Listening Valley (11 page)

***

Someone was shaking her gently. Tonia opened her eyes and there was Robert looking at her; he bent over her and caught her in his arms, kissing her fiercely. She clung to him with all her strength.

A year passed and then another. They were slow years and a great deal happened. London was bombed again and again, though mercifully never quite so badly. The armies moved forward and backward across North Africa. America came into the war. The Russians won the Battle of Stalingrad and surged forward in their millions against the common foe. At home in Britain the outlook changed from grim and dogged determination to a determination full of hope. Victory was possible. It was probable. It was certain if we could just hold on. The most spectacular event at home was the advent of the Americans; one saw them everywhere: in the streets, in tubes and buses, in theaters and restaurants, thousands of young Americans full of life and energy and enthusiasm. But there were other changes, too. There were more women in uniform; there was less food; there was less traffic.

Robert and Tonia were still in the flat (the windows had been broken twice, but otherwise it was undamaged), and Robert was busier than ever, for he was working for the Treasury now and carrying on his firm's business as well. His days were full, and he brought home papers and worked at them half the night. Tonia started to help Robert with the work he brought home, and she was so quick and intelligent that Robert suggested she come to the office. He made the suggestion in a tentative manner, but Tonia leaped at the chance, for she realized that this was important work—more important than cooking at the canteen—and if Robert really wanted her it was her duty to go. She was quite untrained, of course, but she was intelligent and conscientious. She could add and spell and write a clear letter, and, as most of the clerks had gone and had been replaced by incompetent girls, Robert found his wife's services invaluable. He could give her a letter to answer and say, “Tell them they can't do that. Tell them to send someone around to see me on Monday and I'll explain,” and he could hurry away to a meeting knowing that the whole thing would be tactfully managed and the appointment arranged.

But although Tonia helped him more and more, assuming responsibility and arranging and rearranging his appointments, she could not take the heavy strain off his shoulders. He began to look very tired and older than his years; his step became slower and heavier.

“You ought to have a holiday,” Tonia declared.

“How can I, Antonia? We're doing important work, you and I.”

“You'll get ill,” said Tonia. “Honestly, Robert, nobody could go on like this. Everybody has holidays except you.”

“I haven't noticed you taking a holiday,” replied Robert.

“But, Robert—”

“I can't,” he replied with a worried look. “There's an important conference next week—perhaps after that.”

She knew, then, that he was really feeling the strain, and she worried more than ever, though her days were now so full that she had not much time for worrying. The telephone never ceased ringing and Robert was in constant demand. Would Mr. Norman prepare statistics of this? Would Mr. Norman give his opinion on that? Could Mr. Norman see a representative of half a dozen different firms and unions? Could Mr. Norman come to a meeting at the Treasury? Robert was worried and badgered and run off his legs, but somehow or other everything was done and the conference was a success.

By this time, however, Robert was so exhausted both physically and mentally that there was no possibility of going away for a holiday—as Tonia had hoped. Robert lay in bed, looking like a ghost, too tired to sleep or eat.

“Thank goodness the conference is over,” said Robert in a feeble voice. “I don't believe I could get up if I tried.”

“I'll ask Dr. Strachey to come,” said Tonia.

“Perhaps you'd better,” Robert agreed.

Dr. Strachey had become a friend. He had called in to ask for Tonia after the “blitz” and, since then, they had seen him frequently. Tonia had a high opinion of him, for she had seen him at work and noted his calm confidence and competence. Robert liked him, too. They had had some long talks together. He came around at once.

“You know,” said Tonia, when Dr. Strachey came out of Robert's room. “You know he's been doing too much. I've been dreadfully worried about him.” She had been so worried about him that she was almost glad he was ill. It seemed queer, perhaps, but that was how she felt. It was a relief to have Robert at home, safely in bed, to be able to look after him and give him his meals at the proper time. She explained this to Dr. Strachey.

“I'm afraid he has carried on too long,” said Dr. Strachey gravely.

“Do you mean he's
very
ill?” asked Tonia in alarm.

Apparently this was exactly what he meant, though he did not actually say so. He said he would like another opinion—a heart specialist—and added that he would send in two nurses so that Mr. Norman need not be moved more than was absolutely necessary.

Tonia went in and looked at Robert. She had been with him constantly, so she had not noticed the change in him as much as a stranger might have, but now, looking at him with new eyes, she saw how worn and haggard he had become.

“Antonia,” he said, rousing himself with difficulty. “Perhaps you had better go down to the office…those returns should be ready today.”

“You mustn't worry,” declared Tonia. “You must rest. You've worn yourself to a shadow.”

“I am resting.”

“But you're worrying, Robert. Don't worry about the office. You'll be better soon and then you'll be able to see to everything.”

“Did the doctor say that?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Tonia, lying bravely.

“I thought he had more sense,” said Robert with a faint smile. He was silent for a few moments and then he added, “Don't tell Janet. She would come by the first train. I'm not strong enough to bear Janet.”

Tonia did not feel strong enough, either.

“I just want you,” added Robert.

The two nurses arrived and took possession of the flat. They altered the furniture in Robert's bedroom, and they altered the hours of meals, and they asked for things that they happened to need so that Tonia found her time fully occupied in running messages to and from the shops. She did not mind, of course; she minded nothing if they could nurse Robert back to health, but this prospect seemed more and more doubtful. Some days Robert was better, other days he was worse, and the weeks dragged on interminably. The nurses moved about quietly—only their aprons rustled—and they spoke to each other frequently and at length in hushed whispers.

It was a dreadful time. Tonia could not have borne it if it had not been for Dr. Strachey, who came in every day and eased her burden. He did not try to buoy her up with false optimism but encouraged her to face the issue squarely.

“He may recover,” said Dr. Strachey in answer to a straight question. “But he could never get really fit. He wouldn't like being an invalid, would he?”

“No,” said Tonia doubtfully. “But I wouldn't mind. I mean, I would rather have Robert—”

“Don't give up hope. Miracles sometimes happen, but it's better to face the music, isn't it? Of course I don't talk to all my patients' relations so frankly, but I know you. I know you can take it.”

“I'll try,” said Tonia making an effort to live up to his opinion of her.

“He's a war casualty,” continued Dr. Strachey. “He's been wounded in battle—think of it like that. The success of the conference is largely due to his genius for finance. A fellow who was there told me that Mr. Norman did magnificent work both before the conference, preparing the figures, and during the conference as well. He saved the situation several times by his quick, clear grasp of the essential and his extraordinary tact.”

“It wore him out,” said Tonia huskily.

“He's a war casualty,” repeated Dr. Strachey.

This talk helped Tonia a good deal, for it removed the feeling that Robert had worn himself out to no purpose, that the sacrifice was in vain…and Tonia needed all the help she could get, for it now became obvious that Robert was going very quickly down the hill. Tonia could see it for herself only too clearly.

It was a Sunday evening when the day nurse came to Tonia and said that Mr. Norman wanted her. “He's a little easier now, but don't let him talk too much,” she said.

Tonia went in. She felt numb with misery. She was long past tears. The bedroom window was wide open and the evening sunshine filled the room with golden light. The bells were ringing for evening service. They had started to ring again after their long years of silence, and their sound took Tonia back to her childhood and her old home.

Robert was lying very still, propped up with pillows, his face turned toward the door. He smiled at Tonia when he saw her and moved his hand a little. She went forward and took his hand in hers.

“Don't grieve, darling,” said Robert faintly. “I'm happy—quite comfortable and happy. I want to talk.”

“You shouldn't talk,” she whispered.

“I want to…and there isn't much time…the bells, darling. Isn't it nice to hear the bells?”

She sat down beside him and waited.

“You've been wonderful,” he said, after a little silence. “You've given me the happiest years of my life. Nobody could ask more than five years of happiness.”

“I can't bear it,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “I know it's hard, but it's better this way. I've thought about it so much. I've always dreaded growing old…and being a bother to you.”

“Don't, Robert…”

“I've thought about it so much…”

“Robert—don't leave me. Promise you'll be with me—wherever you are.”

“How can I?” said Robert thoughtfully. “And even if I could it wouldn't be right. Someday you will find—somebody else—”

“No, Robert—oh, no!”

“You're young—so beautifully young—all life before you. Don't be frightened of life. It's good. Make friends with life, Antonia.”

She pressed his hand.

“Make friends…with life,” said Robert faintly.

The bells had stopped ringing now and Robert's eyes were shut. He was asleep and breathing more easily. Perhaps he was better. Perhaps he was going to stay with her after all…but Robert did not stay.

Tonia was alone in the flat except for a woman who came in every day. It was curious to be alone and have nothing whatever to do, but she was so miserable that she did not want other people. She was dismayed when she received a telegram from Janet Garland saying that she and Nita would come on Tuesday. How long would they stay, Tonia wondered, but it was no use wondering that. Janet was Robert's sister so she must be welcomed as warmly as possible and Nita must be welcomed too. Janet's last visit had not been a success, but Tonia felt older now and less in awe of Janet, so perhaps she would manage better this time. As for Nita, Tonia had scarcely seen her since they had been at school together—Nita was an unknown quantity.

They arrived and were welcomed, and the morning after their arrival they were all in the lounge together. Janet was sitting in Robert's chair reading the paper. Tonia had a curious feeling about Robert's chair. It was a silly feeling, of course, but she wished Janet had chosen to sit somewhere else. She also wished (most unreasonably) that Janet did not resemble Robert. She was like him in some ways, but so very unlike him in others.

“You will have to give up the flat and go home to Edinburgh,” Janet said.

“Yes, but not till August,” replied Tonia. “We took the flat until the end of August.”

“And then Edinburgh, I suppose.”

“I haven't really thought about it.”

“What about your work?” asked Nita, taking up the paper her mother had dropped and glancing at it casually.

Tonia explained that her work was at an end. She had been Robert's private secretary, and now somebody else had taken over the work Robert had been doing, and he would have his own secretary—probably an experienced one. She explained it all carefully, but she was aware that before she got to the end the attention of her audience had wandered. Neither Janet nor Nita was really interested in what she did. Nobody was interested in what she did; that was the hardest thing to bear.

“I'm rather surprised,” said Janet, looking at her young sister-in-law with a disapproving air. “I must say I'm rather surprised to see that you aren't wearing black. Of course I know it isn't the fashion nowadays, but it seems very odd to me.”

“He wouldn't like it,” said Tonia in a low voice.

“It shows respect,” said Janet. “Respect for his memory.”

“Don't be silly, Mother,” said Nita, looking up from a letter she had begun to write at Robert's desk. “Nobody wears black now, and it wouldn't suit Tonia—she would look frightful.”

“That isn't why—” began Tonia, and then she stopped. For one thing they were not listening and, for another, she could never make them understand. Let them think what they liked. What on earth did it matter, thought Tonia miserably. They had begun to argue now. It was something about a handkerchief each claimed as her own, and Tonia listened to the heated controversy in amazement. She realized that their values were entirely different from hers—things she thought important did not interest them, and things they regarded as vital seemed to her of no account whatsoever. (This impression remained with Tonia, and the more she saw of the Garlands the deeper it became; they never gave her cause to alter it.) She would have to bear with them as long as they wanted to stay because they were Robert's relations, but how glad she would be when they went away and left her in peace!

Nita had started to rummage through the drawers of Robert's desk, and somehow this was more than Tonia could bear.

“Please don't,” said Tonia, going over to her. “I can give you some notepaper if that's what you want…and that's Robert's pen!”

“I know,” replied Nita in a casual tone. “I've lost my fountain pen. This nib suits me rather well, which seems odd when you think of Uncle Robert's queer writing. You had better give it to me, Tonia; it won't suit you.”

“I want to keep it,” Tonia said.

“But it won't suit you. It's no use to you. Why on earth do you want to keep it?”

“Because it was Robert's.”

“It's rather selfish of you, dear,” interposed Janet. “Robert would have liked Nita to have it, I'm sure.”

Tonia let her have it: she could not wrangle with them over Robert's pen.

It was curious (Tonia thought) how one's whole life could fall to pieces in a moment. She had lost not only Robert himself, his love and kindness and companionship, but also the settled and secure feeling his presence had given her. With Robert's death everything had changed. The whole fabric of Tonia's life had disintegrated. She was giving up the flat—that was settled—but what was she to do? Should she return to Edinburgh and open up the house in Belgrave Crescent? Could she bear it? Wouldn't it be better to join one of the women's services and be useful and busy? She decided that it would, and without telling Janet (who might have tried to dissuade her) she made inquiries about the Auxiliary Territorial Service. They wanted girls badly and almost immediately she was called up for an interview and a medical examination.

A woman doctor examined Tonia and turned her down. “You aren't fit,” she said, looking at Tonia kindly. “There's nothing wrong organically, nothing that a few months' rest won't cure. I expect you've had a bad time lately, haven't you?”

“Yes, I suppose I have,” admitted Tonia.

“You need rest and a strong tonic.”

“Then…you don't want me?”

“I'm sorry,” said the doctor. “I'm very sorry indeed. We want girls, of course, especially girls of your type who can take responsibility, but it wouldn't be the slightest use passing you because you would just break down. That wouldn't be much help, would it? Come back in six months—and don't worry. There's nothing serious the matter.”

Tonia did not tell Janet about the interview because Janet fussed enough already. Janet was always telling her she was too thin and encouraging her to eat or exclaiming that she was pale and advising her to lie down. She fussed in other ways, too, for she always wanted to know where Tonia was going and when she would be back, and she kept on saying that Tonia would tire herself.

“I'm going to a symphony concert,” said Tonia one day, when urged by Janet to give an account of her movements.

“A concert!” cried Janet in horrified tones. “Really Tonia, I can't understand you at all. Fancy
wanting
to go to a concert!”

“But why not?” asked Tonia. “Robert loved music. We always went to these symphony concerts together.”

“Poor Robert,” said Janet with a sigh.

“It's poor
me
,” declared Tonia with unusual show of spirit. “It isn't ‘poor Robert' at all. Robert was a saint and he's perfectly happy now. If I didn't know that for certain I couldn't bear it…but I
do
know that.”

Janet was startled at this outburst and she answered softly, so softly that Tonia was sorry and felt she had been unkind. She must try to be more patient, she decided. As a matter of fact she was trying to be patient already, not only with Janet but with Nita…and how wearing it was! Nita turned on the wireless at all hours of the day and filled the flat with the voices of crooners or swing music; Nita borrowed silk stockings and forgot to return them. No, it wasn't easy to be patient. Tonia made allowances, of course, telling herself that Robert had spoiled her and that she must learn to rub shoulders with less understanding people.

Perhaps the thing that worried Tonia most was her guests' attitude to their friends. Both Janet and Nita had friends in or near London and issued cordial invitations to them to come and eat Tonia's food, and then, when these people had come and gone, Janet and Nita would set to work and pull them to pieces, criticizing their manners and their clothes, making fun of their conversation and discussing their private affairs without charity or understanding. It made Tonia miserable to hear them. Sometimes she could bear it no longer and was obliged to get up and leave the room. They discussed their hostess too, of course, and discussed her with the same lack of proper feeling. Tonia was sure of that, and her conviction was confirmed when one day she happened to be passing the door of the lounge and heard the tail end of a conversation. Nita had a loud penetrating voice and this voice was saying in dogmatic fashion, “Oh yes, I
know,
but any man would marry her with all that money.”

How horrible! thought Tonia, hastening away with burning cheeks. How horrible to think of her marrying…anybody…now…after Robert…how beastly to discuss it like that…to imply that she was worth nothing in herself…that all men were fortune hunters.

There was so much nastiness in the remark, so many unpleasant implications, that Tonia found it more difficult than ever to be patient and polite.

Soon after this Frank Melville came up from Oxford and spent the weekend at his club. He called at the flat to see Tonia and was very friendly and kind. Tonia liked Frank. They had had fun together, finding his rooms, and she and Robert had missed him when the ministry had moved to Oxford. She was glad to see him and welcomed him cordially, and they had tea together.

“You'll be giving up this flat, of course,” said Frank, looking around.

“Yes,” agreed Tonia. “I've decided to go back to Edinburgh and open up the house in Belgrave Crescent.”

“Don't do that,” said Frank earnestly. “I've thought of a much better plan. I can get you a job at Oxford, and we shall be able to see more of each other. You see, Tonia, you may be called up. That wouldn't suit us, would it?”

Tonia hesitated before replying, for Frank's air was too possessive and she did not like it much. She was aware that she would not be called up, for she had tried to join the ATS and failed, but somehow or other she did not want to tell Frank about it. She did not want to tell Frank anything; she only wanted him to go away. Nita's words came into her mind as she looked at him sitting there, smiling at her…
any
man
would
marry
her
with
all
that
money.

“Well, what about it?” inquired Frank. “You'd like the work. It wouldn't be hard and we could see each other in our spare time. We could go up the river together and all that. We could have picnics. I'll fix up the whole thing; as a matter of fact, it's practically fixed already. I was sure you would say yes.”

“I can't,” declared Tonia. “No, honestly, Frank…”

“But why?”

“I've arranged to go back to Edinburgh.”

“Oh, Tonia—why? Do think about it. Please think about it…”

He continued trying to persuade her until at last Tonia was forced to say she would think about it and let him know. Fortunately Janet came in at that moment and Frank got up and went away. Tonia had never been pleased to see Janet before; she was particularly nice to Janet all the evening.

This interview with Frank was worrying for several reasons but mainly because it underlined the words Tonia had overheard. They were poisonous words; she knew that and tried to banish them from her mind, for she saw quite clearly that they might become an obsession. And if they became an obsession (if every time a man spoke to her in a friendly manner she began to think he wanted to marry her, and marry her for her money) life would soon become unbearable. It's nonsense, said Tonia to herself. Frank was only being friendly and kind. It was only because I heard Nita say that horrible thing that I imagined. Frank was different…