The Present and the Past (11 page)

‘But she will not, I tell you. Don't you listen to a word I say? You and she are not the same. God knows I understand you both. She wishes to see her sons, and nothing else counts with her. She does not mind how or where. That came through firm and clear. You see I know her well. Indeed it was extraordinary how things came back to me. All her little words and ways seemed to fit into their place as if we had parted yesterday. Or rather as if we had parted when we were still on terms, you know. And to think that it is nine years, and that the three younger children have been born since! Well, how life goes by!'

‘So it does,' said Mr Clare. ‘Mine has almost done so.'

‘I dread the effect of this meeting on the boys,' said Flavia. ‘It
is coming at the wrong age. They are at once too old and too young.'

‘Well, we can't help that,' said her husband. ‘Just prepare them for it, as if it were an ordinary thing. They will soon adapt themselves.'

‘I see that you do not know them.'

‘And I see that you do not know me. I am always seeing it. You are too busy admiring yourself to have any admiration left over.'

‘So knowledge of you could only result in one feeling?'

‘Oh, well, what do you say? Well, in what feeling? Oh, well, yes, you would take that line. Well, it might result in it. Or I think it might in this case. I do think there are things in me, that you don't recognize, Flavia. Just as no doubt there are things in you that I don't. But I recognize a good deal. God knows I do.'

‘Perhaps you read it in. That is an easy thing to do.'

‘Not for me. That isn't in my line. I only see what I can't help seeing. I don't want to see anything more. I am sure I don't. I guard myself against it. I don't want to know what is below the surface. It is advisable not to know it; I have found that. And now about this letter that has to be written. Ought we to make a draft?'

‘Not if it is to be just an ordinary invitation. There should be no need. I suppose I address her as “Mrs Clare”?'

‘Well, I suppose you do. It seems rather odd, somehow. And she will have to call you the same. So there will be two Mrs Clares at the table. I might keep a harem.'

‘Well, not so much of one,' said Mr Clare.

‘No, well, I suppose not. Well, I suppose I shall manage between them. I don't call either of them that; that is one thing.'

‘And a thing that will dispose of any problem,' said his wife.

‘And how about the children? Well, they don't call either of you that either. But what will they call Catherine?'

‘Her own boys will call her “Mother”. It is what they always called her. Fabian may just remember. The little one will not use a name.'

‘Yes, that is why you were dubbed “Mater”. I remember now.

And I remember wondering why you liked it. It did not seem to suit you somehow.'

‘I did not like it. It did not suit me.” It does not now. But the name, “Mother”, was given. It belonged to someone else. I did not take what was not mine.'

‘I remember; I do remember, Flavia. And I remember how you sunk yourself in other people and forgot your own claims. And I appreciated it, my dear; and I have appreciated it ever since. It is the foundation of our life together. Whatever else has been between us, we have that.'

‘Do you wish the letter to go today?'

‘I don't wish anything about it,' said Cassius, sitting down and throwing one leg over the other, as if threatened by exhaustion. ‘But, as I told you, Catherine wishes it, and it is she you are so concerned for. And if you had seen her all keyed-up and tragic, you would not keep her waiting a moment longer than you could help. No one would, who had a human heart.'

‘It is you who have kept her waiting for nine years,' said Flavia, going to the desk. ‘She need not wait much longer.'

‘Well, upon my word, what a mean speech!' said Cassius, looking at her back. ‘Of all human meannesses give me that of a good woman. And when I say a good woman, I mean what I say. Well, what can we do to hurry things? Shall I leave the letter at the house?'

‘No, that would be showing too much zest,' said his father. ‘It is not a case for an excess of it.'

‘Simon can take it,' said Flavia.

‘And wait for an answer?' said her husband.

‘I hardly think there is any need for that.'

‘Too much zest again? But, as I told you, if you had seen that woman, you would share my feeling. You would not expect me to consider what was due to myself. If you are what people think you, you would be shocked by it. You would not worry about zest. It is not a case for being concerned with convention. I declare I can't get her face out of my head. It keeps coming back to me.'

‘Well, Simon can wait for the answer.'

‘You are a good woman, Flavia, a woman sound at heart, if
ever there was one. Your heart goes out to another woman in distress. You have no feeling about her coming to share your place. You are above it.'

‘Surely she will hardly be doing that.'

Well, we shall have her coming here, or the boys going there, or something of the kind happening. If there is to be this change, it will have to be managed somehow. I don't see any way out of it.'

‘I did not know the change was to involve so much. I understood there was to be a meeting, and I assumed it would be repeated at intervals, but not at frequent ones.'

‘Oh, you assumed that, did you? That is the knowledge of human nature of which you have so much! If I have any myself, the meetings will recur pretty often. What would you expect?'

‘I expected what I said.'

‘Well, I expect something different. I have my own knowledge of life, and no mother who has been parted from her sons and then had them restored to her, would tolerate seeing them so seldom. It is not in human nature. You must know that. You are a mother yourself.'

‘To her children as well as mine, Cassius. It is the risk to them that troubles me. They cannot have two mothers.'

‘So that is what it has come to. I have heard you say the opposite. It seems that is what they will have. But there is surely no danger in it. The more mothers, the better, surely. We can't have too much of a good thing.'

‘The usual suggestion is that we can.'

‘Well, then they will have it. But it is better than too little. It is a fault on the right side. We must leave the future to itself.'

‘It holds more problems than you realize.'

‘Well, I can't help it, can I? I am not sure I cannot solve them. I shall just let things take their course. And if you are guided by me, you will do the same. And you are guided by me more often than you think, Flavia. I am not such a nonentity in my own house. I often find my influence working and having its result. Though no one would acknowledge it. Oh, no, I should not expect that. But it remains that I am the head of the family, and that
must mean something. Take the example of this last decision. Who really made it, you or I?'

‘You had your own way,' said his wife.

‘And what is that but the same thing in other words? If I carry my point, my advice is taken; there is no way out of it. And here we have the answer to the letter. It is a good thing the boy was told to wait. That was a good idea of yours, Flavia. Well, I wonder what Catherine says. It is odd, but I have a queer sort of feeling of suspense.'

‘She will come,' said his wife, laying down the letter.

‘Oh, will she?' said Cassius, coming up and taking it. ‘I may read it, I suppose? Well, of course I may; it is written to us both; it is written to me more than to you really. Oh, it is just a formal acceptance in the usual terms.'

‘Well, what else should it be?' said Mr Clare.

‘The invitation was put in those terms,' said Flavia.

‘Yes, well, I suppose it was. You could not be expected to use any others, to show too much zest, as you would say. It is odd how her writing comes back to me. I might have seen it yesterday. I generally forget writings, and I don't think I saw it very much.'

‘I think it is natural that you should remember it.'

‘Yes, well, I suppose it is. I daresay she would remember mine, though she saw it even less. I don't often seem to write things, somehow. So it is at luncheon tomorrow that she will be here. And it is fourteen years since she came here first. What a thing it is to look back on the past!'

‘A different thing for us all,' said his father.

‘Yes, well, I suppose it is. All men have their experience. And all women too, though we tend to forget that. So she took the first day that offered. She can't be unwilling to come. How did you put the invitation?'

‘I gave her the choice of several days,' said Flavia.

‘And she took the first. Well, I was prepared for that. But she can't feel any reluctance to darken these doors. You might almost say she was showing zest.'

‘She is coming to see her sons. There is no sign of any other purpose. You realized her eagerness to see them.'

‘Yes, so I did. I read her mind. I seemed to see right into it somehow. I sometimes find myself doing that. Somebody's mind will lie right open before me. It is odd how we have these little individual powers. I suppose that is one of mine.'

‘It might be a dangerous one,' said his wife.

‘Yes, in the wrong hands. We have to remember what is vested in us. It is a sort of trust.'

‘What of your plans for tomorrow?' said his father. ‘You will be wise to give your minds to them. How will you sit at the table? There should be no uncertainty.'

‘Cassius and I in our usual places,' said Flavia. ‘And Catherine opposite to you, with the boys on either side of her.'

‘Yes, well, she can't sit in her usual place,' said Cassius, with a little laugh. ‘In her old place, I mean. But it will be the first time she has sat at the side of the table in this house. I wonder if she will think of it.'

‘She will probably be thinking of other things,' said Flavia. ‘She certainly will, if you are right in your account of her.'

‘Well, my impression was what I told you. As I said, it all seemed quite clear. But I shouldn't be surprised if a thought of it goes through her mind.'

‘It would hardly be more than that.'

‘No, well, I suppose not. I expect I was right in my impression. Well, I wish the occasion was over. It gives me an odd, unsettled feeling. I never thought to sit at the head of my board, with one wife opposite to me, and another at my side. Well, I suppose I had my ways with women when I was young. It seems that I must have, though I did not give much thought to it. It has never been my habit to turn my eyes on myself. I just went on in my natural way.'

‘As you continue to do,' said his father.

‘Well, I wonder how the situation will develop. I can't help wondering how it will grow and spread, and make a difference in all our lives.'

‘To a certain extent,' said his wife. ‘Probably to a great and growing extent. It is too soon to say.'

‘Yes, that is what I thought. You see how we really take the same view. We do that more often than you realize. Well, I am
glad the occasion is upon us. The longer it is postponed, the oftener I shall live it in my mind. Catherine coming into this room! Well, I have seen that often enough. And I was glad enough not to see it any more at one time. I can tell you that I was.'

‘It is not our moment. It is hers and her sons'. I wish we could keep apart from it. As you know, I would have arranged to do so.'

‘Well, you came round to my view in the end. As I say, you often do. And we could not keep aloof beyond a point. We shall have to countenance the new condition of things. Well, I shan't be able to help picturing the scene. You see, to me it is not the same as it is to you. To me it is the last of many.'

‘And to us all the first of many more,' said Mr Clare.

‘Is it permitted to be glad to see you again, ma'am?'

‘It is kind of you, Ainger. You are very little changed.'

‘It can seem as if an intervening chapter had not been written, ma'am.'

‘It may for the moment,' said Catherine.

‘As you say, it is erroneous, ma'am.'

Ainger led the way to the drawing-room with a silent tread, and withdrew without making an announcement. It did not occur to him to treat the occasion as a normal one.

‘Well, Catherine, so here we all are before you,' said Cassius, coming forward. ‘You can form your own judgement of everything. It is all open to your eyes. There has been no preparation for your coming. There is nothing to hide.'

His words died away as he ended. It seemed they would have been better not said. The scene did not need his direction; it would take its own course.

Catherine advanced with her quick, short steps, greeted her hosts without glancing at her sons, and turned and embraced
them, with her eyes going openly over their faces. When she gave them her second glance, she was careful to give an equal moment to each. She sat down with their hands in hers, but released them as though fearing to be burdensome. Mr Clare and Flavia kept their eyes from the scene. Cassius stood with his on the ground, but now and then raised them and surveyed it. Not a word was said; it seemed that no one could speak. A chance movement made a sound and brought relief.

Ainger announced luncheon in a low tone that suggested it was an unsuitable necessity of the occasion. The move to the dining-room seemed at once a liberation and an exposure. Cassius gave some directions in his usual tones, and Guy looked up as if startled by them. Catherine sat between her sons, and remained calm and aloof, as if she were already satisfied. When they were questioned about their meal, she hardly looked at them, leaving the matter to their stepmother.

‘Well, this is the first time the boys have joined us at luncheon,' said Cassius.