Time and Time Again (22 page)

'In that case,' interrupted Charles, 'I'd leave him there.'

'Which would spoil my point--so I'll change the formula. It's for something beneficial to humanity--a cure for bubonic plague or pellagra or foot-and-mouth disease. Anyhow, because of this you promptly confer on him honorary British citizenship.'

'Having just then decided to invent such a thing,' Charles interjected.

'That's where I get to my point--you take a chance. The Nelson touch--so rare among Chargés d'Affaires.'

This Attaché, Claud Severing, was a young man whom they had come to like and had taken with them on several climbing expeditions. Jane was glad she was leaving Charles with a real friend, and Charles, though he was sorry to see her go, felt that three months of bachelorhood might yield austere pleasures. It would be agreeable, anyhow, to spend so much time with Severing, with a few trips into the mountains if they could be arranged.

Yet after Jane had gone Charles made a discovery that surprised him: he not only missed her but he missed something in himself that seemed to vanish when she left. Perhaps it was the way she managed things in the house, her decisions about parties and party-giving, her advice on small matters of etiquette or behaviour, even her actual help in his work, for she liked to spend time in the Chancery odd-jobbing in a way that would have been impossible in a larger and more systematized Legation. So now his extra work was quite often a symbol of her absence even when he was thinking of other things. When he most acutely missed her was late in the evening after a party, when they would have held their post-mortem on the guests and conversation. Because they were both popular, Charles received a rush of invitations well meant to appease his loneliness, but somehow accepting them only seemed to increase it; he missed the flash of Jane's eye across the dinner-table, signalling in secret what her partner was like; or the quizzical look which conveyed that she had overheard him say something witty at his end. Without her, indeed, he found it twice as hard to be only half as amusing, and since he had the reputation for being amusing he wondered if his hosts were thinking him bad company or merely realizing what a good wife for him Jane was. He thought so too, but he wished he need not prove it quite so negatively. Partly from this somewhat obscure motivation he began a small flirtation with Madame Salcinet, the wife of the French Minister. She was pert and youngish and apparently ready for the diversion, since the place bored her and her elderly husband was tetchy enough to regard his post as the Quai d'Orsay's equivalent of Devil's Island. 'Of course Edouard will retire after this,' she confided. 'There is really nothing for me to do but count the days--and even more depressingly, the nights.'

'Where will you retire to?' Charles asked.

'I shall live in Paris and he will live at Limoges. That is where he comes from. Nothing on earth would induce me to spend the rest of my life at Limoges.'

'It's not a bad place,' Charles said. 'I have a French friend who paints--we once made Limoges a centre for a very pleasant holiday. We found many beautiful scenes.'

'You paint also?'

'Not as much as I used to. I don't get the time.'

'You spend so much of your time climbing mountains.'

'Well, that's true. I enjoy it.'

'I think you enjoy it because your wife enjoys it. She does not enjoy painting so you do not paint. If she enjoyed snake-hunting I think you would hunt snakes.'

Charles laughed. 'You're absolutely right. It's the recipe for a perfect marriage.'

'You think your own marriage proves that?'

Lightly and without much thought behind the merely verbal dialectic Charles countered: 'Does yours DISprove it?'

Whereupon Madame Salcinet became suddenly indignant and with a touch of hysteria. 'You have no right to say such a thing to me! You take an unpardonable liberty! I shall certainly inform Sir Bancroft--it was a most insulting and improper remark to make to the wife of one of your Minister's colleagues!'

Charles, astonished at her vehemence, apologized and said no more. It was during the interval at an afternoon concert, where they had met by accident. He believed the outburst had not attracted attention, since they had spoken in French, but he sat rather unhappily through the rest of the music; and walking back to the Legation afterwards he could not help thinking: Oh God, if only Jane were here. . . . It was not that he had been dangerously indiscreet with Madame Salcinet, or that the remark she had taken exception to had been in worse taste than several of hers to him. Nor did he think that anything she said to Banky could do him much harm, and Banky would certainly take his word against hers if there were any disputed accusations. But the whole thing was just one of those incidents that Jane would have handled so capably--or rather, it was the kind that wouldn't have happened at all if she had been on the spot.

The Germans were giving a small party the following week for chiefs and their wives only. As the time for it approached, Charles had slight qualms, not quite of apprehension but of a somewhat glum curiosity as to whether Madame Salcinet still planned her complaint. Nor was this curiosity ever resolved, for several days before the party it became known that she had been removed to a private institution. 'Completely off her rocker, so I heard,' Banky said. 'I must write a note of sympathy to Salcinet. . . . Anderson, didn't you meet her at the Brahms the other day? Somebody said he saw you talking to her. What was she like then?'

'Just charming as always,' Charles answered. 'And Toscanini was wonderful as always.' He was really becoming a diplomat.

* * * * *

Banky didn't take leave after all, so Charles was denied his spell as Chargé. Then Jane returned, tanned and refreshed after the long sea trip. Her stay in England had been full of legal business and sad visits to relatives; she was glad to be back. Her father had left her some money--it was not yet clear how much, but of course the bulk went to her brothers. The family would probably get rid of Burton Bridgwater if they could find a buyer. It would be easier to sell than most such houses (Beeching, for instance), since it had been ruinously modernized and provided with more bathrooms than anybody could use. Perhaps some American would want it. Jane chattered on thus during the taxi ride from the docks to their house near the Legation; not till they were alone in its cool Spanish-style interior did she turn to him in a personal way. 'Well, Charles, have you been missing me?'

'You bet I have. I don't suppose you've missed me, though.'

'Oh yes, I have.'

'Not as much, anyhow.'

'Much more, I'm sure.'

'Impossible.'

'This is a childish conversation. . . . Come here, Andy.'

She called him Andy at moments when they were closest, and presently at such a moment somebody opened the door and hastily backed out. They thought it must be Severing, but when Severing came later he denied this so stoutly that they were quite certain-- and rather relieved--it had been only he. Of course it didn't really matter. They drank champagne and were very merry. After Severing left, Jane said that someone she had met in London had told her that Charles was highly thought of at the Foreign Office and could expect a transfer to Europe before long.

She had also seen his father once or twice. He seemed to keep very well for his age. 'He's taken up kindness to animals.'

'Good . . . not that he was ever UNkind to them, I must say.'

'But he won't have traps that KILL mice any more--he has a kind that click down and imprison them in a sort of cage, and in the morning he goes round the kitchens collecting the cages. Then he sets the mice free in the middle of the lawn and they all run back to the kitchens.'

'I wonder how the servants like that.'

'The housemaids are in a state. They're scared enough even of DEAD mice in traps. But that's part of his fun. . . . Now tell me what kind of fun you've been having. . . .'

'Nothing nearly so exciting. . . . The Wohlmanns gave a big party when the German cruiser came in . . . Lallieni's ill and Borignano's in charge. . . . That Mrs. Gervase came over from Rio--seems to have more money than ever. . . . There's a nice American you must meet--some job with the railways . . . the kind we like. . . . The De Volvas have had a baby. . . . Carucas did well in the local elections--they talk of him as the coming man--I hope not, because he's a crook. . . . Mary Deakins now takes ballet lessons from a real Russian, if you please. . . . I think that's about all.'

'What about the Greiffenburgs?'

'They're still here.'

'And the Salcinets?'

'They went home. A rather sad thing . . . She went a bit out of her mind.'

'I'm not too surprised. She always hated HIM. I meant to warn you to be careful about her, but I'm sure you were.'

'Were you careful about everybody?'

'Yes--except that man in London who told me how much they thought of you. He said you were bound to get a Legation eventually. Fifty per cent seniority, he reckoned it, thirty per cent luck and ten per cent merit. He was a cynical old devil.'

'It only adds up to ninety. What's the rest?'

'I hoped you'd ask that. ME. The diplomat's wife. That's why I flirted with him. He's in the Government and could be quite useful.' She mentioned his name.

Charles snorted. 'Good God, THAT fellow?'

'Darling, you can't be particular these days. And really, I think I handled him rather well.'

'I'm sure you did--you're a good man-handler. Remember the line in the Henry the Eighth film--Charles Laughton saying "The things I have done for England"?'

'All right, Andy, you can do them for England--I'll do them for you. I don't really know whether you love me or not, but I know you get along with me pretty well, both in and out of bed, and from what I've seen of other people's marriages, that's as good as love-- and rarer too.'

'Perhaps it is love, if you have it long enough.'

'And if you've never had any other kind. . . . But "man-handler"-- I rather like that. It's a compliment.'

* * * * *

Charles was happy. People observed it and said, indulgently: 'He's got his Jane back and now just look at him. And look at her too.' It made them both more popular than ever, so that when a few months later they let it be known there was going to be a baby everyone felt sentimental and wondered if it meant they had tried before without success or had recently for the first time been trying.

Severing said to Charles: 'I suppose you'll go home.'

'Jane will and I know she'd like me to go with her this time.'

'I'm sure Banky will understand. Too bad this isn't Washington-- then you could both stay. I mean, because of the dual citizenship. Nice thing for a kid to start off with. . . .'

* * * * *

The Coppermills had moved out of Burton Bridgwater by the time Jane and Charles arrived in England. Jane thought she would prefer the country to London, so they rented a house near High Wycombe and paid several short visits to Beeching. Havelock greeted them hospitably and seemed excited at the prospect of becoming a grandfather. At seventy-five he was still upright and active, able to walk miles without tiring, and no less vigorous in some of his opinions. Politically he was now so far to the right that one wondered where he would or could emerge, for he had lost favour with most local Tories when he expounded the unfashionable argument that Mussolini had as much right to conquer Ethiopia as England had had to defeat the Boers. He called the League of Nations a hypocrisy and Anthony Eden a pecksniffian Galahad. Normally this sort of extremism would not have mattered much in a country addicted to almost unlimited free speech; but the barometer of English opinion, as of European and world opinion, was rather rapidly moving to stormy. Only for this reason Charles was concerned. His father's political views, whatever they were, seemed far less important than the fact that friendships and the tolerance of neighbours were being put to strain.

One June Friday about two months before the birth was expected Charles and Jane set out from High Wycombe intending to spend a weekend at Beeching. Charles was enjoying himself with a new car, and they stopped for lunch in Oxford and walked a little around the colleges. With every discount as a Cambridge man, he still thought Oxford had been ruined as well as enriched by its automobile industry; always sensitive to noise, he wondered how an undergraduate of Queen's or Magdalen could ever work if his rooms faced that once tranquil curve of the High, along which traffic now passed in roaring procession. Jane said the place had given her a headache, but by the time they were on their way again and approaching the Cotswolds it was clear she was suffering from much more than that. At Beeching she felt worse, and during the night suffered severe pain. By mid-morning Dr. Somerville had diagnosed possible appendicitis and ordered her immediate removal to a hospital. Charles accompanied her in the ambulance, realizing as he watched her (she was already under sedatives) how unimaginable would be any disaster that separated them. Presently he learned that an operation was necessary and that there was some risk of losing the baby. A recommended London surgeon named Blainey was telephoned; he said he could arrive that evening by train.

As the day progressed Charles grew increasingly anxious and was almost glad he did not have to put on an act in front of Jane-- though if even half-conscious she would doubtless have seen through it. Yet he felt she could not possibly know what store he had set on fatherhood. People thought they had planned it, and he did not mind anyone thinking so; actually it had been accidental, not even consciously desired, yet afterwards a source of such encompassing joy that they both wondered why they had ever considered their lives too roving and unsettled for such an event. Somehow the baby, even unborn, had already turned wherever they lived into a home.

Charles met Blainey--MR. Blainey, since he was a very distinguished surgeon and not a physician--at Stow Magna station and drove him to the hospital. Charles was favourably impressed by a first look at him--fiftyish, red-haired, slight in build, curtly polite. They did not talk much on the way and hardly at all about Jane. Charles had the professional man's reluctance to intrude on another professional man's field; he had suffered too often from the naďveté of dinner partners who had discussed international affairs. At the hospital he waited while Somerville took Blainey to see Jane. Blainey was reticent afterwards; he merely confirmed the doctor's tentative diagnosis and said he had arranged for surgery at seven in the morning.