Fantails (19 page)

Presently, with a radiant heart, she went down to the library, where Sherry had said he would be waiting for her. She had quite forgotten the faint cloud that had hovered for a moment in the bright skies of her happiness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The
first faint shadows of the dusk were gathering in the living-room of Fantails. There were red roses in a copper bowl on the round polished table; their sweetness mingled with the fragrance from the garden, which came floating through the open windows with the harsher, haunting odours of the river.

Hugh glanced about the room, then put a couple of cushions at one end of the low, deep window-seat. “Sit here and put your feet up.” Alison obeyed, finding it oddly pleasant to be ordered about. He adjusted a third cushion deftly behind her head. “That comfortable?”

“Very!” She had enough vanity to be glad she wore the ivory frock with the red ships; it looked well against the deep-blue cushions. “Where are you going to sit?” she asked him. Hugh pulled up an armchair. She smiled at him
,
amused. “Your sickroom training has made you handy about the house!”

He looked at her enquiringly. “Meaning?”

“The way you arranged the cushions. And you’ve put the chair where I can look at you without having to move my head.”

“Oh, that!” He laughed. “Surely that’s ordinary common sense ... Alison, I’m worried about John.”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m rather glad you are. I was afraid that perhaps being so close to him might make it difficult for you to see him in perspective.”

“It probably has. That’s why I want to talk it over with you. You are far more likely than I to see the situation clearly.” He looked so troubled that she said consolingly, “I do think that he’s looked far less fragile in the last week or two.”

“Yes. And he’s put on weight. But it’s not only that he’s fragile. It’s his attitude. No child of John’s age who has been loved and kindly treated always ought to be afraid of everything, as he is.”

“No. I’m afraid he shouldn’t.”

“You saw this evening how he reacted to what Lucia said about the kitten carrying germs. And then again that business about bogies.”

“And ‘if you don’t have proteins you might get to be a famine child’ and ‘if you don’t eat up your vegetables you’ll get sore red places on your skin.’ ”

“And yesterday when I had him with me in the car he slid down on the floor when we were passing a policeman. I asked why, and he said policemen knew everything about you, they were just about as clever as God! It’s all wrong ... I wish you’d tell me honestly what you put it down to.”

Alison hesitated. Here was the opportunity she had longed for, the opening to tell Hugh of the bad effect Lucia’s domination was in her opinion having on John. Yet now it had come she scarcely liked to take it, since to do so seemed like telling tales of Lucia behind her back. She said, “You’re on the spot and John is your child. Surely you’re a far better judge of that than I am!”

“Not necessarily. There’s a saying, ‘The onlooker sees most of the game.’ When one is in the game one misses quite a lot of what is going on. That’s why I’ve called you in to have a consultation.”

“It’s a tremendous compliment. The nicest compliment you could possibly have paid me. If you really want my opinion, I’m sure the root of all the trouble is that Lucia loves John in the wrong way—possessively. She doesn’t want him to be happy in
his
way, but in hers. She wants to have him turn to her for everything—for happiness, for safety. She, and no one else, must be the source of all his pleasures—that’s why she didn’t like my giving him the kitten! I’ve only just realised why she was so against it. And she threatens him with danger so that he’ll turn to her for protection. That’s why she sows the seeds of fear in his mind. Aunt Lucia won’t tell the nasty policeman, after all, that he was naughty. Aunt Lucia will give him the right things to eat. She’ll save him from the germs. I’m certain that’s her unconscious motive, though I’m sure she has the best intentions in the world and would be simply horrified if you told her she was harming John.”

“One couldn’t tell her. If one did, she’d simply say that it was nonsense, caused by jealousy of John’s affection for her.”

“Probably ... I feel so mean for saying all this behind her back. But I’ve been thinking of it a great deal, and for John’s sake I do feel something should be done, and promptly.”

“Exactly my own view. Well, now we’ve had the diagnosis. What’s the cure to be? What treatment are you going to prescribe? What would you do with John if he were your child?”

“I would do everything I could to help him to feel free and independent. I would encourage him to play by himself and invent games on his own. Lucia always seems to brood over him while he’s playing, making suggestions and helping him with things instead of letting him find the way out for himself. It’s time he learnt to stand more on his own feet. I wouldn’t warn him about anything whatever unless it seemed absolutely necessary ... He’s grown persnickety about his food because he senses Lucia’s anxiety that he should eat well, and perpetually hearing about food values has put him off. At first I’d let him eat whatever he wanted whenever he liked, without making a to-do about it. I would take no notice if he missed a meal—he’d soon get back a natural appetite.” She paused.

Hugh nodded. “Go on.”

“He needs more confidence. I would ask him his opinion about things like the colour of a new dress, and whether I should put the roses in a glass vase or a china one. I’d ask him to take messages to the gardener and letters to the post and lists to the greengrocer—there’s no crossing on the way!—so that in time, instead of relying too much on me, he’d feel that I relied on him. And above all I’d try never to let my love oppress him.” Shyly she smiled at Hugh. “Well, there you have my views, for what they’re worth! They say in Scotland that ‘maiden’s bairns are aye weel guidit.’ I suppose it’s rather ridiculous for an old maid to lay down the law about how a child should be brought up, particularly to the child’s own father—and above all when he happens to be a doctor.”

“If you should live to be a hundred and die unwed, you would never be an old maid,” Hugh said quietly. “As for John, I entirely agree with every word you’ve said. You’ve clarified my own ideas. The next thing is, how are we going to set about it? I’d been meaning to tell Lucia this evening that the time was ripe to hand John over to Jenny, but this measles business has put a stop to that. And Mrs. MacNeish is going to have enough on her hands without giving John even the minimum of attention that we agree he needs.”

She thought:
He’s said “we” twice. ... I never knew how lovely it could sound
... She said, “I wonder ... would you care for John to stay on here until Jenny’s well again?” Seeing his doubtful look, she added, “He seems to like being here. I don’t think he would come to any harm, and I would do my best to carry out our joint prescription for him. Jane would help when she comes back. She’s good with smaller children. Casual but careful. And he could have Andrew’s room.”

Quickly he said, “Of course he wouldn’t come to any harm. It wasn’t that that made me hesitate. I only feel it would be such a frightful imposition. And your hands are full enough already, in all conscience.”

“If I don’t feel like that about it, surely you needn’t!”

“I don’t know how to thank you for suggesting it. It would certainly make all the difference to my peace of mind to know that you were looking after John.”

“That’s settled, then.”

“If you’re absolutely certain—”

“Positive. I shall enjoy it.”

“In that case, I shall tell Lucia after dinner what we have arranged.” He made a rueful grimace. “I’m afraid she isn’t going to like it.”

“I’m afraid not, poor soul. If only she would lavish some of her superabundant affection on a peke!”

Hugh laughed, then shook his head. “Not fair on the peke. I must go now and have a word with Jenny’s mother.”

“Poor Jenny. Is she going to have it badly?”

“Too soon to tell yet. She’s a healthy lass, though. I just hope John won’t get it.” Rising, he stood a moment looking down at Alison with an inscrutable expression. He said again, “I don’t know how to thank you—yet. Some day I’ll find a way. No, don’t get up. You’re tired. Go to bed early.” At the door he turned. “Forgive me for my most inadequate acceptance of what you’re doing for John. And me. Good night!”

Alison lay quietly among her cushions, listening to Hugh’s footsteps crossing the yard, then going away along the garden path, purposeful and firm. Her face was tilted to the sky, but her eyes followed the swifts, whose sickle wings bore them on an unseen, unending pattern on its pale clear background, she was unaware of seeing them, nor was she conscious of their thin, high screaming.

It was good to be alone. Now she could examine the momentous knowledge that had come to her earlier this evening, sudden and unexpected—reviewing it from all its lovely angles, awed and overwhelmed: the knowledge that she loved Hugh, loved him with tenderness and passion; the knowledge that between herself and him was growing up a mutual need and understanding that some day would come to flowering and fruition. She did not think nor analyse, but gave herself up to what was for her the unaccustomed luxury of feeling, unharried by necessity to cook or clean or make or mend. Shadows came clustering about her from the corners of the quiet room. The swifts had gone, and now it was the bats, instead, that wove their flickering patterns against skies deepened to indigo, and pricked by stars. And still she stayed there, utterly content.

John said, “Aunt Lucia puts on my socks for me.”

“Does she? I’ll do it for you if you like. But Andrew could dress himself when he was four, except for a few buttons.” John loved her to tell him stories about Andrew, who had for him the glamour of a legendary hero.

“Could he? No, thank you, I can do it for myself.”

“I’ll leave you, then.” She had supervised his washing, and if he got confused with buttons, no harm would be done.

Surprisingly soon, he joined her in the kitchen, flushed but triumphant. “There was only one top button that I couldn’t do.” While Alison dealt with it and brushed his hair she asked, “Will you do something for me while I’m cooking breakfast, John? I’ve put the hens’ corn in a bowl at the bottom of the stairs. Would you please give it to them for me? You know how I scatter it about so that they all have a chance to get a share?”

He nodded importantly. “I’ll do it for you.”

“And you know the basin with their water? Would you empty that, and fill it from the jug, as I do?”

Happily he bustled off. “That’s done. Any other jobs?” he asked when he came back.

“Yes, after we’ve had breakfast.” While she tied his feeder round his neck John surveyed his plate. “Does Andrew like scrambled eggs?”

“Yes. He eats up everything he’s given.”

“So do I.”

“That’s good. Fussy people are such a bother.”

“Does Andrew think so?”

“He thinks they’re a nuisance.” Smiling to herself, she thought the absent Andrew, all unconsciously, was going to be useful! When he had eaten every scrap of egg and half a slice of bread and honey, and drunk two cups of milk, John helped to clear the table. “I expect you’re glad to have me here to help you, aren’t you, now Jane’s gone away?”

“Very
glad!” she assured him. “Now could you put the forks and teaspoons in the drawer?” He pattered off, clutching the silver. From the next room she heard him shout excitedly
“Daddy!"
and Hugh’s answering “Hullo, snippet!” followed by John imparting the exciting news that “I can dress myself all except one button! And I fed the hens and gave them water. And I dried two teaspoons.”

“Good. That’s the best of growing older. You’ll soon be doing all sorts of useful things ... Alison, I walked in—I knew you wouldn’t mind, as I’m in rather a hurry and I want a word with you before I go to Beccles hospital.” He glanced at John, now busily putting the silver in the drawer, carefully fitting forks with other forks and spoons with their companions.

Alison said, “When you’ve done that, John, will you do another job for me? ... Could you take down this milk and give it to Miniver and the kittens in their dish? It’s only half full, so you won’t spill it if you go quite slowly, one step at a time.”

He looked a trifle apprehensive. “What if I do spill it?”

“Come and tell me and I’ll give you more. But you won’t spill it. If Miniver takes more than her share, will you hold her?”

John went proudly off, clasping the jug in both hands. Hugh looked after him. “Our prescription seems to have begun its work already. Did he eat his breakfast?”

“Every mouthful. I took it as a matter of course that he would, so he did. You know he loves hearing about Andrew? I told him, Andrew thinks people who are fussy about' their food are a nuisance. I think that’s going to be a useful line to take in all sorts of ways. And he was simply thrilled to be asked to feed the hens.”

“Altogether a satisfactory beginning. More satisfactory than my talk with Lucia last night!”

“Oh dear! What happened?”

“I told her you were very kindly keeping John here till Jenny’s back at work. (I don’t think she is going to have measles at all badly, by the way.) I said that as having Jenny in bed will make a lot of extra work for the MacNeishes, it would be best for everyone concerned if Lucia went back to London. Thanked her very much for all she’s done to help, and so on and so forth! But it didn’t work. Lucia announced that as she had had no idea I didn’t want her to stay on indefinitely to ‘mother’ John, she’d let her flat!”

“How
very
awkward for you!”