Mrs De Winter (36 page)

But there were no estate workers here, apart from real farmers and their men who were gradually becoming our tenants, and we did not have teams of servants, I had Dora and Ned, and the chance of a girl from the village or Mrs Peck, if I really needed them. Cobbett’s Brake was not Manderley, it was not grand at all, it was loved and shabby, and old and beautiful, it did not belong to half the county.

I went out and climbed the slope and sat on the grass, looking down at it. Mrs Danvers had only darkened it briefly,

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and now it lay in the light again, given wholly back to me.

I began to make plans for the party reluctantly, because I could not think of any more reasons to resist Maxim’s idea. But as the days passed, and I went several times to see Bunty and twice, she came to me, I began to take pleasure in it, it became fun, a challenge. It would be my party after all.

It was to be a garden party, in the later part of an afternoon. There would be tables, as many as I could find or borrow, set out under the trees, on the terrace, on the lawn, and the drawing room and the small sitting room in the house would be open too, older people could take their tea and sit comfortably in the coolness — for it would be hot, I was sure of that - the long, hot, golden days went drifting on and no end to them seemed in sight. But I would not only ask older people, I said to Bunty. ‘I want the young — will you ask your girls and ask them to bring friends — I’ll get Ned to look at the old tennis court, he can mow it and see if he can mend the net, and they can play croquet, too, I found an old set in the cellar - I’ll clean it up. I want there to be young people laughing and enjoying it all too.’

There would be tea laid out in the kitchen and under the sunshade at the side of the house, a good, old fashioned, proper tea, which people expected, sandwiches and cakes and scones and fruit bread, and raspberries and cream. Later, for the people who lingered, enjoying the last of the late sunshine, there would be drinks.

The only decorations I planned were as many flowers as I could put in jugs and vases and bowls on all the tables, and everywhere in the house. Bunty promised to bring what she could, and so did Dora and Ned, and they would be simple,

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country flowers, not stiff, false, florists’ arrangements.

‘I must say, I think if s tremendous of you,’ Bunty said. Her face was beaming and she was adding names to a list, as they occurred to her — I was relying on her almost totally, to provide us with the right guests.

We haven’t had a party hereabouts since, oh, before the war, if you don’t count all the usual harvest homes and that sort of country thing. It was when the Kirkley girl got married, the last big do, and there was a dance in the old tithe barn, and they rang the bells at midnight! I should think there’ll be great excitement — you are good.’

So no one thought it was only our duty, then, they would be grateful and happy to come, but it was not that we were going to a huge amount of expense and trouble because the county said it was no more than was expected of us, Cobbetr’s Brake was not Manderley and no one thought anything about the de Winters here. ‘You were right,’ I said to Maxim later. ‘I’m glad you thought of a party.’

‘Good.’ He did not look up from his book.

‘I’m still surprised, that’s all. You were so worried — people would ask questions — bring — bring things up —’

Tes.’

‘No one has.’

‘No.’

I wandered away. I could not reach him, it was a pointless conversation.

But I would enjoy the party, I must. It would be the beginning of things, I said.

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And so it seemed. The weather held, we worked the whole of the day in the sun, Dora and her sister, Mrs Peck, Ned. We carried out tables and chairs borrowed from the village hall, and set them up, and spread freshly laundered cloths, flowers stood in buckets and bowls in every sink, huge sheaves of chrysanthemums, grasses, beech leaves, the last of the roses. Everyone was cheerful, laughing and making silly jokes, everyone wanted it to be a success, and I was in the midst of them, asking for this, suggesting that, doing things with them, they came to me to ask what was wanted, how something should be done. I saw the point of it all, as I had never done with anything at Manderley.

Maxim spent part of the morning away from the house, but just before lunch, which would be cold, a salad, he came to find me in the garden. Tou look pleased.’

I pushed the hair out of my eyes. ‘It’s fun,’ I said, Tm enjoying it so much. Do you mind?’

I looked up at him. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’

It was there, in his eyes, but I could not tell what.

‘It will be all right,’ I said. ‘Everyone will be kind.’

‘Of course.’

‘Maxim.’

He touched the back of his hand lightly against my face. What was it? What? I took his hand and held it there. I did not want the shadows falling between us.

‘Should I put another trestle up on the terrace there, Mrs

de Winter? Dora says the kitchen is spilling over, just about.’

We were caught up in the party again, the day had

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its own momentum.

And after all, it was worth it, it was the most beautiful day, I thought, walking round just before it all began, it would be perfect. The sun was still warm, but there was a gentleness about it now, the midday glare was softened, when I went across the garden under the trees, beneath the rose arch, the grass sprang to the touch of my feet where Ned had mowed it lightly, releasing a faint, sweet, nostalgic smell.

Everything was expectant, as though a play were about to begin. Everything was untouched, undisturbed. The cloths hung in folds, the chairs against them, the croquet mallets and tennis balls were set out, waiting for games to start. I went through the kitchen garden gate and out under the trees of the nut walk where the shadows were dappled and when I lifted up my hand to move aside a branch, the light played like water to and fro on the leafy ground. Ahead of me, I saw the green countryside and the church spire, framed in the last arch, and I rested in it, I felt myself let go of some last nervousness and worry inside myself as I let out a breath. I realised that I was excited, like a child. Nothing would go wrong, there would be no dreadful mistakes, they would all come and we would welcome them, and so would the house and the garden. We would give them all such pleasure.

In a moment, I must go back, in a moment, the first of the cars, voices, people. It would begin. But just now, I waited, in the quietness under the nut trees, and no one came to find me, no one was concerned that I was there. If I ran away now, I thought suddenly, no one would notice, it would all take place as planned, without me. But that was not true, as it had been so true of the ball at Manderley. There, I

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had been incidental to everything, there, I had had no place, I had not mattered. Here, I was at the centre.

This was mine.

From far away, I heard a voice, calling, the chink of plates, but even then, I waited, I did not move, only stood, holding the still moment closely to myself, wanting the world to stop here, just exactly here. But then, glancing round, I saw the children, coming quietly under the nut trees towards me, holding out their hands, faces shining with expectation. ‘Come with us,’ they said. ‘Come on now.’

And so I went, turning my back upon the distant countryside and the silver spire, under the nut trees and through the gate, into the garden, where the people had begun to arrive.

Whenever I have remembered it, during all the years since, I remember a day of delight, perfect in every way, until the end came. So many people, so much laughter and talk in the sun, so many faces turned happily to one another, and to us; and the young people who had come with the Butterleys hit the tennis balls anywhere, and ran to rescue them, after they had gone sailing through the gaps in the old wire. I remember the toe of ball on racquet, and the heavier clunk of the croquet strikes, and little ripples of applause. The sun shone, and moved, and a violet shadow crept over the slopes, but we were all in the light and would be so for hours yet.

And suddenly, easily, Maxim and I came together and I thought that nothing had been wrong, nothing, it had all been my worry and fantasy. We moved among them

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separately, welcoming, talking, laughing, being introduced, but every now and again, were pulled together, and walked across the grass with linked hands or arms, for a moment, and there were no shadows, nothing but love and easiness lay between us.

There was a moment I can look at now, whenever I choose, it is as clear as a picture in a frame in front of me, a moment when we stood together and I saw them all around us, poised, frozen in time. Dora coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with white china, Ned following, carrying a heavy, steaming jug of hot water, a woman setting down a cup, a man lifting his hand to pick a dead head off the climbing rose, Bunty Butterley standing at the back of the tennis court, holding a racquet, threatening to play, her head thrown back in laughter. Maxim is smiling, holding a lighter to someone’s cigarette, I can see the exact curve of his neck.

The grass is pale on the surface, hay coloured where it is so dry, and the house rises up behind us all, and the chimneys, the buttress on the far side, the tables and windows and rose red walls, all of a piece, setting off the play which is being acted in the garden.

The boys are somewhere, too, playing hide and seek, chasing balls, the little one under a table, not far away from me. They are only just out of sight. But what I see most clearly when I look at it now, is myself, at the heart of it, in my cream linen dress, what I remember most vividly of all is the feeling I had, of enjoyment and love and pride and deep, contented pleasure. I feel it again, from far away, like an old scent caught in a bottle, and opened again. When I catch the

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feeling faintly, I am back in that place, on that last, perfect day, before it was all, all so quickly over.

Someone moved, the kaleidoscope was shaken, and the bright pieces fell out in a different pattern. The sun caught one of the windows and the glass flared and flamed incandescent coppery red.

Bunty was a few paces from me, so that I heard her voice quite clearly. ‘Good heavens! Old Lady Beddow’s just arriving. Now that was a long shot on my part. She almost never goes anywhere nowadays but she likes to be kept in touch. You really can count it a successful party!’

I suppose that I knew, even in the split second before I looked up and across to where they were coming very slowly under the archway into the garden, though I had not known her name and the address had been unfamiliar when I copied it from Bunty’s list — but then, most of them were.

I knew, yet for a split second, to see her shocked me, I was no longer afraid, and yet the sight of the tall, black figure moving slowly nearer gave me the old shudder, the old hollow, helpless sensation, it would never finally leave me. But I knew also quite surely that what I had said to her in her sitting room that afternoon had been true. I saw her for what she was, a peculiar, old, sad, crazy woman who had lost touch with reality, and had no final power over me in any way.

But Maxim did not know that. Maxim did not know that I had seen her, it was how her presence here would affect him, what he would think and feel, that was my only anxiety now, and it preoccupied me completely.

I saw her black shadow fall across the sunlit grass.

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Maxim was coming from the opposite side. I dared not look at his face, I knew what it would be like, a tight, white lipped mask, polite, controlled, showing nothing. One or two people were glancing around, and where she stood, with the old, old woman clinging to her arm, there seemed to be a space, a circle within which it was silent and still and cold.

I rushed to pull out a chair, to clear things from a table. ‘Good afternoon, Mr de Winter. I have come with Lady Beddow — she was very anxious to meet you. She knew the house long ago. Perhaps you could speak up, she does not hear very clearly.’ She glanced around, and I felt her eyes on my face, staring, gleaming from the hollow sockets in the skull. I saw amusement in them.

‘Good afternoon, madam. How very pleasant and how nice the garden is looking, though of course, a lot of the flowers have gone over since I was last here.’

I felt Maxim stiffen, but he would not look at me. He had taken the old woman’s arm and was settling her into the chair, saying this or that polite thing, while Mrs Danvers stood, poised and black as a crow, hands together in front of her. I fled to the kitchen, to get hot water, fresh tea, threw food on to a plate anyhow, my hands trembling so violently that I dropped it and had to begin again. I was not afraid of anything except Maxim’s reaction.

‘Are you all right Mrs de Winter? You look so white — has anything happened? Here, let me do that, don’t you worry.’ Dora was bending, clearing the mess cheerfully.

Thank you - I’m sorry, Dora — sorry — I was — it’s nothing ‘

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‘You are honoured, if that Lady Beddow has come.’

‘Yes — yes, so I’ve been told.’

‘Never goes out much at all, hasn’t for years. There, that5s all clear. Let me do that, you’ll scald yourself on the boiling water. Sit down a minute, you’ve tired yourself, that’s what it is, all that work, getting ready and then the excitement, and the sun. Let me pour you a hot cup of tea and you just stay here a minute. They’re getting on fine, they won’t miss you.’

I sat down, as she said, grateful for her easy, friendly concern, letting her chatter on as she passed out tea and rearranged fresh food on plates, and after a moment, put my head down on my arms and rested it there. She was right, I was tired, but the exhausted, weak sensation in my limbs and the odd light headedness had nothing to do with tiredness, they came through shock and dread and foreboding. I wondered vaguely what Maxim was doing, saying, most of all, what he was thinking. Nothing else mattered.