The Comforters

Mr Webster spoke. ‘Charming boy.’ Louisa said, ‘Yes, and so clever.’ ‘Interesting lad,’ Mervyn said. ‘I was wondering…’ said Andrew. ‘What, dear?’ Louisa asked him. ‘Hadn’t we better clear off till next week?’

Mr Webster twisted round to face the old lady. ‘Mrs Jepp,’ he said, ‘I did not think you would permit your grandson meeting us. I understood he was to be out this evening. I trust he will not be upset in any way.

‘My!’ said Louisa graciously. ‘He won’t be upset, Mr Webster. Young people are very democratic these days.’

That was not what had been meant. Mervyn spoke next.

‘I think he will ask questions. It’s only natural, Louisa, after all, what do you expect?’ He lit one of the Bulgarian cigarettes.

‘Whatever questions should he ask?’

‘He is bound to wonder… .’ said Andrew.

‘He’s bound to ask who we are, what we’re doing here,’ said Mervyn.

Mr Webster looked sadly at Mervyn, pained by some crudity in the other’s words.

‘My!’ said Louisa. ‘Laurence will certainly ask all about you. Would you care for another game, gentlemen?’

Mervyn looked at the clock.

Andrew said, ‘He’ll be back after the pub closes, won’t he?’

Mr Webster smiled paternally at Louisa. ‘The matter is not urgent,’ he said, ‘we can leave our business till the end of the week, if you know of an evening when your grandson will be out.’

‘It can be discussed in front of Laurence,’ she said. ‘Laurence is a dear boy.’

‘Of course,’ said Mervyn.

‘That’s just what we mean,’ said Andrew. ‘The dear boy shouldn’t be made to wonder —’

Louisa looked a little impatient. Something was defeating her. ‘I did hope,’ she said, ‘that we could avoid making any difference between Laurence and ourselves. I assure you, with discretion we could say all we want to say in Laurence’s presence. He has not got a suspicious nature.’

‘Ah, discretion,’ Mr Webster said, ‘my dear Mrs Jepp, discretion is always desirable.’

Louisa beamed warmly at him, as at one who had come nearest to understanding her.

Mervyn spoke. ‘I understand you, Louisa. You can’t bear to participate in separated worlds. You have the instinct for unity, for coordinating the inconsistent elements of experience; you have the passion for picking up the idle phenomena of life and piecing them together. That is your ideal, it used to be mine. Reality, however, refuses to accommodate the idealist. It is difficult at your age to grasp a fact which you have never had occasion to recognize, but —’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Louisa said, ‘not at any age I wouldn’t know.’

‘Of course.

‘You are too far away,’ she said, but then she perked up, ‘Now Mervyn, if you feel I’m too old-fashioned in my ways I will quite understand. You may always withdraw from our arrangements.’

Mervyn, who had stood up, sat down again. Andrew gave an unsmiling laugh which caused Louisa to look at him with surprise.

Andrew responded: ‘He spoke about doing detective work. He seems to be quite smart in the head.’

‘Laurence is doing nicely on the wireless. He would never make a detective, nothing so low.’

‘He would make a good informer,’ Andrew said, and from the privilege of his invalid chair looked squarely at her.

‘My, you need not continue with us, Andrew dear, if anything troubles you. In which case, of course, we shouldn’t continue, should we?’ She looked at Mervyn and Mr Webster, but they did not answer. They rose then, to leave. As he took her hand Mr Webster said, ‘You see, Mrs Jepp, your dear grandson is exceedingly observant. That was the only reason I had for questioning the wisdom.’

Louisa laughed, ‘Oh, he never misses anything. I’ve never met anyone like him for getting the details. But, you know, the dear boy can’t put two and two together.’

‘You mean,’ said Mervyn, ‘that he lacks the faculty of reflection?’

‘I mean,’ said Laurence’s grandmother, ‘that he could be more intelligent in some ways than he is. But he’s clever enough to get on in the world, and he has a sweet nature, that’s what matters.’

‘And if he asks any questions …’ said Andrew.

‘Oh, he will ask questions,’ Louisa answered him.

There was no doing anything with her.

‘Oh, Mrs Jepp, you will be discreet won’t you? I’m sure you will,’ said Mr Webster.

‘My grandson can’t put two and two together — not so’s to make four.’ She looked rather amused so as to make them rather uncomfortable.

‘He’s leaving on Friday?’ Mervyn asked.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

‘Friday evening then?’ said Mervyn.

‘Yes,’ she answered with melancholy.