A Small Person Far Away (15 page)

“It might have been more difficult.”

“And your headmaster told me – I always remember what he said about you. He said, ‘He’s got a first-class brain, he’s hard-working and he’s got charm. There’s nothing he won’t be able to do. He can be Prime Minster if he wants.’”

“He couldn’t really have said that,” Max was quivering on the edge of a grin. “I mean, old Chetwyn – it wasn’t his style.”

“But he did, he did! And he said what a good mother I was. And I remember at Christmas, when I still had that good job with Lady Parker, and she asked me what I’d like for a Christmas present, and I said, ‘I’d like a radio for my son,’ and she said, ‘Wouldn’t you like something for yourself, a dress or a coat?’ and I said, ‘It’s the one thing he wants, if I can give him that it’ll be better than anything,’ and she said—”

“Oh, I know, Mama, I know—”

“And during the war, when you were interned, Papa just wanted to let matters take their course, but I
made
him write to the papers, it was me who got you out, if it hadn’t been for me you’d have been there much longer. And it was me who found the secretarial school for Anna, and then, when you were in the Air Force and you had trouble with that girl, I coped with it, I went to see her—”

“I know, Mama, it’s all true—”

Mama’s face was red and tearful like a very small child’s. “I
was
a good mother!” she cried. “I know I was! Everybody said what a good mother I was!”

“Well, of course you were,” said Max.

It was suddenly quiet.

“But then, why,” said Mama, “why is everything now so awful?”

“I don’t know,” said Max. “Perhaps because we’ve grown up.”

They looked at each other with their identical blue eyes, and Anna thought how often in Putney, in Bloomsbury, even in Paris, she had sat through scenes like this. The arguments had been different each time, but always there had been, amidst the shouting and the anger, the same sense of closeness between them, something which left no room for anyone else. As now, she had sat silent on the edge, watching Mama’s face, noting (even then?) the exact words of her accusations and of Max’s replies. In those days, of course, there had been Papa to stop her from feeling entirely left out.

“You see,” said Max, “in a way it was all exactly as you say. But it was also quite different.”

“How?” cried Mama. “In what way? How could it have been?”

He frowned, searching for the right phrases. “Well, it’s quite true, of course, that I’ve been a success, and that without you, it would have been much more difficult.”

“Very much more difficult,” said Mama, but he ignored her.

“But at the same time, it wasn’t all for me. I mean, in a way, perhaps because everything was so awful for you, you needed me to be a success.”

Mama drummed irritably on the sheet. “Well, why shouldn’t I? For God’s sake, do you remember how we used to live? I’d have done anything – anything – for Papa to have had even a little bit of success in those days.”

“No, you don’t understand. What I mean is – because you needed it so much, every little thing I did had to be, somehow, a triumph. I used to hear you talking about me. You used to say, ‘He’s going to stay with friends, they’ve got an estate in the country.’ Well, it wasn’t. It was a boy in Esher, I liked him very much, but he lived in a semi-detached. The only time I went anywhere grand while I was at school, my suitcase burst when the butler tried to unpack it, and the father, Sir Something-or-other, had to give me one of his, which he hated. It was all very embarrassing, but the way you told it, it was, ‘And this lord took such a fancy to Max that he insisted on giving him some of his own luggage.’”

Mama looked puzzled and upset. “Well, what does it matter – little things like that? And anyway, he probably did like you. People always do.”

Max sighed impatiently. “But it was other things as well. You used to say, ‘Of course he’ll get a scholarship, of course he’ll get a first.’ Well, I did get them, but there was no of course about it. I had to work very hard, and I often worried about whether I’d make it.”

“Well, perhaps – it’s possible.” Mama’s mouth was pulled down obstinately at the corners. “But I still don’t see that it matters.”

“It matters because it made it difficult for me to see my life as it really was. And it matters now because you’re doing the same thing to yourself. Re-shaping things if they don’t fit. Everything black and white. No uncertainties, no failures, no mistakes.”

“Nonsense,” said Mama, “I don’t do that at all.” She was getting tired and her voice rose. “You don’t know how I live here,” she cried. “Everybody likes me, they all like talking to me and even ask me for advice.
They
don’t think I see everything in black and white. I’ve got quite a reputation for solving people’s problems, love affairs, all sorts of things.” She finally burst into tears. “You don’t know anything about me!” she cried.

Sooner or later it always came to this, thought Anna. She was relieved to see a nurse appear at the door with a cup of soup.

“
Zur guten Besserung
,” said the nurse, and they all watched, Mama sniffing and blowing her nose, while she crossed the room and put the soup on the bedside table and went out again.

“Anyway, I was quite right,” said Mama almost before she had left. “It’s all happened just as I said. You do know all sorts of lords and people like that, and you
are
making a great career.”

“Yes, Mama.” Max was tired too. He patted her arm. “I must go soon,” he said. “I’ve got to do something about my ticket.”

She clutched his hand. “Oh, Max!”

“There, there, Mama. You’re a very good mother, and everything will be all right.” They smiled at each other, cautiously, with their identical blue eyes.

Anna smiled too, just to be companionable, and wondered whether she should leave with Max when he went or stay with Mama and wait for Konrad. It would be difficult to know what to say, she thought. After the excitement of Max, anything she might think of would come as an anticlimax. On the other hand, if she stayed, she might be able to talk to Konrad about going home.

Mama was still holding Max’s hand. “How was it in Greece?” she said.

“Absolutely marvellous.” He began to tell her about the case he was doing, and about the ship owner’s seaside house. “… right on the beach of this tiny island, with a cook and God knows how many servants. He owns it all – the whole place. He’s got olive groves and his own vineyard, all incredibly beautiful, and we had the run of it. The only trouble was, Wendy was a bit worried about the greasy food for the baby.”

“Did you swim?”

“Three times a day. The sea is so warm and so clear—”

But, unexpectedly, Mama’s eyes had filled with tears. “Oh, Max, I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your holiday. I didn’t mean to drag you away to Berlin.”

Anna suddenly felt childishly angry.

“What about me?” she said, startling all three of them, since she had said nothing for so long. “What about dragging me to Berlin from London?”

“You?” Mama looked surprised and upset. “I thought you might quite like to come.”

“Quite like…?” She was almost speechless.

“I mean, you weren’t doing anything special, and I knew you hadn’t been away in the summer.”

There was a trace of a query in Mama’s voice, and Anna found herself answering, in spite of herself, “I’ve got a new job, and Richard is in the middle of writing a serial.” It sounded so feeble that she stopped, and fury overcame her. After all I’ve done, she thought. After sitting on her bed and dragging her out of her coma. But even while she was thinking it, another part of herself was coolly noting Mama’s exact words, as it had already noted much of the conversation. If one were really going to write about this, she thought guiltily, they would make a marvellous bit of dialogue.

In the end she left the sickroom with Max and waited for Konrad in the reception hall. Through one of the windows, she watched him park his car in the drive, hesitate whether or not to bring his stick, and finally walk up towards the entrance without it. He manoeuvred his bulk through the swing doors and smiled when he saw her.

“Hullo,” he said. “How’s your mother?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “We had a row.”

“N
u
,” he said, “if she could have a row, she must be feeling better.” He looked at her. “Was it serious?”

“Not really, I suppose. It was mostly with Max, and I don’t think she minds that so much. I only came in at the end.”

“I see. And is that why you waited for me here?”

“No.” She decided to take the bull by the horns. “It’s this Suez business. Max is worried about Wendy and the baby, and he’s gone to try and book a flight to Athens. And I just wondered—”

“What?”

A woman with a bandaged hand said, “
Verzeihung
,” and pushed past them, giving her time to choose her words.

“What do you think?” she said. “Might there be trouble here? I mean, I suppose all this is bound to affect the Russians.” She added quickly, before he could answer, “Richard rang me last night, but I missed him. I expect he may be worried.”

“Yes,” he said, considering her. “Yes, I suppose he may be.”

“Of course I don’t mean that I want to rush off at once or anything. It’s just that – it seems impossible to get through to London in the daytime,” she said. “D’you think I could ring Richard from the party tonight? Just to know what he thinks?”

“Well, of course,” he said. “There’ll be no difficulty about that.”

“Oh, good.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t think the Suez business represents any kind of threat in Berlin at the moment,” he said at last. “But I can see that for you there may be other considerations.”

“It’s really Richard,” she said. “I wouldn’t want him to worry.”

He nodded, looking tired. “I’d better go and see your mother. You ring Richard tonight, and then we’ll talk.”

She felt guilty while she sat on the bus to the
Kurfürsten Damm
where she was to meet Max for lunch. But it’s not as though I’d said I was leaving, she told herself, I was only asking his advice.

Even so, the memory of his tired face stayed with her. As she waited for Max, she stood staring into a newly-built shop window filled with garishly checked materials. “Genuine English Tartans” said a sign in German, and they had names like Windsor, Eton and Dover. One was even called Sheffield. Richard would enjoy that, she thought, but instead of feeling amused she found herself fretting about Konrad. I’ll see, she thought. I’ll see what happens tonight.

Max arrived, full of energy and confidence as always, and swept her off to a nearby café.

“I’ve booked a flight,” he announced before they had even sat down. “It connects with a flight from Paris to Athens. I also got them to let me use their telephone and got through to my ship owner, and he’s arranging for someone to meet me at the airport.”

“I’m glad,” said Anna.

“Yes.” He added as an afterthought, “My ship owner also thought it was urgent to get Wendy and the baby out of there.”

She nodded. “When do you go?”

“At one o’clock in the morning.”

“What – tonight?”

“That’s right. Well,” he said, “it really makes no difference. I couldn’t have seen Mama tomorrow anyway, unless I’d stayed till the afternoon, and that would have been too late. I thought I’d see her again later today and stay a long time, however long one is allowed, till she goes to sleep. And then – well, I could come to the party and go straight to the airport from there.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” As so often with Max, she was left far behind, still feeling her way round a situation which he had long assessed. “Have you told Konrad?”

“Not yet, but he’ll know from Mama that I’m probably leaving. Did you have a chance to speak to him?”

“Only for a moment.” She did not want to go into details. “He said we’d talk tonight.”

“Good. And you’re going to ring Richard?”

“Yes.”

He smiled his confident, warm, affectionate smile. “Well,” he said, “I’d better go and pack my things.”

Max’s last evening with Mama was very harmonious. Mama looked pink and relaxed. She had been reassured by Konrad’s visit at lunch time – he had stayed almost two hours and they had obviously talked things out – and afterwards she had slept. When Anna and Max arrived, she had only just woken up and was still nestling deep in the pillows, looking up from beneath the big white quilt like a baby from its cot.

“Hullo,” she said, and smiled.

Her smile was as warm as Max’s, but without his confidence. No grown-up person, thought Anna, should look so vulnerable.

She was less upset than they had expected by the news of Max’s departure, and quite pleased with the dramatic manner of it. “You’re going to the party first?” she kept saying admiringly, and when a nurse looked in to collect a dirty towel, she insisted on introducing him and saying, “He’s flying to Athens tonight.”

“And how was Konrad?” asked Max after the nurse had gone.

“Oh—” Mama’s smile softened and she sniffed a little with emotion. “I really think it’s going to be all right. We talked for ages. He explained it all to me again, about this girl. It really didn’t mean anything to him. It was just because I was away and he missed me. Frankly, I think it was largely her doing. She sounds,” said Mama, “a rather predatory creature.”