mind telling you.'
Henry flung himself down in the chair once more.
'You're right.' he said, 'I know you're right. And yet it hurts so terribly to do this thing. Oh God, my mother. She was so lovely, so amusing, such a darling. I can't begin to explain what I feel.'
Adeline Price poured out his tea.
'Come on,' she said, 'have a cup of tea. Nothing like a cup of tea to make a person feel better, man or woman. I can assure you that your mother will be perfectly happy in this place. She'll make friends, and chatter about the past, and you can go home with the knowledge that she is in good hands and that everything possible is being done for her. Oh, they asked me if you wanted her to have a little wine in the evenings. Apparently that's an extra, and so is a fire in the bedroom on cold nights. I said I would let them know. They'll send you an account of course every month, or you can pay direct through your bank. That would save you a lot of bother.'
She spread some of the guava jelly on to her bread-and-butter.
'You've taken so much trouble over all this,' said Henry, watching her. 'I tell you frankly, I don't know what I should have done without your help. The whole thing has been a nightmare.'
Adeline Price smiled.
'Men are helpless creatures in a crisis,' she said. 'My husband was just the same. Unable to cope with an emergency. Directly I saw you struggling with the front door of the villa the day you arrived I could tell the sort of person you were.
I'm glad I happened to be looking out of my window. But it rather beats me how you've struggled along these last few years without anyone to look after you.'
'I don't know,' said Henry. 'I suppose I drifted. All I know is that I felt damned lonely.'
'I've been lonely too,' she said, 'but in a different sort of way. And anyway I always found plenty to do. I've never been one of those people to mope, thank goodness. I always think it shows such a lack of character.' She collected the tea-things on the tray, and rang the bell for the maid. 'Now I hope you don't think I've taken too much on my shoulders,' she said, 'but the doctor agreed with me that the sooner we got your mother moved into the Home the better. I quite realise it's a painful business for you to face, so I'm perfectly willing to take her there myself. I'm more or less a stranger, so there will be no emotional complication. So, if you agree, I'll go across to the villa now, help her with the few odds and ends she will want with her there, and take her along in a fiacre. I can explain about the hotel idea, the annexe of the casino, and you will see I shall have no fuss with her at all. I shall say you had to go out, but will go round and see if she's comfortable in the morning.
Don't you think that's the best way of arranging it all?'
She smiled at him again, capable, efficient, and he was aware of a sense of helplessness, of utter dependence upon her judgement.
'I don't know,' he said in despair; 'I seem to have lost grip. I can't make a decision without questioning it five seconds later.'
'Don't worry,' she said, 'leave it to me. And I suggest you go along now and order dinner at the restaurant. I'll join you there after I've taken her to the Home. It will take your mind off this business.'
She gave him his hat and his stick and pushed him out of the room.
'You're as bad as a child,' she said; 'I don't believe you trust me at all.'
'I do trust you,' he protested, 'I have implicit faith in everything you do.'
'Go on then,' she said, 'and don't look so crushed.'
He walked along the road mechanically, and down the twisting streets and avenues to the sea-front. It was like a dream, the houses were phantom things, the people were shadows. Nice was a city that he did not know, alien and unfriendly. It seemed to him that this shock of his mother's weakness had shown to him, in ugliness and force, that his own life was also without foundation. There was no security any more. Nothing was sure or solid.
Even the children back in London lacked reality.
They were like little ghosts who had drifted with him through the years. Nothing had been real or living since he had left Clonmere and turned the key upon the past.
As he heard the flat sea break on the dull beach he thought of the swift tide in the creek at home, and the surf running upon Doon Island. He remembered the soft winds and the pale sun, and the white clouds above the top of Hungry Hill. He thought of the little churchyard at Ardmore, and the robin who sang in winter. And all that was finished and done with, he had no part in it, he did not belong there any more.
He went and sat in the lounge in one of the big hotels and waited for Adeline Price. He waited one hour, two hours, and she did not come.
Finally he could stand it no longer; he went outside and jumped into a fiacre, and ordered the driver to take him to the Home.
It was dark now, and he could not see much, except the endless avenues, and the trees. The sea kept breaking on the shore in the distance. The frogs set up their nightly croaking. The wind was cold.
The fiacre drove past a high wall and came to a great gate. It was shut. The driver rang the bell, and presently a concierge looked through the narrow grille.
'It's prison,' thought Henry. 'I don't care what they say, it's prison.'
After a few minutes the concierge opened the gates. The fiacre drove up a long, winding avenue, closely shut by tall trees. They came at last to the building. Few lights showed. The curtains were drawn for the night. Another fiacre was waiting outside the front door. Henry recognised the driver. He was one of the men who kept his vehicle in the little square near his mother's villa. Henry got out and enquired if Mrs.
Price and Mrs. Brodrick had gone inside the building. The man said they had been there for over an hour. He said something about extra time, and he hoped he was going to be paid for it. Henry gave him ten francs at once, and the man pocketed them, muttering to himself. Henry went and rang the bell of the front-door. It was opened by a man in a white coat.
'My name is Brodrick,' said Henry. 'I'm the son of Mrs. Brodrick who arrived here this evening.'
'Oh, yes, number 34,' said the man, in good English. 'If you'll come to the reception room, I'll make enquiries for you. Do you want to see your mother?'
'If you please,' said Henry. 'And there was a lady with her, Mrs. Price. Perhaps she could come down and speak to me?'
The man showed Henry into a large room on the right of the entrance. It was comfortably furnished- with chairs, and tables, and books. There was nobody in it. As he waited a loud bell clanged for dinner. Through the half-open door he could hear people file along the corridor to the dining-room. He caught a glimpse of a green uniform, and the white cap of a nurse. A little old man was walking with the aid of crutches.
'Come on, Mr. Vines, don't be all day about it,' said someone sharply.
Other people were talking. Someone laughed in a high, silly way. The footsteps and the voices died away, and a door shut in the distance.
Henry went on waiting. Then a man in a grey frock-coat, with a monocle hanging down the front on a black cord, came through the door and held out his hand.
'I am Doctor Wells,' he said. 'I'm afraid my superior is dining in Nice, but I am in charge here for the evening. You are Mrs. Brodrick's son, I understand. We've had just a little difficulty, but nothing for you to worry about. Your friend Mrs. Price has been so sensible.'
'What do you mean, difficulty?' said Henry.
'Mrs. Brodrick was a trifle bewildered on arrival. Very natural. They often are, you know. But your friend is with her, and the nurse on duty is an excellent woman. We thought it better she should have her supper upstairs the first evening, and then she will be able to go into the dining-room tomorrow. I think Mrs.
Price is coming down now.'
He turned towards the door as Adeline Price came into the room. She seemed quite unruffled and composed, as though nothing had disturbed her.
'It's all right,' she said, 'she's quite quiet now. I've left her showing photographs to the nurse. And such a nice dinner has gone up to her on a tray. Well cooked, well served. I must say you look after them well, doctor.'
Doctor Wells smiled, and toyed with his monocle.
'The little things are so important,' he said.
