know.'
'Was he a good father?'
'Yes, I am sure he was.'
Sarah saw she was not going to get anywhere. When she left, she kissed her mother as usual and said, as she always did, that if things got too much for her, living by herself, she could always come and live with her in London, for there was plenty of room. And as usual, her mother said that she hoped she would drop dead before she needed to be looked after. Then she clearly felt this was too brusque, and added, 'But thank you, Sarah. You always were very kind.'
I was? thought Sarah. Is that a clue? It sounds a bit suspect to me.
As she parked the car, she saw Stephen and the three boys walking away from the house. They carried spades, crowbars, a jump-drill. Elizabeth stood in a large vegetable garden with a young man who was presumably a gardener. He wore jeans and a red singlet. She was still in her riding clothes — green shirt, olive green breeches — and the red scarf confined her hair. Her pink cheeks flamed. She held one edge of a plant catalogue and the young man another. Both were alive with enjoyment of their task. Elizabeth invited Sarah to admire the garden, and she did. Then Sarah saw Stephen and the boys a good way off near a cottage or small house that had no roof. Presumably its forlorn look was temporary, for as Sarah came up, she saw Stephen was standing over a deep hole, levering with a crowbar at a stone that obstructed the insertion of a new gatepost. The three boys stood watching their father. The stone came loose, Stephen stood back, the younger boys lifted the stone out. On an indication from Stephen, the three politely greeted her. Over their sunny blond heads Stephen gave her a smile that said he was pleased she was there.
A large squat post lay on the grass, obviously salvaged. It was oak, weathered like elephant's hide, and newly soaked in creosote. Now Stephen and the eldest boy, James, lifted it and slid it into the hole. All four gathered up the stones that had packed the bottom of the discarded post, which was splintering and rotten, and when the new post stood in a bed of stones, the boys took up spades and filled the hole and trampled the loose earth hard. The job was finished. James said to his father, 'Mother said we must be home by twelve. She says we must do our homework.'
'Off you go, then. Don't forget the tools. Put them away properly.'
The three boys put the heavy tools over their shoulders and marched towards the house, knowing they were being watched. Stephen put the discarded post over his shoulder, balanced it with one hand, and they too walked towards the house.
'I am making sure they have all the physical skills I have,' he said, as if she had criticized him.
'You mean, in case they have to earn their livings as workmen?'
'Who knows, these days?'
'Who was that man you were talking to this morning?'
'I was wondering what you'd made of him. Yes. Well. That's Joshua. He's our neighbour. He's leased some of our fields. We were discussing renewing the lease for next year.' A pause. 'He was the chap Elizabeth wanted to marry.' He gave her plenty of time to absorb the implications of this, and even shot her a glance or two, to watch her doing it. 'It's a pity. Elizabeth would have enjoyed being a marchioness. Lady Elizabeth. He's extremely rich. Much richer than I am. And his marriage is not too successful, so he would have done better to take Elizabeth. As it has turned out.'
'There's no accounting for tastes.'
'They have a lot in common. Race horses — that's his line. And Elizabeth is good at horses. But she took me. If she'd got Joshua, then she'd have been absolutely in the right place.' Now they were nearing the house. 'Poor Elizabeth. How can I grudge her Norah? It wouldn't be fair, she thinks, to have married me and then given short measure by taking on Joshua again. Though I'm sure he wouldn't say no. But Norah — that's within the limits of fair play.' He stopped and lowered the post so one end rested on the ground, the other supported in a large strong hand which could easily have been a workman's. His clothes were old and work-worn. He smelled of working sweat. He was looking judiciously at the house. 'A nice house,' he remarked.
'No one could disagree.'
'Do you think that girl sees me separately from the house?'
'Do you mean, does Susan love you for yourself alone? Of course not.'
'And you?'
'You forget I knew you long before I saw the house.'
They stood in a country silence. Birds. An insect or two. A jet droning far overhead. A tractor at work some fields away.
'Did you know Susan is thinking of marrying me? What do you have to say about that?'
'Oh — fantasies.'
'But suppose I am thinking about marrying her?' He hefted the post again, and they went to where wood was stacked, ready for the winter. He added the wormy old post to the pile and brushed his hands together. 'Anyway, it's ridiculous. I'm possessed by the ridiculous. At night I find myself waking up and laughing. Can you beat that, Sarah? Something's going on… ' He stood facing her, his eyes holding hers. 'Sarah, somewhere or other I'm burned out.' She did not know what to say. 'Finished,' he said, turning away.
Unfortunately, when apparitions from the places behind the closed doors, truthful moments, arrive in ordinary life, they seem so at odds with probability they tend to be ignored. Bad taste. Exaggeration. Melodrama. They are, quite simply, of a different texture and cannot be accommodated. Besides, today he seemed as full of vitality and health as Elizabeth.
She walked into the little town, along shady country roads. She lunched alone in a hotel and thought what a pleasure it could be to do this, reminding herself there would come a time when she would again enjoy doing things by herself, not feeling that a part of her had been ripped off because Henry was not there. She walked around streets that seemed as if they had no one in them, because there was no chance of bumping into Henry. She was back at the house about tea time, and there were Elizabeth and Norah under a chestnut, with a well-laden tea table between them. They waved at her to join them. She did so, knowing that competent Elizabeth would see this as an opportunity to gain useful information. The two women were usually far from alike, for Norah was appealing and devoted, like an affectionate dog, and even when she wore a linen coat-dress, as she did now, her clothes seemed soft and maternal, yet when they turned their faces towards her, sharpened by anticipation, they seemed like sisters being offered a nice treat. Sarah accepted cups of tea and chattered about Belles Rivieres, particularly about the handsome and dramatic Jean-Pierre, so French and so clever, and about minor rivalries in Belles Rivieres' town council over
Shadows had taken over the lawn when the three boys appeared in the trees, and Elizabeth clapped her hands and called, 'Go and get your baths and have your suppers. They are in the refrigerator.'
It was too pleasant sitting here to go inside, and they sat on under the big tree, drinking sherry in the twilight.
'You'll have supper with us, of course,' stated Elizabeth. Stephen was not mentioned, and again Sarah reminded herself that he had a complicated life with a thousand obligations and connections.
They ate at leisure in the little room next to the kitchen, and it was quite dark outside when the boys appeared. They wore short red dressing gowns and were brushed, and they smelled of soap. These fair creatures with their transparent skins, their clear blue eyes, their diffident charm, had even more the look of angels who had chosen to grace an earthly choir.
'Have you had your baths? Yes, I can see you have. Well done. Did you eat your suppers? Good. Well, it's going to be a big day tomorrow. This is the calm before the storm. Put yourselves to bed.' They came to her, one after another, and she planted efficient kisses on three offered cheeks. 'Off you go, then.'
And off they went, with decorum, to the door, where suddenly they became children, in a flurry of little
