School for Love (4 page)

When she was not rushing off to the ‘Ever-Readies’ or giving an English lesson, she was, he could see, obsessed by the disagreement with Frau Leszno which was always carried on just out of his hearing. He was rather glad of this quarrel because it somehow made the two women seem more human – but it was a negative consolation. He wished he had something, anything, to which he could look forward. For a week or two he dwelt on the new person who must be coming into the front room, but no one came and the hope began to fade. He wished very much that Mr Jewel came downstairs oftener, but the old man kept to his room and descended only for supper, which he ate rapidly without a word. Obviously things were not well between Miss Bohun and Mr Jewel, but there was no open quarrel; she merely ignored him, and
when she was near there was about him something guilty, flustered, almost apprehensive. Felix was full of curiosity as to what Mr Jewel did about his other meals. One day he asked Miss Bohun. She kept silent, reflecting a moment, holding in her narrow spade-shaped chin so that two other chins appeared beneath it; then she lifted her face and said vaguely: ‘He makes tea in his room, I believe. He’s funny that way.’

‘Oh! . . . and what does he do all alone upstairs?’

‘I have not asked him.’

The extreme coldness of this reply silenced Felix. But it was not only Miss Bohun that kept him at arm’s length – the atmosphere of the whole house seemed to him hostile. He was at home only with Faro or in the garden or at the cinema. He wondered sometimes if things would be any different for him anywhere. The centre wheel of his life was gone; he was at a standstill. He felt forsaken by the world, when, at last, something happened that changed the whole situation. He became a confidant. He was made to feel important and Miss Bohun, unexpectedly turning to him for sympathy, was revealed as nothing more monstrous than an unhappy old lady.

It was the first morning of spring sunshine when, with Faro on his shoulder, he was drawn out to the glitter of the open air. There was a bench under the mulberry tree. Despite the cold, he settled down to work there. When he heard someone crossing the garden he looked up to see Nikky, wearing a most elegant overcoat with an astrakhan collar. Nikky let it hang open so everyone could see the fur lining inside; it was so long, it tripped him several times as he walked, but he held his delicate, pale face aloof, apparently unaware of being tripped. Felix, awed and
admiring, watched him as he went out through the back gate and crossed the stony wasteland beyond. Just as he was disappearing over the crest of the hill, Miss Bohun ran out, arms raised, and shouted: ‘Has Nikky gone?’

‘Yes.’ Felix pointed after him but it was too late to catch him.

‘Oh!’ Miss Bohun flung down her fists in exasperation, ‘I told him to clean the windows. He’s supposed to do the windows once a week, but he does nothing, nothing. All he wants to do is dress up in his father’s clothes and go out. It’s too bad. It’s so unfair to me.’

Her voice almost broke, so when Felix returned to the house at lunch-time he was less surprised than he might have been to find her crouched at the table with rounded shoulders and drooping head. He stood looking at her, feeling the change in her. It was not only that she had a deflated look, there was something tearful about her although her eyes were dry. If she had been crying Felix could have asked at once what was the matter. Instead he had to stand uncertainly by the garden window and pretend to be looking at his books.

Miss Bohun must have been conscious of him, for in a moment she sniffed and said: ‘She told me I was a wicked woman. I’d just gone out to have a quiet word about Nikky’s conduct when she flung at me – literally
flung
at me: “You could be an angel, but you’re really a devil.”’

It was her stunned manner rather than what had been said that conveyed to him her sense of shock. He felt shocked himself. How cruel to say that to Miss Bohun – Miss Bohun who had befriended the Lesznos and given a home to him and Mr Jewel! She had been an angel to everyone.

Miss Bohun sniffed again and continued: ‘She doesn’t mean it, of course; she
couldn’t
mean it. It was just temper, but it hurt me that she could say it after all I’ve done for them.’ She sat still again, brooding and silent, with Felix standing in sympathetic watchfulness, until Frau Leszno came in with the meal; then she jerked herself upright and looked as though nothing unusual had happened.

‘Go on up now, Felix,’ she said loudly and cheerfully, ‘and wash your hands. I want to get luncheon over quickly. I’ve a pupil coming in twenty minutes.’

But as they ate, it was as though some barrier were down. Frau Leszno, coming in and out with a smirking look of guilt, seemed to sense this new relationship and slammed the door each time she left.

‘Oh dear!’ said Miss Bohun as it crashed a second time, ‘and I’ve been so good to them. Well,
I
have nothing with which to reproach myself . . . but I must not lose heart. Whatever happens, I find I’m always rewarded in the end. When I make a gift to someone, it is returned to me a hundredfold. Does that happen to you, Felix?’

‘I haven’t noticed it.’

‘Well, notice next time and you’ll see.’

Felix, though he lacked other education, was deeply read in children’s classics and he recognised here a true goodness. He was very impressed but, unable to think of anything adequate to say, remained silent.

‘You know, Felix,’ said Miss Bohun after a pause, ‘I came out here when I was still a young woman. Yes, I was under forty when I came. It was just when I realised nobody was going to want to marry me that I felt drawn to come here and join the “Ever-Readies”. My little income made it possible. By giving my heart and soul to
the cause, I’ve worked my way to the top. Yes, it’s my own little show now. I think – I think I can say I’ve not wasted my life?’

This, both statement and question, was spoken with so unexpected a tremulousness that Felix, although quite ignorant of the facts, felt bound to declare stoutly: ‘Oh, I’m sure you’re terrific, like a missionary, like Livingstone. Anyway, you’ve been jolly decent to me.’

‘I try to do good. I’m only an old spinster. No one, except God, has chosen me.’

Miss Bohun’s mood of humility discomforted Felix very much, but he recognised it as a part of virtue.

‘I haven’t a family. I have no children, but I have a whole circle of people who’re indebted to me. I thought that meant something. I thought the Lesznos . . .’ she broke off, swallowed, then continued in stronger tones: ‘They’ve never
shown
much gratitude, it’s true, but I always told myself that deep down they must be grateful. That’s why I can’t understand Frau Leszno saying that this morning. I
can’t
understand it.’

‘I think she’s beastly,’ said Felix with deeper feeling than he knew he possessed.

‘Do you?’ Miss Bohun glanced up with interest, ‘you
really
think that, Felix?’

‘I don’t like her voice, and I think she’s mean,’ and for the first time he told Miss Bohun about the incident of the bath-boiler on the night of his arrival.

Miss Bohun was not, as he had hoped she would be, indignant over his failure to get a bath, but instead said in an elated and excited tone: ‘There! I’ve always said it! Children’s instincts are so acute, children’s and dogs’. And she’s always telling me she’s a lady. She says she
went to a boarding-school when she was a girl, and she says she’s been used to every comfort money could buy. And she’s always telling me how well servants are treated in Germany – like members of the family. That doesn’t sound very German to me. After all, she and her husband had to do a bolt from the Germans; I’ve had to remind her of that more than once. Well, no one could have done more for anyone than I’ve done for her. That’s the trouble, of course. Time was when she and Nikky were simply in possession here. They did what they liked. Nikky was getting so insolent, my students started to remark on it. I could see the danger. I’ve been forced to wean them from me.
Forced
– for their own sakes as well as mine. It’s so bad spiritually, don’t you think?’

Felix, baffled by this question, could do no more than make a sympathetic murmur. Miss Bohun now retired again into brooding quiet. She said nothing more at that meal, but there was more to be said. She had clearly decided to tell Felix the story of her relationship with the Lesznos, for during the next week each luncheon-time added to it.

Frau Leszno and her husband had arrived in Palestine some time before the war. Nikky had followed later. They had brought clothes and jewellery but only a little money. ‘Frau Leszno,’ said Miss Bohun, ‘at once took this house and furnished it. She never stopped to think she’d need the money for other things; to her the most important possession was a home. . . .’

‘But this house?’ Felix interrupted in his surprise, ‘
this
house?’

‘Yes,’ Miss Bohun seemed irritated by his surprise, ‘the situation was quite absurd. Herr Leszno had married late. He was an old man and, to tell you the truth, he was
dying before he left Germany. He had sclerosis. I prayed but nothing I did seemed to help him. He couldn’t earn a penny. And as for Frau Leszno – you’ve seen for yourself what
she’s
like. No one would employ her, except out of charity – yet she got the chance of this very nice house, which, mind you, belongs to an Arab. Yes, it belongs to an Imam at the big mosque. Well, they took it on. I’d been living at a
pension
but I wanted to move,
for a reason
. I began looking for something, rooms or something, in this quarter – my favourite; it’s the most picturesque, I think, don’t you? I happened to knock on this gate and Frau Leszno opened it – a poor, bedraggled, starved thing that started to cry before she’d said half-a-dozen words. They’d already sold part of the furniture at a loss to keep going. Well, I came in and took charge at once. I’m always looking for some way to be of use in the world and here was my chance – the sick old man, and Frau Leszno wailing and lamenting and wringing her hands. She showed me over the house – well, really, I showed her over it – and there were these simply splendid rooms, empty, just what I wanted. I told her I’d take two of the bedrooms. “Now,” I said, “you’re not to worry. I’ll look after you.” Ah, she told me I was her good angel,
then!
I furnished my own rooms myself. I gave English lessons to make extra money. I paid all the rent that was owing – a considerable sum! £25 as a matter of fact! – and I had the house put into my name to safeguard all of us. When Herr Leszno died, I promised him on his death-bed that while I had a roof to give her, his wife would never lack one. Oh, it was quite an undertaking for one lone woman. Mr Tadlow, who was assistant D.C. here at the time (such a nice man), said: “You’re one of
the bravest, Miss Bohun.” Yes, he said that: “One of the bravest.” And, I can tell you, Frau Leszno never let me forget my promise. Then Nikky turned up. She said she had a son who was trying to get out of Europe. She said the last she’d heard of him was he’d gone back to Poland to fight. I never thought he’d get here, but he managed it somehow. Trust Nikky Leszno!’ She gloomed over this escape a while before adding: ‘I had to go to Haifa to get him off one of those refugee coffin ships that came from Rumania. More trouble for me! He was in a state – thin and ghastly, dirty; ill, too – or, I mean, he thought he was ill. A mental condition, really, of course. Dear me, what a time that was.’ Miss Bohun made a grimace and shook her head over her memories, but suddenly her voice rose loudly and cheerfully: ‘Well, I did what I could for him. I introduced him into the “Ever-Readies” at once, and it made a power of difference. I’m sure if it hadn’t been for the spiritual comfort he drew from our faith, he would have been dead long ago. Not that I got much gratitude from
him
. As soon as he was well again, he began to find distractions outside our circle. That sort of thing happens, I fear – but, there, he’s a talented lad, a fey sort of creature. I always feel we mustn’t impose on him. We mustn’t complain.’

Felix said nothing. It would never have entered his head to complain about Nikky, whose good looks and aloof manner always made him feel his own insignificance. Reflecting upon it now, he waited in silence for Miss Bohun to continue her story.

In those days Frau Leszno had a bedroom on the first floor while Nikky slept in the attic. Miss Bohun earned the money as a sort of father of the family while Frau Leszno did the housework and cooking. Nikky, trained
only as a gentleman, undertook a few odd jobs. They lived together on an equal footing.

‘Not unhappily,’ commented Miss Bohun with a sigh.

Change came when, during the war, she was asked if she would board an army officer ‘at a generous rate’. It was then she realised how valuable her house could be. ‘The only suitable room for letting was the one you now have,’ she said, and Felix wondered why his was the only suitable room. What about the front room? Before he could ask this question, Miss Bohun continued: ‘Well, Frau Leszno was installed in your room in those days. I had to persuade her to move out to the little room in the yard. I cannot
tell
you the trouble I had with her. That yard room is a nice little room, but she knew it had been designed for a servant – and that was enough! The wails, the obstinacy, the sitting at table with tears streaming down! Oh dear! But I had to steel myself. It was impossible for me to go on as I had been – working to keep both of them
and
the house going. I
had
to be firm for all our sakes. If I’d collapsed, where would they have been? In the end I got her out and the officer moved in. Then there was fresh trouble. He’d never heard of a servant eating at the same table as her employer. Poor man, he couldn’t get used to Frau Leszno bringing in the food, then planting herself down beside him. I could see how it embarrassed him. He did not like her. He felt just as you did about her. She isn’t a pleasant woman; and Nikky can be so boorish, too. And she neglects herself so – dear me! that smell of sweat in the hot weather. In the end I persuaded her to take her meals in the kitchen and suggested Nikky should eat with her, just for company. Again, what a struggle! Really! each time I suggested any small change, there was always a painful scene. She had
to go, though. I insisted on it. But she’s a foolish woman, incapable of facing facts. She pretended to herself that these new arrangements were only temporary – war-time measures, as you might say. She was sure when the officer went she’d be back in her old room and eating in here just as before. I said nothing, but I felt I simply could
not
have it all over again. So, as soon as the officer told me he’d been posted, I got him to recommend one of his friends, who moved in the day he moved out. I kept doing this all during the war and it worked very nicely until a few weeks before you arrived, when, with the officers all leaving, I was finding it a little difficult to get someone suitable. Then, of course, she started insisting that she must come back into the house. I was distracted! She’s such an insistent person, you know. She wouldn’t let the matter drop. I felt myself being battened down – then, as good luck would have it, I got a letter from Mr Shipton. About you. Just in time, you see! I was able to do you a good turn, and you, in a way, did me one. But before that, of course, Mr Jewel came. Oh dear, oh dear! That was another exhausting business. The poor old man was homeless. I felt I must take him in the attic. Months before, I’d suggested Nikky should find himself a job and pay a little towards his keep. After all there were two of them and only one of me. But he’s bonelazy. I’m fond enough of the boy, but I felt I owed it to myself not to let him take advantage. I gave him the alternative of finding himself a lodging elsewhere or taking himself down to the kitchen. I said I’d give him a mattress.’