The Diamond Waterfall (75 page)

Chas (the very one who'd said last night, “We'll take care of you”) said now, “I suppose we could turn her in?” He no longer seemed to find it a joke. To Michael it had
never
been one.

The party began about eight. They'd never meant seriously that she should come to it. She thought of going to bed and burying her head under the sheets and forgetting. But when she'd been alone in the sitting room for about half an hour, she grew uneasy. Betty would be back at the convent by now. Perhaps the search had already begun?

Her school dress looked even more awful today. She saw there were food stains on the skirt. She sponged them off in the servants' room. In Michael's chest of drawers she found a penknife and cut away the convent badge. The dress looked worse without it so she took another of his pullovers, a smaller one this time. Then she washed her face. Her hair was still wavy from the plaits. She brushed it with one of his brushes. Then she felt light-headed and thought perhaps she should eat; she took some of Grandma's fruitcake and a glass of water.

Then she set out up the staircase, following the sounds of voices, laughter, music.

“Hullo, hullo, hullo and who is
this?”
She was taken firmly by the arm and whirled into the room by a man with glasses and hair like a dishmop. She thought he might be a little tiddly.

Clinking of glasses, babble of voices. Faces blurred and merged.

“Blooming naiad,” the man with the dishmop head told her, “that's what you are.”

Chas had seen her, Michael too. In a minute he was by her side. He whispered in her ear:

“For heavens
sake.
What are you doing? And my yellow pullover—” “It looks nice,” she said cheekily.

“Kid sister, you look a real kid sister.” But once again he didn't go on being angry for long. He found her a glass of lemonade, then introduced her to a group of people over in a corner, whispering first, “You're on your own now and serve you right.

“My cousin Willow,” he told them, “she's staying with friends nearby to do some riding.”
(How could he?)
“So hence the absence of party togs.”

They were very nice to her. She steered the talk away swiftly from horses. Remembering that Tootles had been a cow kicker, she said, “It's been a sickening weekend, too dreary for words. My mount was a cow kicker. I just can't
bear
to talk about it.”

A fragment of conversation floated over:

“All Quiet on the Red Front … the gospel according to St. Marx …”

She hadn't noticed that someone stood behind her. “Hi, there. We met last evening.”

She turned, the lemonade sploshing in her glass. When she saw who it was, she said, “You didn't realize—I'm your cousin.”

“Is that true?”

“Well, if you're our American cousin, yes. I'm Michael's cousin, you see.”

“Let me guess. Are you the one with the fancy name? The
lovely
name. Willow?”

She nodded, spilling some of the lemonade.

“Well, I'm Jay. Like I said. Willow, let's go over there, not too near the radio—and you tell me
everything.”

She thought at first he knew something. And Michael had
promised.
She looked around to see where he or Chas had gotten to. Both were opening bottles near the door.

But it was about family Jay wanted to talk:

“I remember your aunt. Teddy, Cousin Teddy. She visited once when we lived with our grandmother.”

“She told me. Your sisters. A brother. Years ago—:”

“1923. I must have been seven, eight. She sang
‘I'm just wild about Harry'
to my kid brother—imagine that. He's just started in medical school.”

“I never know who's who.”

“My mother's Ruth, the youngest of Daisy's children. She'd be first cousin to
your
mother. Dad was killed in the war, before I was even born. He was half Jewish too—I guess that leaves me only one quarter. Mom married again in '26. He's a banker, and a fine person.”

She asked what he was doing here, and for how long.

“International law. How long's up to Adolf Hitler. As it was I almost didn't …” He took her empty glass. “Our side of the family, yours too, we're really
bad
about keeping in touch. Our grandmothers exchange news, but us—apart from I've seen something of Michael, I've done
nothing.”

While he spoke, she'd been feeling safer than at any time since she'd run away. Then suddenly, glancing at her watch—half-past nine. Panic. Surely by now?

“Hey there—something not right?”

“The nuns,” she said. “They'll be coming after me any moment.” Her mouth felt weak, but stiff at the same time.

“Willow, this is
some
story.” Then, as if he really meant it: “Why don't I help you? I can run faster than any nun.” He added, “Serious, though. If there's anything I can do …”

“I can't tell you here—it's too difficult.”

“Let's go down to Michael's rooms—if it's O.K. by him.”

She didn't bother to ask Michael, telling Jay that of course it was O.K. Michael didn't see her go, nor Charles.

They sat on opposite sides of the banked-up fire. It was easy, because she'd been wanting to tell someone. It meant going right back to the murder and the trial—he knew something of that, of course. He listened very carefully, to everything. When she'd finished he asked a few questions. Then he sat very still—although he didn't
seem
still. (Electric, Michael had said.)

He told her then what she must do. “But only if you want to.… You see, I reckon you just don't need to stay there at all. Only you have to tell the right people so they can do something about it. And that means your Grandma.… What you do first, is write the nuns. Very politely, courteously, but saying where they get off. Your grievances. And how really sorry you are they don't have a better school. They won't answer—but
you'll
feel better.”

She must do it soon, he said. Tomorrow's mail. No later.

Then: “Stay right here,” he said. She sat, not daring to move. He was back in what seemed seconds.

“I spoke with Mike—he says everything's fine by him, and good-bye and good luck.”

It all seemed to be happening suddenly very fast.

“You didn't have any luggage?” “Just my school coat and scarf.”

“O.K. Then you come with me. We'll write that letter together first thing tomorrow. Right now I'm going to check you into the University Arms. After that we'll call your Grandma. The hue and cry—it'll have just about started up.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, please.” She felt weak with relief.

“We'll tell the hotel you missed your train, that's why you've no luggage. No, better, we'll get a cab to my rooms and you can borrow a bag. Maybe some pajamas. I reckon you're a half inch taller, but what the hell.”

Yes, Jay. No, Jay. Whatever you say, Jay. Bed and sleep, she thought, and safety. And then home.

“If you wish to smoke, Mrs. Nicolson, please feel at liberty. I shouldn't like you to think you must behave as a
pupil
of this convent—”

“None of the girls smoke, Reverend Mother? How times have changed. I thought all schoolchildren surreptitiously puffed at cigarettes.”

The nun smiled icily. “Perhaps, Mrs. Nicolson, it is precisely this frivolous attitude to wrongdoing which has led your niece so astray?”

Teddy, folding her legs, stared across the room at the Infant Jesus of Prague, crowned and cloaked above the fireplace. “I'd be happy to think I'd had any influence on her at all. I admire her a great deal.”

“It would seem we are speaking about a different person. The girl to whom I refer has, among other outrages, sent us
this.
” As if they were unclean, she held up two sheets of paper covered in Willow's large unformed hand. “Mrs. Nicolson, perhaps you would like to read what your niece has written?”

Oh my God, what am I doing here, Teddy thought. It's always me to the rescue. This time it was only luck she'd been available. She'd decided soon after the Munich crisis to go to the States for a month, returned a week ago on the
Normandie,
and then suddenly wanted to be in Flaxthorpe. She had been there when Jay telephoned. His call had come ten minutes before Reverend Mother's:

“There is as yet no call for panic, Mrs. Ahlefeldt-Levetzau, but we are a trifle concerned that little Willow hasn't returned yet from a visit we
thought
to be sanctioned.” It had been some time before the nun realized she was talking to Teddy. She behaved then as if she'd been fobbed off with brass instead of gold:

“That is not Mrs. Ahlefeldt-Levetzau? In whom have I been confiding, then? Her
daughter?
I am speaking to an adult, I trust.”

What a silly woman,
Teddy had thought. She thought it again now, as she skimmed through Willow's manifesto. Spelling mistakes apart, it was quite impressive. Jay had mentioned to her that Willow would be “telling them where they get off.”

“I hope you are shocked, Mrs. Nicolson. Naturally I have not allowed any other member of the community to see it. There is enough suffering in the world without inflicting unnecessary wounds on innocent persons.”

Teddy thought, I shall not comment on what Willow has written. I shall not play into her hands at all. I need not even have come. It was at Mother's request, and indirectly for Alice's sake.

“Which brings me, Reverend Mother, to the matter of my stepsister. Of Mother Hilda. A subject mentioned here.” She held up Willow's letter.

“An unjustified and embarrassing grievance. Mother Hilda has in fact written to your niece—I speak to you now in the strictest confidence. Three letters have arrived. Since I did not permit the first I naturally cannot pass on subsequent ones. The tone of that letter—I feel pained to tell you this—I can only call it subversive. Highly critical not only of the order but of the school, and our treatment of Willow. I could
not
allow it—I do not like to think what worse excesses Miss Willow might have committed as a result. Mother Hilda … must be excused, of course. Her illness, there can be effects on the mind, the balance. And then, her time of life. She
cannot
be held responsible. I have written to her superior in our Sion house …”

Teddy said tiredly, “Perhaps you would care to make your own arrangements about this matter, Reverend Mother, and we will make ours. As a family.” Her anger was such that it had turned to exhaustion. “It was a mistake to come here. We do not see eye to eye.
I
see a child who has been thoroughly wronged, and who has felt a need to state her case.”

Reverend Mother leaned forward. “May I say just one thing, Mrs. Nicolson? This child, who was not a Catholic—and remember, convents are primarily for Catholics, for those
inside
salvation—this child was taken as an act of pure charity because of the terrible case of the mother. You are a woman of the world, Mrs. Nicolson. You must see that I risked soiling the school. Risked, too, losing pupils. God does not ask that we abandon all common sense when we are charitable. Prudence”—she smiled—“in our excess of charity, I had almost forgotten that most important of virtues. Prudence surely would dictate that we had had enough. That even without this” —she picked up the letter—“your niece would have had to go. This convent does not
need
Miss Willow Gilmartin.”

She said it triumphantly. There seemed little point in continuing, Teddy thought. She itched to smoke but was too proud. And so, she decided suddenly to go. Getting up, saying, “No, no, thank you, Reverend Mother, I can see myself out.”

Reverend Mother in acknowledgment gave a gracious half-smile. She will be glad to be rid of me, Teddy thought. Going out, she stopped and turned, her hand on the doorknob. “By the way, Reverend Mother …” She spoke slowly, drawling almost.

“Yes, Mrs. Nicolson?”

“My sister Sylvia had more charity in her little finger than you have in the whole of your body.”

She did not bother to say “Good day” or “Good-bye.” Also, she left the door very slightly ajar.

Have a good time while you may.
May, May Week. That fortnight in June of unwinding after exams, of celebration, college Balls. Last year Michael had taken a blind date, a second cousin of Chas's. And it had not gone well. The conversation had never gotten off the ground—nor had his dancing. He seemed to have grown clumsy, even the Palais Glide was too much for him. This June, he thought, I shan't bother. Then he thought, The whole world may be about to end soon. Bang or whimper, perhaps he should go.

“You might find your own popsy this year,” Chas said. “What about a local bloom? Save you the trouble of having one shipped in.”

He had heard through a friend that Jay was very tied up with a girl from the town. “Jack and Jill,
Jay
and Jill,” the friend said. A town girl. For some reason he imagined the traditional tobacconist's daughter, or a barmaid.

He'd hardly seen Jay since Willow's escape last winter. A couple of arranged meetings, both of which had fallen through. A chance encounter in the KP cafe. He felt mildly irritated when he thought of him: Jay had managed the Willow business well. Handled by him, it had seemed so simple (take hold of her, tell her what to do, and make sure she does it
at once).
He wondered now why
he
couldn't have frog-marched her to a hotel that first evening, put her on a train to Yorkshire next morning, rung the convent or Grandma—let someone else take over. His absurd feeling that he mustn't do anything sneaky, that he was in some way being tested … Then when he'd had all the discomfort, along comes Mr. Cleversides, who'd met her for only two minutes before, and off she goes like a lamb.