Not That Sort of Girl (12 page)

‘Is Mrs Farthing pleased?’

‘She should be. Of course she is. Here, come this way into the house, by the side door.’ Ned led the way. ‘When you get to know the house you shall help me decide what needs doing to it. This is the kitchen. Hullo, Mrs Farthing, this is Mrs Peel.’

Rose and Mrs Farthing shook hands. ‘How do you do,’ said Rose.

Mrs Farthing, thin, wiry, tall and energetic, stood defensively by a kitchen table scrubbed pale. Rose could imagine Mrs Farthing’s bony hands wielding the scrubbing brush which had worn the grain of the wood into almost parallel lines. At the moment Mrs Farthing made show of making pastry; Rose felt she intended to be found at work. The legitimate occupier. Newcomer keep out. ‘A lovely kitchen.’ Rose genuinely liked it.

‘We must modernise it,’ said Ned, looking round, ‘get advice.’

‘I expect Mrs Farthing can tell you what needs to be done, she would be the person to know.’ She had noticed the older woman flush.

Mrs Farthing did not relax. ‘Our cottage kitchen is as we wanted it, our Mr Peel did that for us.’

If she snubs him as hard as that, there will be out-on-your-ear trouble. ‘Do you have a cat in your cottage? A kitchen should have a cat; there should be a cat here, shouldn’t there, Ned?’ Rose burbled nervously.

‘Do you want a cat?’ asked Ned doubtfully.

‘We have our cat in the cottage, Miss, expecting kittens, Miss.’

(Another one calling her Miss; she’s a married woman, I made her so last night. Ned tingled in recollection.)

‘Would you let me have one, or two, perhaps, to keep each other company?’

‘Yes, Miss, if you like, Miss. Farthing was going to drown …’

‘Oh, no!’

‘Steady on, I said I’d let you have a dog, we’ll be eaten out of house and …’

‘I love cats. My mother never let me have one. They earn their keep, don’t they, Mrs Farthing?’

Mrs Farthing’s mouth semi-smiled. ‘Of course, Miss.’

Ned siphoned air up his nose, as Rose had known her father do when particularly irritated. (I bet her cat is fat as butter, and no great mouser.) ‘Show me the house,’ she said quickly. ‘Come on, Ned. I want to see everything, the pictures, furniture, silver, glass, rugs, the lot.’

Mrs Farthing watched them go. ‘She may do,’ she said to her husband coming into the kitchen with a trug of vegetables. ‘Wipe your feet.’

‘Ah,’ said Farthing, ‘give her one of they honeycombs for her tea.’

‘Oh, my,’ said his wife sarcastically, ‘charmed already!’

‘Makes a change,’ said Farthing, kicking off his boots, ‘we must learn to call him sir, if we want him happy.’ Farthing was sardonic.

‘And her Mrs?’

Husband and wife doubled up in wheezy mirth.

‘I shall be alone in the house when you are gone, with the Farthings in their cottage, just me with my dog and my cats,’ said Rose.

‘Shall you be nervous?’ Ned was uneasy.

‘I like being alone.’ (Surely Mylo will be here sometimes, if only in my thoughts.) ‘What is this room?’ Rose opened a door.

‘The drawing-room. When you have the lay of the house, I want to decide what rooms to keep open. When the Ministry people move into the back, they will have their own entrance, but everything from that part of the house must be stored. So Rose, pay attention, there really isn’t time to look at the view, this is not an ordinary honeymoon …’ He let irritation escape.

‘No.’ Rose turned back from the window. ‘It’s not.’ She stopped looking out at the garden which she would grow to love. (He has already decided what rooms to keep in use, where to store the furniture.) ‘What’s the matter, Ned?’

‘I want you to like it here, it’s yours as much as mine, you know it is.’ He caught hold of her and held her.

‘No, it’s not.’ She drew away.

Ned curbed his irritation. I am not doing this right. She doesn’t know what this house means to me, she has no idea of the sanctity of inheritance. ‘It’s ours, dear, and will be our children’s.’

Rose turned back towards the garden which enchanted through the window; unbelievably she had not envisaged children (why must he call me ‘dear’?) ‘Oh, Ned.’ She looked away.

‘I had so hoped you would like it.’

‘I do. I do. Give me time. It’s such a lot to take in. Start telling me. Who, for instance, is the privileged gent above the fireplace watching us now?’

‘Augustus Napley. He married Angelica Peel. They did not get on. My uncle moved her matching portrait into the dining-room, said they looked much happier apart. My uncle was inclined to be whimsical, a fanciful old man.’ Ned was disparaging of his relation.

‘I would have liked him.’

‘Maybe you would. Shall I go on?’

‘Do.’

Ned led her about the house explaining, naming, and describing his treasures. Rose stopped listening, content to wear an intelligent expression; later, by herself, she would get to know the house, develop her own rapport.

After lunch they strolled across the fields to the farm so that Ned could introduce her to his farming tenant and his wife. ‘The Hadleys have farmed here for years; you will not go short of milk, butter, eggs and cream.’

‘How you harp on about food.’

‘I thought you might like to send me hampers when I’m with the regiment,’ said Ned huffily.

‘Ensuring your popularity.’

Ned looked at her sharply. He had not realised that she was so, so un-meek.

The Hadleys, John and Tina, were both large and friendly, their several children friendly also. Ned talked farming with John Hadley; Rose saw that he was at ease with them, quite knowledgeable on farming. He expanded in the farmhouse atmosphere and made earthy jokes which made the Hadleys laugh, but not Rose; she did not understand them. Watching Ned with the Hadleys she wondered whether they were as bucolic as they seemed, or putting it on to please Ned. When they left, the Hadleys told her to come over whenever she pleased, there would always be a welcome.

Walking back to Slepe, Rose said, ‘I like them, but they are not as interesting as the Farthings. The Hadleys are open, the Farthings closed.’

‘I can’t say I find the Farthings likeable, but they do their job; everything is above board at the farm; the Farthings are different.’

‘That’s what I like,’ said Rose.

‘I hope you will not be bored when you are on your own.’

‘Of course not. I shall find plenty to do.’

‘You are only twenty-five miles from your parents.’

‘Yes.’

‘And five from the Thornbys.’

‘Yes.’

‘And ten from the Malones.’

‘I’m not madly sociable, Ned.’

‘I shall be able to get home whenever I get leave, so long, that is, as we are in England.’

‘Of course.’

‘There is talk, strictly between ourselves, of France.’

‘When?’

‘Soonish.’

‘France!’ (Mylo is in France. That parcel …) ‘How soon?’

‘Any time now, I fear. Damn, who is that over there in the drive waving?’

‘Emily Thornby.’

‘One would have credited her with more tact,’ exclaimed Ned, furious, ‘than to call on the first day of our honeymoon.’

‘You did say it was no ordinary honeymoon,’ said Rose unkindly.

‘Hullo,’ shouted Emily, advancing. ‘I was just passing, thought I’d stop and see how you are getting on.’

‘Very well, thanks,’ Ned said with chill.

‘I shan’t stay,’ said Emily laughing, ‘I can see I am not welcome.’ Her eyes danced brightly from Rose to Ned and back to Ned.

‘Come in and have a drink,’ suggested Rose.

‘Thanks. I’ve our wedding present in the car. Nicholas and I were late buying it, couldn’t make up our minds or raise the cash. Like to fetch it from the car, Ned?’

Ned moved off towards Emily’s car, grudging every stride.

‘Eventually we managed to charge it to Mrs Malone’s account,’ said Emily, grinning. ‘It’s all right, she’ll never notice.’ She watched Ned’s back. ‘How are you? What’s marriage like?’ Emily lowered her voice an octave. ‘Do you think you can manage?’ Her eyes swept over Rose from head to toe, then up again.

‘What’s the present?’ asked Rose, feeling herself flush.

‘A lamp from Peter Jones, Fortnums wouldn’t charge to Mrs Malone. It’s a Tiffany copy guaranteed to give a soft glow. Nicholas tried it, it’s quite sexy. Are you all right?’ she persisted.

‘Of course I am,’ said Rose, stung into replying.

Emily made a moue and giggled. ‘That’s good.’ She was watching Ned’s return with a cardboard box in his arms. ‘We hoped you would be, Nicholas and I …’

Ned put the box down beside Rose. ‘I’ll walk you to your car, Emily.’

‘Oh,’ said Emily. ‘Rose has just suggested a drink.’

‘Some other time,’ Ned had her by the elbow, ‘not today.’

‘Oho,’ said Emily, tossing her narrow nose upwards, ‘so that’s how it is.’

‘That’s right.’ Ned opened Emily’s car door and started pushing her in.

‘What’s she like then, Ned?’

Ned smacked Emily’s bottom hard.

‘Ouch!’ cried Emily.

‘Be off,’ said Ned, good humoured, and slammed the car door.

‘That’s better,’ murmured Mrs Farthing, watching from a window, ‘maybe he will do.’

‘What did you want to do that for?’ asked Rose as Emily drove off.

‘She had it coming,’ said Ned, rubbing his hands together. ‘I quite hurt my hand, she has a hard bottom.’

‘I thought men like you never hit women,’ said Rose, wondering why the curious little scene with Emily disturbed her.

‘It depends on the woman.’ Ned closed the subject.

‘I know I am very naïve,’ said Rose.

‘Bless you,’ said Ned. He put his hand, which still stung, around Rose’s waist and drew her towards the house. ‘Come indoors, it’s getting chilly. Your naïvety is part of your charm,’ he said.

As she walked towards the house, Rose wondered whether in similar circumstances Mylo would have smacked Emily. I do not know why Ned should want to hit her. She is irritating, but surely—and would Mylo? In the hall Rose stood still and suddenly she shivered. I must stop thinking of Mylo, stop making comparisons. It isn’t fair. I have promised Ned. Promised. She was hit by a wave of anguish. I must keep Mylo separate, or I shall go mad.

‘What’s the matter, Rose, are you cold? Are you tired? Why do you shiver? A goose, is it a goose?’ Ned, unnerved by Rose’s distraught expression, tried a joke.

Rose shook her head. ‘No goose,’ she said, ‘no grave. It’s nothing, perhaps I need a jersey.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Let me take it easy, Ned. I hadn’t realised how much there is to this marriage business. Your house, your possessions, your people …’

‘Well, dear …’

‘I will work it out, I will, I won’t let you down.’ Rose held her hand out to Ned. ‘I am being silly.’

‘Yes,’ said Ned, puzzled, ‘you are.’

She wondered whether he was being obtuse on purpose, whether he was trying to protect her as already she found herself protecting him. Last night, she thought, I tried to pretend it was Mylo; it didn’t work. There is no way being in bed with Ned could ever resemble being with Mylo. He is gone anyway, she told herself bitterly, all that talk of phoning was just eye-wash.

‘I think I’ll have a bath and warm up,’ she said.

‘You do that. Then come and join me in a drink.’ Ned moved towards the drinks in the drawing-room. We must shut up this room, it’s too big, he thought, stack the furniture, use the old man’s library for the duration. He let his mind snake through the rooms, deciding what furniture to move, what to store, which rooms to keep in use. He poured himself a drink, wandered back into the hall, shouted up the stairs, ‘Don’t take too long, I need you with me.’ Listened for Rose’s faint answer, wandered slowly back to the fireplace. I need to imprint my house on Rose, he thought as he stood listening for her return, but all he heard was the mocking clack of jackdaws coming down the chimney. He struck a match and bent to light the fire. ‘That’ll put paid to you.’ He watched the smoke curl up.

T
HE FARTHINGS WATCHED NED
enjoy his honeymoon with detachment. It amused them to observe the satisfaction he derived fitting Rose in among his property. He manipulated her with the same care that he lavished on the Sheraton desk, the sofa table, the Regency commodes, the sofa, armchairs, bookshelves and rugs with which he furnished the room that had been his uncle’s library, moving and removing until he was satisfied that each piece was in an appropriate position.

He led Rose about, showing her every room, satisfying himself that she belonged in it, then walking her through his fields, showing her the boundaries of his property, bonding her to his land.

Just as they had noticed him adopt with his uniform a military persona, so, surrounded by his inherited possessions, they watched him cherish them and with them his appendage wife, making complete his role as landed gentleman. For a man who had until lately scarcely put foot outside London, they granted that Ned did not do too badly.

It entertained the Farthings inordinately when Ned took an almost womanly interest in his household, making lists of stores which could be hoarded prior to rationing and probable shortages, ordering, besides groceries, large stocks of coal and anthracite, arranging with the Hadleys to stockpile logs for winter fires. He even, much to Mrs Farthing’s delight, checked and criticised Rose’s meagre trousseau, telling her that she must as soon as maybe get herself more warm clothes, thick sweaters, trousers, fur boots to overcome the absence of decent heating at Slepe, a draughty house with several outside doors.

‘Thinks of everything,’ said Farthing, laconic.

‘Grocery list as long as your arm,’ said his wife, extending her arm in sardonic gesture.

‘Knows it all,’ said Farthing.

‘Not quite,’ said Mrs Farthing and waited until Ned had come back with Rose from depleting the stocks in the market town, to suggest a fresh list of stores, without which she maintained the war could not be weathered. Olive oil, cans of golden syrup, rice and sugar.

None too pleased, Ned took Rose on a second foray and was even less pleased when she, entering into the spirit of things, added to the list lavatory paper, candles, dog food in tins, and Roget et Gallet bath soap.