The Four Graces (16 page)

Mr. Grace looked up from his paper. “There were more than one, I gather?”

“Two,” said Tilly reluctantly. “Wilfred and Ted, that was what they called each other. They were
very
nice.” She caught her father's eye and added hastily, “Neither of them was tall and dark.”

Mr. Grace chuckled. His daughters were a perfect nuisance. They worried him to death, turned his hair prematurely gray, and caused him intense anxiety, but they also caused him intense amusement—so perhaps it evened out.

“We still don't know who Wilfred is,” Liz remarked in a pointed manner.

“Probably Wilfred Smith,” said Mr. Grace. “It seems unlikely that there should be two young men called Wilfred in Chevis Green.”

“The new people at The Beeches?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Grace, looking at his daughters over the tops of his spectacles. “Yes, Smith is the name. I met Mrs. Smith this afternoon and she wants you all to go and have—er—refreshments at seven o'clock some evening.”

“Supper?” asked Liz. “All of us? That seems a large order.”

“Drinks—that's what she said. I imagine the Smiths must have dinner at eight.”

“How?” asked Tilly. “They haven't a cook for one thing. Their advertisement is in the
Wandlebury
Times
again this week—screeching for a cook and offering her the earth.”

“Custom dies hard,” said Mr. Grace.

Liz hugged her knees and looked thoughtful. “I don't think I want to go,” she declared. “Mrs. Bouse says Mrs. Feather says when the Smiths get together, they rage furiously at each other all the time.”

“How funny!” exclaimed Sal, thinking of herself and Roddy (and of how much more profitably they could spend their leisure hours).

“Funny?” echoed Mr. Grace.

“Sal means funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha,” said Liz, smiling.

“Ah!” said Mr. Grace, accepting the explanation, but it did not seem funny peculiar to him, for in the days of David, the sweet singer, the heathen had behaved in exactly the same way.

It was a cloudy afternoon. The Serpentine was pale silver in the subdued light and so still that every tree was mirrored on its surface. Mirrored on its surface, also, were the people upon the opposite bank, children in bright summer dresses, dabbling in the water.

Sal walked slowly, taking everything in. She had felt reluctant to come to London (only a stern sense of duty had made her come—that and Mrs. Element's tears) but now she was here she had a very pleasurable sense of freedom, and she was loving London as she always did. London was a friendly place even if you knew nobody; it was not the people who were friendly, it was London itself, the very stones. You felt, somehow, that the place belonged to you; it was the hub of the nation of which you were a part. Walking across the park, Sal looked at all the people; there were people everywhere, people hurrying, dawdling, talking, sitting on seats. There were people who looked full of business, full of cares, and people who looked as if they had nothing to do and were merely waiting for time to pass. There were hundreds of children running and shouting, or sitting on the grass in listless attitudes; there were hundreds of soldiers—soldiers belonging to every allied nation; there were girls in uniform and girls in summer frocks…Sal found it enthralling.

The streets were noisy and seemed full of traffic—it was slightly alarming to a country cousin like Sal—but as she was in no hurry, it was easy enough to wait at the crossings and cross with a group of more experienced traffic dodgers. The shops were fascinating, of course. Sal did some window gazing and bought a few things she wanted: a smart blue hat with white flowers in it, which sat on her head in a perky manner and went rather well with her navy blue coat and skirt, a blue silk scarf, and two pairs of thin, artificial silk stockings.

Addie's flat was in a mews not far from Hyde Park Corner. She lived there with another girl—a school friend who was working in the same office as herself. Neither of them would be there, of course, because they did not get back till late, but Sal had been told to ask for the key at a greengrocer's shop and to make herself at home. She found the shop with some little difficulty; it was very small (tucked away in a narrow lane blocked by a brewer's dray). It seemed odd that anybody could make a living out of a shop like this, so small and poor and empty. The mews was cobbled and narrow and rather dirty; it smelled of gas fumes instead of horses, but when Sal climbed the stairs and opened the door of the flat, she was agreeably surprised. The girls had made a home out of the little flat…Yes, it had quite a homey atmosphere. Of course this might be due in part to the fact that at least half the furniture had come from the Vicarage…that comfortable chair, for instance (how odd to see it here!), and the small bookcase, and the well-worn carpet on the sitting room floor…Sal knew them all quite well, she had looked them out for Addie when Addie moved into the flat. Besides the sitting room there was a small kitchen and a bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which had a double bed. This was Addie's room, and tonight Sal would be sharing the bed with Addie (and Addie had put clean sheets on the bed in honor of her guest, which was really rather decent of her, thought Sal). The flat was very small but clean and bright. It gave Sal a curious insight into the character of her youngest sister to see the way she had arranged it all. Addie was capable and artistic and in addition she liked to be comfortable…the flat showed all this and more.

Sal took off her hat and gloves and made herself a cup of tea; then she washed up and put everything back where she had found it. She had decided to go and see Mrs. Pike tomorrow morning; there was just a chance she might see Roddy tonight. She had sent Roddy a wire telling him she would be here, but there had been no time to get his answer. She sat down on the window seat and waited (she had left the door ajar, for the bell was out of order, and she was afraid Roddy might come while she was busy and go away again). It was very quiet in this little back lane—incredibly quiet—in the distance you could hear the roar of traffic, the voice of London, but you could easily imagine it was the voice of the sea. Sal sat there, imagining it. Now and then you heard somebody shouting, or a sudden grinding of brakes. The lane was empty save for an occasional passerby (an errand boy with a basket; an old woman, ragged and dirty, shuffling past; a lean ginger cat nosing among some garbage in the gutter); it was so narrow that Sal had to press her forehead against the window pane to see the street at all…she had to crane her neck to see the sky.

The sky had been so blue, but now clouds were gathering; there was a growl of thunder in the distance and presently it began to rain. Big drops fell upon the windowsill, making splashes in the dust. Roddy wasn't coming—that was certain. It was too wet, or perhaps he hadn't gotten the wire, or he might be busy at the course and unable to get away. She was almost glad he wasn't coming. She would have a quiet evening, alone with a book. She peered out…was that Roddy? No, it was a man with a barrow of coal. Life is queer, thought Sal; here I am waiting for Roddy, and two months ago I didn't know him. Two months ago I thought my life would go on forever just the same, and now everything has changed. Two months ago I thought nothing would ever happen and now
this
has happened. She sighed; it was horrible waiting, not knowing whether he would come; not knowing, really, whether she wanted him to come. She wished she had not sent him the wire and told him she would be here. She had been buoyed up with excitement, but the excitement was all ebbing away. She felt sick. She was aware that her cheeks must be deathly pale…nice for Roddy to arrive and find her looking like a ghost!

Sal ran into Addie's room and gazed into the mirror…yes, a ghost! She found some rouge in one of the drawers and dabbed it on. Was that better? No… (Heavens, I look awful! thought Sal. I look like a tart. I look—awful.) She seized some cotton wool and rubbed it all off. Her cheeks were burning now, they were even pinker than before…powder was the answer.

Sal was powdering her cheeks when she heard footsteps in the lane (firm footsteps, quite different from the patter of the errand boy and the shuffling tread of the dirty old woman). She ran back to the sitting room and pressed her face against the window…yes, it was Roddy! He came along the lane looking at each door, looking at the numbers; he stopped just below the window. Sal could see only the top of his head now, only his beret. She had meant to run down and meet him at the door but her heart was beating so violently that she couldn't move…she waited…a few moments later he came in.

He was just the same; brown, tough, wiry, very sure of himself. “Well, here I am,” he said, smiling at her.

She rose as he came forward and he put his hands under her elbows and looked at her.

“Afraid?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“To be afraid gives people an advantage over you, Sal.”

“I can't help it.”

“But you can trust me—always,” said Roddy, and he kissed her gently.

It was all right. She loved him dearly, completely…and he loved her. It was all right.

“Darling,” said Roddy. (They were sitting together on the window seat.) “Darling, I haven't seen you for a year.”

“A week,” said Sal, smiling.

“A year,” declared Roddy. “As a matter of fact, I've known lots of years pass quicker. Have we really got to wait three more weeks—years, I mean—before we can be properly engaged?”

“That's what Father said, and you agreed.”

“I didn't know it would be like this,” said Roddy, with a sigh. He took out a little box and opened it and took out a ring. “Try it on,” he said.

“Oh, Roddy!” exclaimed Sal. “It's far too good!”

“You like it?”

“Oh, Roddy!”

He slipped it onto her finger and they both looked at it. He had chosen a large dark blue sapphire set in platinum—a beautiful ring. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, it's right. I knew it was your ring the moment I saw it. The sapphire matches your eyes.”

Sal took it off, regretfully.

“Keep it on,
please
,” said Roddy. “Please, Sal, just for tonight. I'm going to take you out to dinner, and I
do
want you to wear it.”

She hesitated…but how could she refuse? “Well, just for tonight,” she said. “And, Roddy, I do
love
it.”

“Now,” said Roddy, when they had finished discussing the ring. “Now tell me about everything. How is Liz?”

“Very well indeed,” replied Sal. “She congratulated me, and said she hoped we would be very happy. She sent you her love.”

“There!”
exclaimed Roddy. “What did I tell you! She doesn't care a pin for me—except as a friend. I knew it all the time. All that fuss for nothing!”

“I know,” agreed Sal. “I was very silly about it.” She had made up her mind to say this, and it had come out quite naturally, she thought. Roddy must never know Liz cared for him; the least she could do for Liz was to keep her secret. Now she had
that
off her chest she went on to tell Roddy about all that had happened since he left Chevis Green, and it really was rather amazing how much had happened in a week. William had guessed that they were engaged (said Sal), though how he had managed it nobody knew. He had told Liz, and Liz—not knowing it was supposed to be a dead secret—had met Miss Bodkin and told
her
, and Miss Bodkin had met Mrs. Chevis-Cobbe and told
her
, and Mrs. Chevis-Cobbe had rushed up to the Vicarage to congratulate Sal, and had assured her that marriage was absolutely marvelous (having been married for exactly two months, she was, of course, an authority on the subject). Meantime, Miss Bodkin had careered wildly all over the village, spreading the news far and wide.

“Good,” said Roddy. “Splendid! Good old Miss Bodkin!”

“Father was annoyed, but he couldn't say much. It wasn't anybody's fault, you see.”

“Nobody's fault,” agreed Roddy cheerfully. “Go on, Sal. What else happened?”

“Aunt Rona left on Tuesday,” said Sal, smiling at the recollection. “She left with great ceremony, kissing us all and shaking hands with Father. I believe she would have kissed Father if he had given her half a chance. She thanked us all for our kindness and said she had enjoyed herself immensely and she gave me quite a lot of instructions and hints about how I was to do the flowers. After she'd gone, Joan and I went upstairs to take the sheets off the bed, and there on the dressing table was…What do you think?”

“Her false teeth,” suggested Roddy.

“Oh, Roddy, you
are
naughty. Of course it wasn't her false teeth (as a matter of fact, I believe her teeth are all real), it was half a crown. She had left it there for Joan.”

“Stingy old b-brute,” said Roddy.

“Joan took it up and looked at it. Then she opened the window and threw it out…into the pond!”

“No!”

“Yes, she did. I didn't blame her, either. Aunt Rona was beastly to Joan.”

It was now seven o'clock, time to go out and have a spot of dinner, Roddy thought. It had stopped raining and the sun was shining again so Sal fetched her new hat and put it on, and asked Roddy how he liked it.

“I do and I don't,” said Roddy thoughtfully. “I mean you look simply marvelous and exactly right to come out to dinner at the Savoy, but to tell you the truth I like you better in your old clothes; I like that blue overall you were wearing the day I saw you in the kitchen.”

“It's a pity I didn't bring it,” said Sal, arranging the hat most carefully in front of the mirror and giving it the slightest bit more of a tilt over her right eyebrow. “If I'd known you liked it so much I could easily have brought it. I'm sure it would have caused quite a sensation if I'd worn it to go to dinner at the Savoy.”

“Cheek,” said Roddy, and he tucked his hand through her arm and they went downstairs together.

***

They went downstairs arm in arm and as they went, Sal said to herself, I'm happy. I'm enjoying every single moment. It's fun. It was fun being with Roddy and walking by his side through the London streets—not arm in arm, of course—and seeing all the soldiers saluting and Roddy returning the salutes. Roddy knew his way about. The traffic had no terrors for him and no terrors for Sal either, with Roddy's hand at her elbow. And, when at last they reached the crowded restaurant and Roddy asked for the table he had engaged, it was fun to see the air of confidence with which he spoke to the somewhat alarming head waiter, and the instant service that confidence evoked. When they had decided what to eat, Sal looked around, and that was fun, too. What a lot of people, what chatter, what laughter, what brightness and movement there was!

Sal leaned across the table, and said, “Roddy, I'm happy.”

“Oh, Sal, I've never been so happy in all my life,” said Roddy earnestly. “You're the most marvelous person in the world. I adore you.”

The waiter, who had just brought their soup, was a good deal younger than the waiter at the Apollo and Boot and seemed more human. He looked sympathetic and interested and Sal had a horrible suspicion that he had heard Roddy's words. She sat back in her chair and tried to look bored and
blas
é
, but she couldn't manage it for long. This dinner reminded Sal of the lunch at the Apollo and Boot: in some ways it was the same, and in other ways different. It was like in so much as they were here together, talking earnestly, and being interrupted every few minutes by the arrival of food. It was unlike because the surroundings were so different; because Sal had no wish to escape from Roddy, but every wish to remain in his company as long as she could; because she knew she was looking her best, with a new hat on her head and a new engagement ring on her finger, and because she was feeling on top of the world. Sal was about to communicate these interesting reflections to her companion when he leaned forward and said, “Where's the basket? I rather liked that basket. Will you give it to me for a wedding present?”