Snow and Roses Page 4

  “Did that happen to you in Spain?”

  “As with Orwell you mean? I suppose that to some extent it happened to all of us who went out there to fight. But I had only vague notions of what was going on politically. I was barely eighteen. I was intensely moved by the sense of brotherhood among the fighting men, I didn’t know then that it is almost always there when men are fighting. I suppose a concrete enemy enables them to turn all their aggression outwards, and frees their love from it. I was furious because I did understand enough to know how many lives were being lost owing to muddles at headquarters. I didn’t understand then that in any war lives are always lost by muddles at headquarters.” He smiled. “I was like Tom, really, I expected the people on my own side not to be fallible human beings. I suppose when you find out they are it’s one of the beginnings of maturity. What will you have now, Flora? There are strawberries on the sweet trolley, the first I’ve seen. No, don’t look at the menu to see if they cost extra. I haven’t taken you out to dinner since you were Isobel’s bridesmaid. Do you remember?”

  She did remember. She and Isobel’s best friend, a girl whom she had never liked, dutifully taken out to dinner in all their frills and flounces by Walter. She remembered secretly thinking it dull that he was a married best man. She had felt the evening particularly flat because the boy in whom she was interested at the moment had not been invited to join the party, but had gone off somewhere else with a gang of young friends.

  “Yes, thank you, I will have the strawberries.”

  Walter sat back and signed to the waiter to bring the trolley. Flora looked round the room. They were dining at an old riverside inn which had received so much macquillage that except for one fragment of stone wall, carefully preserved to establish a claim to be a sixteenth-century hostel, it might have been a creation of the nine-teen-seventies.

  At a table at the other side of the room Flora saw Martin Croft with a young man whose hair was cut in a red-gold cap round a smooth white neck and forehead. The young man was talking fast with continual movements of his hands, Martin listening and occasionally answering with an unusual air of tolerance.

  “Someone you know?”

  “Yes, Martin Croft. He’s a historian, a Fellow of All Souls. He’s brilliant as well as being so handsome. He’s also rather formidable.”

  Walter glanced across the trolley.

  “Formidable, is he? He doesn’t look it. I suppose he is what some people would consider good-looking.”

  “He’s a great friend of my friend Lalage Penfold.”

  “Lalage. What a name to give the poor girl.”

  “Don’t you like it? Her father was a classical scholar, that’s why.”

  “Not enough reason. What are your holiday plans, Flora? Didn’t someone tell me you thought of going to Turkey?”

  “I did think of it but I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do. I shall go home for a bit, of course, and probably on to Isobel for a week or so. I may decide just to spend the rest of the time at the cottage. It’s lovely there in the summer, and I’ve got two lectures to write for next term. I rather enjoy going in and out of Oxford when the young aren’t there and there’s room to move. But I haven’t really made up my mind yet.”

  If Hugh does go to Fordwick I want all the time I can get with him before he goes. Turkey can wait.

  “What will you have with your coffee. A fine?”

  “I’d like crême de menthe, I love it.”

  “Have several then. My intent is all for your delight. You see I know some Eng Lit too. If you’re going to be with your parents for part of the vac I’ll come over if I may and bring Tom. I should very much like you to see him again.”

  On Thursday morning she had an accidental glimpse of Hugh. She cycled down to Blackwell’s between two lectures to try and replace a book which somebody had borrowed and failed to return. As she was turning away from the pay desk she nearly ran into Hugh who was standing by one of the shelves reading some book so intently that he was entirely unaware of everything round him.

  As a rule if they met by chance Flora regarded it as a happy bonus. They were both too well used to their situation not to be able to carry off any number of casual encounters. At any other time she would have exchanged a word or two with him, and gone on her way with an inward glow. This morning she was startled, as if running into him during this week was a breach of the contract she had made with herself to leave him entirely alone with his decision.

  She stepped back so that she was partly hidden by the shelves, snatched out a book at random and opened it. Over the book, which she distantly perceived to be a chemistry text-book, she watched Hugh avidly. Every line of him, the place where the hair began on his neck, the corner of his mouth pulled down by the pipe in it, the thin strong hand holding the book, were like parts of herself. She could not tell whether he was at peace, or distracted by the choice before him. She could only see that he was characteristically absorbed in what he was reading.

  The shop door opened, and Cecily Challen came in. She was wearing a pink summer frock, and swinging a gay shopping bag; she looked pretty and cheerful. She glanced round, saw the still oblivious Hugh, and smiled. Shaking back her blonde hair she stepped up to him and touched his arm.

  “Oh, darling, I knew that’s what you would be doing. Have you got the book you wanted? You’ll have to come now anyhow, we’re going to be late.”

  Flora saw Hugh look down at his wife with the smile that always turned her own heart over. He replaced the book in the shelf, and took her shopping bag from her. Flora saw them go out together laughing and talking.

  To her astonishment she felt tears beginning to sting her eyes. She drove them back. Crossing to the shelf near where Hugh had been standing she pulled out the book he had been reading still warm from his hand. It was a commentary on one of Shakespeare’s plays by Kenneth Muir. Flora took it to the desk and paid for it. Leaving Blackwell’s she jumped onto her bicycle and rode at breakneck pace back to St Frideswide’s.

  That evening Lalage went out to dinner at Lady Margaret Hall. Flora had one extra coaching at eight. She planned after that to read, perhaps write to Isobel, and go to bed early, but the least promising of her Schools candidates arrived, ostensibly to borrow a book. She stayed for an hour and a half, naively exposing gulfs of ignorance which Flora had hoped were at least partially filled.

  In spite of the gaps, Wendy, the only child of doting parents, was cocksure as she always had been. This evening Flora was more than usually irritated by her, but to assail any kind of confidence three weeks before the exam would be criminal. She forced herself to be patient and encouraging, especially as she began to realize that the cocksureness was thin ice which was threatening to crack. Wendy, whether she knew it or not, had come for help, and Flora forgot her own preoccupation as she did her best to give it to her. Why they had ever let the wretched girl into St Frid’s at all she could not remember; a grandmother or a great aunt, she thought, had been there in the dark ages.

  After Wendy had gone Flora sat down with her book, but found that she was taking in nothing from the printed page. She moved to her desk and began a letter to Isobel. She was very fond of her sister, but rarely told her anything about her own private life. This evening she described her dinner with Walter, and commented on his news of Isobel’s family. After that she found herself with nothing to say, and concluded,

  “Sorry. This is a very dull letter, but I’m swamped with extra coachings before Schools. Looking forward so much to seeing you in the vac.”

  She wasn’t really looking forward to anything except seeing Hugh again on Saturday, and hearing that he had decided against Fordwick. She folded and sealed the letter, then wandered about the room looking for a stamp, which she found at last in the place where she always kept them.

  Her room still held the lingering heat of the afternoon. Flora decided to go for a stroll in the garden before turning in. All along the corridor she heard from behind shut doors the murmur o
f voices, here and there deeper voices and the sound of guitars or record players in rooms where the girls were entertaining their young men. On the staircase she met one of Lalage’s Schools candidates anxiously balancing a pile of books: a little further down two blissfully irresponsible first years came racing up swinging a picnic basket between them and giggling. In the Hall, Flora was waylaid by the most talkative of her colleagues, a young woman whom Lalage couldn’t stand, so that she seized any opportunity of fastening on the more tolerant Flora when she happened to catch her alone. Flora refused with less patience than usual the offer of a cup of hot chocolate—Why on earth should anybody drink hot chocolate on such a night?—and with even more firmness an offer of company in the garden. She suddenly felt that she must get out of this great building, it was too crowded, the sense of too many people about was pressing on her. She had her car keys and driving licence in her bag; she would go out for a run into the country, anywhere. She wanted to feel really alone.

  She extracted her car with some difficulty from the Senior Common Room park, drove along Norwich Gardens, cut across the double streams of traffic racing north and south along the Banbury and Woodstock roads, and at last found herself driving along quiet country lanes with the cool air blowing in through the open windows of the car onto her hot face.

  She had been disturbed all day by seeing Cecily with Hugh in the book shop. It had made her much less hopeful about his decision. Cecily had looked happy; she longed to get out of Oxford, and to go to Fordwick; was she in good spirits because she already knew that she was going to get what she wanted?

  But it was not only that possibility that had shaken Flora. She was accustomed to seeing the Challens together on public occasions, at a college garden party, or a commem ball. At these Cecily always looked wilting and forlorn. It had been easy for Flora to feel compassion for her, to think of her as somebody for whom she must share Hugh’s concern. When they were talking about her it sometimes almost seemed as if she and Hugh were married, and Cecily was their precarious child.

  But this was not true: the moment in Blackwell’s had brought it freshly home to her. Cecily was Hugh’s wife and the mother of his child. She might be mentally sick, shy and nervous with most people, but she had spoken to Hugh with loving confidence, and he had given her the look and smile that he often gave Flora when he came into a room at the cottage and found her there.

  Hugh has a loving nature. I can’t blame him for having enough love to give to more than one person, so many people have too little to give. About Fordwick he must do what he thinks best.

  But she recognized a certainty that she had been thrusting away from her all the week—if he does go there it will be the end for us. Not at once, he’ll come back to Oxford whenever he can at first; perhaps we shall get a few days together somewhere in the vac, if Cecily doesn’t complain at being left alone in a strange place. But Hugh does things thoroughly, and readily makes friends. He will throw himself into the life up there; it will grow harder for him to leave; his links with Oxford will grow thinner, some of them will snap. I shall become an obligation, which I couldn’t bear, and that will be the end.

  If only I could have him with me for one evening this week I could make him see it; or at least I could make him see what it will be like up there with Cecily probably even more unhappy and clinging harder to him; Daisy away at boarding school; no one to comfort him when he needs it and make any fun for him.

  But if I could persuade him to stay on here and Cecily had a complete breakdown or took an overdose, both things I know he is afraid of, he would never forgive himself … or me, for the rest of his life. I must leave it to him.

  Soothed after a time by the quiet of the night and the motion of the car, she drove further than she realized. When she replaced her car in the park at St Frideswide’s and looked at her watch under the light of the lamp she was surprised to see that it was just after two. She was not sure that she had brought her late night key. Fishing in her bag for it, she walked slowly up the short flight of steps to the door.

  A familiar voice behind her said, “It’s all right Dr James. I’ve got mine.”

  “Oh it’s you, Nan. Thank you. I don’t believe I have brought mine; I meant to come back earlier. Have you had a good evening?”

  “Wonderful.”

  They went together into the silent entrance hall. A light burned above the porter’s desk, but he was not there. It was his business to go on a patrol of the fire-prevention appliances once or twice in a night. Flora and Nan began to climb the stairs but at the point where Nan should have turned away towards her own landing she stopped and whispered, “Can I come and speak to you? Just for a few minutes?”

  “Now? It is really so urgent?”

  “Oh, please. I won’t stay.”

  “Very well.”

  Flora opened the door of her own sitting room and switched on the light. She crossed to the window and drew the curtains. She turned round and saw Nan standing just inside the doorway, blinking at the sudden light. The girl looked moonstruck. There were times when she was nearly plain; she had in modified form the north-country miners’ build, shoulders too wide, and legs below the knee too short for proportion. Her face was broad, blunt-featured; it was the clear forehead, the large bright eyes, the fine skin and the flaming hair that made her always striking and in moments such as these when she blazed with some kind of feeling beautiful. In her deepest Yorkshire tone she said,

  “Ralph and I are going to get married.”

  “My dear! How lovely. I am so glad.”

  And so surprised. It can’t be … she must have been using the pill, surely?

  “He’s been wanting to ask me, you see, but he was nervous, he didn’t know if I’d want to and that made him hold off. I was wretched, well I told you, and that made him think that I didn’t love him any more, only wanted a short term thing. It seemed as if everything between us had got dislocated, and then tonight suddenly everything slipped back into place. He took me out to dinner, and then we went back to his rooms and drank brandy, at least he did, I don’t like the taste, and then we made love and it was all just as it used to be, and we both knew we wanted to be together for the rest of our lives.”

  “Ralph is very lucky.”

  It was remarkable, Flora thought, that this boy who seemed to her an amiable light-weight should have seen Nan’s value.

  “You won’t tell anybody, will you?”

  “Of course not. I shall leave that to you.”

  “Ralph wants it to be a secret between us for the present, because of his parents being out of the country, you see. We’re not going to tell his family nor mine until he comes back from America.”

  “Oh.”

  “He wants his father and mother to know me before he tells them. His father’s got some leave at Christmas, they’ll all be coming home together. He wants me to go and stay with them for Christmas,” she added with a child’s excitement. “Just think—Christmas in London. I’ve only stayed there once for a night. And then we’ll tell his parents and we’ll choose the ring.”

  “You’ll have all that to look forward to while he’s away. And what about your family?”

  “Ralph will come up and see them as soon as we’ve told his parents. I can’t wait for him to know Ben.” Flora tried unsuccessfully to imagine Ralph at home in a Yorkshire mining village. England was not much nearer to being a classless society, only more uneasy about not being one. She wished as she looked at Nan’s glowing face that she herself felt more conviction about her prospects.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to manage not to tell Ben myself.”

  “Could he keep it from the others if you did?”

  “Oh, yes. He doesn’t talk much. He’s a quiet one is Ben. He thinks a lot. He’s the cleverest of us all, only he hasn’t had the chances I’ve had. I’ll ask Ralph if he would mind my just telling Ben. I wouldn’t feel real with him, me knowing this and him not knowing it.” She added, “Ralph wouldn’t
mind my telling you, because you’ll keep it to yourself and you don’t have anything to do with our families. I had to tell somebody or burst. Ralph likes you,” she added kindly.

  Perhaps she felt some uncertainty in Flora’s mind for she added, “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I think he’s very charming. My dear, I must send you to bed now.”

  “All right, I’ll go.” She paused with her hand on the door knob. “Thank you for letting me come—and for all the other things.”

  She added with a glow that made music of the words so often used by so many girls before her. “I’m so happy. I didn’t know there could be so much happiness in the world.”

  There was no telephone in the cottage. The people at the farm were kind if dilatory about bringing messages. Flora and Lalage used their good offices occasionally; Flora and Hugh never. When she opened the door on Saturday evening she saw one of his square grey envelopes lying face downwards on the mat.

  Her heart banged as she stooped to pick it up. She tore it roughly open, and read the few lines in Hugh’s clear, elegant handwriting.

  “My darling, I’m so sorry. I shall be obliged to dine in college tomorrow night. Lee Jackson, a lecturer in English for Harvard who was very kind and hospitable to me when I was over there, is coming to Oxford for a short week-end. I must take him to dine in Hall, but I’ve told him I’ve got to leave early. As soon as I’ve settled him in the Common Room with some of them, I’ll whip over to you for a brief visit. I’ve got some very good news to tell you.

  All my love,

  HUGH”

  The last sentence cancelled out Flora’s disappointment. There could only be one piece of good news at the moment: he was not going to apply for Fordwick. An oppression that had been weighing her down all the week slid off her, making her feel as though she could breathe deeply for the first time since their last evening together.