The Complete Pratt (119 page)

Hilary made the mistake of laughing.

‘It isn’t funny,’ said Henry. ‘I see nothing funny in the break-up of a marriage.’

Hilary went even whiter than usual, and began to cry. Henry heard the voice of the Indian waiter, ‘Count your blessings.’

He rushed over to her and said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it,’ but she refused to let him kiss her properly.

He’d laid the table in the small, cosy kitchen, which at Hilary’s suggestion he’d painted a cheery yellow. He’d even lit a candle. He’d made watercress soup and moussaka. Hilary said it was nice, and even the children ate a little, but it wasn’t what he’d hoped for, and the fact that it was entirely his fault only made it worse.

At the end of the meal, Hilary said how lovely it had been.

‘What, even after all the sophisticated food you’ve been having?’

‘Best meal I’ve had all week.’

He didn’t believe her, but he was pleased none the less.

‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he said, as they washed up. ‘I love you so much and I miss you so much that I can’t cope sometimes.’

Hilary put her arms round him, lifted his ‘Oxfam’ apron, and touched his thigh gently.

He told her about the Indian waiter, and she laughed, and once again things were almost as they had once been.

During the summer of 1962, Hilary had a minor disappointment, and Henry had a minor success.

The minor disappointment was that Hilary’s book, despite good reviews, was selling only modestly.

The minor success was that figures issued by Eddie Hapwood, Head of Research (Statistical), showed that in 1961, throughout the Northern Counties (Excluding Berwick-on-Tweed) production of cucumbers had risen by 1.932 per cent.

Hilary and the children came with Henry on one of his trips round the North Country, but the children grew bored in the car, and even the knowledge that they were passing through areas where people were growing 1.932 per cent more cucumbers failed to excite them for very long.

They flew to Spain for their holiday. Kate and Jack were incoherent with excitement. They ate paella and Spanish omelette and swam and grew brown and both Howard and Nadežda told Henry how much they loved him for making Hilary so happy, and Henry thought of the times when he’d made her miserable, and felt sick with guilt. He resolved, secretly, to be much better towards her when they returned home.

But all the time, whether lolling on the beach or being driven up into the dry hills, or catching the little train that wound painfully slowly through the orange groves near the coast, Henry was aware of the two important decisions that he must make – when to move out of cucumbers, and what to do about Uncle Teddy and Auntie Doris.

Shortly after their return, the Cuban Missile Crisis pushed the world to the brink of war. President Kennedy revealed that the United States had evidence of Russian missile bases in Cuba. He began a partial blockade of Cuba. Russian warships steamed towards Cuba. President Kennedy did not waver. The Russian warships turned back, the Russians agreed to remove the missile bases, America agreed to lift the blockade, and Henry decided, in this uncertain climate, not to move out of cucumbers until 1963.

He also decided that he
must
tell Auntie Doris about Uncle Teddy.

‘I’ve no choice,’ he told Hilary. ‘He’s unhappy, she’s unhappy, even Geoffrey Porringer’s unhappy.’

‘I agree,’ said Hilary. ‘I’m surprised you’ve delayed so long.’

‘It’s a big responsibility, interfering in people’s lives,’ said Henry. ‘It’s a terrible responsibility. I think, before I actually do it, I’d better write to Uncle Teddy to check if it’s still what he really wants.’

Dear Uncle Teddy [he wrote],

I’m sorry not to have been in touch before, but I just haven’t known what to do. I’ve decided now that I will act as a go-between for you, if you solemnly swear that you really do love Auntie Doris and will commit yourself to her till death do you part.

Kate is at school full time now and loving it, she’s very bright. Jack is more the practical type. He’s into everything, naughty but lovely. Hilary’s getting on well with her second novel, set in a glue factory! She doesn’t want me to read it before it’s finished.

Work is going pretty well for me too. Would you ever have guessed, when you took me into your home that snowy day in that awful winter of 1947, that fifteen years later I’d be responsible, virtually single-handed, for an increase of 1.932 per cent in cucumber yields in Northern England (Excluding Berwick-on-Tweed)?

I look forward to your reply and hopefully setting the whole thing in motion very soon.

We hope you’ll have a happy Christmas and that 1963 will see the beginning of a great new life for you.

Lots of love,

Henry and Hilary (not forgetting Kate and Jack)

They had a Christmas card from Uncle Teddy, but it had crossed Henry’s letter. His message read:

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas. Very disappointed not to have had any news re what we discussed. No news or bad news or you forgot or just got too busy? Sorry there’s no lolly enclosed. Fings ain’t wot they used t’be in import–export.

And then there was nothing. A year that was to leave the world a very changed place began with a giant freeze, with heavy snowfalls and frost night and day for several weeks. Henry rushed to the post each morning. Bills, giant carpet sales, one fan letter for Hilary – I wonder if you are a relation of Gloria Lewthwaite, who did water-colours, mainly of lighthouses, before the First World War – but nothing from Uncle Teddy.

And then at last, towards the end of February, there was a letter from France:

Dear Henry,

I’m sorry not to have replied to your letter. I went skiing at Megeve over Christmas [So much for fings not being wot they used to be import–export, thought Henry wryly] and had a most unfortunate accident and broke two legs, one of which was mine. I had to hang around in hospital for quite a while, also I had to make sure the other man, a postman from Rouen, was all right before I left. Luckily, both our legs are mending well, though I don’t know how long it’ll be before he’s doing his rounds again.

Anyway, to business. I simply can’t give the promise you seek. I’ve had enough of broken promises. I’ve discovered that life is a miserable sod which can’t be trusted for a
second
. Rather like Geoffrey Porringer, really. What I do swear, on a bottle of the twenty-five-year-old Macallan, is that I love Doris very much, and I
intend
and
want
to commit myself to her till the old bastard of a reaper carries us to our respective destinations – her up, me down! If that’s good enough for you, we’re on with the great adventure. If not, well, common sense will have prevailed.

I’d like to return to England to live, with a new identity. I can get a false passport, no problem, in exchange for certain services.

Love to you all,

Uncle Teddy

Henry’s reply, written on Cucumber Marketing Board paper, when he should have been writing a report on ‘Late Cropping Ridge Cucumbers of the Solway Firth’ for the
Vegetable Growers’ Gazette
, was quite brief:

Dear Uncle Teddy,

Thank you very much for your letter. Sorry about the broken leg. Also about the postman’s broken leg, although, since I don’t know him and therefore can’t love him except theoretically, I’m not as concerned about his leg as about yours.

I’m thrilled you want to go ahead, and am happy with your assurances. They’re very honest and I respect that more than empty promises.

I have certain principles, boring though you may find them, and I have to ask you, before I go ahead, to promise that the ‘certain services’ that you can get a passport in exchange for are not addictive drugs, anything to do with armaments of any kind, or an introduction to the Masons.

With lots of love from us all as ever,

Henry.

John Profumo, Secretary of State for War, told the House of
Commons
that he’d committed no impropriety with a girl called Christine Keeler. Dr Beeching announced his solution to Britain’s traffic problem. He would close large numbers of railways. In April, Henry received his long-awaited reply from Uncle Teddy:

Dear Henry,

Again, sorry for the delay, but an opportunity came to mix business with pleasure in Barcelona, and I never look a gift horse in the mouth, in case all the others fall and it wins.

I wouldn’t touch drugs, I don’t have the contacts for armaments, and I never liked the Masons. All that rolling-up of trouser legs plays havoc with your creases. I’ll tell you what my little adventure consists of when we meet.

I can’t wait to see Doris again. Awaiting your reply eagerly, as ever.

Lots of love,

Uncle Teddy

PS Better meet in ‘the smoke’. Too many people know me in Yorkshire.

So there was no more reason to delay telling Auntie Doris. Waves of excitement and dread swept over Henry.

They met at the Fig Leaf, an expensive and enormously fashionable restaurant near Keighley, run by two retired furniture restorers, Daniel Westerbrook and Quentin Cloves, whose behaviour made Denzil and Lampo seem like heterosexual quantity surveyors. Only the fact that the wives of three senior police officers thought it the best food for fifty miles had saved them from investigation.

The place tinkled with prettiness. Cupids and cherubs abounded, private parts hidden by the eponymous leaves.

‘Doris!’ exclaimed Quentin Cloves, kissing her on both cheeks and some of her chins. ‘Darling! Wonderful to see a human face!’ He lowered his voice. ‘The briefcase brigade everywhere today. So boring. The soup of the day is chervil, the fish of the day is red
mullet
baked with rosemary, and the lamb with mustard and honey crust is, like Dante’s comedy, divine. And aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’

‘My nephew, Henry Pratt,’ said Auntie Doris.

‘Welcome to the Fig Leaf, Henry Pratt. You have a wonderful aunt,’ said Quentin Cloves.

All this didn’t make things any easier. Auntie Doris would have to give up all this celebrity if she went back to Uncle Teddy.

‘I’d never have thought you’d find a place like this in Yorkshire,’ said Henry.

‘It’s just the beginning,’ said Auntie Doris. ‘In the years to come, the broad acres will be awash with fashionable food.’

In the chummy bar, which was like an antique shop with drinks, Henry found it impossible to give his staggering news without being overheard, but as soon as they were at their table, he began.

‘Auntie Doris?’ he said. ‘I asked you out to tell you something.’

‘O’oh! I’m intrigued.’

‘We must keep our voices down. Nobody must hear.’

‘I’m
very
intrigued.’

‘What I’m going to say may shock you.’

‘You’re not leaving Hilary for Quentin Cloves!’

‘It’s … it’s about you, and it’s … something very difficult to say.’

‘I’m nervous, Henry. That’s why I’m trying to joke.’

‘There’s no need to be nervous. It’s not bad news.’

‘Well thank God for that.’

‘It’s about Uncle Teddy.’

‘Uncle Teddy? What news can there be about him? He’s been dead seven years.’

‘Yes, well … that’s the point, you see. He … er … what? Oh the terrine … Thank you.’

Auntie Doris was giving him a strange, intense look. Had she guessed? He realised that, nervous though he was, he was enjoying being in possession of a sensational secret. He hadn’t wanted her to guess. Damn the waitress.

As soon as the waitress had gone, he told her.

‘He didn’t die in that fire. He’s still alive.’

‘What? But they found the body.’

‘That was … somebody else. Nobody you know.’

‘Well where is he?’

‘Cap Ferrat.’

‘Cap Ferrat? That was our place.’

‘Exactly. I think he’s loved you all along.’

‘Why are you telling me this now?’

‘He wants you back, Auntie Doris. And so do I.’

‘Good Lord! Well, I … Good Lord!’ Auntie Doris took a mouthful of her
ballottine
of lobster, and chewed like an automaton. ‘I feel dizzy,’ she said. ‘I feel faint.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Henry. ‘Drink some wine.’

Auntie Doris took a gulp of Pouilly-Fuissé.