School for Love (17 page)

‘. . . it would have been better if I’d been in England, thousands of miles away. I’d have known less about it –
at least, that’s what I feel now. I did not know what to do, where to go—Then the doctor sent me up here. Cairo is a bad place for babies.’

Nikky nodded gently: ‘But in England, you have a home, you have parents. You are not a refugee.’

Mrs Ellis shrugged her shoulders: ‘I haven’t anything much. No home anyway. My father is in the regular army. My mother died years ago in India. The summer before the war my father was in Alex. He couldn’t get home so he arranged for me to come out to Egypt by boat. It was great fun. The boat was full of school children going out to their parents; it used to be called “the children’s boat”. We had the time of our lives. The grown-ups must have been driven mad by us. I loved Alex. I was fifteen and I met officers who were not much older than myself. I began to think I was grown-up. Then the war broke out and father was afraid to send me home, so I went to a finishing school full of Greeks and Egyptians – all stiff and correct and trying to be French. I loathed it. Two years later father was transferred to the Sudan; he’s there now. At that time things weren’t looking too good in the Middle East. There was one of those evacuations and father thought I’d better go home. It was fairly safe going round the Cape. I was given a passage straight away – another “children’s boat”, but I counted among the grown-ups this time.’ At this point, Mrs Ellis’s voice faded away. Felix let his eyelids fall comfortably over his eyes, but for curious moments he flickered into complete consciousness and caught phrases, ‘. . . a pathetic little thing,’ and ‘. . . suddenly the ship lurched over;’ ‘. . . a hellish row,’ and ‘the water icy cold.’

This was clearly a story about a shipwreck, but no
effort could keep him awake to hear it. He must have fallen asleep, for, a long time after, he was startled by Mrs Ellis saying: ‘Well, I helped with the canteens and the troops’ entertainments; then I got a job at G.H.Q. I had quite a time. But I found I got worried at the cinema – the news films, you know. If I saw a ship on fire or sinking, I was liable to make a nuisance of myself.’

‘Why?’ asked Felix, awake now, suddenly cold, but full of curiosity.

The others took no notice of him. Nikky said:

‘Then you got married.’ He sighed. ‘At least you have lived a little. For me – what? Waiting for the war to end. Then I return to my estate in Poland, then I am again a Count. . . .’

At that moment the door fell open and hit the wall. Miss Bohun stood there staring first at Nikky then at Mrs Ellis with a look of incredulous anger. When she noticed Felix, her expression softened slowly into its old exasperation. She strode into the room and switched off the reading lamp: ‘You must try to help me to save,’ she said.

As the others watched her, startled and silenced by her intrusion, she said with a defensive irritation: ‘I could see those two lights on as I crossed the wasteland. It really is too bad of you. . . .’ Then she swung round on Felix: ‘What is the matter with Felix?’ she said. ‘Why, the boy is half asleep. It’s long past his bedtime. I know I’m late, but really! I’m surprised at you, Mrs Ellis.
And
leaving the electric fire on downstairs. You ought to know better, Felix, if no one else does. And what are
you
doing up here Nikky? This doesn’t seem to me at all the thing. Of course, I’ve no objection to your making friends with the servants, Mrs Ellis – it shows a very democratic spirit –
but please don’t carry these friendships beyond the sitting-room. Now, Felix – to bed! Nikky – downstairs! Good-night, Mrs Ellis.’

Ushering the two males before her, Miss Bohun shut the door behind her with a smart slam.

Next morning when Felix came down to breakfast he was surprised to find Mrs Ellis sitting alone at the table. She was drinking tea.

He said at once as he sat down: ‘Wasn’t Nikky funny?’

‘Very funny,’ Mrs Ellis agreed in an abstracted way. She looked pale and gloomy, but Felix sighed with satisfaction as he contemplated the great diversity of life that, as in a pantomime transformation scene, was raising gauze after gauze for him. He said:

‘You know, I could never have guessed Nikky was so funny. It makes him much funnier somehow because I didn’t know.’ When Mrs Ellis said nothing he added: ‘And wasn’t Miss Bohun cross!’

‘She was damned insolent.’ Mrs Ellis’s sudden violence took Felix’s breath away. He was afraid she might be making up her mind to go.

When Miss Bohun came she shouted cheerfully from the bottom stair: ‘Everyone here. How nice. A family party.’ She looked at Mrs Ellis, who did not raise her head, then said: ‘Oh, yes,
I
know,’ and hurried out into the courtyard.

She came back with a little saucer on which sat a half-inch dice of butter. She placed this in front of
Mrs Ellis impressively: ‘I am giving you extra butter.’

Mrs Ellis, her elbows on the table, her cup held at her chin, stared at the butter and asked: ‘Why?’

Miss Bohun kept her mouth tightly shut as she sat down. There was a short silence before she said: ‘I would have spoken last night had you been alone. Actually, I was kept late talking to a nurse from the hospital – a very nice girl, one of our “Ever-Readies”. She needed advice and during our conversation she told me something – in confidence, of course – that I must say I at first could not believe.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Mrs Ellis.

‘That you are going to have a baby.’

Mrs Ellis, sipping her tea, made no reply.

‘Well, I was amazed. I realised, of course, when I came to think about it, that it must be true – I had noticed you were – well, altering in appearance, shall we say? But, really, I was amazed. I said: “You must be misinformed, Miss Tarkatian: if anyone would be likely to know, I would. After all I’m Mrs Ellis’s friend.”’

‘It is perfectly true,’ said Mrs Ellis without expression.

‘Well!’ said Miss Bohun, ‘I won’t say that I’m not a little hurt, but I thought to myself: I respect her reticence – and if she
is
– well, I must give her something extra; she needs it and it is my duty. There’s very little I can afford to give you, but I’ve decided to give you extra butter.’

Mrs Ellis, sipping her tea, murmured coldly: ‘You are very kind.’

‘I wish I could afford to give you a daily glass of milk, but, alas!’ Miss Bohun sighed, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Mrs Ellis put down her cup: ‘I was going to ask you – perhaps I could place an order for milk with your man?’

‘Oh!’ at first Miss Bohun seemed uncertain. ‘That would mean his calling every day.’ Then her tone changed: ‘But why not? You see, I sometimes give him half a piastre for calling, but you wouldn’t mind doing that, would you? I feel it pays to treat tradespeople well. The milk has to be boiled, of course, but the fire is alight anyway.’ As she talked her enthusiasm grew, for now she brought her hands together and let her voice soar: ‘Yes, what a good idea. I’ll tell Maria to speak to the man and order it.’ In her mounting enthusiasm she placed her hand on Mrs Ellis’s arm and said warmly: ‘And I want to tell you that I, for one, have no doubts at all – I’m
sure
it is your late husband’s baby.’

For a few seconds Mrs Ellis sat as though she had not heard this remark; she had lifted her cup again, but without drinking suddenly put it down and turned on Miss Bohun, frowning. Miss Bohun smiled and tried to pat her arm, but Mrs Ellis stood up and away out of her reach. She said quietly, without anger but as though making an interesting revelation: ‘I can only think, Miss Bohun, that you are mad.’

She went up the stairs. Miss Bohun flicked open her eyes to watch after her, then turned them, puzzled and pained, upon Felix. After a pause, she caught her breath and said: ‘Of course, she thinks I should not have spoken in front of you, Felix. I wasn’t thinking or I would have hesitated – but, dear me, what an exhibition! After all, you are quite a big boy – and it’s as well you should know about Mrs Ellis’s condition so you won’t keep dragging her out at night to cinemas, or wherever it is you go.’

‘Oh, I don’t think she minds my knowing; she told me herself.’

‘She told you?’ Miss Bohun paused, then said: ‘Heigh-ho! I seem to be the only person not in her confidence.’

Miss Bohun looked so upset that Felix attempted to mend the situation: ‘I’m sure she must have thought you knew, Miss Bohun. After all, that’s why she wants the whole house in the autumn.’

‘Did she tell you she’s taking the house in the autumn? Well, that’s far from certain. I’d rather you didn’t speak about it.’

‘Oh, I thought it was all settled.’

‘I don’t want to discuss it, Felix, if you don’t mind. I was quite ready to do Mrs Ellis a kindness if I could – but, dear me, it isn’t everyone nowadays that’s willing to have a baby in their house. I feel sorry for the poor thing – a widow and going to be a mother, it’s very sad – but I have to consider myself, as well, and you, too, my dear boy. I offered you a home. I know young mothers think the world should revolve round themselves and their offspring, but she can hardly expect to deprive you of your home.’

‘She said I could live here with her,’ said Felix eagerly.

‘She did, did she?’ Miss Bohun smiled a sour little smile. ‘So it’s all arranged! I’m afraid you don’t know this town, my dear boy. You are under my protection and I certainly could not let you involve yourself in a situation that might lead to gossip.’

Felix was not clear what Miss Bohun meant by this remark so did not contest it, but out of his disappointment, he cried: ‘But this isn’t fair. You promised Mrs Ellis . . .’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Miss Bohun interrupted irritably, ‘the autumn is a long way off and many things may happen by then. Mrs Ellis and I will have to have a nice long chat about it all, but, meanwhile, Felix, I want you to promise not to discuss it, either with her or anyone else. If I find you discussing my affairs behind my back in this way, then I’ll just have to ask Mrs Ellis to go.’

‘All right,’ Felix said ungraciously and left the table. As he went along the landing passage he heard Mrs Ellis sobbing inside her room. He tapped the door and whispered her name.

‘What is it?’ she asked from inside.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

After a pause he asked with deep interest: ‘I say, do you really think Miss Bohun is mad?’

‘Oh, go away,’ said Mrs Ellis, and Felix had no choice but to go.

A bleak atmosphere, like that which preceded the going of Mr Jewel, haunted the meals, but now it was not Miss Bohun who controlled the discomfort. Mrs Ellis had shut herself off in a silence that seemed to put Miss Bohun completely at a loss. Once or twice, perhaps attempting to test the surface of this frost, Miss Bohun had repeated, tentatively and unconvincingly, remarks like: ‘Well, here we are! Just a happy family!’ or ‘One day, Mrs Ellis, we really must have that cosy chat in my room,’ but Mrs Ellis made no sign that she had heard. When she did not come in to meals, Miss Bohun would sometimes say to Felix, meaningfully:

‘Mrs Ellis seems to be sulking about something. So
childish of her. It spoils everything, we could be such a happy family.’

Felix tried to get Mrs Ellis to tell him why she had so suddenly retired into silence and anger, but she refused to discuss it. He did, however, hear from her the story of the half-litre of milk that Maria ordered for her and placed in a jug in her room. On the first day the jug contained three glasses of milk, on the second only two and a half, and after that never more than one and a half glasses or two. As the weather got warmer it was often sour. One day Mrs Ellis asked Maria why the quantity of the milk varied and why fresh milk so quickly became sour. Maria, who covered her lips with her fingers in her embarrassment, answered only the second half of her question.

‘Ah, it is the man – so dirty; he will not wash his cans.’

‘I see. And why is it that half a litre of milk one day makes three glasses and the next only two or even one and a half?’

Maria, after a long silence, shrugged her shoulders.

‘I suppose there is a reason?’

Maria seemed to find the word she needed, for she said suddenly: ‘I do not divide it.’

‘Why divide it? Isn’t mine bought separately?’

Maria shrugged her shoulders again, at a loss because questioned so sharply. She said, stammering a little: ‘Miss Bohun said she get extra for the house. Now she gets every day and she divide it.’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘Then to-morrow tell the man I want no more. I cannot drink sour milk.’

At the table Mrs Ellis behaved as though she were alone. One day she picked up her fork, looked closely at it, then pulled the edge of the table-cloth between its prongs.

Miss Bohun tut-tutted and said apologetically: ‘I suppose Maria’s using a dirty dish-cloth again. I wish I had time to keep an eye on her, not that it would do much good. She’s old and I think it’s our duty to consider the old, don’t you?’

Mrs Ellis stared before her, blankly unhearing.

Miss Bohun would often chatter on, ignoring this lack of response, but a sort of plaintive shrillness, that Felix found painful would come into her tone. Although neither Miss Bohun nor Mrs Ellis considered his presence, he was probably the most discomforted person at the table. This caused him at times to break into the silence or into Miss Bohun’s monologue with a remark not only irrelevant but irritating to Miss Bohun, as when he said suddenly: ‘My mother had the softest skin in the world.’

She snapped back: ‘How do you know?’ and Felix, nonplussed, felt he had achieved nothing. But even if he had some success its eventual result would be unfortunate, as when Miss Bohun asked him:

‘Well, Felix, what do you think of the sardines to-day?’

Felix, who had been wondering what he was eating, replied with dishonest enthusiasm: ‘They’re very good.’

At which Miss Bohun cried out in triumph: ‘There, you see, you could not tell the difference. I forgot the sardines to-day so I got Maria to slice some aubergine, dip the slïces in batter and fry those instead. They
are
good, aren’t they? And such an inexpensive substitute.’