The Four Graces (10 page)

She would start by saying, “You know Lord Wetheringham, George…Oh,
don't
you? I thought you might know him, such a very cultured man. His daughter married a Bull—not one of the Bulls of Nether Astwick, of course. These Bulls live near Newmarket. Henry is a delightful creature and tremendously artistic, so their house is quite a gem—not large, of course, there are only twelve bedrooms—but so well planned and comfortable. Fixed basins in
every
bedroom, and any amount of bathrooms.”

“How nice!” Mr. Grace would say.

“A very large connection,” Rona would continue. “Mavis Bull married three times and her first husband was a Paggleton-Smythe. I met
his
brother Frederick at a hotel in Cannes. He was staying at Cannes when I was there, just after poor Gerald passed on. Gerald was my second husband, of course. I don't think you ever met him. Of course I knew exactly who the Paggleton-Smythes
were
, so I spoke to them in the lounge and we became very intimate. They used to take me over to Monte in their Rolls. Then, when I was at Biarritz, I met Crispin Paggleton-Smythe—Frederick's cousin—so of course I made my number to him. He was quite the most handsome man I ever saw and all the women in the hotel were mad about him. His mother was an American, of course. A lovely woman. I was devoted to Sadie Paggleton-Smythe, and his sister—Crispin's sister, I mean—has a delightful little service flat in Palace Gate and writes for all the society papers. I met her at a wedding and I went straight up to her and told her I knew her mother. We had a most interesting little chat. Then, of course, there's Walter. He went out to South Africa and built a bridge—quite wonderful, it was—they gave him the O.B.E. I expect you know Walter.”

“I don't know any of them,” Mr. Grace would say.

“You must have
heard
of Walter.”

“No,” Mr. Grace would reply, stifling a yawn.

“You'd like him, I'm sure. He's quite charming, so friendly and unspoiled by his success. Unfortunately he got in tow with a most extraordinary woman, definitely
not
out of the top drawer. It was a great shock to the family. Clarence (that's Walter's half brother, of course) was
very
naughty about poor Robina. He used to say, ‘The only excuse for Robina is her children.' They have three sweet children—or is it four? I can't remember at the moment…”

The Graces—and William—were obliged to sit and listen while Aunt Rona racked her brains (aloud of course) trying to remember whether or not a woman in whom they had not the slightest interest had three or four children.

It was impossible for anybody else to talk while this was going on; equally impossible to read. They had tried turning on the wireless but Aunt Rona talked it down without the slightest difficulty (music, plays, Brains Trust, Aunt Rona talked them all down) and the resulting noise was simply unbearable. The Graces—and William—had no option but to sit and listen to Aunt Rona until they could, with decency, rise and go to bed.

Tonight Aunt Rona settled herself in her usual chair and asked Liz (as usual) to get her a footstool and suggested that the window should be shut. This having been done she opened her mouth and said, “George, have you ever met—” But she got no further.

“Let's do a crossword!” said William loudly, and he opened the paper and folded it carefully into a little square.

Liz was surprised at the suggestion coming from William, for William was not good at this particular form of mental sport. They had tried him before and had given him up as hopeless, his brain was much too orderly and literal; he could not even see the point when it was explained to him. You need a special sort of brain to be good at crosswords, a mad-hatter type of brain, quick, intuitive, and slightly illogical—in short just the sort of brain the Graces possessed.

Liz was about to say, “But, William, you don't like crosswords,” when she encountered William's eye and received a forbidding look. “But, William, you—haven't got a pencil,” said Liz, changing her remark in midair.

“A pencil! Oh, yes, I have,” declared William, producing it from one of his capacious pockets.

Sal smiled to herself. It was rather clever of William. Of course he might be wrong, Aunt Rona might be terribly good at crosswords, but, somehow, Sal thought not.

“I'll read out the clues,” continued William. “It won't bother you, will it, Mr. Grace?”

“Not at all, William,” replied Mr. Grace in cheerful tones.

“Er,” said William, gazing at the paper. “Um—let's see now. She enables an ally to unite the Poles. Five letters.”

There was a short silence, and then Liz said, “Susan.”

“Susan!” exclaimed Aunt Rona. “Who is Susan? It doesn't sound like a Polish name.”

“Oh, very neat,” said Tilly, smiling.

William wrote it down. He had no idea at all why it should be Susan but he was willing to takes the Graces' word for it…not so Aunt Rona.

“I think it must be Vashinska,” declared Aunt Rona. “I remember reading about her in the papers. She's a captain in the Russian Army, and Russia is our ally, of course.”

“Five letters,” William objected.

“Susan is right,” declared Liz. “It has nothing to do with Russia or Poland.”

Aunt Rona was unconvinced. “It
must
have, Elizabeth,” she objected. “The clue is perfectly clear. She enables an ally to unite the Poles. I can't see how you make it Susan.”

“South and north with America in between,” explained Tilly, in the patient voice one might use to a very stupid child.

William cleared his throat. “The candidate seems to have been elected by a narrow majority. Six letters and the third is S.”

“Ah, that must be Sir Lancelot Twigton-Malling,” announced Aunt Rona. “I know him well. He stood for Pestlethorpe in 1924, and was only elected by three votes. They had a recount, of course, and I remember—”

“Justin,” cried Tilly.

“Oh, good!” exclaimed her sisters with one accord.

“Why Justin?” asked Aunt Rona.

“Just in,” said Liz. “Go on, William.”

“Gloating insect. Six letters.”

“Mosquito—that's obvious,” said Aunt Rona quickly.

“Six letters,” William reminded her.

“It must be a mistake—a misprint,” said Aunt Rona. “I'm sure it's mosquito—or gnat, perhaps.”

“Why gloating?” inquired Liz. “Mosquitos don't gloat, do they?”

“When they sting you,” explained Aunt Rona kindly.

“It's Beetle,” said Sal.

“Beetles don't sting,” objected Aunt Rona.

“Sal knows,” declared Liz. “If Sal says beetle—beetle it is. Write it down, William.”

Sal laughed and waved her arms. “‘
Je
vais
gloater
,'” she chanted. “‘
Je
vais
gloater
tout
le
blessed afternoon.
Jamais
j'ai gloaté comme je gloaterai aujourd'hui
!'”

“Stalky's Beetle, of course!” cried William in delighted accents. He was delighted not only with the neatness of the clue, but also with himself for understanding it.

“Congratulations, William,” said Liz, smiling.

Aunt Rona was tired of this game. She began to talk…but, alas, nobody listened; the Graces with their teeth into a crossword puzzle had no ears for anything else. Mr. Grace, lured from his book, joined in the fray. William's idea was successful beyond his wildest dreams. Tonight it was Aunt Rona who hid a yawn—not very thoroughly—and suggested bed.

“But it's only just after ten!” cried Tilly.

“And we
must
finish the puzzle,” added Liz.

Sal was in Wandlebury for her usual weekly shopping (it was Thursday morning, of course); she was tired and hungry and her basket was full, and she was on her way to catch the bus to Chevis Green. The shopping had been more difficult than usual today, the queues seemed longer than ever, the supplies shorter. I wish we could live on grass or something, like Nebuchadnezzar, thought Sal, as she hurried across the square.

“Hallo, Sal!” exclaimed Roderick Herd, rushing after her and catching her by the arm. “Hold on a minute, Sal, I want to talk to you. I've been chasing you around the square. Every blinking shop I went into said you'd just gone.”

“I'm in a hurry,” said Sal. “Honestly, Roderick—”

“I want to talk to you.”

“The bus won't wait.”

“It needn't wait. Come and have lunch with me at the Apollo and Boot.”

“No,” said Sal quickly. “I mean it's very kind of you, Roderick, but I—”

“It isn't the least kind. Look here, Sal, I must talk to you.”

“I must go home. I've simply
got
to catch the bus, because—”

“You can't catch the bus,” said Roderick, pointing.

Sure enough the bus had begun to move. Sal ran a few steps and then stopped. It was no use. The bus was gathering speed…already it had reached the corner…now it had vanished. She found to her amazement that her eyes were pricking with tears.

Roderick had pursued her. “Come and have lunch,” he said. “That's the best thing to do. There's another bus in the afternoon—”

“No,” said Sal, trying to speak firmly. “No, thank you, Roderick. It's very kind of you, but I'd rather—as a matter of fact, I don't want any lunch. I'll just have a cup of coffee. There's another bus at two o'clock, and I'll—”

“Come on, Sal,” said Roderick, smiling at her. “You're tired and hungry, that's what's the matter. Give me that damned basket. Come on, Sal.”

She had no strength to argue with him any longer, nor to resist when he seized the basket out of her hand. He swung the basket lightly as if it were full of feathers, and grasping Sal's elbow in his other hand he led her across the square.

“Roderick, I don't want—” she began in a feeble voice.

“I know you don't,” he declared. “I know you're fed up because I made you miss the bus, and you simply hate the idea of lunching with me. I know
all
that, but I can't help it. I've got to speak to you, Sal. There's never any chance of speaking to you at the Vicarage with everybody milling around. D'you know I haven't spoken to you alone since that first day in the kitchen when I crept in like a thief in the night to steal Markie's umbrella? Why d'you always avoid me as if I had the plague—well, never mind,” he added hastily, as they reached the entrance of the hotel. “Never mind that, now. Go and powder your nose while I order lunch—and don't be too long about it.”

“I'll take the basket,” said Sal.

“No, I'll take it,” he replied. “You might do a bunk. I'll feel a lot safer if I have the basket with me.”

Sal was obliged to smile. She certainly couldn't “do a bunk” without the precious basket, which contained, among other things, a week's sugar ration for the whole family.

It was early, so the dining room was fairly empty and Roderick had secured a table in the corner near the window. The basket was beside him. He jumped up when he saw Sal approaching and held her chair.

“Drink your cocktail,” said Roderick, pointing to it.

“I don't think I want it,” replied Sal. She was feeling “contrary.” Roderick might have asked her if she wanted a cocktail before ordering one for her.

“It's doctor's orders,” he told her, “so it doesn't matter if you've signed the pledge.”

“I never signed the pledge,” declared Sal indignantly. “And, anyhow, I don't know why you think you have a right to order me about like this.”

“You need somebody to order you about.”

“I don't!”

“Yes, you do. You think about other people from morning to night; it's time somebody began to think about
you
…We'll have soup,” continued Roderick, turning to the waiter who had materialized while he was talking. “Soup first, then beefsteak pie and vegetables, and then chocolate pudding.”

“I couldn't possibly eat all that,” said Sal.

“You'll need all that before I've finished talking to you,” said Roderick firmly.

The waiter went away and there was silence.

“I thought you were going to talk,” said Sal rudely.

Roderick leaned his elbows on the table and looked at her. “What's the matter, Sal?” he asked. His voice was quite different now, gentle and deep. So gentle and deep that Sal found it difficult to go on being angry with him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying hard to go on being angry. “There isn't anything the matter except that you made me miss the bus and dragged me here when I didn't want to come.”

“I must know why you're avoiding me. Sal, I
must
know. You were quite different that first day when I came back to fetch Markie's umbrella—”

“And forgot it again,” said Sal, nodding.

“Let's be honest,” he said. “I didn't forget it, really. You know I didn't, don't you? I left it so that I should have an excuse to come back and see you again.”

“See
me
!” exclaimed Sal.

“You,” said Roderick. “You and you and you.”

“But—Roderick—” said Sal faintly. She stopped and looked with horror at the plate of soup that had suddenly appeared before her.

“Eat it—or should one say drink it? Go on, Sal, it will do you good. I shan't say another word until we've finished our soup.”

They ate (or drank) their soup. It was good soup, and Sal certainly felt the better of it.

“Now,” said Roderick. “Now, let's get down to brass tacks. It's
you
I come to see. Every time I come over to Chevis Green, I make up my mind I'm going to talk to
you
, and every time I'm handed over to Liz—all tied up neatly, like a parcel. It's enough to make anyone mad.”

The beefsteak pie had appeared and they started to eat it.

“I thought you—liked—Liz,” said Sal.

“I do,” declared Roderick. “I like Liz immensely (nobody could help liking Liz), but she isn't you.”

Sal was silent.

“Why do you do it?” asked Roderick at last.

“Do what?”

“Turn me over to Liz.”

“I don't know,” began Sal in confusion. “I mean, it—seemed to—to happen naturally.”

“It couldn't,” he said. “It might happen naturally once or twice, but not every time. There's a sort of conspiracy on—”

“No, no,” she cried. “No, Roddy.”

“I like you calling me Roddy,” said Roderick, smiling. “Nobody has ever called me Roddy before. Funny, isn't it?”

Sal took no notice of this. “There was no conspiracy. It's a horrid thing to say,” she declared emphatically.

“There was,” he said. “I just couldn't do anything. For instance, what could I do when Liz went to feed the hens and I was told to go and carry the ‘heavy pails'? Could I refuse? And another day, when I slunk down the garden hoping to find you there, I was waylaid by Mrs. Mapleton and hauled back to the house.”

“Hauled back!” exclaimed Sal in derision.

“Well, you know what I mean,” said Roddy earnestly. “She gets hold of you and you simply can't escape. I've even tried being rude to her, but she doesn't seem to mind…but it wasn't only
her
,” declared Roderick more earnestly still. “It wasn't only Mrs. Mapleton; you did it, too.”

“Did what?”

“Pushed me off with Liz to pick gooseberries,” said Roderick with bitter emphasis.

“Only once; I thought you would like it.”

“Well, you were wrong,” said Roderick firmly. “And that wasn't all, I mean that wasn't the only time. There was the time I came up to the schoolroom and found you there, sewing. You made some sort of feeble excuse and rushed away. There were half a dozen times at least,” declared Roderick earnestly.

Sal took a mouthful of beefsteak pie and it tasted like sawdust.

“Sal,” said Roderick. “Sal, I hate making you miserable, but we've got to get it straight. I wouldn't talk like this if you gave me half a chance to talk in any other way. There isn't
time
to dillydally. I'm going away on Saturday and I couldn't go away without speaking to you. It's war, Sal. I might be shot off to Burma or anywhere at a moment's notice. I've thought and thought—at last I decided to get hold of you by hook or by crook and tell you exactly what I felt—and here I
am
, telling you.”

“Roddy, listen—”

“Afterward I will. You listen first…Oh, here's our chocolate pudding!”

“I couldn't possibly eat it,” Sal declared.

“Neither could I,” agreed Roderick, pushing the plate away. “I want to tell you, I want to explain how it all happened. It started in church of course. I saw you there, at Archie's wedding, and I thought—I thought.” He lowered his voice. “Sal, I thought you were beautiful…and I thought if she's like that
inside
…but of course she is! I seemed to know at once what you were like inside. Then I thought, how can I get to know her?”

He paused. Sal could not speak. She was moved, almost to tears.

“I've always been on my own,” continued Roderick. “My father and mother died when I was a child, and I was brought up by an uncle who had a large family; they were all older than me and a bit bored at having a strange kid planted on them. I don't blame them, really. So I just went my own way. I got used to it—to looking out for myself and not depending on other people. When I left school I went into a rubber company and they sent me out to Malaya. I knocked about a good deal, one way and another, but I managed to make a little money. You can, if you're in the know and keep your eyes skinned. So I'm not exactly a pauper. I've got about six thousand pounds,” said Roderick in a low voice. He wasn't looking at Sal now; he was drawing little circles with his fork on the tablecloth. “Then,” said Roderick. “Then, of course, the war started—the war with Germany, I mean—so I managed to get a passage home and joined up as a private. I was at Dunkirk and got away in a fishing boat. They offered me a commission after that. When the war is over I can go back to Malaya, the company said they would take me back, and there will be plenty to do when they get the Japs turfed out.”

“You've had a hard life!” said Sal, not very steadily.

“Not really,” replied Roderick. “It's been fun. I've enjoyed being on my own and looking out for myself and being absolutely free. I've had a good time and lots of friends, and I've been in love once or twice—or at least I thought I was in love—but I never wanted to marry anyone before.”

Sal did not pretend to misunderstand him. She said, “Oh, Roddy—but you hardly know me—and—and, anyhow, I couldn't—I don't want to—”

“I know I'm not half good enough, but I love you frightfully,” Roderick said.

The waiter appeared and asked if they would like coffee, and Sal, looking at her plate, which was being removed, discovered that the chocolate pudding had gone. I must have eaten it, she thought in surprise.

“Coffee?” said Roderick vaguely. “Yes, of course—no—I say, we can't talk here. Let's go out into the garden.”

“No coffee,” said the waiter in an uninterested voice.

“No, thank you,” said Roderick. He seized the basket and made for the door. Sal followed him. The room was full of people now; it was hot and stuffy and noisy. Roderick went downstairs and along a passage and through a swing door that said “private.” He seemed to know his way. Sal was tempted to rush madly out of the front door and take the bus to Chevis Green. She could catch the two o'clock bus if she went now, and she wanted to escape, she was so upset and confused; she wanted to get away, to get home, to hide herself in a dark hole. Roderick did not look back at all, perhaps he knew she couldn't escape without the basket—and of course she couldn't. How could she go home without the basket? What would everyone say?

They were in the garden now, the garden at the back of the hotel, which sloped down to the banks of the Wandle. Roderick led the way confidently to a seat screened by a hedge of rhododendron bushes and sat down.

“Roddy, I couldn't,” said Sal, sitting down beside him.

“Why not? You don't—actually—dislike me, do you, Sal?”

“No, of course not.”

“If you don't like the idea of Malaya we needn't go. I'll chuck it. I can easily get something else, something in this country. I could buy a partnership in a small business and work it up. You don't need to worry. I can look after you, Sal. I don't care what I do as long as we're together. That's all that matters to me.”

“It isn't that, Roddy.”

“What is it then?”

She hesitated. There were so many things; all little things, but together they made a big thing. She felt it was hopeless to try to explain—hopeless. After a few moments she said, “I never thought you—you were—fond of me.”

“You thought I was fond of Liz?”

“Well,” began Sal. “Well—”

“But you know, now, that I wasn't,” said Roderick sensibly. “I've told you, haven't I? It was you all the time, from the very beginning. You believe me, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Sal.

“Well, then,” said Roderick, looking at her.

Sal could not say, “But Liz loves you,” so she was silent.

“Look here,” said Roderick. “I've no intention of marrying Liz, and Liz has no intention of marrying me; you can't make people marry each other, you know.”