Sister of the Housemaster (11 page)

Just as she finished it, the telephone bell
rang.

“
Hallo,
”
said Patrick.
“
Ah. Ah yes, how are you?
...
Are you indeed?
...
Well, no, I
’
m afraid that isn
’
t possible, I already have an engagement for this evening
...
No, I couldn
’
t possibly get out of it, I
’
m sorry
...
”
Ingrid began making frantic signs to him that he could get out of it, but he turned his back on her, and went on talking.
“
Tomorrow? Not until late afternoon. I
’
m afraid
...
Oh yes? ... It didn
’
t matter at all
.
As a matter
o
f fact, she sent them to me. Yes. Yes. Until tomorrow then
...
Good bye.
”

“
You see,
”
said Ingrid,
“
you needn
’
t have had dinner alone after all.
”

“
I didn
’
t know that.
”

“
It isn
’
t too late now. I don
’
t mind at all.
”

“
I do,
”
said Patrick.
“
Let us go.
”

Ingrid was sure it was Pamela who had telephoned, and that she had referred to the matter of the cuff links; but, in that case, why had Patrick been so summary? Why had he stuck to the last-minute engagement with herself? Pur
e
politeness, she supposed.

They went to
a
quiet and beautiful restaurant, very full, which Patrick said he liked because the chairs were so comfortable, and
“
when I am going to spend hours talking to somebody over dinner, I like the chair
s
to be good as well as the food.
”
Ingrid, wondering what they could possibly talk about for hours, swept along on the current of events, interested and surprised, sat opposite him at the small table, and allowed him to choose an ambrosial meal.

“
Now,
”
he said,
“
talk to me. Tell me all the news. How is Sylvia
?”

“
Improving a little all the time. The doctor is pleased with her. Her leg is really healing now.
”

“
And Arnold?
”

“
The same as always. Arnold doesn
’
t change.
”

“
And everything goes on as usual in your Cathedral backwater?
”

“
I think everything goes on much as usual, but I certainly shouldn
’
t call it a backwater.
”

“
No? What would you call it?
”

“
And I think,
”
said Ingrid, as if he had not spoken,
“
that you ate very short-sighted to call it a backwater.
”

“
Now tell me why.
”

“
Because it is
—
the school, I mean, not the Cathedral, but you also really meant the school a place where something is being built all the time, just as your aircraft factories are. Aircraft, of course, are comparatively new, and so there is a great fuss and ballyhoo over new ones; and I
daresay your factory is a great busy place, full of noise, full of bustle, and activity; and everybody is acutely aware of being part of these
modern
times. And you sit apart, in a sacrosanct atmosphere, giving thousands of people the ideas to work on. And when all is done, you have pr
o
duced a beautiful thing, but an inanimate thing, a thing of metal and wires with no independent life of its own
...
Now Arnold
—
and Laurence
—help to ru
n
a
factory too, but quite a different kind. They are helping to build character. They take raw material, and by education and precept and example, they create something too; but because it has been going on for hundreds of years, there isn
’
t any ballyhoo about it Arnold, especially, puts all
o
f himself into building, and when he is done, the beautiful thing he has created h
a
s got an independent life of its o
wn
. In fact, it is Arnold
’
s creation that will probably be the person to get the most out of your creation; Arnold
’
s that will be the master of yours
...
Well, you told me to talk. I certainly
ha
ve talked. But you see, you shouldn
’
t have called his job a backwater.
”

“
How loyally you spring to his defence. I wish I had somebody to spring as loyally to mine
.”

“
He doesn
’
t need a defence.
”

“
But you supplied one
—
and for Laurence, too, of course. All right, Ingrid, I apologize. I don
’
t want to quarrel this evening. It was stupid to
ca
ll the school a backwater; but what you
should have realized was that it was a lazy way of appreciating the peace and serenity of all those old stone buildings, and the Cathedral.
”

“
I believe you
’
re just wriggling out, but I won
’
t quarrel.
”

“
That
’
s a good girl. You do love taking me down a peg or two, and I can
’
t imagine why. You
look so compassionate and, so pretty, but you
’
re always severe with me.
”

“
It
’
s probably good for you
—
everybody else probably spoils you.
”

“
Good heavens,
”
said Patrick.
“
What a misconception! The whole week I have been fighting grimly
—
a very David against the Goliath of big business
—
I told you, facing the Inquisition, and you think that people spoil me.
”

“
Why all this fighting?
”
asked Ingrid.
“
Why the Inquisition?
”

“
A new design
—
my particular baby
—
which I have been working on for a long time, and which nobody else
—
at first
—
thought practicable. Now they all think it practicable, if not practical, and it is my job to convince them that it will reduce seat cost considerably, and is really quite a step forward.
”

“
Seat cost?
”
queried Ingrid.

“
The important thing, of course, in all civil aviation. The bigger the aircraft, and the more people they can carry, and the more economically they can be operated, the lower the seat cost. Well, having begun to reconcile them to the possibility that it would reduce seat cost eventually, I was confronted with the problem of its crashworthiness.
”

“
I
’
m very ignorant,
”
said Ingrid.
“
What do you call its crashworthiness?
”

He thought for a moment.

“
I should say the ability to get people out alive.
”

“
That must be an important thing too.
”

“
Yes, one of the most important.
”

She was interested, more than interested, fascinated, by the glimpse he began to give her of his world. They certainly forgot to quarrel. They almost forgot to notice what they were eating, although Ingrid had an idea she had drunk more
wine than she was accustomed to. They rose to leave, only to discover that the whole evening had flown by.

“
No time to do anything else,
”
said Patrick,

“
No,
”
agreed Ingrid,

“
Except to walk a little in this fine spring
n
ight.
”

“
That would be nice,
”
she said.

Bo they walked in the quieter streets, and along Birdcage Walk, and same out to face Big Ben, and to walk on to Westminster Bridge and watch the dark water flowing swiftly underneath.
T
hen Ingrid said she must go, or her friends would be kept up for her, and Patrick accompanied her in a
ta
xi to their address. In the taxi he held her hand, but when she withdrew it, he made no protest.

“
I must have bored you stiff,
”
he said,
“
talking shop.
”

“
No, indeed. I was most interested.
”

“
A pity I can
’
t see you tomorrow. I have to see Pamela tomorrow.
”

“
I am quite booked up for tomorrow, anyway.
”

“
And then I shall have to go back to my beautiful inanimate creations, while you go back to your live ones. I won
’
t go so far as to call the average schoolboy a beautiful creation. And to your young man, who, I suppose, might possibly come into the category of beautiful. Ah well, Ingrid, it was a very pleasant oasis in the desert.
”
The taxi stopped, and Patrick helped her to alight. He kept the taxi, and went away in it as soon as Ingrid had gone into the house. As Ingrid went up the stairs towards the upper flat, she thought:
“
An oasis in the desert. An oasis in the desert. What a strange thing to say.
”
His life could not possibly be a desert, filled, as it was, with past glories, present accomplishment and
future promise. It dawned on her that it had been a flattering thing to say, complimentary to herself. It dawned on her further that she had been an easy victim to his charm tonight. He
h
ad smiled, he had looked a little tired, he had said he was dejected and limp, and she had fallen for it at once. She hardly knew whether to laugh or to be indignant, and then decided to laugh,
“
At least,
”
she thought,
“
I do recognize when I have been overcome, which is more, probably, than all the others do.
”
Once more in what she would have called her right
m
i
n
d she went in to greet her friends.

CHAPTER SIX

MISS EVERTON was in one of the dormitory locker rooms, sorting a large pile of linen which had kept the sewing maids busy all the afternoon, and putting the mended clothes into the appropriate lockers. There were a few boys whose clothes scarcely ever needed mending, and others who went through socks and underwear with incredible speed
. And others, like young Robert
s-
Mills, who just could not avoid long rents, and who went about considerably patched. Arbuthnot, Cowdray, Fielding, Jones
...
She came across socks so badly cobbled that she stopped to examine them further. That was Mrs. Hurring, the new girl. She was a young married woman, who came on two afternoons a week to do this mending, to earn herself some pocket money, and to gossip with other sewing maids, but if she could not do better than this, she would have to go. Such cobbled-up socks, such open-work da
rn
s on underwear that it would need doing again in a week
—
that wouldn
’
t do. She would have to speak to her next time about it.

A knock sounded on the door.

“
Come in,
”
she called, expecting one of the
boys.

It was Laurence who came
in, and it was so long since he had sought her out that she was surprised. There had bee
n
a time, shortly after his arrival at the school, when he had shown a predilection for her company. They had taken walks together, occasionally seen a film together, been very friendly; but that had stopped since Ingrid came. She felt, however, that he still liked her, and she greeted him with a warm smile.

“
I
’
ve almost finished this,
”
she said.
“
Just a moment, and we will go into my sitting-room.
”
She disposed of the remaining clothes, and led the way into her sitting-room, a tiny room poked away in one of the many odd corners of this House. The kettle was singing on the gas ring.

“
I was going to make a cup of tea,
”
she
s
aid.
“
May I offer you one?
”

“
Thank you. I hope you
’
re not busy
—
I
’
m not wasting your time?
”

“
Not at all. Do sit down.
”

“
What a fine day it has been,
”
said Laurence.
“
I
hope we shall get good weather in the E
a
ster holidays. Not much more of this term left.
”

“
Easter is early
—
the weather is so unpredictable at that time.
”

Smith Three came in for his cough mixture, was reminded that it wa
s
the wrong time, but was given it before he was sent away again. Cowdray came to report that he had lost his slippers (
“
or that somebody had pinched them
”
). Laurence waited until quiet was restored, accepted his cup of tea, and began again.

“
It was really about Easter that I wanted to talk to you,
”
he said,
“
I
’
m going to be so bold as to ask you a favor,
”

She smiled.

“
Do you have to b
e
very bold to do that?
”
she asked.

“
Yes
—
for a favor of such magnitude. Tell me, first, what you are doing in the holidays.
”

“
Nothing much,
”
she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“
I
’
m afraid I can
’
t afford to go away. I suppose I shall go home, and help my mother, and we will do a few shows together, and that sort of thing, I shall enjoy it, of course.
”

“
Well, I
’
m going to ask you to give up
a
week of it. You see, it is like this. I want to ask Ingrid to come down and stay with my people for a week in the holidays, but I am sure she won
’
t leave
him
Southbrook unless somebody else competent is in charge here. I expect you already sea what I am driving at.
”

“
You
’
d like me to stay that week?
”

“
It
’
s appalling cheek, I know...”

“
No, it isn
’
t. I daresay I can manage that
.”

“
And yo
u
really wouldn
’
t mind?
”

“
I wouldn
’
t mind.
”

“
You are a dear
—
I expect really you want to get
a
way from here just as much as the rest of us
.
”

“
No,
”
she said thoughtfully,
t
here is something very attractive about the place when the boys have gone. Empty, of course
—
it doesn
’
t do to go prowling about the dorms, and so on. But the buildings, uncluttered, all look so beautiful and there is always a comfortable feeling about not having to work in a place where you are usually so busy.
”

“Y
ou always make the best of everything
,”
he said.
“
But I really can go ahead and ask Ingrid to come?
”

“
Yes
,
do. I hope she will and that you will both
have
a lovely time.
”

“
She
’
s
—
er
—
rather nice, isn
’
t she?
”

“
Oh, Mr.
P
inder
,
can
’
t you do better than that? You know quite well she
’
s a darling.
”

He laughed.

“
Well
,
wish me luck,
”
he said,
“
I feel I shall need it.
”

“
What
—
quite serious?
”
she asked.

“
I guess
so
. More serious than Ingrid. But still, there
’
s always hope.
”

He went away to persuade Ingrid to visit big family in the holidays, and was delighted when she said that, subject to Miss Everton
’
s staying on, she would like to. As Sylvia also agreed to the substitute, Ingrid began to look forward to a pleasant change.

As the end of term approached, there was a general lightening of the atmosphere. Masters began to discuss what they would do with their month of leisure, and the boys, who had been marking off the days
—
some of the younger one
s
since the beginning of term
—
now began to reckon in hours, and the extremists among them in minutes.
“
You would think,
”
said Miss Everton to Ingrid,
“
that they were in prison. But I suppose home comforts are wonderful to
them after the Spartan life they lead here.
”
It was true that comfort did not rate very high on the list of school advantages, possibly because boys of school age should learn to do without it, but it was comprehensible that they should look forward eagerly to a return to arm-chairs and fires, home food and pleasures, and the spilling out of their parents
’
affection.

Arnold, whose home was here, and who was at this time confined here by Sylvia
’
s illness, in any case, made his own plans. He had friends in the to
wn
, and could contemplate a little unhurried social life. He was pleased that Ingrid had a chance of a week
’
s holiday,
and pleased that Miss Everton would take her place. He had a great liking and respect for Nora Everton, and he knew that she would run everything with her usual unobtrusive efficiency.

The last morning of term arrived, with its usual atmosphere of disintegration. Many trunks and tuck boxes had already been despatched, but many still stood in lobbies and cloakrooms and passages. Boys left by the earliest trains, in their anxiety to be gone; but many had to wait for later trains, or for parents in cars. Some even had to wait for a day or two, for planes that would carry them to Italy, Cairo, Ireland and other distant places. Sylvia, who always hated this transition stage, was glad to be confined to her couch with her books and embroidery, and to miss the bustle of departure. Ingrid found it all very interesting, and said goodbye to so many boys that her arm ached from so much handshaking. Young Roberts
-
Mills hung about with a doleful expression, because he had to wait one day to
fl
y to Dublin, so that Ingrid took pity on
him
and asked
him
to t
ea
and plied him with good things to eat. He
was
one of the fortunate ones, whose parents were taking
him
to Switzerland for part of the holiday, and it was obvious that he could hardly bear to wait until the morrow.

Then, at last, everything was peace and serenity. Ingrid, seized with a sudden wish to attend evensong, walked round a quadrangle that was strangely empty, and through cloisters that were deserted and still. The eager, pulsing life that beat continuously through these ancient buildings had ebbed away, and every sound echoed hollowly in the emptiness. There were comparatively few people at
the service
, and the pervading peace filled Ingrid completely so that she sat silently, in perfect content, listening to the beautiful singing of the choir.

When she went back to get Sylvia
’
s tea, Miss Everton had forestalled her, and the tea was ready.

‘
There is quite a magic silence everywhere,
”
commented Arnold.
“
After a day or two one gets accustomed to it, but at the beginning of every holiday, it is a thing to wonder at.
”

“
Silence is all very well,
”
said Sylvia,
“
but I don
’
t know if I would agree with, magic silence. One can have too much
of
it
—
especially confined to one room all the time like me. Now I think we should make the most of these holidays, w
h
ile Arnold has so much free time, and have s
o
me really nice parties.
”

“
Yes,
”
agreed Arnold at once.
“
We forget how dull it must be for Sylvia, looking at these four walls and this same garden every day. Though the garden is beginning to look nice now with the early bulbs, and will be better still soon. W
e
must have those parties while we
can
.
”

He thought that it would not be good only for Sylvia, but for Ingrid and Nora Everton, too
—
whichever was helping at the time of the parties. Although he did not want to lose Miss Everton, sin
ce
he had never had so pleasant or efficient a Matron in the House, he felt that her girlhood was passing in too restrained an atmosphere. She rarely went out, and was generally quiet, and he thought that an attractive and sensible man would make a great difference in her life. For
I
ngrid, too, he welcomed some social life, since she had
left a hospital where every day was full of event, and left her friends too, to come and wait on Sylvia.

“
We will start this week-end,
”
said Sylvia.
“
I will ask Patrick to come down, and we will give a dinner party on Saturday evening. Pamela will come, of course, and we will ask the Whitstones (you will like that, Arnold), and the Bradleys, because he is always such fun and you must think of another man, Arnold, to level the numbers. You and I, Ingrid, will have a conference about the menu.
”

“
But I won
’
t be here,
”
said Ingrid.
“
I leave for Laurence
’
s house on Friday.
”

“
Oh, bother, so you do.
”

“
Perhaps I can manage it,
”
suggested Miss Everton.

“
Oh,
I’m
sure you could,
”
said Sylvia swiftly.
“
I will get the whole thing organized, and of course, I can help quite a lot. I can arrange the flowers, and do the sitting-down jobs.
”

Arnold was pleased to see her so excited about the prospect of a party, although he knew from experience that nobody could reckon on getting much help from her; but as he would be free of school duties then (always excepting the exacting job of the boys
’
reports), he might be able to help.