Penmarric (91 page)

That finished it. I lost my temper. “Get out!” I yelled at him. “Get out before I have you thrown out! Get out of my house!”

“It’s not your house,” said Simon Peter Roslyn, effortlessly courteous. “How sad! It’s a nice old place, isn’t it? Perhaps I might buy it off Jonas one day and live in it myself! You can be sure that if I do I’ll remember to invite you to dinner. I won’t forget you, Jan, I promise. You’d be much too difficult to forget.”

“Go—yourself!”

“Ah,” said Simon Peter, “the public-school patois, known to most of the population as the language of the gutter!

What charming advice, Jan old chap! May I suggest you yourself go and attempt exactly the same thing?”

And even before I had the chance to drive my fist into his prim little mouth he had turned his back on me and slithered smoothly from the room.

After that I found myself severely tempted to try to discredit Jonas in Philip’s eyes, but fortunately my mother made me see the foolishness of such a move and insisted that Philip would eventually become disenchanted with Jonas without any assistance from me. This was such obvious good advice that I would have been a fool to ignore it, so I waited, biding my time and making no attempt to interfere.

It had now been definitely arranged that Jonas should go to Philip’s old prep school in Surrey that autumn, and Rebecca had also consented to Jonas spending the summer weekends at Penmarric so that he could become accustomed to such surroundings; he would arrive on Saturday mornings, stay Saturday night, go to church with Philip and Helena on Sunday morning and return home to Morvah after Sunday lunch. Yet from the beginning there were difficulties. First of all he seemed to prefer Helena’s company to Philip’s; he liked to play croquet with her on the lawn and would trail after her when she cut-flowers in the conservatory or walked with the dogs through the grounds. Second, despite Philip’s efforts to interest him in more masculine occupations, he refused to ride and had an aversion unusual in a child to swimming in the sea or even walking along the beach.

“That’s his mother’s fault in my opinion,” said Helena to me as we met one day in the grounds. “She refused to let either of those children bathe in the sea and kept reminding them of how their father died.”

In the end it was Jonas’s aversion to the sea that brought matters to a head. It was July by that time, and, having spent eight weekends at Penmarric, he had apparently allowed himself to be convinced that it was safe for him to go for a walk with his uncle along the cliffs and down to the shore at Cape Cornwall.

But on the beach he panicked and ran away.

Exasperated and baffled by such irrational behavior, Philip returned to Penmarric expecting to find the child hiding behind Helena’s skirts and discovered that Jonas had vanished into thin air. It was at this point that I became involved in the dilemma; Philip came to my office asked me if I had seen Jonas, and, on learning that I hadn’t, told me the whole story.

“He’s probably bolted for home,” I suggested practically.

“But it’s Saturday!” Philip stared at me angrily. “Damn it, he’s used to staying Saturday night with us by now! Why should he run off home? Did he think I was going to beat him? Silly little bastard! I’ve never laid a finger on him and I don’t intend to, although God knows my fingers have itched for a riding crop on more than one occasion—”

“You’d better make sure he’s not at home before you do anything further.” A glow of comfort was welling inside me as I thought of Jonas’s stupidity, and I thought what a pleasant evening it was with the sunlight streaming across the herbaceous border beyond the window.

“All right, but could you come with me to Morvah? If there’s any trouble with Rebecca I want someone who knows her as well as you do to stop her having hysterics; She might think I’d forced him to go down to the cove against his will or something equally absurd.”

My pulse quickened at the thought of seeing Rebecca. I wondered if Jonas would provide me with the excuse I needed to enter the farmhouse kitchen again and watch her brewing a pot of tea.

He certainly provided me with the excuse to confront her. When we arrived at the farm Philip left me in the car and went around the side, of the house to the back door, but although I prepared myself for a wait of several minutes only thirty seconds elapsed before he rejoined me with a baffled, angry expression in his eyes.

“He’s there,” he said curtly, “but Rebecca called me a monster and slammed the door in my face. What the devil she meant by that I’ve no idea. Could you try and convince her that I’ve never harmed one hair of her silly child’s head? Monster seems a strange word to me when I’ve always done my best to be kind to the boy.”

“Let me talk to her,” I said with alacrity and hurried to the back door before he could realize how excited I was at the prospect of seeing Rebecca again.

The door was locked, so I knocked on the panels and rattled the handle. “Rebecca?” I called. “Can I come in? It’s Jan.”

The door flew open. Before I could say another word Rebecca had flung her arms around me and was sobbing violently against my chest.

I was so overcome with delight by this abrupt end to our estrangement that I flung my arms around her too and kissed her so hard on the mouth that she was unable to speak; it was some seconds before she managed to twist her mouth away and start gasping my name.

“Oh, Jan, Jan—”

“There, there,” I said soothingly, stroking her hair, “It’s all right, I’m here. What’s happened? Is Jonas hurt?”

She started sobbing again. I couldn’t get a word of sense out of her. “Where is the child?” I said at last. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he—he’s upstairs … hiding … He’s frightened.” She accepted the handkerchief I gave her and began a halfhearted attempt at mopping-up operations. Her fingers were shaking. “He won’t say a word except that Philip took him to the beach and he—Jonas—was so frightened that he ran away. Oh God, what shall I do? I should never have trusted Philip, never! I should have remembered what Hugh always said about him. I shouldn’t have been deceived by the fact that Helena was living with him again—I’ve read about people like that in the newspapers—just because they’re married it doesn’t mean they can be trusted—”

“My dear Rebecca,” I said, hardly able to believe my ears, “are you seriously trying to tell me—”

“What else could have frightened Jonas so much?” Tears were streaming down her face again. “I’m not letting Jonas ever go back there again,” she said fiercely. “And I’m not letting Philip dictate to me about which school to send him to. Everyone knows what goes on at boys’ boarding schools. I wouldn’t put it past Philip to choose one which was specially—”

“My dear, you must be out of your mind.”

“I was out of my mind before in letting him go off alone with Philip! I’m not letting my boy be brought up by a … a …”

“—a generous honest man?” I did not even stop to think that it would be to my. advantage to foster her grotesque suspicions. All I was conscious of was indignation that she should repay Philip, who had acted with the best of intentions, with such an unjust and unwarranted distrust. “For Christ’s sake, Rebecca, pull yourself together and stop being so ridiculous! Philip may not care much for women, but there’s a world of difference between a preference for masculine company and the kind of behavior you’re trying to impute to him. Let me talk to Jonas. He’ll soon tell you that you’ve allowed your imagination to lead you astray. Where is he? Bring him in here and let me talk to him.”

“No,” she wept, “no, I’m not letting Jonas be cross-examined by you about anything. Jonas is upset and frightened and he doesn’t like you anyway. He hasn’t forgotten that time at Penmarric when you—”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” My patience snapped. I turned on my heel and wrenched open the back door. “If you won’t let me help you and won’t accept my advice, what the devil do you expect me to do? I’ve had enough of your melodramatics! I had more than enough of them in the past and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with any more of them either now or in the future. Have hysterics if you must, but don’t expect me to offer you my shoulder to weep on. I’ve got better things to do with my time even if you haven’t.”

I didn’t wait for her to reply. I walked out, slammed the door and strode off angrily around the side of the house to the car.

The fresh summer breeze blew softly against my cheek. I stopped but I was too late; I was already in sight of the car and could no longer pause to consider what I should say to Philip. Opening the car door, I slid reluctantly into the driving seat.

“Did you get any sense out of her?”

I frowned at the dashboard, fidgeted with the keys.

“Jesus Christ, Jan! What are you hesitating for? What did she say? I want to know!”

I made the decision. Leaning back in my seat, I drew a deep breath and told him the truth.

 There was a silence.

We sat there in my car, looking at each other, and from somewhere nearby a cow bellowed restlessly while a dog barked far away in the village. We went on looking at each other. Philip’s face was so devoid of expression that I thought at first he had not understood me, but then I saw his mouth narrow into a hard line and his eyes turn slate-gray as he clenched his fists.

He looked away. I was still trying to think of something to say when he spoke.

“What a stupid woman,” he said. His voice sounded flat and tired. “What a stupid, stupid woman.”

I opened my mouth to agree with him, but before I could say a word he rounded on me in a fury and shouted, “But I suppose you believed her! Maybe you even put the idea into her head! I wouldn’t put it past you to suggest to Rebecca that her son wasn’t safe with me! You’d like me to be estranged from, Jonas, wouldn’t you? You’d do anything you can to enable his mother to drive a wedge between us!”

I kept my head. “That’s not true, Philip,” I said strongly. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me and I don’t blame you for suspecting me of such a thing, but I gave Mama my word that I wouldn’t meddle in your relationship with Jonas and I’ve kept my promise. If you doubt that, ask Mama. She’ll back me up. She knows I’ve turned over a new leaf. Talk to her, if I can’t convince you! If you want to know the truth I’ve hardly spoken to Rebecca for over a year. We’re estranged. This is the first time in eighteen months that I’ve been near the farm.”

He stared at me in distrustful silence. He did not speak. His eyes were bleak and cold.

“Don’t be a fool, Philip,” I said, still keeping my head. “Give me credit for a little sense. I’m not a hysterical woman like Rebecca. Of course I don’t think you harmed that child. You no more go around assaulting eight-year-old boys than I go around ravishing eight-year-old girls. The whole idea’s absurd.”

His fists began to unclench themselves. I saw his shoulders slump. After a long moment he said “Oh God” and stared blindly across the fields to the sea.

I felt sorry for him. In a clumsy attempt to show him I wanted to be friendly I said, “I feel I need a drink. Why don’t we drive over to the Tinner’s Arms at Zennor for a beer?”

He nodded, not speaking, still staring out to sea, so I started the engine and guided the car down the lane to the road. Beyond Morvah to the east along the coast road to St. Ives stood Zennor and the old pub. It was a beautiful evening. The sun was sinking toward a golden sea and the summer air was scented with the aroma from a small garden of flowers nearby.

“Let’s sit outside,” I suggested as we left the car. I thought he would prefer the open air to the intimacy of the bar. “I’ll get the drinks. What will you have?”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

When I emerged with two pints of bitter I found him sitting stiffly on a bench, his head bent, his hands clasped before him as if in supplication. Sitting down at his side, I handed him his glass.

“Thanks,” he said.

We were silent. I wondered whether to speak of Jonas again but decided it would be better to let the matter rest. However, Philip came to the opposite decision: As I stared into my tankard I heard him say quietly, “How did Rebecca know that I prefer men to women?” And when I started, never having dreamt that he would refer to the subject other than obliquely, he added with careful logic, “She must have known that or else she wouldn’t have imagined such a thing as this.”

I tried to match his casual offhand manner. “She knows nothing,” I said at last. “I used to say to her often that you took no interest in women, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Hugh cast a few aspersions on your moral character while he was alive, but the scene at the farm just now was entirely the result of her imagination. She was upset because the child came home unexpectedly, and once she was upset any simple explanation of Jonas’s behavior wasn’t good enough for her.”

“But she must have known something.”

“Why should she? No one else does.”

“Except you,” he said. “You know. If you knew why didn’t you tell Rebecca about it? She was your mistress.”

“I preferred to keep what I knew to myself.”

“Why? Why should you have bothered? What prompted you to be so discreet?”

“Respect, perhaps.”

“For me?” He was mocking. He was even smiling in incredulity.

“No,” I said. “Not for you. For Trevose.”

The smile was wiped off his face. He was silenced.

“I liked Trevose,” I said. “He was good to me. He needn’t have been good to me, but he was. I don’t forget people who are good to me like that, and I don’t speak ill of them after they’re dead. That’s all.”

He still did not speak. His eyes had an inward look as if he were thinking of the past.

“Besides,” I said, “what was there for me to tell? That I had seen you one night in St. Ives with Trevose? You were often seen with him—that was nothing new. Short of describing the expressions on your faces there was nothing I could tell anyone.”

“We often went to St. Ives.” He lit a cigarette, shook out the match. “Helena knew, of course,” he said abruptly. “It was inevitable that she should guess, but I knew Helena had too much pride to do anything but keep the knowledge to herself. I always took great trouble to be discreet, because I didn’t want a shred of gossip to get back to Mama.”