so exciting! She seems to understand everybody the moment she meets them.”

He groaned. “Oh Lor'! has she been understanding
you
?”

“Don't be silly, I didn't say that.”

“I know you didn't; but it's what you meant.”

“It isn't at all.” She looked at him speculatively. “You don't understand your Mother, that's the trouble. You're too young. Your Mother's sweet. She was telling some of the bridesmaids that men never do understand women and that that's why they often marry the wrong people. I think she's right.”

“You don't mean to say she's been telling everyone that David oughtn't to have married Prudence? She can't possibly know yet, they've only been married for an hour.”

“There you are!” she interrupted. “I never said anything about your brother and his wife, and neither did she. As it happens, she was talking about
my
mother and father; she understands how—uncomfortable it is to have only half a home as I have; she was awfully kind, and
clever
!”

“I'm sorry,” said John. “I admit I was wrong; but I've been worrying all through the service about Mother. I thought she was going to do something dreadful. Did you notice how she changed places at the beginning of the wedding? it was terribly embarrassing.”

“Don't be silly! It was only because she couldn't see anything; she's so short, smaller even than you or me. What was embarrassing about it?”

“Oh nothing.”

He looked round him miserably. Everyone was talking and laughing, the music was still underlying the lights and the movement; but he felt suddenly alone and tragic, lonelier than if he had remained at the Abbey, lonelier even than he always felt on the second day of the holidays when the greetings had worn thin and the excitement briefly flagged after weeks of anticipation.

“If you're going to sulk—”

“I'm not sulking, Victoria; really, I'm not. It's only that you don't seem the same.”

“You don't even
look
the same! Whatever's happened to your face?”

“Oh that! I was going to tell you; but somehow it doesn't seem interesting any more.”

“What was it? A fight?”

“Yes.”

“How silly!
We
never fight; but I suppose boys are different.”

He took a deep breath and looked at his feet. “As a matter of fact, if you want to know, it was for
you
! Someone was beastly about you, and I went into the ring with him and beat him up.”

She was silent; and after a moment or two he looked up just in time to catch her eyes breaking away from their regard of him. Moving closer to her he took her hand impulsively and shook the slender fingers hard.

“Please! Do let's start again. Let's be different so that we shall end up by being the same. I didn't mean to quarrel with you and all this could be so wonderful.”

“All right,” she said, “but you mustn't criticise your mother any more or it will spoil everything.”

He smiled. “I promise,” he said. “Let's have some champagne like we said we would in our letters. Let's drink to our First Wedding—before
she
”—he corrected himself hastily—“before they all come back.”

“Be quick then,” she said. “It was very sweet of you to fight someone for me. What was his name? What did he say? How old was he?”

“I'll tell you later.” He was filled with returning gaiety. “But will you tell me something first? Just this once and I won't mention it again?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you have all this talk with my mother?”

“Some of it in the Russell Hotel before you came, and
some of it in the cloakroom just now. She'd had a long letter from Enid, thanking her for inviting me to the wedding, and in it I think Mummy must have been rather sad about her own wedding.”

“Oh.”

“That's really what upset me. I kept thinking about them, Enid and my Father starting off like this in a Church years and years ago and then ending by getting divorced.”

He thought hard, trying to imagine her life with Enid who was her mother, so smooth-faced and arranged, a very careful woman like a programme. He imagined the hotel holidays, the occasional breakfast-table letters from her father and the annual visit to the rich farmer who lived in the Moors and was always wanting to marry Enid and be Victoria's stepfather. It had never worried him before; but now that Mother had somehow unexpectedly got mixed up in it, it was important that he should understand it. If he didn't, Victoria might begin to feel differently about him, she might think that he was in an outside world and turn against him and then he would have no one to dream about or write to, no one to love as gloriously and secretly as he had loved Victoria and the very idea of her ever since ‘the Lake'.