you could seem to see his grandfather, the snappy dresser so slick on the dance floor and free with ginger beer.
“I came to thank Julian,” Daniel said. “Shame he’s not here. Peace is much better than war, isn’t it? Oh,” he looked around, “don’t you know what I’ve been up to?”
“Barn conversions?” Ralph suggested. “That’s the usual bone of contention, isn’t it?”
“Not anymore. You know Julian’s girlfriend? I’ve been over to their farm. Mrs. Glasse has this outbuilding that Julian wants to demolish because it’s falling down anyway. Mrs. Glasse was very mysterious about it and made objections, she said, ’I use it to keep buckets in.’ Anyway, when I had a look at it, I came in and told her what I would pay for the roof tiles, which are beautiful, absolutely beautiful—and she said, quick, Sandra, let’s all go and lean on the bugger, it cant come down soon enough for me. I said, ’What about the buckets?’ and she said, ’They can be rehoused. Or get foster homes. Ralph knows all about it. He’ll get them a social worker if I ask him.’ “
“Oh,” Kit said, “so you’re best mates now, you and Jule?”
“He still says I’m a vandal, but I think he’s glad to find a way of reducing the damage. By the way,” he said to Anna, “have you met Sandra’s mother? She’d interest you.”
“In what respect?”
“She’s not what I expected—quite a clever woman, I’d think, very sharp, very, what’s the word, droll—but just absolutely content to stay on her patch. No wider ambitions, none at all.”
“You mean she’s like me?” Anna said.
“Oh no—I didn’t mean that.”
“You needn’t blush. She sounds an admirable type.”
“She’s so young,” Daniel said. “Of course, you know her, Ralph. I was amazed, she’s so attractive—I mean, Sandra’s not much to look at—don’t mention to Jule I said so—but Mrs. Glasse is quite stunning, in her way.”
“Did you tell her so?” Anna said.
“God, no,” Daniel said. “Mrs. Glasse? I wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t see why not. She leads a solitary life, from what I hear. She probably goes short of compliments.”
There was a fine disgust in Anna’s voice. Ralph’s pulse rate rose when he heard it. Daniel looked covertly at Kit, to see if he had made her jealous. But Kit only smiled her placid smile.
It was a chilly evening, for August. Daniel’s pullover had a suggestion of cashmere, a certain Burlington Arcade air about it. Ralph was wearing an army-style sweater, with fabric elbow and shoulder patches, which Rebecca had given him last Christmas. Ralph disliked it, because it was shoddy, militaristic, and already fraying; but Becky had saved up for it, and thought it dashing, so he wore it to please her. Daniel seemed to be eyeing it—not covetously, Ralph thought. “How’s your car running, Daniel?” he asked. He lunged into the conversation as if at a runaway horse, trying to catch it and lead it away from Amy Glasse.
Ten o’clock—Daniel on his way home, Kit washing up—he went out to attend to the boiler. This brute occupied its own hot little room—in the depth of winter, it was a popular meeting place for the family. The air was dry, calcified, osseous. He would have let it go out in the summer, except that it supplied the family’s hot water too. When the children were babies it had seemed quite natural to dunk them in and out of each other’s bath water; when they were older, he had expected them to exercise economy. One Easter holiday long ago, Kit had a friend to stay. “You can have first bath,” Kit had said, “but leave me your water.” Her friend had stared at her. It’s like the middle ages here, she’d said. And telephoned her parents to be collected next day.
All these thoughts were running through Ralph’s mind—to block out certain other thoughts—as he drove the scuttle vengefully at the coal, felt the coal rattle in, felt the dust fly up and sully his cuffs. He straightened up, and Julian was there, in the doorway, leaning against it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Julian said.
“The boiler,” Ralph said.
“Don’t be funny. It’s not funny,” Julian said. “I’ve just come from Sandra’s. I’ve been covering up for you so far, but why should I go on doing it? Why should I? You’re going to wreck up everything for me and Sandra, and that’s only the beginning of the damage you’re going to do.”
Ralph said, “This is neither the time nor the place, is it?”
Julian leaned forward and took a handful of his father’s sweater, somewhere around the shoulder patch. He shifted his grip, seemed uncertain whether he had his father or not. “Look, what the hell are you doing?” he said.
Ralph said, “Give me an inch of space, Julian. What am I doing? I don’t know.”
Melanie, their Visitor from London, arrived next day. The children always hung around to see a new arrival, but they were disappointed by this one. She was wearing an ordinary pair of jeans, black lace-up boots with domed toe caps, and a leopard-skin print T-shirt with a hole in it. “Very conventional,” Kit said. “Almost Sloane Square.”
“Boring,” Rebecca agreed.
Melanie had a nylon hold-all, but it seemed to be empty. “What’s happened to her clothes?” Anna said.
“She burned them,” Ralph said shortly. It was clear that he didn’t mean to enlarge on this.
Anna sighed. “We’ll have to get her kitted out, then. That will be a battle.”
She took Melanie upstairs to settle her in her room. “Have you got any tablets, my dear?” Anna said. “Anything you shouldn’t have? Needles?”
Melanie shook her cropped orange head. Anna felt that she was lying, but balked at a body search. The girl slumped down on the bed and stared hard at the wall. She was here against her wishes and she meant to make this clear. Anna looked out of the window, over the fields. Fields, fields on every hand, all choked with snares for the urban young. To Melanie—who had broken out, sooner or later, from everywhere she had ever lived—it must feel like a Siberian labor camp. The permafrost on every side; searchlights and razor wire. As if catching her thought, the girl said, “Is there bulls?”
