The Morning Gift (47 page)

Her mother would not want to live at Bowmont —.Ruth smiled, thinking of the surging sea, the cold wind, the draughts. Her parents would visit, but they would want to stay in town and now they should do so in comfort. She would be an undemanding wife - no grand clothes, certainly no jewels or trinkets which she did not care for anyway. She would learn to be frugal and sensible, but there were things she would ask Quin for and that he would grant in their shared life, she knew that. A cottage for Uncle Mishak -Elsie had shown her an empty one in the village - sanctuary for her friends when they needed a place to rest or work… and she might just mention the problem of the sheep! And she, in exchange, would not whine to be taken on his journeys. It was not easy to see how she was supposed to live away from him for months on end, but she would - somehow she would.

Now she embraced her mother who said: 'You look very happy. Did you have a good time with Pilly?'

'Yes, I did. A lovely time.' :

Ruth blushed, but it was her last lie. They had nor made plans in the night - it was a night outside time - but when they did she would announce her marriage and then she would never need to lie again!

It was as she was cutting herself a slice of bread that she came out of her dream of happiness to notice that Leonie was clattering the crockery in a way which had boded ill in Vienna.

'Is anything the matter, Mama?'

Leonie shrugged. 'I'm silly to be surprised -I should have expected it from the stupid, pop-eyed Aryan cow! But even so one couldn't quite imagine that she would treat him like that after all he did for her and that loutish family of hers. When you think how she chased him in the hospital - a junior nurse as thick as a plank - and the way she showed off about being a Frau Doktor.'

'Is this Hennie? Dr Levy's wife?'

Leonie nodded. 'She's written to say she wants a divorce on racial grounds. You should have seen him yesterday; he looks ten years older - and even so he won't hear a word against her. The man's a saint.'

Ruth was silent, cupping her hands round her mug, in sudden need of warmth. How could anyone hurt this modest, gentle man - a brilliant doctor, a generous friend. She had seemed to love him, the foolish Hennie, echoing his words, basking in his status. Was it so strong, the pull of her family with their pernicious views?

'Aren't you going to college?'

'Not till later.'

Quin had told her to be lazy, to have the morning off. It had surprised her, but she would heed him. When she did go, she would have to be careful not to levitate in the lecture room and float over the carafe of water into his arms. Levitating during lectures was almost certainly bad manners and she could only repay the gods now by being very, very good.

She was still sitting dreamily over a second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang, insistent and shrill. For a moment she thought it might be Quin and in an unconscious gesture of coquetry, she shook out her hair, making it into an offering. But that was silly; Quin had left her saying he had something important to do. He had sounded mysterious, almost preoccupied. He wouldn't, in any case, have followed her to Belsize Park - not till they had decided what to do.

'Go down, darling,' said Leonie. 'Ziller's out - he's gone to the Day Centre.' She brightened. 'Perhaps it's the rodent officer!'

But it was not the rodent officer. A messenger stood there in a dark blue pageboy's suit and a peaked cap. He must have come in the van that stood parked near by, also dark blue, with scrolled writing saying
Cavour and Stattersley
and surmounted by a crown.

'I've a package for Miss Ruth Berger. It's got to be delivered to her personally.'

'I'm Ruth Berger.'

'Can you give evidence of identity?
^’

Ruth, in her dressing-gown, sighed. 'I can go up and get a letter or something. But I'm not expecting anything. Are you sure it's for me?'

'Yes, I'm sure. It's a special delivery. Got to be handed over personally and had to get here first thing -
and
came in an armoured car, and that only happens when we're delivering stuff that's worth a fortune!'

'I think you must have got it wrong,' said Ruth, puzzled.

But the driver now leant out of the van and said: 'It's okay, I've got a description. You can hand it over - just get her to sign.'

Ruth took the parcel and signed her name. The delivery boy looked at her, impressed. 'We haven't had to hustle like that since we delivered a tiara to the Duchess of Rockingham before the state visit of some bigwig. I wish it was me going to open the box.'

Ruth, still bewildered, said: 'I'm sorry, I don't have anything to give you — but thank you all the same. Only if there's a mistake… ?'

If there is, just get in touch with Cavour and Stattersley. They can change it for you maybe… shorten it or something. But you won't want to mess about with what you've got in there!'

The van drove away. Left alone, Ruth opened the box. She didn't, at first, take in what she saw: a necklace of green stones, each ringed by diamonds and linked by a golden chain. Emeralds, green as the sea, as the eyes of the Buddha and perfectly matched.

Then suddenly she understood.

This was a gift… a gift hurried to her through the London streets so that it should reach her the morning after the bridal night. Obscenely valuable, because Quin was generous and would not buy her off with anything cheap, but unmistakable in what it signified.

'The word comes from the Latin
matrimonium ad morganaticum,'
Quin had told her in the Stadtpark, explaining the concept of a morganatic marriage. 'It's a marriage based on the morning gift with which the husband frees himself from any liability to his wife. A morganatic wife doesn't share any of her husband's duties or responsibilities, and their children don't inherit.'

That was why he had urged her to stay home this morning; so that she would be certain to receive it. So that she should understand at once that she was not wanted at Bowmont. A girl with tainted blood might be fit to share his bed, but not his home. A refugee, a foreigner, part Jewish… of course, it was unthinkable. If it could happen to Dr Levy, that saintly man, then why not to her?

She shut the box, hid it in the pocket of her dressing-gown. How physical it was, this kind of pain, like being terribly ill. Why couldn't one stop the shivering, the giddiness? And if one couldn't, why didn't the next part follow -the part that would have made it right again? Just dying? Just being dead?

'Look at this!' said Lady Plackett. 'It's outrageous! Professor Somerville must be informed immediately and take the necessary steps!'

Unaware of Verena's expectations over Africa, she was no longer so pleased with Quinton who seemed to be doing nothing to further his involvement with her daughter.

Verena, taking the newspaper from her mother's hands, entirely agreed. She had not been able to find anything to pin against Ruth, but there were things that still niggled on the edge of her mind. Why had Ruth been carried to the tower at Bowmont where no one else was allowed to go? What
was
the Austrian girl's connection with Quin before she came?

'The impression is one of lewdness,' she remarked in her precise voice, and felt a glow of satisfaction, for if the Pro-fessor still harboured protective feelings for the foreigner, this photograph would surely banish them.

'I shall ring his secretary now,' said Lady Plackett.

Thus Quin, on the way back from the museum where he had arranged Ruth's passage, and still treading on air, found a message from Lady Plackett and made his way to the Lodge.

'We feel that you would wish to be informed of how one of your students conducts herself in her spare time,' said Lady Plackett, and opened the newspaper.

Quin did not consider how the
Daily Echo
had got through the august portals of the Vice Chancellor's Lodge. He did not stop to consider anything because the picture -a half-spread on the centre page - hit him a blow for which he was entirely unprepared.

It was of Ruth and Heini side by side and very close together. They were not entwined, not lolling on a sofa- not at all. Heini sat by a grand piano and Ruth was leaning across, one arm in a curve behind his curly head and her face, as she followed the instructions of the photographer, turned directly to the camera. Her wide mouth, her sweet smile, thus stared out of the page, trusting and happy and Heini, gazing up at her adoringly, was brushed by a straying tendril of her hair.

The caption said — of course it said —
Heini and his Starling.

'I'm sure you will agree that this kind of exposure in the gutter press is quite unacceptable,' said Lady Plackett.

'And that isn't all,' said Verena. 'She has endeavoured to bring the university down with her. Thameside is specifically mentioned. She is referred to as one of its most brilliant students.'

Quin was silent, bewildered by the effect the picture had on him. He would have found it less painful to have seen her photographed with Heini in bed. People went to bed for all sorts of reasons, but the homage and devotion with which she bent to the boy was devastating.

'She seems to have been the victim of a somewhat unscrupulous journalist,' he said.

He spoke no less than the truth. It was after the debacle in Janet's flat that Mantella had sent for Ruth and confronted her with Zoltan Karkoly, a Hungarian journalist now working for the
Daily Echo.
Karkoly had explained that his article would be one of a series devoted to the more outstanding competitors in the Bootheby Piano Competition and the music they would play, and had drawn her out skilfully on her favourite topics. He thus found himself in possession of a great deal of information about the livestock favoured by Mozart: not only the starling bought for thirty-four kreutzers in the market, but a subsequent canary and the horse which the composer had ridden through the streets of Vienna. His questions about Ruth herself and her relationship with Heini were thrown in casually and answered trustingly. Yes, she worked in the Willow; yes, she loved Thameside - and yes, she would follow Heini to the ends of the earth, said Ruth who had left him in a tumbled bed and escaped down the fire escape. And yes, she would pose for photographs if it would help Heini's career.

So they had adjourned to the Bechstein in the Wigmore Hall and Krakoly had taken several photographs, but printed only the last one in which she turned her head a little, asking if it was over, and her hair tumbled forward over Heini's shoulder so that only an idiot would fail to catch the allusion to the painting
By Love Surprised
which hung in every other drawing room.

Ruth had not seen Mr Hoyle's article about the Willow and she had not seen Krakoly's piece in the
Echo
- no one had money for newspapers in Belsize Park. But Quin now, staring down at the fulsome words of adoration put into her mouth, found himself crushed by a jealousy so painful that it must have shown him, if nothing else had done, how utterly he was committed to this love.

'We take it you will speak to her?' said Lady Plackett.

'Yes; I shall certainly do that.'

By the time he drove back over Waterloo Bridge, Quin was calm again. The article was certainly days old; he himself knew of the tricks and distortions practised by journalists, but the joy and wonder had gone from the day and, for the first time, he saw the unlikeliness of what had happened. A man who has known countless women marries a girl out of chivalry and finds in her his true and only love…

He let himself into the flat and found Lockwood back from his weekend.

'There's a message for you from Cavour and Stattersley,' he said. 'It was Mr Cavour what rung. You're to ring him back when you get in; he'll be there till 6.30. The number's on the pad.'

'Thank you.'

Now what? Surely they couldn't have made a mistake -he'd been absolutely clear about Ruth's address, and his instructions.

He went to the telephone. Dialled… sat down; a thing he didn't generally do when he phoned.

'Ah, Professor Somerville. I'm glad I've caught you. Something very strange has happened. The necklace has been returned to us.'

'What?'

'At lunchtime. Miss Berger came in herself and handed it back.'

'For alterations? It's too long?'

'No, not for that, not to be exchanged. I thought she might prefer different stones. Green is considered unlucky by some people, you know. I had a client -'

'Yes, yes. Just tell me what happened. What did she say?'

'She appeared to be very angry. She said I was to tell you that she didn't want it. She was only in the shop a moment. Very upset she seemed to be. We'll keep it here, sir, awaiting your instructions. It can stay in our strong-room till then -only we'd appreciate hearing from you soon; something as valuable as that is best kept in the bank.'

'Yes.' One must be polite. One must thank Mr Cavour. One must eat the supper Lockwood had prepared.

Was it really that, then: that old, old story? Using an experienced man to teach you the arts of love so that you can return, unafraid, to your lover? Not such a bad idea, really. She had probably read it in a book. '

No, that wasn't true. It couldn't be true. 'I shall die if you leave me,' she had said not twenty-four hours ago. But she had said other things too. She had said, 'I would follow Heini to the ends of the earth.'

Resting his forehead against the glass of the window, he struggled for belief, for the conviction of her goodness which alone made life worth living. He would see her tomorrow. She would come to his lecture; there would be an explanation. It couldn't be real, this descent into hell.

'Oh, God - give me faith!' begged Quin, reduced by this unfamiliar agony to the prayers of his childhood.

But God was silent and the Thames, as Ruth had bidden it, flowed on and on and on.

Ruth sat in the Underground and stared at the advertisement opposite.

Have you got chill spots?

Yes, a lot.