For Love or Money (14 page)

T
HE
tic under his right eye seemed worse this evening. Mary Crofts looked at her husband anxiously. It really was too bad that this new man should have got into trouble so soon. Lifting the coffee-pot off the table by her chair she poured herself a cup. Crofts looked up from the essay he was reading.

‘Can I have a cup?’

‘You told me you couldn’t sleep yesterday, so I don’t know whether you oughtn’t to have some hot chocolate.’

‘I hate the stuff. You know quite well why I didn’t sleep.’

‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’

‘There are various alternatives. I could just leave well alone. After all the boy hasn’t said anything about it yet.’

His wife shook her head violently. Her small eyes looked more piercing than usual behind her pink-rimmed
spectacles
.

‘And what happens if it comes to light? If the man tries it on somebody else?’ she said scornfully.

‘I’ll just look rather stupid for believing his story.’

Mary looked at him sadly.

‘It won’t be the first time. You weren’t exactly
Edgecombe’s
blue-eyed boy when Bagshaw collapsed in prayers.’ She stirred her coffee angrily at the memory of it. Part of it had been bad luck, but Alfred just could not judge when it came to choosing a house tutor. ‘To stray neither to the right hand nor the left,’ then he’d just fallen down, drunk as a newt. ‘We don’t want a repetition of that fiasco,’ she added.

‘We could ask Matthews to leave.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Alfred. What would that look like in the middle of term?’

‘I could announce that he’d had to go home to look after his mother.’

‘I suppose none of the boys would put two and two
together
? Besides, he might well appeal to the Head and then it would only be the boy’s word against his. You’ll have to get more on him than that. Anyway, Lifton hasn’t said
anything
yet and the man is, as you never stopped telling me, a well-qualified master.’

‘I could talk to Lifton and ask him why he accused the man.’

‘That seems a better idea. Then you’d at least have the allegation. Why that young fool Matthews had to come to you in the first place, I can’t imagine.’

Crofts got up and went over to the table in the window alcove. Picking up a packet of cigarettes he said:

‘Inexperience I suppose. Didn’t know that boys never let out that sort of thing. Went to a day-school himself.’

‘What exactly did he think you were going to do about what he told you?’

‘He just said that he thought I ought to know the real story before anybody else tried to tell me otherwise. What could I say when he said that I would know what should be done?’

‘Asked him what he would do in your place. Still it’s a bit late for that now. And once you’ve got that allegation, what then?’

Crofts lit his cigarette and rolled it back and forth
nervously
between finger and thumb.

‘Tell him that Mr. Matthews had warned me against this malice and say that I didn’t believe him. I should also say that if false accusations of this sort were made in the future I should know their source. And would act with suitable severity.’

‘You think this would keep him quiet?’

‘I hope so.’

Mrs. Crofts poured herself another cup and said
meditatively
:

‘That still isn’t water-tight.’

‘Nothing short of getting rid of both of them is, and that, as we must already be aware, is impossible.’

‘There is another way‚’ said Mary slowly. ‘How about phoning Lifton’s mother and telling her that her son has been spreading scandal. Say that you believe Matthews. Tell her the grave consequences rumours of this sort have in a house …’

‘And with luck she would be so offended that she would take him away at the end of term.’

‘That’s the general idea. She’s a temperamental woman, always complaining because her son isn’t given enough
personal
care. His illness is an added blessing. You can say that a tough school is perhaps not best suited to such a sensitive boy. Lay the failure at the gates of the school. Sugar the pill as much as possible. “David is a highly unusual young man, whom we would hate to think of being blighted in these vital formative years”, that sort of thing. Tell her that he seems unhappy too. She once told me that he used to be less withdrawn before he came to Edgecombe.’

‘What if the boy said he was perfectly happy?’

‘She wouldn’t believe him. She’s just the sort to take any excuse to keep her children at home. Don’t you remember that awful fuss we had over whether his elder brother could have an umbrella at school before he got into the sixth, and how she went on about him having one at home?’

Crofts did remember it. How he’d wanted to tell her that this wasn’t a nursery school but hadn’t dared. She’d tried to make him admit that distinctions of this sort were childish.

‘I don’t like it, Mary. It’s all rather underhand, and the boy’s one of the best classicists we’ve had for years.’

‘What else can you think of?’

Why the hell did he feel so fuddled these days? Crofts tried to think of another way but his mind remained empty. Eventually he nodded consent.

‘I’ll do it after prayers.’

S
TEVEN
saw the child coming across the compartment to wards him, a large piece of orange in his hand. Steven had always been puzzled why children liked him.

‘No, thank you‚’ he said, doing his best to smile as the infant offered him a bit.

‘Come here this instant, Bobby, and leave the gentleman alone.’ The mother held out a paper napkin into which her son reluctantly dropped his offering.

Steven looked at Sarah in the seat next to him. She was smiling knowingly at him. Softly she said:

‘Don’t you like train journeys?’

‘Adore them. I just love other people’s children too.’

‘Sh—sh,’ she reproved him gently. ‘Did I tell you, darling, that I was once a waitress? I mean for a short time last vac?’

‘I think you mentioned it.’

‘I was always having to tell little boys not to touch the tea urns.’

Steven looked at her patiently. She always got so excited telling stories. Robert said that it was part of the freshness of her charm.

‘No sir, no meringues today, I’m awfully sorry … small boy, that tea urn’s hot … no madam, no meringues, I’ve just told the gentleman … small boy I’ve told you already … yeo—w … small boy, I warned you.’

‘Sh—sh‚’ Steven mimicked.

‘You ought to have a notice on you like the tea urns‚’ she laughed.

Steven looked out of the window at the telegraph wires. He hadn’t told Sarah about the real purpose of their visit. ‘Thought you ought to meet them in case you get second
thoughts.’ ‘But I’m not going to marry
them
.’ If one knew the distance between the telegraph wires one would be able to calculate the speed of the train. His letter warning them would only have arrived this morning. George would hardly have had time to think. It would also leave him little time to brief David. Must get the truth out of the boy whatever happened. Steven set his jaw.

‘What are you thinking about, Steven? You look awfully serious.’

‘My chances as a maths examiner. If I knew the speed of the train I’d be able …’

‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’

‘All right then. I was wondering how you’re going to get on with my mother and good old uncle George.’

He’d explained away George as a virtuous gentleman companion but she was going to have to see the light soon enough. The more impartial she was to start with, the better the impression she was likely to make on his mother.

‘We now accept George as one of the family,’ he said
ingenuously
. ‘He was almost a father to both of us.’

There would of course be a good deal of explaining
afterwards
, but Sarah’s neutrality was necessary now. He might be able to get rid of her when it came to the real showdown. Tell her he had various boring things to clear up, so wouldn’t she like to borrow the car for the morning and look at the countryside?

‘I do hope your mother likes me‚’ she said earnestly. ‘I’ll make a great effort. I know how much it matters to you.’

If she did, if she did, thought Steven.

‘They’re rather unconventional, so you won’t be shocked at all? It can be very boring tucked away in the country, so they do drink a bit from time to time.’

He thought of the previous Christmas and smiled. There might well be a bottle or two consumed after he left this time.

 *

Bobby’s little head was lolling across his mother’s breast. Steven noticed a dribble of chocolate creeping down his little chin. He looked away but as he did so caught the
mother’s eye and smiled. Why did one always smile at mothers with children? A mute and patronising tribute to one’s lost innocence created anew?

The train was steaming past the winter desolation of the beaches of south Devonshire. Sarah was also looking out across the empty sands.

‘We always used to come to Newton Abbot for our
summer
holidays when Daddy was alive‚’ she confided. ‘I met my first boy-friend there. He had a bucket with a starfish on it and used to carry around a blue telescope everywhere.’

‘Most touching,’ said Steven, laughing.

‘It was actually‚’ she said primly. ‘We were going to get married, only the holidays were too short to fix a date.’

‘So I’m doubly lucky. I was going to marry our prep. school matron, who was fat and fifty.’

‘How romantic.’

‘Yes, it was actually.’

Sarah pulled the fur-trimmed collar of her overcoat up round her head, hiding her face.

‘I won’t say another word,’ she said, extending her hand by way of recompense. Furtively he took it.

What was that woman thinking? Aren’t they a charming couple? Or perhaps, where are they going together at this time of year? With only one suitcase too. Steven withdrew his hand.

‘I never went to the seaside for a holiday‚’ he said sadly.

But there had been a time hadn’t there? George had taken him out to Eastbourne one Sunday when he’d been at prep school. They had hired a rowing-boat. As the beach got further away the noise of the people talking grew vaguer, a dull roar extending for miles, like a monstrous cocktail party. It was very hot he remembered. When they were about a mile out George had decided to go for a swim. He’d swum a long way, almost out of sight. Or had the distance seemed further then? He had panicked. What would happen if George didn’t come back? He’d heard the murmur from the beach going on indifferently. He’d never be able to row all that distance to the beach. And nobody would hear if he called. ‘George, George‚’ he’d yelled.

And if after tomorrow his mother rejected him? If David wouldn’t say anything? If George survived? What then? ‘If you made as many friends as you made enemies, you’d be a popular man,’ Robert had once said. Steven grinned. All very fine, but when it came to it, when one really had
nobody
to call for? Perhaps marriage was the answer. Even if tomorrow was a disaster, she’d never desert him.

He reached out his hand and clasped hers. The woman opposite might not have existed any more. A great welling feeling of tenderness surged within him. He clutched her small hand still tighter.

‘Steven you’re hurting me.’

Steven let go. If only one could convey one’s feelings better. It was stupid to think that one’s exact feelings should be reciprocated. He sighed; nevertheless he no longer felt so vulnerable.

 *

George was standing by the drawing-room window, in one hand he was holding Steven’s letter and in the other a glass of whisky. He flapped the letter up and down as he spoke.

‘Trust him to choose today, of all days to come down here, and as if it wouldn’t be enough him coming alone, he has to bring his girl, too.’

‘It isn’t the best possible moment, darling, I admit, but I think you’ll agree that it’s nice that he should want to bring her to see us so soon after his engagement.’

Ruth had put down the paper she had been reading and got up. She came over to where George was standing and rested on the end of the sofa.

George’s exasperation grew. It was really typical of her to have responded to that telephone call like that. Crofts accuses her son of spreading scandalous rumours, then softens the blow by saying that David is too sensitive for the school, and what does she do? Says that she knew all along that he wasn’t happy there and that he’d be happier at the local grammar school. How would he be able to go on living in the same house day in and day out with the living
embodiment
of his conscience? The very thought of it …
imagine it, backgammon every evening, looking into those dark accusing eyes. And all the time the fear that David would lose his temper with him and blurt it all out to her. Hadn’t the woman any pride? Or was she just going to sit back and take that man’s accusation?

‘You realise that if you take him away you’ll be affirming Crofts’s judgement? Have you no pride?’ George said, his voice trembling with righteous anger.

‘But George dear, David’s happiness is more important than my pride.’ She leant forward earnestly, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘I think that David himself should be allowed to decide.’

George estimated that he would have at least half an hour alone with David in the car, when he collected him from the station. Steven would just
have
to choose David’s half-term to come down. If Steven was behaving true to form this could hardly be a coincidence either. The jackals are on the march and it’s clearly my blood they’re after, he thought grimly. No bicycle made for two was going to be good enough for this wedding. There would have to be a sacrifice too and an unhealthy redistribution of money. He would have to be alone with David and he wouldn’t drive fast either. Dimly he heard Ruth’s voice:

‘Oughtn’t we to be going to the station? We don’t want to be late.’

‘I thought you said you were going to supervise lunch. There are going to be five of us.’

‘Hardly an army, darling.’ She paused; ‘I was thinking of what you said just then about David deciding what was best for him. George, don’t you think that he’d be afraid to say what he really felt? He knows that you’d think it was cowardly to back down and I’m sure that he’d hate to
disappoint
you.’

‘And cowardly it is too. I merely think that it would be dictatorial to act without at least asking him his opinion.’

Ruth got up smiling; she slipped an arm round George’s waist. Looking up at him lovingly, she said:

‘You’re so terribly English in your belief in “fair play”, but think of all the awful mistakes you would have made if
you hadn’t been advised when you were young. Anyway, come on, darling, or we really will be late.’

Just another jolly jaunt for her, thought George bitterly, as he walked towards the door and the waiting hearse. The innocent only rarely suffer and all the sinners round them live in an endless nightmare trying to cushion and protect them. To be innocent and a gold-laying goose must surely be the best passport to heaven on earth, thought George sadly.

‘Come on, George,’ shouted Ruth from the doorway.

 *

Steven paid the taxi-driver and then opened Sarah’s door. He held her hand as she stepped out on to the gravel of the drive. She stood quite still looking at the long battlemented front of Trelawn. She turned to Steven wide-eyed.

‘You never told me it was so large.’

‘We only live in a few rooms; the rest is falling to bits. Mummy had the roof redone last year and it cost
£
5,000. We can’t afford to do-up the inside throughout.’

Steven looked around for George’s car but saw it was not there.

‘They’re collecting David from the station,’ he said, as they started towards the door. ‘They might have left a bit earlier and saved me twenty-five shillings.’

Suddenly Steven ran in front of Sarah and flung open the doors. ‘A warm welcome home to the young mistress‚’ he croaked, bowing obsequiously.

 *

In the dark hall he took her coat and led her towards the drawing-room.

‘What’ll you drink before they arrive?’

‘Gin and bitter lemon, please.’ She gazed through the broad bay-window out across the lawn and beyond that to a group of beeches. Behind the delicate vein tracery of the swaying naked branches dark clouds moved across a grey sky. She heard the tinkling of glass as Steven poured her drink.

‘I like this room,’ she said, taking the proffered glass.

‘Yes.’

‘When was the house built?’

‘At the end of the last century by a mad wine merchant. Not only did he build the place on top of a hill but he also saw fit that it should face north.’

‘Can I see some other bits of the house while the others aren’t here.’

‘If you like. I’m afraid we don’t have a guide.’ He paused. ‘I think we’ll start with my old nursery, so that you can see where I spent so many happy hours.’

Sarah frowned at him.

‘If you don’t want to show me, I don’t mind.’

‘Come on. I can’t wait.’

 *

The nursery was a large room with whitewashed walls and faded blue linoleum on the floor. It smelt fusty and unaired. All the furniture was under dust sheets. A picture of David hung over the mantelpiece.

‘That’s your brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s not a bit like you, is he? Much darker.’

‘Yes.’

Steven opened a cupboard and looked in at the
haphazardly
stacked toys. He tried to connect himself with them but couldn’t. A train made of large wooden blocks, a number of rusty clockwork boats, a plastic battleship that he had made, several mutilated woolly toys—Steven held one of them up:

‘You can see the holes where we used to fire air-gun pellets at him.’

‘Lovely.’

Steven’s eye lighted on a large metal humming-top. He pulled it out and, setting it on the floor, pressed down the handle. As it spun round and round the thing emitted a low moaning sound. The colours on its side and top merged as they watched.

‘That’s rather pretty, Steven.’

‘Yes. I can’t remember liking it as a child.’

The moaning grew softer as it slowed down and finally teetered on to its side noisily under the table.

 *

‘So you’re Sarah!’ Steven watched his mother’s smile as she crossed the room. She put her arms around the girl and then stepped back to look at her. Sarah was blushing. ‘You don’t mind my being awfully continental, dear, do you?’

‘Oh no, not at all’‚ Sarah stammered.

‘They all shake hands on the Continent‚’ said George coldly.

‘In Italy too?’ Ruth laughed. Nobody was going to pour cold water on this family-gathering for her.

‘This is my brother, David‚’ said Steven, leading a
reluctant
David over to where Sarah was standing. ‘David, this is Sarah. She saw your portrait in the nursery and doesn’t think we’re alike. I’m more like my father I’m told.’ Steven smiled at George, who looked away. David’s introductory smile had faded. Uneasily he studied his feet.

‘Steven tells me you’re home for your half-term‚’ Sarah said helpfully.

David nodded. If the conversation in the car had been anything to go by, he might be home a little longer than that.