Страница 59 из 61
‘I am not in love with Eustace,’ she thought; ‘he knows it, he knows I can’t even pretend it. If he wants me on those terms, what is it fair for me—what is it possible for me to do?’ She went out into the old yew-hedged rose garden, where the first burst of roses had begun, and wandered round, smelling at this and that, followed half-heartedly by the spaniel Foch, who had no feeling for flowers.
‘Whatever I do,’ she thought, ‘I ought to do now. I can’t keep him on tenterhooks.’
She stood by the sundial, where the shadow was an hour behind its time, and looked into the eye of the sun over the fruit trees beyond the yew hedges. If she married him, there would be children—without them it would not be possible. She saw frankly—or thought she did—where she stood in the matter of sex. What she could not see was how it would all turn for herself and for him in the recesses of the spirit. Restless, she wandered from rose-bush to rose-bush, extinguishing the few greenfly between her gloved fingers. And, in a corner, with a sort of despair, the spaniel Foch sat down u
She wrote to Dornford the same evening. Her mother would be delighted if he would come for that week-end. Her father quite agreed with his views on agriculture, but was not sure that anyone else did, except Michael, who, after listening to him carefully one evening in London, had said: “Yes. What’s wanted is a lead, and where’s it coming from?” She hoped that when he came down he would be able to tell her about those costs. It must have been thrilling to see Cavalcade again. Did he know a flower called meconopsis, if that was the way to spell it, a sort of poppy of a most lovely colour? It came from the Himalayas, and so would be suitable for Campden Hill, which she believed had much the same climate. If he could induce Clare to come down it would rejoice the hearts of the aborigines. This time she signed herself ‘always yours,’ a distinction too subtle to explain even to herself.
Telling her mother that he was coming, she added:
“I’ll try and get Clare; and don’t you think, mother, that we ought to ask Michael and Fleur? They were very sweet to put us up so long.”
Lady Charwell sighed.
“One gets into a way of just going on. But do, dear.”
“They’ll talk te
Lady Charwell looked at her daughter, in whose voice something recalled the Di
When Di
The camouflage above her father’s and mother’s feelings touched her. Dornford—high time, of course, he was down in the constituency again! Pity he hadn’t a place of his own—didn’t do to get out of touch with the electors! Presumably he’d come by car, and bring Clare; or Michael and Fleur could call for her! By such remarks they hid their nervousness about Clare and about herself.
She had just put the last flower in the last bedroom when the first car slid up the driveway; and she came down the stairs to see Dornford standing in the hall.
“This place has a soul, Di
She left her hand in his longer than she had meant to.
“It’s being so overgrown. There’s the smell, too—old hay and flowering verbena, and perhaps the mullions being crumbled.”
“You look well, Di
“I am, thank you. You haven’t had time for Wimbledon, I suppose?”
“No. But Clare’s been going—she’s coming straight from it with the young Monts.”
“What did you mean in your letter by ‘restive’?”
“Well, as I see Clare, she must be in the picture, and just now she isn’t.”
Di
“Has she said anything to you about Tony Croom?”
“Yes. She laughed and said he’d dropped her like a hot potato.”
Di
“About those costs?” she said, without turning.
“Well, I went to see Forsyte specially, but I got nothing out of him.”
“Oh! Would you like a wash, or would you rather go straight up? Di
“Straight up, if I may.”
“You’re in a different room; I’ll show you.”
She preceded him to the foot of the little stairway leading to the priest’s room.
“That’s your bathroom. Up here, now.”
“The priest’s room?”
“Yes. There’s no ghost.” She crossed to the window. “See! He was fed here at night from the roof. Do you like the view? Better in the spring when the blossom’s out, of course.”
“Lovely!” He stood beside her at the window, and she could see his hands clenched so hard on the stone sill that the knuckles showed white. A bitter wind swept through her being. Here she had dreamed of standing with Wilfrid beside her. She leaned against the side of the embrasured window and closed her eyes. When she opened them he was facing her, she could see his lips trembling, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes fixed on her face.” She moved across to the door.
“I’ll have your things brought up and unpacked at once. Would you answer me one question: Did you pay those costs yourself?”
He gave a start and a little laugh, as if he had been suddenly switched from tragedy to comedy.
“I? No. Never even thought of it.”
“Oh!” said Di
Did she believe him? Whether she believed him or not, did it make any difference? The question would be asked and must be answered. ‘One more river—one more river to cross!’ And at the sound of the second car she went hurrying down the stairs.
CHAPTER 38
During that strange week-end, with only Michael and Fleur at ease, Di
“Em tells me,” said Fleur, “you’re all worked up about those costs—she says YOU think Dornford paid them, and that it’s giving you a feeling of obligation?”
“Oh? Well, it IS worrying, like finding you owe nothing to your dressmaker.”
“My dear,” said Fleur, “for your strictly private ear, I paid them. Roger came to di
Di
“You see,” continued Fleur, taking her arm, “thanks to the Government converting that loan, all my beautiful gilt-edgeds have gone up about ten points, so that, even after paying that nine hundred-odd, I’m still about fifteen thousand richer than I was, and they’re still going up. I’ve only told YOU, in confidence, because I was afraid it would weigh with you in making up your mind about Dornford. Tell me: Would it?”
“I don’t know,” said Di
“Michael says Dornford’s the freshest egg he’s come across for a long time; and Michael is very sensitive to freshness in eggs. You know,” said Fleur, stopping suddenly, and letting go her arm, “you puzzle me, Di