Falling (40 page)

‘You’ve told her?’

‘No. I will tomorrow. After she has had a good night’s sleep.’

‘Whatever happens, remember
how
I love you.’

But she did not tell Katya the next day, because she left. Anthony was returning from Dublin that morning, and they had made a plan to meet at the flat and he would take her out to lunch. She
seemed almost excited at the prospect. A good night’s sleep had done wonders; she was full of plans, of what she might do with the children that summer, of how she might find work that she
could do at home, how she might even take some postal course that would qualify her in some direction. She would find a solicitor and find out what her rights were about the house and money for the
children. She spoke of Edwin as though he was nothing more than a financial impediment. She was terribly grateful for the flat; she would keep in close touch with Daisy. One of her ways of showing
how grateful she was was that she became far nicer to Henry than before. At breakfast, she even thanked him for looking after Daisy so well. She suggested herself that he should take her to
the station in order not to interrupt Daisy’s morning’s work. Daisy agreed to this, feeling that Katya might get to know Henry better if they were on their own.

Daisy had slept very badly. She took her work out into the garden, but she had hardly settled there when the sun clouded over, and the dense grey sky seemed to be pressing down on her head, and
soon after that her vision became jagged and dazzling – the herald of a migraine. There was nothing for it but to take the pills and lie down in the dark.

She woke to find Henry bending over her. For some reason this frightened her. She supposed she did not at first realize that it was he, thought she was dreaming and some unknown man was menacing
her. She threw herself away from him with a hopeless cry of terror – hopeless because even in her half-awakened state she could see no escape.

Then his voice, reassuring her, stroking her forehead when she said that she had had a migraine.

‘And then you had a bad dream,’ he said. ‘What was it, sweetheart?’

But she could not remember any part of it at all.

The rest of the day was very quiet. Daisy did not want any lunch, and Henry made himself a sandwich. She spent the afternoon lying in the garden while he pottered among the flower beds –
dead-heading, tying up. She told him about Katya, and he said that she had told him a good deal when he took her to the station. Later, when they were in bed, he said that he had told Katya that he
was devoted to Daisy.

‘What did she say?’

‘She said, did I mean I was in love with you.’

‘And you said—’

‘I said that I had been in love with you from the moment I saw you.’

‘Did you say we were lovers?’

‘No. I thought my loyal devotion was quite enough for her to be going along with.’

‘Amazingly tactful. What did she say then?’

‘She said that if I ever made you unhappy, she would want to kill me.’

‘Oh, darling, that was a bit much.’

‘No, it wasn’t. I told her that
I
would feel much the same. If anyone at all did that to you.’

Then they stopped using words.

I had been pretty certain that as soon as Katya was alone with me she would drop her hostility and succumb to confidences. We had scarcely gone a mile before she was telling me
everything – about Edwin and his infidelities and how she had resolved to endure them until this last flagrant determination of his to go off with his latest fancy. She began by telling me as
though she was over it, but in no time she was smoking and crying, and I decided to stop the car and, as it were, kiss her better. Naturally I did not literally kiss her: I played the part of Big
Daddy, a character it was clear to me she had been short of all her life, put her head on my shoulder and found a nice large handkerchief. And I flattered her. It is amazing how people who are not
used to flattery will absorb as though starving the merest crumb, the slightest hint, and who, after a few minutes of that, are good and ready for the stuff laid on with a trowel.

I said what a hard time she must have had; mentioned her dignity and then her courage – went on to express astonishment that
anyone
(meaning Edwin) could possibly contemplate
someone else. I told her she was beautiful. The poor creature looked merely pathetic – eyes red, eyelids puffed up, complexion muddy with lack of sleep and inadequate food – but I used
the word beautiful as though it was a sudden and wonderful discovery I had made about her. I could see her hesitate, then she actually blushed – like her mother – before it was shakily
accepted. But I did not pursue that line. I was not courting her after all, and the last thing I wanted was for her to start fancying me, which in her vulnerable state she might well have been
prone to do, or indeed any kind gentleman who chatted her up.

I said we must catch her train, gently detached myself and started to drive again. Then, to deflect her, I asked about her children and she talked much of them and I had only to murmur a few
encouraging things, like how nice and intelligent they sounded and how much I hoped one day to meet them. I also said that Daisy (I called her that) had been very worried when she, Katya, had been
out of touch.

As we neared the station she started fumbling in her bag. ‘I never paid you for the cigarettes.’

‘Oh, please. Let that be a very small token of my regard.’

She thanked me very nicely, and then, as I was parking the car, she suddenly said, ‘Do you call her Daisy? My mother?’

‘Yes. I do. She asked me to, of course.’ I stopped the engine. ‘Perhaps I should tell you one thing. I have been utterly devoted to your mother ever since I first saw her.
Utterly.’

‘Does she know?’

I shrugged – almost shook my head. ‘That doesn’t matter. All it means is that I am happy and proud to be able to serve her, look after her – like after her fall on the
path.’

Our eyes met then, and I saw hers soften: the romance of secret lifelong servitude had touched her.

‘Please,’ I said, ‘don’t ever tell her I told you that. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone.’ I gave what I knew would look like a courageous,
small smile. ‘I’m very well as I am.’

I took her luggage to the platform for her. The train was arriving – we had only just caught it. She stood on the steps, then she leaned down and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I returned
the kiss in like manner, and she smiled.

‘Last time, you kissed my hand.’

Then the train began to move: she really looked most attractive when she smiled.

I waited politely until the train was out of sight, in case she should look out of a window and wave, but she didn’t.

I had thought of confiding in Daisy about the problems of the form I had to fill in for the lawyer, but when I got back she was in bed with a migraine, and for the rest of that day she looked so
rotten (strange how migraines make people’s faces crumble; Charley was just the same although in her case it didn’t produce such a marked contrast as it did with Daisy) that it seemed
better to defer that.

I decided that it would be best to tell Daisy that I had declared my devotion for her to Katya. It was interesting that she did not ask whether I had said that she, Daisy, loved me. She only
asked whether I had said we were lovers. I stopped prolonged discussion about all that by making love to her.

All the rest of that week and the following weekend, Daisy took to working indoors, which was cooler than anywhere outside. There was not much to do in the garden, but I pottered there, and what
with that and Daisy’s far higher standards than mine about keeping the house clean, there was more than enough to do for one whose inclination was not to do very much of anything. I did the
shopping and it was usually when I was out that she rang Katya. She was quite open about that, but I sensed that she preferred talking to her when I wasn’t there. She announced that Katya and
Anthony seemed to have hit it off very well.

The builders sent in their estimates within two days of one another. It had begun to strike me that enlarging the cottage was not necessarily a good idea – at least not until I was married
to Daisy, and that could not possibly be for some time. A larger cottage might mean that Katya would bring her children down, possibly for weeks in the summer. Anyway the project was going to cost
between eighteen and twenty-one thousand pounds, money that might well be better spent, although it was comforting to note that Daisy did not seem to blench at the various costs.

‘I could always sell the flat in London,’ she said. This gave me my cue.

‘I don’t think you should consider that for a moment. Katya might turn out to need it. Wouldn’t it be better to wait a bit before you let yourself in for such an
expense?’

She smiled. ‘You sound just like Anna.’ And later: ‘Anyway, we don’t want builders with all that noise and dirt to spoil this beautiful summer. And they’d wake us
up terribly early in the morning.’

‘I’m the person to wake you up, then.’

‘I know.’

We were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table. She had looked away from me as she said that.

‘Look at me, Daisy. Look at me, darling. Aren’t we lucky? To be so much in love? To have one another at last?’

She did look at me then. I don’t think that anyone – not even Charley – had ever looked at me like that before.

‘I can hardly believe it.’

Her eyes were full of tears.

Those halcyon days! The heat continued, the dew early devoured by the sun that shone with a pale intensity bleaching the sky, and the roses, making mirages on the lane, gilding the leaves of the
large oak at the edge of the wood, touching the delicate tendrils of her fairy hair with coppery incident. The air each day became drenched with aromatic scent: of rosemary that I had planted by
the front door, the thyme and camomile in cracks of the path, the lavender in beds each side of the door. Butterflies provided the silent, finishing touches.

We ate tomato salads that she made with chives or basil, and raspberries, and amazing cold soups that she could concoct of seemingly any vegetable.

Daisy bought a large-scale map of our district: she loved to find footpaths and explore them. We would go in the evenings after tea (I was even getting to like the Earl Grey that she was so fond
of). Sometimes I would make her have a siesta. I bought her a hammock – as a present – and set it up between two convenient apple trees at the side of the house. She gave me presents:
three shirts and a beautiful dressing-gown that she ordered from London. When we came back from our walk, she would prepare supper and I would make drinks for us. The lawn became full of daisies
– something had gone wrong with the mower and it was too hot to get it into the car to take it to be mended. She taught me to play Scrabble and we did
The Times
crossword together
throughout the day, usually completing it between us.

The news from Katya seemed satisfactory. The children were to arrive as soon as the boy’s holidays began – about a week hence. She did talk about them coming down, saying that they
could sleep in the sitting room. ‘I don’t think we could share a room if they come,’ she said. I said that we should practise making soundless love. I have come to adore making
her blush.

‘Oh, Henry, I’m not sure that I could—’

‘Could what?’

‘Manage it.’

I said I could evolve a system that would deal with that. ‘I make love to you, you make a single sound, and I don’t make love to you for two days.’

‘Wouldn’t that be – punishing both of us?’

‘Of course it would,’ I said. This was becoming true. I was far more taken with her sexually than I had expected to be. This was partly because I enjoyed the fact that she was
undoubtedly addicted to me. She was thoroughly awakened now – all fears gone. She could be naked and shameless and completely at ease in her hunger, and her appearance was transformed: the
myriad tiny lines of tension and strain had mostly vanished; her skin bloomed with sensuous health; her eyes were always clear and alive with whatever she was seeing and feeling about what she saw,
and her body released from the taut fragility that I had first encountered was now that of a much younger woman. (All my own work, though I say it myself.)

Then, on the Monday morning, Anna rang to say that she and Anthony would like to come down to the cottage for the following weekend. Anthony would be going abroad soon after that, and she, Anna,
could only manage weekends away.

Daisy was pleased, I could see that. She at once began making plans about what food she would buy and cook for them. Wine must be bought, and fish (‘Anthony loves fish’), and she
would make a large hors d’oeuvre, a favourite of Anna’s. She discovered all kinds of things that she must buy for their visit: more sheets and towels, a fish kettle (she would buy a
salmon), more ice trays, a larger coffee pot – the list went on and on.

I asked about Anthony. Somehow I knew that he in no way constituted any threat: he was homosexual, for a start. I knew that somehow, even before she told me. Had she known him long? No,
she’d met him some time before Jason had left (it was interesting how she could now speak of this without any apparent pain), and they had got on at once. ‘But I don’t think it
was anything to do with me. I think Anthony gets on with everyone. He has a real gift for friendship.’ And for love? I asked. She didn’t know. He was always mysterious, evasive, about
his love life.

‘He tends to tell me about it after it has finished,’ she said. ‘He’s very sharp: he notices people.’

‘You mean he’s spiteful.’

‘No! I mean he sees what they are. He’s often funny, but he’s never malicious – or anything like that. I’m sure you’ll like him,’ she finished, saying
what people always say when they are more hopeful than certain.

Daisy became more and more excited (and, I think, nervous) as the weekend became nearer. On Thursday we went to the town because she suddenly wanted to buy two more deckchairs (‘so that we
can all eat in the garden if we want’). It was a breathless day, no movement of air to ease the heat. Children in prams were crying because they were too hot; everybody in the shops remarked
on the length of the heatwave and hoped it would stop soon. Daisy chose the chairs and when we had packed them into the boot said she wanted to buy soft fruit to make a summer pudding. If I would
drive the car to the greengrocer, she would just pop out and buy the fruit.