The Nutmeg Tree (10 page)

“It must have been dreadful chaining oneself to the railings,” said old Mrs. Packett suddenly; “but I'm sure I could have broken a shop-window.”

5

The ease with which Julia settled down at Les Sapins was due possibly to the fact that she had arrived there tired out in both mind and body; she was quite content, for the moment, to sit quietly in the sun, and go for short walks about the garden, and eat appetizing meals at regular intervals. She read the
Continental Daily Mail
and darned her stockings. She took a nap every afternoon. From Mrs. Packett she learnt several games of patience, and she also found, in a cupboardful of old books, an English manual of fortunetelling. Julia adored telling fortunes, and treated herself to three a day; the best of the three was the one she believed. This occupation brought her into friendly relations with Anthelmine the cook, who used to come up behind, as Julia sat dealing her cards at a garden table, and utter loud exclamations of sympathy and surprise. She exclaimed particularly over the three of spades, which in Julia's system stood for no more than a Slight Disappointment; but since Anthelmine, unlike Claudia, spoke no English, Julia never discovered why. She thought of asking Susan to find out, but dreaded her daughter's disapproval. Anthelmine only looked on, of course, but she now and then sat down to do so; she had an imposing figure—not tall, indeed, but so broad in the beam that three cats at once could take their ease in her shadow—and she was naturally hard on her feet. Julia herself did not mind Anthelmine's sitting down, but she sometimes feared that to Susan, passing afar in the vine, it might seem that her mother was playing cards with the cook.…

“And I would, too,” Julia accused herself sorrowfully. “I've got no dignity.” But she did not drive Anthelmine away, and Anthelmine, who was too valuable in a kitchen to fear anybody, asked Susan point-blank whether Madame her mother would like a pistachio cream. Julia was not particularly pleased by this compliment—she felt it too definitely underlined her proclivity for low company—but she finished a second helping of the cream, and but for Bryan, who ate faster, would have finished a third as well. “Done you there!” said the look in Bryan's eye; but Julia ignored it. Ignoring that young man's eye, indeed, had already become second nature to her; she feared its bright intelligence, its perpetual questioning. Contrary to her daughter's express desire, she was making no attempt whatever to get to know him; she was too much afraid that
he
might get to know
her
. Her function at Les Sapins was that of a
dea ex machina;
and the make of her car would not bear examining.

“I can lie low for another day or two,” thought Julia, uneasily aware that she was neglecting her duties. But she did not really worry. Worrying was never natural to her; in that clear, fresh, pine-scented air—with all those regular, delicious, abundant meals—it was a physical impossibility. And though Susan and Bryan were evidently very fond of each other, Julia had no fear of their mutual passion flaming into any reckless and irretrievable blaze.

“There's no hurry,” thought Julia comfortably. Her spirit was like a plump cat on a sunny wall. It purred. But there was a boy underneath getting ready to chase her off.

6

“What shall you do this afternoon?” asked Susan after lunch on the fourth day.

Julia, who had her answer ready, gave it with some complacence.

“I'm going on the terrace to read
The Forsyte Saga
.” She was glad Susan had asked; it wasn't boastfulness, she just wanted her daughter to know. But Susan's smile—how extraordinary!—was less respectful than indulgent.

“Grandmother adores it,” she said. “You'll have a lovely peaceful afternoon.”

Thus affectionately put in her place among the senile, Julia went out on the terrace in an extremely unliterary frame of mind; and this in a way was fortunate, since the afternoon, though lovely, was not destined to be peaceful. Scarcely had she settled herself when her potential son-in-law appeared with purposeful looks and an avowed desire for conversation.

“Go and talk to Sue,” directed Julia. “I'm reading.”

He glanced at her book—again, how odd!—with exactly the same expression as Susan's; then shut it without a word and flung himself down where he could look directly into her face. In spite of her annoyance at such cavalier manners, Julia could not help admitting that he was extremely attractive.

“Look here,” he said abruptly, “what have you got against me?”

The attack was so sudden that Julia for once lacked presence of mind. Instead of protesting, she merely stared. Bryan hurried on.

“Because you have, darling, and it's no use saying you haven't. I can feel it. If you were anyone else I should say you were still sore over that rise I got out of you the first morning.”

“Rubbish!” cried Julia indignantly.

“As you say. And what's all the more puzzling to me is that right from the beginning—right from
then
—I thought we were going to get on. As soon as I saw you, I thought, ‘Good!' If you were a bit disapproving at lunch, I'd deserved it and didn't mind. But you've been disapproving ever since, and it isn't natural.”

“Got a good conceit of yourself, haven't you?” said Julia.

He looked quite hurt.

“I never thought we should have to have all this beating about the bush, either. I should have thought that if you disliked my ties or my table manners you'd tell me straight out, and probably box my ears into the bargain. I expected any number of black eyes, Julia darling, but not the frozen mitt.”

The statement was so outrageous that Julia, who had been behaving like a perfect lady for four solid days, could not let it pass.

“Do I
look
the sort of person who gives black eyes?” she demanded.

“Yes, you do, darling. You are. Just as I'm the sort of person who gets them. The fact of the matter is—”

Julia beat the bush no longer, but finished for him.

“You're the same kind as I am,” she said grimly.

It was out, and she felt a certain relief; but she was also resentful. He had chased her off the sunny wall of her self-complacency; he had shown that her impersonation of a lady was not so good as she had thought. Worse still, he was going to make her say things, do things, that would have a definite effect; that might lead to scenes with Susan, to explanations with Mrs. Packett; that would put an end, in short, to the happy period of her carefree basking.…

“Well,” said Bryan, looking at her under his lids, “that's not such a bad sort to be—is it?”

Julia did not immediately reply. To marshal her thoughts, to produce an ordered sequence of ideas, was not a business which came easily to her. She had first to disentangle her own meaning, then to fit it with words; and since what she now had to communicate was of the utmost importance, so the preliminaries were correspondingly long.

“Not
bad
,” she said at last. “Not out-and-out
bad
. But bad compared with people like Susan and her grandmother. Compared with other people, we're quite good. If you ask me,” said Julia, “we're sort of half-and-halves. So long as we stay with our own lot, we're all right. We don't do any harm. It's only when we begin to mix with the others—with the real good—that trouble starts. If you married Susan, you'd make her miserable.”

“You married Susan's father,” said Bryan swiftly.

Julia shrugged.

“That was different. It was the war. If he hadn't been killed, I should have made
him
miserable.”

“You'd have given him a damned good time.”

“It's not a good time they want,” said Julia soberly. “They want a different sort of time altogether. I'm rotten at explaining. But I remember when Susan was coming, and after, how good they were to me—you see, you can't say a thing about them without bringing in
good
—and yet we couldn't get on. They really wanted me, too; they wanted to have me for a daughter, and I was so grateful, especially as I'd half-expected to be thrown out on my neck; I thought I could do anything in the world for them.
I
tried, and
they
tried; but it didn't work.”

The young man moved impatiently. “It's all dead and gone to him,” thought Julia.

“I admit all that,” he said; “but you must see it's a very different thing, my marrying Susan. We're both young, we're in love with each other—”

“What are you going to
do
with yourself?” interrupted Julia. “You're a sort of lawyer, aren't you?”

“A barrister, darling. At any rate, I've been called. But I'm not sure I shall ever practise.”

“Why not?”

“Too much of a grind. I don't want to spend the next ten years grinding. I want to knock about the world and look at things and talk to people. I got five hundred a year from my mother, and if I married Susan I dare say the old man would stump up a bit more. He'll adore her.”

Julia's thoughts flew back to the dressing-room at the Frivolity, and to the recumbent figure of Sir James Relton. Bryan was quite right: to a daughter-in-law like Susan the old rip would be generous indeed. He'd know what he was getting. And then Susan would no doubt have money too; together she and Bryan would be able to knock about—first-class—to their hearts' content. Only—would Susan's heart thus be contented? Did she realize what lay in store for her? “I don't believe they know a thing about each other,” thought Julia.…

“I see your idea,” continued Bryan tolerantly; “but—if you'll excuse my saying so—it's all wrong.”

“If I had my way,” said Julia, following her own train of thought, “I'd pack you off for a month together and let you find out for yourselves.”

Bryan grinned.

“There's nothing I'd like better, darling.”

“I've no doubt there isn't,” said Julia sharply. “Why don't you suggest it to her?”

“Because—”

“Because you know she'd send you packing in double-quick time.”

“Not at all,” corrected Bryan, with a sudden return to dignity. “Because, as I should have thought you'd know, a fellow feels very differently about a girl he's going to marry and a girl he just wants to … have fun with. He feels—well, scrupulous.”

Julia looked at him.

“You ought to have seen your face just now,” she said. “There wasn't a scruple in sight.”

The last word, this time, was hers.

7

She did not, however, get much pleasure from it. She was ruffled, put out, and more than ever convinced that she would soon have to make herself extremely unpopular. And popularity, to Julia, was the breath of life: she would rather shine at a coffee-stall than eat a good dinner unnoticed. “They'll never understand,” thought Julia dismally. “They'll just think I want to throw my weight about.” She sighed deeply. There was another thing—her weight! She was almost certain that her stays felt tighter than they did a week ago. They weren't the sort that laced, either: they had a good stout zip-fastener, full strength.…

It was thus in no cheerful frame of mind that Julia ascended the stone steps and met her hostess at the top. Mrs. Packett, however, looked pleased; she held a letter in her hand, and was evidently full of news.

“Sir William comes next week!” she said. “He's Susan's guardian, you know, and so charming!”

“A man!” thought Julia.

The black clouds of depression still enveloped her; but she perceived a slight rift.

Chapter 10

1

Every morning, just as Julia herself had done in that long-ago time at Barton, Susan arranged the flowers. But with her it was a labour of love; she picked not only the roses, but wild flowers as well, making what she called “tangles” of them—large, and to Julia's eye rather straggling, bouquets that died almost the next day. Susan didn't seem to mind: every morning she went up into the vine and picked more. Some of them were really pretty, thin sprays of forget-me-not with tiny flowers, and clover with big purple heads, and something tall and tough that had bright blue rosettes growing all down the stem. But Susan didn't stop even there. She actually picked grass, and dead bits of twig.

“I believe you like the tangles best,” said Julia once, in her astonishment.

“Yes,” agreed Susan. They were in the old garden-room, next door to the kitchen, where Susan kept her vases amongst the cobwebs and firewood. Bryan lounged in the doorway, idle as Julia: they had both expressed a wish to be of use, but so halfheartedly that even Susan's good manners had permitted her to refuse.

“Why?” asked Julia.

“Because I can do so much more with them.”

Julia looked at a mass of yellow roses triumphant in their cream jar.

“They don't make half so much show as
those
…?”

“No,” admitted Susan. “But
that
—that's just the roses themselves. I've done hardly anything. A tangle makes a show because of
me
.”

Involuntarily Julia glanced towards the door; but if this explanation reached Bryan's ears, he gave no sign. Or perhaps he didn't realize how complete an explanation it was, or how particularly ominous to a young man who didn't want to do anything special, but just knock around the world. Their conversation of the previous day was still fresh in Julia's mind; but there was something else on her mind as well, and she did not, as she no doubt should have done, seize the opportunity of showing Bryan up.

Instead, she said casually, “Aren't we expecting another visitor? Your grandmother said something—?”

Susan looked up from her flowers.

“That's Uncle William. He isn't an uncle really, of course, but I've always called him that. He's a dear. He's coming the day after to-morrow.”