Quartet in Autumn (20 page)

Norman, strangely disturbed by the idea of Marcia lying in her coffin about to be consigned to the flames, was visited by a frivolous couplet he had read somewhere:

Dust to dust
,
ashes to ashes.

Into the grave the great Queen dashes.

He didn't know whether to laugh, which you could hardly do here, or cry, which you couldn't do either and it was a long time since he had shed tears. He bent his head, as the curtains closed and the coffin slid away, not wanting to see that last bit.

Afterwards they all gathered outside in an awkward little group in the bright sunshine.

'What lovely flowers,' Letty murmured, turning to Janice and Priscilla. The eternal usefulness of flowers again eased a strained situation. Two sheaves of flame gladioli and pink and white carnations and two wreaths of hot-house roses, mauve everlastings and white chrysanthemums were lying in a space bearing a notice which proclaimed 'Marcia Joan Ivory'.

'Priscilla and I thought she'd rather have cut flowers,' said Janice a little defiantly, her eyes on the wreaths. 'Some people do specify that.'

'Poor old Marcia, she was hardly in a state to specify anything,' Norman said. 'We clubbed together for a wreath — the mauve and white — Letty, Edwin and I, seeing as how.. .'

'Of course, you worked together, didn't you? said Priscilla, in her best finishing-school manner. She didn't quite know how to cope with this odd little man and the other hardly less odd tall one, and hoped that it would be possible to get away quickly now that she had done her social duty.

'The other wreath is from Marcia's cousin,' said Edwin. 'She did have this distant cousin but she was too upset to attend the funeral.'

'Not having seen her for forty years,' Norman chipped in.

'The son came, though,' said Edwin, 'so that was something. Apparently he works in London.'

'That young person sitting at the back?' said Letty. She had noticed somebody of indeterminate sex, with straggling, tow
-
coloured hair, wearing a kaftan.

'Yes, wearing a bead necklace, that's him.'

The group dispersed. Edwin, Letty and Norman found their way to Father G., who was waiting rather impatiently by his car. Edwin sat in the front by Father G. and Letty and Norman squashed into the back with the suitcase containing his vestments. The two in front kept up an animated conversation, mostly church shop, but the two in the back were silent. Norman did not know what to say or even what he felt, except that funerals were sad occasions anyway, but Letty was overcome by a sense of desolation, as if by Marcia's death she was now completely alone. And it wasn't even as if they had been close friends.

Twenty-one

L
ITTLE
DID
WE
think…

It was inevitable that Norman should say something of the kind, Letty felt, remembering the last time they had eaten a meal together in a restaurant. Little, indeed, had they thought on that occasion at the Rendezvous that the next time would be like this. Now of course they had Father G. with them, so that added something different

'Well, now..,' Father G. took up the menu and began to study it
.
He presumed that he and Edwin would be sharing the cost of the meal between them, Letty being a woman, and Norman something a little less than the kind of man one might expect to treat one to a lunch. He had wondered when the funeral arrangements were being made what the aftermath was going to be, seeing that the deceased appeared to have no relative capable of laying on funeral baked meats. At first he had wondered if Edwin himself would invite them all back to his house, but he was relieved that he had evidently decided against it but had chosen a nearby restaurant with a licence. It was an agreeable change not to be crowded into a suburban sitting room or 'lounge', invariably furnished in appalling taste, forced to drink sweet sherry or the inevitable cups of tea. Would it be in the least appropriate, he wondered, to suggest what he really felt like at this moment — a dry Martini?

'Something to drink, I feel,' said Edwin, echoing Father G.'s thought.

Yes, one does feel.. ,' Letty murmured.

'It takes it out of you, a day like this,' Norman said awkwardly. He had been going to say that what takes it out of you is a funeral but somehow the word did not come, as if he did not like to think of it, let alone say the word out loud.

Father G., thus encouraged, felt justified in being brisk and taking action. He summoned a waiter and ordered drinks — medium sherry for Edwin and Norman, a dry Martini for himself, and for the lady ... Letty's hesitation, her slight feeling that perhaps they ought not to be drinking when poor Marcia had never touched a drop, was taken by Father G. to be womanly modesty or ignorance of what was available. 'Why not try a dry Martini?' he suggested. 'That will pull you together.'

'Yes, I do feel as if I needed something like that,' she agreed, and when the drink came it did seem to achieve a kind of pulling together. There is something in it, she thought, the comfort of drink at a time like this. It also had the effect of making her realize that while poor Marcia was no longer with them she and the others were very much alive — Edwin, his usual grey solemn self, Norman, obviously in a state of some emotion, and Father G., the efficient bossy clergyman. Looking round the restaurant, she noticed an arrangement of artificial sweet peas in unnaturally bright colours, a party of businessmen at a long table, and two smartly dressed women comparing patterns of curtain material. Conscious of her own aliveness, she allowed Father G. to persuade her to choose oeufs Florentine, because it sounded attractive, while he himself had a steak, Edwin grilled plaice, and Norman cauliflower au gratin. 'I don't feel like much,' Norman added, subtly making the others feel that they ought not to have felt like much either.

You've retired now?' Father G. asked, making conversation with Letty. 'That must be...' he cast about for a word to describe what Letty's retirement must be '
.
.. a great opportunity,' he brought out, all life being nothing so much as a great opportunity.

'Yes, it certainly is!' The dry Martini had encouraged Letty to a greater appreciation of her present state. 'I find I can do all sorts of things now.'

'We could take that in more ways than one,' said Norman, with a return of his usual jaunty manner. 'It makes us wonder what you get up to.'

'Nothing, really,' said Letty, inhibited by the presence of Father G. 'I just have more time to do things — reading and other kind of work.'

'Ah, yes, social work.' Father G. nodded approvingly.

'I think Letty is more likely to be on the receiving end of the social worker's ministrations,' said Edwin. 'After all, she
is
a retired person, a senior citizen, you might say.'

Letty felt it a little unfair of Edwin to lump her into this category, when she had hardly any grey hairs in spite of her age, and Father G. seemed to draw away from her at this unattractive classification. He did not much care for the aged, the elderly, or just 'old people', whatever you liked to call them.

'What about the next course?' Edwin asked.

'Do you remember the last time?' Norman asked suddenly. 'What we had then?'

'I think you and I had apple pie and ice cream,' Letty said.

'That's right — Aunt somebody's apple pie. Edwin had the cream caramel and he tried to get Marcia to have some but she wouldn't.'

There was silence and for a moment nobody could think of anything else to say. They may all have been aware that at a time of bereavement it is best not to bottle things up. Marcia's name had not been mentioned up to now and perhaps it was fitting that Norman should be the one to bring it out.

'She always had such a small appetite,' Letty said at last.

'Never a big eater,' Norman's voice seemed as if it might break on these words but he controlled himself.

I must ask him round to a meal one evening, Edwin thought, give him a chance to talk about her if he wants to. He did not much look forward to the prospect but things like this had to be done and one couldn't expect always to enjoy doing one's Christian duty.

'What is going to happen to Miss Ivory's house?' asked Father G., as if the mention of property might bring the conversation up to a higher level. I suppose it will be left to that — er — relative?'

'The young man in the bead necklace or his mother, I suppose,' said Edwin. I believe those were her only relatives.'

'If it were smartened up a bit it would be quite a desirable property,' Father G. said, in a condescending estate-agent's tone.

'What do you mean, if it was smartened a bit?' Norman asked aggressively.

Father G. smiled. 'Well, you know, it could have done with a lick of paint — that was my impression. Now, what about some ice cream?' he asked in a soothing tone, feeling that ice cream might act like oil on troubled waters and pacify the angry Norman more effectively than any words of his.

'We finished off with ice cream,' Letty said. 'There were so many different kinds, it was like being a child again. Even Norman said he'd always liked strawberry ice. I think it cheered him up in a sort of way.'

'I couldn't decide whether you'd be hungry or not,' Mrs Pope said. 'One never knows after a funeral.'

Letty was surprised and obscurely comforted to realize that Mrs Pope had been thinking of her to the extent of wondering whether she would need a meal. The time — just after five o'clock — was an unpromising one for anything except a 'high tea' and that seemed inappropriate.

'Edwin seemed to know this restaurant quite near, so that was very convenient,' Letty explained.

Mrs Pope had been waiting expectantly, so Letty had to tell her what they had eaten. Steak for Father G. had seemed suitable, for after all he had taken the service and in some way, Mrs Pope commented, the clergy appeared to relish meat and even to need it. Oeufs Florentine, Letty's choice, sounded frivolous and unfeeling, on a par with wearing something in 'French navy' to the funeral. What was it about the French, or the idea of the French? Surely now that we were a part of the EEC things would be different, attitudes would change? Or would we be infected by their supposed frivolity? So Letty just said that she had had 'an egg dish'.

'Well, eggs are as nourishing as meat in their way,' Mrs Pope pronounced, 'so you probably won't feel like another egg now.

'I think just a cup of tea...' There was something to be said for tea and a comfortable chat about crematoria.

Twenty-two

N
ORMAN
WENT
INTO
Marcia's house, using the front door key which had been handed over to him by the solicitor. He entered 'the dwelling of Miss Marcia Joan Ivory, deceased'. That was how he put it to himself and how, shocked into his usual flippancy, he had discussed with Edwin the astonishing news that Marcia had left her house to him. The will had evidently been made just after her operation, at a time when she had been forced to face up to the future. Her money, such as it was, had been left to her cousin, with a legacy for the son. 'He'll be able to buy himself another string of beads,' was Norman's comment.

'Norman, the Man of Property,' Edwin teased, and it seemed to redress the balance between them, now that Norman also had a house and need no longer be an object of pity, alone in his bedsitter. Yet it would really have been more suitable if Marcia had left her house to Letty, also alone in a bedsitter though she did have the company of Mrs Pope. 'Are you going to live in it?' Edwin asked, remembering the state the house had been in when he and Father G. had gone in that time. It'll need a bit doing to it,' he couldn't resist adding. 'I shouldn't be surprised if the roof leaked.'

'Oh, so what!' said Norman. 'Who cares about the roof?'

'Well, water might come in — rain and snow.'

'We don't get much snow in London, not south of the river, anyway.'

'Did you know about this — had you any idea?'

'What do you think? Of course I hadn't.'

'She used to make coffee for you, remember,' Edwin persisted.

'That was only because she thought it cheaper to share the large economy tin, as you've already pointed out more than once,' Norman retorted angrily.

They had parted slightly annoyed with each other, and the next day Norman had taken a day off to go and look at the house. He had a few extra bits of leave still owing to him, so there was no difficulty about that. Who would ever have thought that one of those extra days would have come in useful on this sort of occasion? God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform, and you could certainly call this a wonder.

The key fitted easily in the Yale lock and there was a mortise lock too. Marcia had been careful about burglars, especially when she was out all day. Standing in the hall, Norman noticed the solid Edwardian furniture — hatstand, table and chairs — rather than the dust over everything, for of course it would be dusty after all this time, stands to reason, he said to himself. He wandered from room to room, seeing not himself in possession but Marcia as she must have been in the time he had known her but never been invited here. If she had invited him, would things have been any different? But she never would have invited him — that was the essence of their relationship. So it had been a relationship, had it? He remembered that time she had followed him into the BM, and he had been trapped in front of those animals, gaping at them with a crowd of school kids, stuck there until it was safe to go. She thought he hadn't seen her, but he had, and after that he hadn't gone to the museum again, just trotted off to the library. Then there had been the making of the coffee, that Edwin was always going on about — there hadn't really been much in that
...