The New Moon with the Old (17 page)

And smoothly though the shopping went he was bewildered when it came to buying perishable food. How long would it keep without refrigeration – and what quantities did one need? The butcher and the fishmonger helped with advice and he managed to order enough for several days and arrange for deliveries. But his sympathy with Lizzie was increasing. He now understood why planning meals made the blood rush to her head.

Still, he was pretty cheerful when he started his journey back to White Turrets, laden with everything for that evening’s dinner, plus a cookery book to help with meal planning, and flowers which were to be a present to Miss Whitecliff. And at the last moment he bought another present: some women’s magazines, intended for the fiends as well as their mistress; somehow he must get news of the present into that shrine of the past which now housed him.

He went indoors the back way, to leave the food and half the magazines in the kitchen. There was now a fire in the range so presumably he’d get a bath. Lizzie made no objection to going through his purchases with him and looked approvingly at the China tea. ‘Miss Blanche’ll be glad to have that. We’ve been out of it for weeks.’

‘And she’ll be pleased with those flowers,’ said Annie.

‘Who arranges flowers? I’m sure you do it beautifully.’ He looked hopefully at Annie.

‘Oh, no, sir. Miss Blanche will want to do those.’

Would she? Surely arranging flowers was far more trouble than ordering the tea one wanted? But Annie was right. Miss Whitecliff, after thanking him ecstatically for his not very expensive pink chrysanthemums, hurried off to the pantry with them. He had a flash of understanding; this was a job she’d
always
done.

While she was gone, he made a list of his out-of-pocket expenses and asked, on her return, if he might write to her solicitor for her.

‘Oh, I’ve written already,’ she said proudly. ‘I’ve asked him for
lots
of money – and told him all about you.’

He thought she looked both happy and normal, standing there with the flowers, which she had arranged most efficiently. He asked if he could post her letter for her.

She said she’d posted it already. ‘That is, the postman took it; he’s very kind about taking letters. Oh, dear …’ Her happiness had clouded. ‘He brought me a letter from my great-niece. Do you think I need answer it?’

‘Does it call for an answer? If so, I could write – at your dictation.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I shall let her know you’re here. She’s … a very interfering sort of girl. I must think about it.’ Then, casting all doubts aside, she said, ‘No, I won’t. I
will
write – at once. I want everyone to know how clever I’ve been to find you.’

A week later, seated at his washstand now become his desk (Annie had obligingly removed the crockery), Drew took stock of his achievements. The household was now well fed. The bath water was always hot. Lizzie and Annie were cheerful, and Miss Whitecliff appeared to be blissful – except immediately after lunch when she looked slightly
woebegone
, it then being his custom to leave her for a couple of hours. He found this essential, as the planning of meals, without telephone or refrigerator, was most complicated. He had to think ahead, arrange that food came exactly when needed, either post his orders or have them ready for visiting tradesmen. And he could still get no help from Lizzie. She would take any amount of trouble over her admirable cooking, she welcomed every order he gave her, both she and Annie treated him with friendliness and gratitude; but he had come to realize that, though they would labour physically from morning till night, they were virtually incapable of the labour of thought.

He was distressed at the extent of the physical labour. Every room in the house was kept not only clean but highly polished. Bedrooms not slept in for over forty years were religiously ‘done’ every day. ‘Religiously’ was, he thought, the operative word; White Turrets had been the late Mrs Whitecliff’s cathedral, and the care of it, including frequent
re-decorations, had become a cult. He hoped to get
two-thirds
of the rooms dust-sheeted and closed eventually but felt he must not suggest this yet. For the moment, he satisfied himself by making sure the maids were well fed (he carved for them himself ) and always had a fire. And he had found two wicker chairs in disused bedrooms and carried them down to the kitchen.

Miss Whitecliff now called him ‘Drew’ and seemed completely at ease with him. And for most of the many hours they spent together her behaviour was perfectly normal; indeed he was often impressed by her almost sophisticated poise, which reminded him of the unembarrassed grace with which she had first received him. Only if asked for some definite decision did she become distressed, evasive and curiously childish. It was therefore easier to make all decisions himself. But he could not feel it was right to do so. Surely he ought to awaken her will-power, not acquiesce in its paralysis? So he would often ask her to decide some small matter, and every now and then she would give him a swift, clean-cut answer. But, if she stopped to think, her eyes became troubled and she either took refuge in silence or changed the subject.

In the mornings he often took her for a walk. In the afternoons, after going back on duty, he read to her or talked. In the evenings he played and sang to her. He had discovered, in the piano stool, a great many songs that mercifully were not the work of Melicent and Albion Whitecliff:
Because, An old Garden, Love’s Coronation, Beloved, It Is Morn, Down the Vale
, and others, all tuneful, all accomplished, inoffensively sentimental and blessedly unmartial. Each of them drew some reminiscence from Miss Whitecliff, and these musical evenings had for him a charm which emanated from Miss Whitecliff, the songs and his own imagination. Gradually he came to feel he was being given access to the days when the old songs were new.

He had noticed that
Down the Vale
was inscribed: ‘To Blanche, from Cyril’.

‘Cyril Severn, my solicitor,’ Miss Whitecliff explained. ‘I mean, he is now. Then he was just a young man in his father’s office – until the war broke out. He joined up with my brothers. We were engaged for five years, and even when I broke it off he waited. But of course I couldn’t leave my parents after all my brothers were killed.’

There had been no sadness in her tone and she had gone on to talk about the young Cyril Severn in quite a
matter-of
-fact way. But she did remark that he had been considered handsome. Drew saw him as a tall, fair youth, a suitable partner for the young Blanche Whitecliff. Now he would be an ascetic old man. Drew wanted to meet him and not merely out of curiosity.

He felt he must get Mr Severn’s approval before launching out on expenditure which, if mentioned to Miss Whitecliff, might worry her. Indeed Drew was worried about it himself, but he feared that without it he could not stay for even a couple of months. Running the house would soon cease to be an amusing challenge; and fond as he was of Miss Whitecliff, and of the maids too, life would not be bearable unless he could work on his novel every afternoon. He could only make time for this if the housekeeping could be simplified. Also his room must be warmer. One way and another, the expense would be considerable.

He was thinking about this, sitting at his washstand desk, after patting himself on the back for what he had accomplished in a week. Before making any demands he must decide what was essential. Under a heading ‘Minimum Basic Needs’ he began a list.

He had made little headway when the front-door bell rang. The postman? No, he always knocked. Drew went to the window. A car – it looked up-to-date and expensive –
was parked outside the house. A visitor? Miss Whitecliff had told him she had few friends left – ‘They were my mother’s friends, really, and so many died before she did.’ He heard the front door close. No one came down the steps. The caller must have been admitted.

Drew wondered if he ought to go down, then decided against it. She was capable of receiving someone on her own. He went back to Minimum Basic Needs.

Some ten minutes later, as he was finishing his list, there was a knock on his door and Miss Whitecliff quaveringly called his name. He hurried to open the door and saw at once that she was distressed.

‘It’s Cyril,’ she said. ‘Mr Severn. He’s here and he wants to see you.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Drew. ‘I was hoping to meet him.’

She looked even more distressed. ‘You didn’t say so. And when he asked to see you, in the letter he sent with the money, I forgot. Well, I didn’t
exactly
forget but … Oh dear, he was so cross – but I’ve told him it wasn’t your fault. Please go down at once.’ She hurried into her bedroom and closed the door.

Drew, worried to see her so upset, grabbed Minimum Basic Needs and went to the drawing-room feeling belligerent.

Mr Severn was looking through the songs which lay on the top of the piano. He turned – and Drew had seldom been so astonished. Instead of the thin, ascetic old gentleman he expected to see, now probably much annoyed, he found himself facing a robust, handsome man who looked years younger than Miss Whitecliff. And the solicitor showed no signs of annoyance. He gave Drew one swift glance, pleasant if also appraising, and then greeted him heartily.

‘Ah, there you are! Let’s sit down and have a look at each other. Do you smoke? Wise man – wish I didn’t. Well, well, this is a very pleasant surprise. If you knew what I’ve been expecting!’

‘The worst, I’m sure,’ said Drew, relaxing.

‘Frankly, yes – when I got Blanche’s letter. And I really was very much annoyed with her. Well, imagine: I’d taken the greatest trouble to find her a suitable companion – it was my idea that she should have one. I’d dealt with a highly respectable London agency, vetted all the applications, only put advertisments in papers because we couldn’t find the right woman. Of course I told Blanche to send me all the answers she received. But does she? No, indeed. She merely informs me she’s engaged a
man
! Naturally I wrote saying she must send you to me at once; and believe me, I was prepared for anything – a crook or, at best, a willowy type. Not that I mind the willowy lads; got one in my office, excellent worker, and they are often very good to old women. But actually, you’re not, are you? I mean willowy.’

‘If so, I haven’t noticed it yet,’ said Drew, slightly dazed.

‘Doubt if you will now. No, no, you can take it from me. And you’re not a crook – I knew that even before I saw you. Blanche has just told me about your father. You’d never have mentioned him if you’d had any underhand plans. No news of him, I suppose? Let’s hope he’s out of harm’s way. These things happen in my own profession. I could swindle Blanche with the greatest ease. Well, now, are you really going to stay with her?’

‘That’s just what I was asking myself when you arrived,’ said Drew. Though still a bit dazed by Mr Severn he felt that such a direct approach called for a direct response. ‘Do these demands seem to you reasonable?’ He held out Minimum Basic Needs.

The solicitor put on his spectacles and studied the list. ‘Telephone? Of course. We
must
make her have one. Her mother never would. Refrigerator – Good God, isn’t there one? Electric fires? Yes, indeed, though you’ll never make this ghastly house really warm. Don’t you want television?’

‘Not yet, anyway. I’d rather start with a radio – and perhaps a gramophone; though I don’t want to interfere with our musical evenings.’

‘Ah, yes, Blanche told me about those. What are you up to, exactly? She tells me you write. Going to put her in a book?’

‘Not
her
, but …’ He gave a brief explanation of why he had tried for the job, concluding apologetically, ‘Of course I ought never to have written to her. I see it now as a joke in very poor taste. But I was so madly keen to get atmosphere for my novel.’

‘Very enterprising of you. And we must make sure you have time to work on it. Now I’m going to be frank with you—’ Mr Severn interrupted himself. ‘Dreadful remark that – so apt to precede something unpleasant or else an outright lie.’

‘Not this time, I’m sure,’ said Drew smilingly. ‘Anyway, not a lie.’

‘Thank you. It’s not unpleasant, either – for you. It could be damned unpleasant for me, if I’ve estimated your character wrongly, but I’m sure I haven’t. The truth is, my dear boy, that as far as I’m concerned you’ve dropped from heaven and there’s practically nothing I won’t do to keep you here. Of course you can have what’s on this list. Don’t trouble Blanche with it; I settle all her bills. And the salary she offered you is ridiculous. I’ll see you get double.’

‘But she spoke of having to economize.’

‘Rubbish. She’s extremely wealthy. The trouble is that her ideas of expenditure are conditioned by her miserly old mother’s – on top of which, she feels persecuted by death duties. Naturally they’re heavy, on a fortune the size of her mother’s, but when I get the estate cleared up Blanche will still have enough to live extravagantly, let alone comfortably. Why not buy a car? Take her some pleasant drives – or even abroad, if you fancy the idea. You’re looking puzzled. Why?’

‘I’m wondering what the catch is,’ said Drew.

Mr Severn laughed. ‘Don’t blame you – but there
is
none. It’s just that I want you here, for my sake as well as hers, I think, perhaps …’ He was silent for a moment and when he went on his eyes and his voice were grave. ‘Yes, I’d better explain my own position, otherwise you’ll think it strange that I should wish to hand over so much responsibility. You see, Blanche is greatly on my conscience. I once hoped to marry her and was prevented by her parents. For twenty years I miserably watched a delightful girl on the way to becoming what she is now. And then … well, I stopped minding and married a woman half my age. I’ve been, I am, exceedingly happy. And I want to go on being happy – as long as I can. I’m seventy-two, you know.’

‘You certainly don’t look it,’ said Drew.

‘Well, I try not to, on my wife’s account even more than on my own. I make a practice of youthfulness and it’s hard work at times. Now, the point of this embarrassing confession is that I simply cannot bear being with Blanche. I see my true age reflected in hers. And she fills me with guilt because – let’s face it – I no longer have any real affection for her; God forgive me, she makes me impatient. Now you’ll understand why I’ll do practically anything to ensure her happiness without, to put it bluntly, interfering with my own. Are you thinking me callous?’

‘No, no—’ Drew was actually engaged in thinking how much older the old man was looking. It was as if a mask had fallen. ‘No, really. But it’s rather awful for me, isn’t it? Makes me feel I’ve
got
to stay with her.’

‘I’m afraid it was intended to.’ Mr Severn now spoke smilingly; the mask was up again. ‘And do consider the advantages. You can order anything you like to make this house tolerably comfortable. Re-decorate your room if you like – but of course Edwardian taste suits your book in every sense of the word. Well, get the book written. Invite friends
to stay, or your family. And you must make friends here; I’ll talk to my wife about that and we must see you take time off to meet people. Send for any books you want, gramophone records … In short, do any damn thing you please as long as you keep dear demented Blanche as happy as she seems to be with you.’

‘Just how demented is she?’ asked Drew, looking at Mr Severn searchingly.

‘I used that word ill-advisedly.’ Mr Sevem’s glance had become oblique. He then thought better of evasion and met Drew’s eyes squarely. ‘As far as I know there’s nothing wrong with her except that she hates making decisions. No doubt it’s the result of never having been allowed to make any while her mother was alive. The tricky thing for me is that she both counts on me to run her life
and
resents my authority. And every now and then she’s unpredictably self-willed – as when she decided to engage you; thankful though I am that she did.

‘Actually, I decided for her,’ said Drew, remembering.

‘Ah! Well, go on deciding for her. I doubt if she’ll ever resent it, from you. I’m not tactful enough – I try to be but my irritation shows. You may be glad to know that she said she wouldn’t let you go whatever I felt about it. That could mean a real awakening of will-power but it’s more likely that she just prefers your authority to mine. Now, will you help me? Give me your promise to stay with her at least a year.’

Drew, after a moment, said: ‘I can only promise I’ll try to.’

Mr Severn nodded acceptance. ‘I’ve no right to ask for more. But I’ll just add that if you do leave I may have to, well, coerce Blanche into some kind of … well, nursing home. Beastly of me to hold that over you but it’s true. And I might mention that if she wants to put you in her will she’ll get every encouragement from me. Oh, dear, dear – you’re looking outraged. That’s conventional of you.’