Crampton Hodnet (25 page)

‘It must have been very interesting,’ murmured Miss Morrow. ‘I’m glad you had nice weather. It’s been rather wet here most of the time, and of course there’s been this trouble hanging over us.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Mr. Latimer brushed aside the trouble with no more concern than if it had been a fly settling on his forehead. ‘Miss Morrow,’ he declared, with more diffidence than usual, ‘something very important has happened to me, and I want you to be the first to know of it.’

Miss Morrow looked startled. Surely he wasn’t going to propose to her again? she wondered for one wild moment. But no, it could hardly be that. From the way he put it, it sounded as if it was something that had happened in France. She remembered that he had spoken much of churches and cathedrals; indeed, most of his holiday seemed to have been spent in one or another. Could it be that he had
gone over to Rome
? she wondered, suddenly enlightened. A change of this kind was usually regarded as something very important. She believed his friend Mr. James was very High, and now that she came to notice it she saw that he was not wearing a clerical collar, though of course he had told her that he never did on holiday. One got to know people better without it. They talked to one more freely. The absence of a clerical collar added to the joviality of the party. People did not always realise, as Dr. Fremantle did, that a man’s a man however he wears his collar.

‘Something important?’ she said. ‘But why should
I
be the first to know?’

‘You are my friend,’ said Mr. Latimer simply, ‘and you will understand better than anybody else. Actually I’ve told Mr. Cleveland and I shall tell Miss Doggett, of course, as it will make a difference to the future.’

Certainly, thought Miss Morrow. A Roman Catholic priest could hardly live with two women. ‘What is it?’ she asked again.

A coy but not unattractive smile lighted up Mr. Latimer’s handsome face. ‘I have fallen in love,’ he said, with impressive simplicity.

‘Oh, I see.’ Miss Morrow had difficulty in keeping her disappointment out of her voice. She had somehow expected something less ordinary. And yet one must be reasonable and remember that falling in love is never ordinary to the people who indulge in it. Indeed, it is perhaps the only thing that is being done all over the world every day that is still unique.

‘How splendid,’ she said, filling her voice with enthusiasm. ‘Do tell me about it—if you’d like to, that is.’

Mr. Latimer needed no encouragement. Out it all came—the cathedral, the English tourists, Pamela and her aunt, pretty and intelligent, if you see what I mean… . Oh, it had been a wonderful holiday!

‘I knew it would happen to you some day,’ said Miss Morrow, feeling rather elderly. ‘And of course she returns your love?’

Mr. Latimer looked rather shocked. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘We’re unofficially engaged in a way.’

Miss Morrow nodded. A great unrequited passion was hardly in Mr. Latimer’s line, she realised, the sort of love that lingers on through many years, dying sometimes and then coming back like a twinge of rheumatism in the winter, so that you feel it in your knee when you are nearing the top of a long flight of stairs. ‘Unofficially engaged in a way’ was perhaps after all more suitable.

‘Well, well, what a lot of things seem to have happened this afternoon.’ She sighed. She started to ask Mr. Latimer about how he had met Mr. Cleveland and to tell him about Anthea and the letter from Simon, but he was so obviously not taking in a word she said that she gave it up and began to wonder how he would ever be able to write his Sunday sermons. Then she started to wonder what was going on elsewhere in the house. Poor Mrs. Cleveland would have her hands full now, with her husband and her daughter to deal with, she thought.

At that moment Ellen came into the room bringing tea, and Miss Morrow ventured upstairs to tell the others it was ready. Halfway up she met Mr. Cleveland coming down. He looked rather disgruntled.

‘Anyone would think the world had come to an end,’ he muttered. ‘She hasn’t even noticed I’ve come back.’

Miss Morrow effaced herself into the shadows by the Gothic umbrella stand, which had been a wedding present from Miss Doggett. Tea’s ready,’ she said in a neutral tone.

‘Tea!’ he called loudly.

Miss Doggett and Mrs. Cleveland hurried into the room.

‘Anthea doesn’t feel like coming down,’ said Mrs. Cleveland to nobody in particular. ‘I’ll just take her a cup of tea.’

‘Oh, dear, this is a tragedy. Poor Anthea, I’ve never seen anybody so broken,’ wailed Miss Doggett. ‘He seemed so devoted. I really cannot understand it.’

‘She says she might fancy a piece of walnut cake,’ said Mrs. Cleveland, coming back with a plate.

‘Will somebody tell me exactly what has happened?’ asked Francis mildly. ‘I’m quite in the dark. Is Simon dead or something?’

‘Worse,’ said Miss Doggett, shaking the cyclamen birds vigorously. ‘It would almost have been better if he had been.’

‘A fate worse than death?’ said Francis frivolously. ‘I thought that was usually reserved for young girls.’

‘Like my cousin Bertha in Paris,’ said Miss Morrow, unable to stop herself.

Francis suddenly looked very embarrassed and began offering cake to everybody, although they all had something on their plates.

‘A brilliant match,’ Miss Doggett intoned. ‘It would have been such a splendid thing for Anthea.’

‘Well, to tell you the truth,’ said Mrs. Cleveland, coming back into the room, i don’t think it would have been a very good thing. They were both so young, and Anthea will meet lots of other people. But poor child, she has cried so much. It’s terrible not being able to do anything for her.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Morrow, ‘and it’s such cold comfort to say that Time is a Great Healer.’

‘There are some sorrows that Time can never heal,’ said Miss Doggett. ‘And to think,’ she added in the same breath, ‘that she might have had a house in Chester Square!’

Poor Miss Doggett, thought Miss Morrow, watching her. She feels it as much as Anthea does. The shock of Simon’s letter had put the other affair completely out of her mind. Indeed, nobody was taking any notice of Francis Cleveland, not even his wife, who seemed much more concerned over the weakness of the tea and whether Anthea could have managed a bigger piece of cake.

‘She always has such a good appetite,’ she said. ‘I do hope she won’t fret too much. It’s lucky we’re going to the sea soon. A holiday is just what she needs.’

‘Yes, a holiday can make a great difference,’ said Mr. Latimer from his corner. ‘I had a
marvellous
time in France.’

‘I’m so glad,’ said Mrs. Cleveland politely. ‘Did you meet some interesting people?’

‘Oh, yes, as a matter of fact I did… .’

And so for the third time that afternoon he told his story. It seemed to gain a little in the telling, Miss Morrow thought. This time they were actually
engaged
, there was nothing unofficial about it.

‘Well,
well
!’ Miss Doggett seemed unable to decide what attitude to adopt towards this unexpected news. ‘What did you say her name was?’

‘Pamela,’ said Mr. Latimer rapturously, taking a chocolate biscuit. ‘Pamela Pimlico.’

‘Not a relation of Lord Pimlico?’ said Miss Doggett hopefully. ‘It’s an uncommon name.’

‘As a matter of fact she’s his youngest daughter,’ said Mr. Latimer modestly.

‘Well, this is splendid. I believe she is a
charming
girl.’ Miss Doggett was all smiles. The cyclamen birds bobbed about so vigorously that nobody would have been surprised to see them leave the hat and fly away.

‘Oh, look,’ said Miss Morrow, ‘here come the vicar and Mrs. Wardell. Are you going to tell them the news?’

‘Why, of course,’ said Miss Doggett, who had at once taken charge of everything. ‘Agnes, what
do
you think, Mr. Latimer is engaged to one of Lord Pimlico’s girls. Isn’t it splendid?’

‘Have you got the ring yet?’

‘Well, no, not yet,’ Mr. Latimer admitted, ‘but I’ve been thinking about it.’

Diamonds and platinum, thought Miss Morrow, it was inevitable. A platinum ring set with a moderate-sized solitaire diamond. Miss Morrow was sure that in the matter of engagement rings he would have conventional taste, and as he was only a curate, the size of the diamond could hardly be more than moderate, if that. It might even be very small, like the head of a pin, the sort of ring the poorer undergraduates gave their girl-friends. But it would be a diamond.

‘I’d thought of getting a solitaire diamond set in platinum,’ said Mr. Latimer, fulfilling Miss Morrow’s expectations. ‘I think she’d like that.’

‘If I were ever engaged I should like a large, semi-precious stone, like an amethyst or a topaz,’ said Miss Morrow.

Miss Doggett seemed to think this very amusing. ‘Well, Miss Morrow, we must let Mr. Killigrew know that. I’m sure he would oblige.’

‘Do you know,’ said Mrs. Wardell, suddenly gripping Mr. Latimer’s arm, ‘I’d got
quite
the wrong idea. I actually thought there was something between you and Miss Morrow!’

Miss Morrow joined as heartily as anyone in the laughter which followed this amazing admission. Everyone seemed to think it was very funny, although Mr. Latimer’s laughter sounded a little forced.

‘Agnes gets such odd ideas,’ said Mr. Wardell proudly. ‘Indeed, I think we all do at times,’ he added in a more serious tone, shooting a glance at Mr. Cleveland as if to make sure that his eyes had not deceived him. ‘We sometimes get hold of the wrong end of the stick. Indeed, we may even imagine that we have got hold of a stick which turns out not to be a stick at all.’

‘Oh, Ben, you
are
getting involved,’ said his wife. ‘I’m sure nobody knows what you’re talking about.’

The babble of conversation went on and grew so lively that Mrs. Cleveland began to wonder whether her uninvited guests would ever go. It seemed so ridiculous to think that at an important time like this one’s house should be full of people who refused to go. She felt she would like to stand up and clap her hands and say ‘Shoo!’ as if they were all a lot of chickens. But being a polite woman she urged them to eat more bread and butter and more cake, and even made pleasant conversation, when she wasn’t peering into the teapot or ringing for more hot water.

Francis watched her dispassionately. He supposed it was too much to expect her to notice him, even when they had so much to talk about and he had come back at what he imagined was an unexpected time. He had a headache from shaking about in that wretched little car, and he felt so
hot
, with cold shivers running down his back at the same time. Perhaps there were some aspirins in the medicine cupboard. He crept unnoticed from the room and went upstairs. And when everybody had at last gone, Mrs. Cleveland found him sitting on his bed, looking bedraggled and pathetic.

‘Why, Francis dear, I don’t believe you’re well,’ she said, hurrying towards him and catching hold of his hand. ‘You look quite funny.’

‘I feel hot and shivery and I’ve got a headache,’ he said gratefully, i think I’ve caught a chill.’

‘I’ll take your temperature,’ she said, i expect you ought to be in bed.’

‘Listen,’ he said, when she returned with the thermometer, i didn’t go to Paris.’

‘I know you didn’t, dear,’ she said soothingly, popping the thermometer into his mouth.

Muttering sounds came from him; he was trying to say something.

‘Hush, Francis, you’ll break it,’ she said. ‘You can tell me when it’s over.’

There was a silence, during which Mrs. Cleveland looked round the room and noticed that the mantelpiece needed dusting. And why, she wondered, was there an unopened bottle of wine on the dressing-table? Whatever had Francis been doing with himself during her absence?

‘Now, we’ll see.’ She took the thermometer out of his mouth and examined it. ‘Oh, dear, it’s up a little,’ she said. ‘You must go straight to bed. I’ll get you a hot water bottle.’

‘Wait, Margaret, you must listen,’ he said petulantly. ‘I didn’t go to Paris. I only went as far as Dover.’

It sounded rather silly like that, he thought weakly.

‘I didn’t go to Paris. I only went to Dover,’ he repeated, but she had gone out of the room, and when she came back she seemed so concerned about whether the bottle might be too hot, whether they had any quinine in the house, and even whether he might not be going to get pneumonia, that the fact of where he had been and where he had not been slid naturally into the background. There was nothing Mrs. Cleveland liked better than looking after an invalid.

Anthea was in her bedroom, applying a deep fuchsia-coloured varnish to her nails. It was the beginning of term again, and Simon’s friend Christopher, who was still up, had asked her to lunch. It was important that she should look nice. She had been reading an article in
Woman and Beauty
which said that you shouldn’t let yourself go just because your young man had fallen in love with somebody else. You should go out and get some new clothes, a new hairstyle, a new lipstick, even a new young man. You would soon begin to feel better. Indeed, after the first shock had worn off and her wounded vanity had recovered a little, Anthea seemed to be no different from her usual self, except that she now had an excuse to buy a great many new clothes and to appear with her lips and nails painted in rather bold and alarming colours.

It was a lovely October day, and Oxford was full of hopeful young freshmen, smoking new-looking pipes, fighting their way through Woolworth’s and emerging triumphant with kettles and lampshades. Groups of chattering young women, some plain and spectacled, others with some degree of beauty and elegance, crowded into Blackwell’s to buy second-hand copies of the Pass Moderations set books. The entrance to the front quadrangle of Randolph was blocked by a group of rich young men newly arrived from town. Suede shoes, pin-striped flannels, teddy-bear coats and check caps—Anthea knew the uniform so well. Any one of them might have been Simon. They stood aside for her to pass and their blank faces lighted up for a moment as they watched her making for Christopher’s staircase.