Ivy Tree (32 page)

The drawing-room door opened. Julie stood there for a moment before she came in. Her eyes went swiftly round the room, and came to rest on Grandfather. Her hair was ruffled from the ride in the open car; her colour was high, and her eyes shone brilliantly, as the pupils dilated to meet the light. She looked very lovely; she also looked like the conventional picture of the young girl fresh from her lover's embrace, confused by the sudden light and the watching eyes. For a moment I wondered, with a sinking heart, if I had been wrong, and her interest in Bill Fenwick was serious, but then—I'm not quite sure how, except that Julio, and I were so much alike—I knew, with relieved certainty, that the confused brilliance of her glance was due, not to love and embarrassment, but to sheer temper.

I saw Lisa's plump hands check in their work, and the sock she was mending sink slowly to her lap, as she stared at Julie with what looked like speculation.

"Julie!" Grandfather sounded angry. "Where have you been? We've spent the whole evening waiting and watching for you, arid worrying in case anything had happened. Heaven knows I don't expect you to remember anything so completely unimportant as your grandfather's birthday, but I do think—"

"I'm sorry, Grandfather." Her voice was tolerably composed, but I saw how white her hand was on the door-knob. "I—we meant to get back. I didn't forget—there was an accident."

"An accident?" The old man's hands had been flat on the table among the cards. I saw them twitch, like a puppet's hands pulled by strings threaded through the arms.

I looked up quickly, "I take it nobody's hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, it was a silly thing. It wasn't Bill's fault. We weren't going fast—it was in the speed-limit area, and Bill really was driving quite slowly. Somebody backed out of a garage straight into us."

"Was Bill's car damaged?"

"Yes. The door panel was dented, and he'd hit the front wheel, and Bill was afraid he'd knocked it out of true, and bent the track rod, or whatever you call it, but he hadn't. Then there was all the fuss and the police"—she swallowed—"you know how it is; and then we had to get the car back to a garage and let them see what the damage was, and Bill had to arrange to take it back later to have it done. I—we couldn't help it, really we couldn't."

"Of course you couldn't," I said. "Look, honey, have you had your supper? Because—"

"You could have telephoned," said Grandfather sharply. I noticed he was breathing hard, and the thin fingers twitched among the fallen cards.

"I'm sorry," said Julie again, but with something too sharp and driven-sounding in her voice. Outside, the yard gate clashed, and I saw her jump. "I know I should have, but I didn't think of it till we were on the way home. You—you know how it is, with everything happening, and Bill's car, and the other man being foul about it, and telling all sorts of lies to the police, only they did believe Bill and me . . ." Her voice quavered and she stopped.

Grandfather opened his mouth to speak, but I forestalled him.

"She'd be too upset to think about it, Grandfather. You know what even the smallest of accidents is like; it shakes you right to pieces. Well, it's lucky it's no worse." Then, to Julie, "We thought it might be something like this; we knew you wouldn't have skipped the party unless something had happened. Look, my dear"—I got to my feet—"it's obvious you've had a shaking. I think you should get yourself straight upstairs to bed. I'll bring you something to eat; there's plenty left. .. That was a wonderful meal you missed—Aylesbury ducklings, and strawberries straight off the straw. Tommy ate the trifle."

"Did he?" said Julie uncertainly. "Lisa, really, I'm terribly sorry, but—" Lisa said: "Donald Seton was here." It was impossible to tell, from her composed, colourless tone, whether or not she was actuated by deliberate malice.

The result was the same. Julie bit her lip, stammered, and looked ready to cry. "Here? I—I didn't think he was coming."

I said gently: "I met him when I was on my way back from Bellingham. His London colleague had left early, and he was free, so I told him we were expecting him. He'd obviously been hoping to come, anyway." I smiled. "He'd changed into a very respectable suit,"

"He left some time ago," said Lisa. "We thought he would wait to see you, but he said he had to go." Julie turned to look at her, but vaguely, as if she wasn't really seeing her. I said, as lightly as I could: "I hope this all happened after the play? You saw that all right?" "Oh, yes. It—it was wonderful."

"Then I expect, when you've had a rest," I said briskly, "you'll vote it was worth it, accident or no. Now, darling, I really think—"

The baize door opened and swung shut on a whoosh of air. Con came quickly across the hall, to pause in the open doorway behind Julie.

He had changed back into his work-clothes before he had gone up to the field, and in breeches and open-necked shirt he looked tough, and also extremely handsome. And this for the same reason as Julie. He, too, was in a flaming temper, and it didn't need much gazing in the crystal ball to guess that the pair of them had just had a monumental row.

Julie never even turned her head on his approach. She merely hunched one shoulder a little stiffly, as if he were a cold draught behind her, and said to Lisa, on a strained, high note: "Did Donald say anything?"

"What about?" asked Lisa.

"No, Julie," I said.

Grandfather's hand scuffed irritably at the cards on the table in front of him. "What's all this? What's all this? Young Seton? What's he got to do with it?"

"Nothing," said Julie. "Nothing at all!" Her voice went thin and high. "And nor has Con!" She flung him a glance over her shoulder, about as friendly as a volley of swan-shot.

"Con?" Grandfather's eyes went from one to the other. "Con?" he repeated querulously. "Where does Con come into this?"

"That's just it I" said Julie, dangerously. "He doesn't, for all he seems to think he's the master here, and I'm answerable to him I Can you imagine—?" She checked herself, and went on in a voice that trembled insecurely on the edge of self-control: "Just now, as we came back, Bill had to stop the car for the gate at High Riggs—you know the grid's broken, and you've to use the gate—well, Con saw fit to come over, and ask me where the hell I'd been (I'm sorry, Grandfather, out I'm only saying what he said), and why was I so late, and, as if that wasn't bad enough he started pitching into Bill 1 As if it had been Bill's fault 1 Even if it had, it's not your business—" swinging on her cousin— "to start anything like that! What put you in such a howling temper, for heaven's sake? Speaking to Bill like that, swearing and everything, making a fool of me

. . . and I'll be very surprised if he shows his face here again! He was furious, and I don't blame him! I had to apologise for you! How do you like that}"

"You know, Connor," said Grandfather, mildly enough, "you ought not to have done this. Julie's explained it to us. It wasn't young Fenwick's fault that—"

"That's not the point!" cried Julie. "Don't you see} Even if it had been Bill's fault or mine, it's none of Con's business! If I choose to stay out all night, that's my affair!"

"And mine," said Grandfather, with sudden grim humour.

"All right," said Julie, "yours! But not Con's! He takes too dashed much on himself, and always did! It's time someone said something. It's been going on for years, without anyone noticing, and now this—this sort of thing—is the last straw as far as I'm concerned! Being ticked off like a naughty child in front of Bill Fenwick, and all because—" she mimicked Con's voice—"it was 'vital we should all have been here tonight, and now Great-Uncle Matthew's as mad as fire!'" She swung back on Con. "So what? I've explained to him, and that's all there is to it. Why should you make it your business? You're not the master here yet, and as far as I'm concerned you never will be 1"

"Julie!" I said sharply. "That's enough!"

They ignored me. Grandfather thrust his head forward, his eyes intent under scowling brows. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Just," said Julie, "that this is my home, and Con—why Con doesn't even belong here! And I'm beginning to think there isn't room for both of us, not any more 1 If I'm to be able to go on coming here—" Grandfather slammed the cards down on the table in front of him. "And now, perhaps you'll let me speak!

What you appear to forget, all of you, is that this is my house ... still! Oh, I know you think I'm old, and sick, and that I'll go at any moment; I'm not a fool, that may be true, and by heaven, from the sort of scene you've made tonight, you appear to be eager to see the last or me! No, keep quiet, you've said enough; you've had a shaking, and I'll excuse you for that reason, and we'll say no more, but let me make this clear; this is my house, and while I'm alive I'll expect civil conduct in it, or you, Julie, and you, Connor, can both of you go elsewhere! And now I'm going to bed." And he put shaky hands to the arms of his chair. Julie said raggedly, on a sob: "I'm sorry, Grandfather. I—I am a bit shaken up, I guess. I didn't mean to upset you. I don't want any food, Annabel. I'm going upstairs."

She turned past Con as if he didn't exist, and ran out of the room.

Con hadn't moved. It wasn't until that moment, when we were all looking at him, that I realised that, since he had come in, he hadn't spoken. His face seemed to have emptied even of anger, and gone blank. His eyes looked unfocused.

"Well?" said Grandfather, harshly. "What are you waiting for?" Con turned on his heel without a word, and went back across the hall. The baize door whispered itself shut behind him.

I stooped over Grandfather's chair. "Darling, don't upset yourself. Julie's a bit strung-up tonight; she's more shaken than she knows . . . and Con . . . Con's been working far too hard, you know he has, and I guess he's tired. It wasn't very sensible of him to tackle Julie, but if they hadn't both been a bit edgy, it wouldn't have come to anything. I expect they'll apologise in the morning."

He looked up at me, almost vaguely, as if the effort of that last speech had exhausted him. He looked very old, and tired, and almost as if he didn't quite know who I was. He said, muttering it to himself rather than to me: "Always the same. Always the same. Too highly-strung, that's what it is, your mother always said so; and Julie's the same. History repeats itself." The faded eyes focused on me then. "Annabel. Should have married Con in the first place, as I wanted. Settled the pair of you. Settled this. I'm going to bed." I bent to help him rise, but as soon as he was on his feet he shook me off almost pettishly. "I can manage, I can manage. No, don't come with me. I don't want a pack of women. And that goes for you, too, Lisa. Good God, d'you think I can't see myself to bed?"

He went slowly to the door. I thought, he really is old; the tallness, and the sudden flashes of energy are what deceive us . .. Something closed round me that might have been loneliness, or fear... He went out. Lisa and I were left looking at one another.

I remember thinking, with something like a shock, one forgets she's there; she heard all that; she heard what was said to Con ...

She had put her work composedly away. For all she showed it, the scene might never have taken place. As she moved towards the door, I said quickly: "He meant it, you know. I wouldn't upset him by saying anything else."

"I wasn't going to. I'm going to bed. Good night."

It didn't even seem strange at the time that it was Lisa who should go unconcernedly upstairs, and I who should look for Con!

He was in the kitchen, sitting in the rocking-chair by the range, pulling on his gumboots. His face still wore that blind, shuttered look that was so unlike him. He glanced up briefly, then down again. I said: "Con, don't pay any attention. She's upset because she and Donald quarrelled, and she missed seeing him tonight. She didn't mean a thing. She doesn't really think those things, I'm sure."

"It's my experience," said Con woodenly, thrusting his foot down into the boot and dragging it on, "that when people are upset they say exactly what they do think. She was quite startlingly explicit, wasn't she?" I said, without quite realising what I was saying: "Don't let it hurt you."

"Hurt me?" He looked up again at that. The blue eyes held an odd expression; something puzzled, perhaps, along with a glitter I didn't like. Then he smiled, a deliberately charming smile that made goose-pimples run along my spine. "You can't know how funny that is, Annabel, my sweet."

"Well, my dear," I said calmly, "funny or not, try to see the thing in proportion. I don't know if anyone told you, but Julie and Bill Fenwick were involved in a sort of minor accident tonight. That's what made her late, and distressed her so much. Bill, too—his car was damaged, so he wouldn't be in too sweet a mood. It'll blow over."

"What makes you explain to me?" He stood up and reached for the jacket that hung on the back of the door. "It's none of my business. I don't belong here. Lisa and I arc only the hired help."

"Where are you going?"

"To the buildings."

"Oh, Con, it's late. You've done enough. Aren't you tired?"

"Flaked out. But there's something wrong with the cooler, and I'll have to get it put right." That quick, glittering look again. "I suppose even Julie would be content to let that be my business? Or would it be interfering too much with the running of her home?"

"Con, for pity's sake—"

"Sweet of you to come and bind up the wounds, girl dear, but I assure you they don't go deep."

"Are you sure?" His hand was already on the door-latch. I said: "Listen. I ought not to tell you, but I'm going to. You've no need to worry any more."

He stopped, as still as a lizard when a shadow falls across it. Then he turned. "What d'you mean?"

"You do belong here. You've made your place . . . the way you said . . .with your two hands; and you do belong. That's all I—ought to say. You understand me. Let it go at that," There was a silence. The shutters were up again in his face. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking, but I should have known. He said at length: "And the money? The capital?" Silence. "Did he tell you?"