Mistress of the House (9 page)

How Jessica would take it, however, was a different matter. Jessica made no secret of her dislike for Laurie, and on the few occasions on which Mrs. Lorney had remonstrated with her about her rude manner, she had shrugged her shoulders and invariably made the same response—it was only for a few months and then Laurie would be gone again, thank goodness. Mrs. Lorney hoped that she would not be too difficult when she learned of the engagement.

Certainly, she was now in a very good mood. She had more than Laurie’s departure to contribute to this. Neville Humphries was at White Lodge for the weekend, after many false alarms, and Jessica and Neville were old friends. They enjoyed playing tennis together, Jessica giving Neville a very good game; and it amused Neville to tease her a good deal, to dance with her at the village dances; to ride with her over the hills. She was, moreover, so different from the very self-confident, smooth young women he usually associated with, that he found her refreshing. He pretended to be humble when he was with her, helping her with her geese and hens, apologizing for his ignorance, making her laugh with his affectation of stupidity.

“They’re having a tennis party at White Lodge if the weather is fine,” said Jessica. “Tomorrow afternoon. Roger and Audrey will be there, and Neville and Diana and me, and Tommy Andrews. Mrs. Humphries wants you to come over too, Max, if you can. She says it’s a long time since you admired her garden with her.”

“I doubt if I shall go,” said Max.

“Oh, why not? You said Reg was coming back for the milking, and mother’s going to do the poultry. You
could
come.”

“Tennis parties aren’t much in my line,” he said, hoping that would silence her, for he already had his appointment for tomorrow. He was to go down to the village for Laurie and her mother and bring them back to the farm. It was a good thing that Jess would be out of the way, better still if the Humphries would keep her to dinner. He would ring up Diana and see what she could do.

On the following day, directly after mid-day dinner, Jessica set off for White Lodge, dressed in a neat linen tennis frock (she disapproved of shorts on the other girls and knew she could not wear them gracefully), carrying her racket, and looking forward to this break in everyday routine. Roger had disappeared on his bicycle to call for Audrey and take her to White Lodge; and Aunt Hilda had been successfully arranged for, at Miss Stedman’s expense. She was changing her dress, so that Max could drop her in the village when he went out with the car, and would spend a pleasant afternoon talking and having tea with Miss Stedman.

Max, unusually worried, had changed his tie twice, and brushed his hair at least three times. His tweed suit was good and he looked well in it. His shoes shone with a dark brown polish. Yet he was far from satisfied. He sat down on his bed, looking out of the window, with his elbows on his knees and felt an extreme disinclination to going to the village and facing Laurie’s mother. Mrs. Giles would be pretty certain to think he had no right to ask Laurie to marry him, to tie herself to a cripple. At last, his mother called to him, guessing something of his reluctance: “Max, Aunt Hilda is quite ready, if you are.”

“Coming,” he called back, and stood up. He looked at himself in the mirror, made a grimace at his reflection, and went downstairs.

Laurie, however, had left no doubt in her mother’s mind as to who had made the running. She had not spoken of Max any more than the rest of the family, on Friday night. She and her mother had exchanged their news, had walked round the village under the stars and had gone to bed early. But on Saturday morning, when they had climbed the hills to get a long-distance view of the village, and had sat down to rest themselves on the short turf, Laurie pointed out the Lorney farm and began on her rather difficult task.

“You can’t see the actual buildings from here,” she said, “but beyond that blue line of trees lies the Lorney land. It’s a lovely place. So completely unspoiled. The real heart of the country. It’s got me utterly.”

“Well, it’s very nice to think you’re so happy there.” “I’ve never been so happy anywhere,” said Laurie.

Her mother looked at her with raised eyebrows, Laurie met her look with a smile.

“As much as that?” asked her mother.

“Yes.”

“Any special reason for being so happy?”

“Yes. A most special one. I’m in love with Max.”

“Max? Max Lorney? Isn’t he—” She hesitated, and did not finish what she had started to say. Instead, she said: “And is Max in love with you?”

“Yes. We both have a very serious attack.”

“Oh. I see.”

There was a short silence. Laurie opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. Her mother looked towards the Lorney farm, knowing there was more to come, but as Laurie seemed to find it difficult, she decided to help her out.

“Did Max tell you that he loved you?”

“Well, only under pressure, I’m afraid.”

“Pressure from whom?”

“From me, Mother. I was most unmaidenly. I simply wormed it out of him.”

Her mother turned to look at her. Laurie nodded: “I had to do it nearly all. Perhaps you can guess why.”

“Max is lame, I think you said in your letters.”

“Yes. He wouldn’t have said anything, of his own accord; and even when he admitted that he loved me, he didn’t want to marry me.”

“But he does now?”

“Yes. But he’s not happy about it—for my sake. If you disapproved, Mother, I’m sure he would give me up.”

“And you want me to approve?”

“Oh, darling, yes. You simply must. You won’t be able to help it when you see him. I’m—I’m—well, I’m utterly crazy about him.”

“But Laurie, my dear, you have to think very seriously.”

“I know. I’ve had to. Max made me. He said all the things you want to say. About not being able to do things with me—tennis and dancing and walking and all that. Well, what do those things matter? I can go to village dances and tennis parties, anyway; but chiefly I just want to marry Max and live with him, and do the things that he can do.”

“Your mind seems to be made up.”

“It is, darling, but I want you to agree with me how very suitable it would be. I know that Max is the man for me, but I’d like you to know it, too.”

“And where would you live, Laurie?”

“At the farm.”

“With his family?”

“Yes.”

“Would that be a success? What about his mother? Mothers are very jealous of their sons.”

“Not Mrs. Lorney. She’s awfully sensible. You’ll meet her this afternoon. I think she’s been worried about Max and has decided I’ll be good for him.”

“Why? Does he brood about his handicap?”

“I’m afraid he does. But he keeps it all inside himself.”

This did not sound too promising to Mrs. Giles. A man who was crippled and who brooded over his disability did not sound the right person for her gay, laughter-loving Laurie. But she said nothing then. She would reserve her judgment until she had seen him. She asked various questions about the family and the farm, and then let the matter drop, and they continued their walk and returned to the inn for lunch.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Laurie and her mother waited in the small lounge of the inn. They had it to themselves. Outside, on the street, the villagers were beginning to gather for the Saturday afternoon bus to town. Mrs. Giles sat near the window and watched them. She was very neat and well dressed, with an almost girlish figure, fashionably dressed hair and delicate make-up. She wondered how Laurie would like living with the kind of people she saw outside. She had not yet gauged the intensity of Laurie’s feeling for Max, and she was anxious that she should be happy.

Laurie, in a grey suit and scarlet shirt, waited impatiently for Max. Each car that came along the street she watched until she could see it was not his. The bus came and went, taking the scattered people with it. The street settled into a weekend somnolence. Then across the green, outside Miss Stedman’s lovely house, Laurie saw the car stop, and saw Max opening the door for Aunt Hilda to get out. “Max is here now,” she said to her mother, and Mrs. Giles moved away from the window, not wanting to be seen watching him.

When he came into the room, she did not realize right away that this was Max. He was so entirely different from anything she had imagined. He was very handsome, his face tanned, his brown hair brushed out of its natural wave, his brown eyes kindly, with little lines round the corners. He was tall and largely built; and he wore the right kind of rough tweeds. When he spoke, he had an attractive voice. No wonder Laurie had fallen in love with this man.

“Well, Mother, this is Max,” said Laurie.

She held out her hand to him and he took it firmly.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he said.

“No. You’re not late. Sit down for a moment now you’re here.”

He limped across the room to a chair, while Laurie’s mother watched him. She understood immediately how he felt, and why he hadn’t sat on the nearest chair. He was saying to her: “Well, you can see for yourself what your daughter has consented to marry.” She knew that it was an ordeal for him.

“Laurie has been telling me about you,” she said to him.

“I’ve told Mother everything,” said Laurie clearly. “How I had to bully you into taking notice of me at all.”

“Oh no, you didn’t bully me into that. I’ve scarcely noticed anything else since you came.”

“I had to bully you into admitting it.”

He smiled at her.

“I’m afraid,” he said to Mrs. Giles, “that this must be sudden and rather disappointing news for you.”

“Disappointing?”

“To know that Laurie wants to marry anybody.”

“Oh no. I shall miss her, when she marries, but I’ve always known that she will some day.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m hurrying Laurie into getting married. I can see your point of view. You’ve never seen me before, and you’d like to know something about myself and my family before you give us your consent. I quite agree to that.”

“I should like to meet your family, certainly.”

“But I would like to say that I very much hope you’ll approve, when you know me better. Perhaps we could have a talk together later?”

“Yes, we will,” she said, rising from her chair. They all went out to the car, and Max closed them in. “Please go slowly,” said Laurie, “so that I can show mother everything.”

Max obligingly drove slowly, once they had turned into the farm lane, so that Laurie could point out and explain everything, and once again Mrs. Giles received a surprise. From Laurie’s letters, she had seen the Lorney family as a hard-working set of people, continually preoccupied with the jobs of the farm, and having little leisure for enjoyment. She was so essentially of the town herself that she did not realize that all this hard work went hand in hand with a high standard of comfort in the house and meals, and a solid prosperity on the farm. That they had had financial worries she gathered from Laurie, but they were temporary and had not affected the general air of prosperity worn by the farm buildings and lands. She had also the town-dweller’s respect for the ownership of land, and these rolling acres of Max’s, telling their own story of good husbandry, impressed her.

Mrs. Lorney was waiting for them in the sitting room. She was wearing a dark silk dress for this important occasion, and was very obviously the farmer’s wife. Comfortable, competent, tidy without the slightest effort at smartness, her face just as nature made it, lacking even the slightest touch of powder, she afforded a complete contrast to Laurie’s mother. There was, during the introductions and the preliminaries, an awareness of this difference in both of the women, but there was also a natural politeness and an instinctive wish not to judge by first appearances, and after the first few minutes a friendliness made itself felt in the room, and both Mrs. Lorney and Mrs. Giles sensed that, under the other woman’s different exterior, lay the same common sense and the same tolerance.

“I set the tea in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Lorney. “I thought of having it in here—and Aunt Hilda said I must—but I thought, Laurie, that your mother would like things to be as they always are.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Laurie, “because I love the kitchen, and I’d like Mother to see it as we always use it.” The kitchen was spotless. Since Laurie’s departure for the village on Friday evening, a great deal of work had been done there. The red floor was newly scrubbed; all the copper pans and jugs had been cleaned and shone brightly; the always-clean range was blacker than ever and a wood fire burned in it. The rugs were freshly shaken, the window sill resplendent with daffodils and little bowls of the blue grape hyacinth. Here again was the combination of hard work and comfortable prosperity, and Mrs. Giles began to see the attraction that Laurie had seen in the place.

After tea, she was shown round the farm, while Mrs. Lorney busied herself with supper. Aunt Hilda had to be fetched from the village, and Max went off on this errand, leaving Laurie and her mother to walk round the garden.

“Well?” asked Laurie, as they walked under the high rhododendron hedge.

“Well, it’s certainly a beautiful place,” said her mother.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. You mean Max.”

“Yes.”

Her mother knew just what was wanted of her, and she was able to satisfy the want. Laurie wanted her to say that she had found Max thoroughly desirable and very charming to boot; and this, repressing the faintest reluctance, she did. It was so obvious that Laurie was in love with Max heart and soul, that she did not consider any opposition would stand a chance. Why voice any opposition at all then? Why spoil anything for Laurie? Only one thing worried Mrs. Giles—Max’s lameness; and that, she considered, was a stupid prejudice. If Laurie could completely ignore it, then she must too. So she said not a word of opposition and Laurie loved her for it.

Roger went back to Audrey’s house for supper, and Jessica stayed with the Humphries, so that only Aunt Hilda was added to their party at the farm, and everything went smoothly. When Max went out to his shutting-up, Laurie went with him, leaving the three older people in the sitting room. And when everything was safe for the night, they wandered into the garden together.

“Well,” said Laurie, “there you are. That’s over. It wasn’t such an ordeal was it, Max?”

“No” he said, although it had been. “Your mother’s very charming.”

“I knew you would like her. And she likes you. So now my cup of happiness is full.”

Max laughed at her.

“And don’t laugh. I mean it.”

“Life’s absolutely wonderful,” he teased.

“Yes, it is—at the moment Isn’t it for you?”

“To be honest with you, Laurie, it is. I don’t feel yet that I ought to be sure of you. I’m allowing a margin for you to change your mind.”

“Darling, I’m not going to do that. You needn’t worry about that.” She turned to him, and he took her into his arms.

“When shall we be married?” he asked her.

“It’s for you to say. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“But we won’t rush it.”

“Still allowing for me to change my mind?”

“Well, it’s better to have time to do it than to change it after a hasty marriage.”

“Get it into your thick head, Max, that I’m never likely to change it. But, in any case, I think it is better to wait a little. Our mothers would like it better, I dare say, and we can get to know each other thoroughly; so that you’ll know what you don’t seem to believe yet, that I’m quite capable of knowing my own mind.”

“We could get married between haymaking and harvest, or we could wait until after the harvest. Whichever you like.”

Laurie laughed, a clear, delighted laugh.

“How lovely. Between haymaking and harvest, or after harvest. Of course. I shall be a farmer’s wife. Now, darling, tell me, when would that be?”

“In July, say—that’s given a pretty good year and a chance to get the hay in—or in September, when the corn is cut and stacked. The end of September, say—or even the beginning of October. It depends a good deal on the weather.”

“But why? You could still cut corn if we were married.”

“But I’d rather be here for harvest. We couldn’t go away until it was finished—unless it’s after haymaking.”

“We needn’t go away. October would be a bit late.”

“You must have a honeymoon.”

“I don’t see why. I shall spend the whole summer here in gorgeous country—we shan’t need a holiday.”

“Perhaps you’d like a whirl in Town?”

“Oh yes, that’s a good idea, and the weather isn’t so important. I’d like to show you sill my old haunts, Max.”

“Then we’ll say the end of September.”

“And that should finish Mr. Humphries book.”

“Give me a kiss to seal the bargain.”

She kissed him a very thorough kiss.

“You do the job properly, Laurie.”

“My heart’s in it, darling.”

“You’ve kissed lots of people, too.”

“Lots of people. And so have you.”

“Were you serious, Laurie?”

“Never darling. Never.”

“Never been in love before?”

“Never. I swear it. I’ve had lots of fun, but you, my dear, are the first man I’ve ever cared about. And I’m doing the job properly, as you’ve noticed.”

“I love you enormously.”

“That’s all I want to know ... Please observe that I don’t ask you if you’ve been in love before, or how often you were serious. I’ll let you off. I’d hate to know about them.”

“I’m thirty-five, Laurie.”

“I know. And so devastating handsome. I can see them all—those girls. But I won’t think about them.”

“At least, I never wanted to marry anybody—and there was less reason then for keeping away from it.”

“Don’t be humble, Max darling. You don’t need to be.”

“It’s only that I feel you deserve the best, Laurie, and in me you’re not getting it.”

“Heresy,” she said. “Rank heresy.”

They went slowly back to the house, hand in hand, and later Max drove Laurie and Mrs. Giles back to the village.

* * *

On Monday, Mrs. Giles went back to London, and Laurie, after being at White Lodge during the day, returned to the farm at tea time and precipitated a crisis.

She was already beginning to make plans: the family seated round the table would have been astonished to know the plans that were evolving in her mind. She had no intention of sharing Max permanently with his family. They must all live in the house together—that was evident. But they need not live in the same rooms all the time. She and Max must have their own place, to be private when they wished. They must have a sitting room of their own, where they could spend their evenings: they must have their privacy respected. Otherwise, as Mrs. Giles had pointed out, the marriage would be handicapped from the beginning. Laurie had no objection to furnishing with some of the pieces already in the farm, but she wanted her own color schemes and styles of decoration, and her own way in the arrangement of everything. She already had her eye on the lumber room on the ground floor; a large room with a wide brick fireplace and two long windows facing the west. It had been the dining room of a past era; when dairymaids and kitchenmaids were easy to come by and cheap to keep, and when they thought nothing of running the length of the corridor with every dish of food or all the empty plates. Nowadays, it contained everything that was not needed for use, but might be needed some day; a very old spinet, innumerable old oil lamps, roll of lino, old basket chairs, trunks of old materials and old papers, stepladders, two old bicycles, two hip-baths, a massive bookcase and a Victorian sofa that had to be seen to be believed. Laurie had made its acquaintance when she had removed from Aunt Hilda’s room to her new one, and Max had been searching for an old rug that would match the paintwork. Now she planned what she would do with the lumber room when it was hers.

Then Max came in. She looked up at him with a brilliant smile. He came straight to the table and took his seat.

“Well, did your mother get off all right?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Laurie was still preoccupied with herself and him to the exclusion of everybody else. “And,
darling,
she says that if we really do decide...” and then she stopped, her face scarlet with confusion, as Max’s lifted eyebrow reminded her of what she had said. Max had difficulty in repressing a sympathetic grin as he realized her confusion, but Roger looked quickly from one to the other of them, while Jessica was motionless, her eyes on Max. Mrs. Lorney, affecting not to have noticed anything unusual, looked round at them all, asking: “More tea, anybody? You, Hilda, you’re ready, I know. Another scone, Jess.” But her effort was disregarded. Jess, as rigid as if she were made of stone, asked: “Why does she call you darling?”

Max looked at her, and saw that trouble was brewing. No light reply was going to fob off Jessica. Jessica knew that something was developing. He said, with a smile: “Why shouldn’t Laurie call me that? I find it most agreeable.”

“And what is it that you’re going to decide? What is happening here? What’s going on in this house? Why should her mother be concerned in anything
you
decide? Nobody tells me anything that is happening.”

“Don’t get het-up, Jess,” said Roger. “You know as much as anybody else does.”

“Surely Laurie and I can have things to discuss or decide without having to tell everybody,” said Max.

“I don’t see why,” said Jess. “Or why her mother comes in to it. Or why she calls you darling like that.”

“Why you should make a fuss over that, I don’t know,” said her mother. “Neville Humphries calls you darling nearly every time he opens his mouth—me too, for that matter. It means nothing.”

Laurie looked at them. Her color had died down now, and uppermost in her mind was the thought that she had no intention of being frightened by Jessica. She said clearly: “It means something when I use it. And I’m not afraid to say so. Why are you all frightened to tell her? I called Max darling because I meant it. Because we’re in love with each other and hoping to get married.”

Roger shrugged his shoulders slightly. Max’s half-smile disappeared and he looked grave. Aunt Hilda, preparing her little speech of congratulation and looking up at them all to begin on it, was suddenly aware of strange forces at work and kept silence. Jessica had jumped to her feet.

“There you are,” she said. “There you are. I knew it would happen and now it has happened. She came here to do that. I knew it as soon as she set foot in the house. She meant to make trouble, to upset this family, to divide it. We were happy here before she came, and as soon as she came, something evil came in with her. And now she thinks she’s got Max, but she hasn’t, she hasn’t...”

Max’s arm went round her. He said: “Jess, be quiet. Stop it at once, d’you hear?”

“I won’t stop. Don’t you see what she’s after, Max? She wants this farm and this house. She doesn’t care about any of us. Mother and Aunt Hilda and I can go: I know, she’ll drive us out. She doesn’t want us. She doesn’t want you either, only what she can get out of you. I hate her, I hate her. We were happy before she came.”

Laurie had risen to her feet, her face now white and strained.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“You can’t marry her, Max,” went on Jessica. “It would be an awful mistake. She doesn’t really want you—she won’t look after you as we look after you; as I look after you. She’ll always want to go out; she’ll spoil everything...”

Max shook her a little.

“Jess, be quiet Listen to me. I won’t have you saying such things as these, now or ever again. I can understand that the news might have given you a shock, but I can’t understand you saying such crazy things. Now calm down, and forget all this nonsense, and when you’re calmer, you’ll be sorry. How do you think we all feel to hear you talking like this?”

“How do you think
I
feel to have her walking into this house, where we’ve lived all our lives, and taking everything away from us?”

“And what have I taken away from you?” asked Laurie clearly.

“You’ve taken Max. You meant to from the beginning. And you’ll take everything else.”

“I’ve taken Max,” said Laurie. “That’s the trouble. You think I’ve taken Max. But all men want to marry. Roger is going to get married. He’s still your brother. I can’t do anything to that relationship.” Her voice was kind, but clear and determined.

“You can and you will. You’ll poison Max against us all, and then you’ll drive us out. I’ve watched you right from the beginning. I’ve seen you working it out. You think you’re clever, but it will be just as much a mistake for you as it will for Max.”

Laurie turned away from her. She went to Mrs. Lorney, and smiled at her—a very tremulous smile. “It’s getting spoiled,” she said softly. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Yes, do, my dear,” said Mrs. Lorney, touching her hand gently.

“That’s right” shouted Jessica. “Get round my mother. Get round them all. But you won’t get round me.”

Laurie went out of the room. She heard Max’s voice, firm and low, talking to Jessica. She heard Jessica break into crying. She went up the stairs and into her room, crossing to the window and looking out over the fields. She was trembling, and very shaken, and felt a little sick. She had known all along of Jessica’s dislike, but had not gauged the depth of her hostility. How could she live in the house with such enmity, yet if ever Jessica left she would be convinced that Laurie had driven her away.

Her door opened, and Laurie jumped. But the steps that crossed the room and stopped behind her, were uneven and limping, and she relaxed again. Max’s arms came round her, and his cheek over her shoulder, bent down to touch hers.

“My poor little love,” he said. “See what a family you intend to marry into.”

“Oh, darling, the family’s all right. All except Jess.”

“Jess will be all right. She’s a little jealous, and the news was a shock. She’ll settle down.”

Laurie turned to face him.

“It’s more than that, Max. She hates me. You know it’s more than that.”

He returned her look gravely. Then he nodded: “Yes, I suppose it is,” he admitted. “The trouble is that Jess is possessive and has always wanted to possess me.”

“I know.”

“Before today, she’s never had any opposition. She didn’t possess me, but as long as nobody else did, she felt she was all right She’s always tried to be a slave for me. But she’ll have to adjust herself, that’s all.”

“It takes all the gilt off the gingerbread,” said Laurie sadly.

“Nonsense.” He smiled down at her very tenderly. “You don’t say that—not my Laurie. If the gingerbread has any gilt at all (and I’m afraid it hasn’t materially) then nothing Jess can do will take it off. She can’t get into the heaven we have, to share together.”

Laurie leaned on him gratefully.

“I adore you, Max. You’re so sweet and sensible.”

He laughed at her choice of adjectives.

“And I adore you, too, darling. Let me kiss you. I haven’t seen you all day, and it’s far too long.”

“You know,” she said, turning away from his searching lips at last, “it means we start with a handicap. I shall have to be so terribly careful of all I do and say.”

“Now that
is
nonsense,” he replied. “I won’t have you intimidated by any kind of jealousy. We’ll do whatever we intend to do, without in any way injuring Jess, and she must put up with it.”

“It’s going to be difficult.”

“But I don’t want things to be difficult for you. We must plan things to make them as easy as possible.”

“Yes, we will. Though how I’m going to treat Jess after that outburst this afternoon, I can’t quite see.”

“As if it hadn’t happened; if you can. You’ve always been polite to her and tried to be friendly. Well, if you can go on being polite, even if you’re quite indifferent to her, well I think it will help. And certainly make things easier for the family.”

“Well I’ll try, and we’ll see how it works. The nicest thing, from everybody’s point of view, Jess’s included, would be if she married and went away to a home of her own. Isn’t there anybody?”

“I don’t think so. There was a farmer over at Golden Fima who wanted to marry her—a widower; no children. About forty-five to fifty. But Jess decided he was too old. Then there was Fred Emerson in the village; he drives the tractor on Audrey’s father’s farm, and Jess decided he wasn’t good enough. Otherwise, there’s only Neville Humphries.”

“Only Neville Humphries! He sounds like a poor last chance.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. A lot of the girls round here would jump at him. Sometimes I think Jess would. I said ‘only’ Neville because I wasn’t considering him seriously. He’s a great pal of Jess’s, but I think that’s as far as it goes.”

“Pity,” said Laurie. “Still, we’ll see how things go along. I didn’t mean to blurt it out at all, darling, but it made me angry to see you all pandering to Jess, afraid to make her angry.”

“It didn’t matter, Laurie. They had to know some time.”

“And Roger? How will it affect you and Roger? Are you equal owners of the farm?”

“No. The farm is mine. It was left to Roger and me, and we were to provide for our mother, and for Jess until she married. But Roger and I never see eye-to-eye about anything and it was obvious to both of us that we’d never succeed as partners. So we had the whole place valued, and I started to buy Roger out. I pay him a small rate of interest and in another five years I shall be free. We bought an annuity for my mother. It’s all rather complicated, but I’ll explain it all to you some other time. Roger stands to gain, because Audrey is the only child, and her father’s farm will come, sooner or later, to Roger—when he marries Audrey, probably. So Roger has no grouse about us, and I know quite well that Mother hasn’t, If you can manage Jess...”

“I’ll try,” she promised.