The Juniper Tree (12 page)

The thing I did not enjoy was my bi-weekly visit to the Forbeses house. Tommy and I went there every other weekend and Tommy was happy enough playing with the baby in the nursery and ‘helping’ Marie push the pram and was becoming quite attached to Charlotte. Charlotte was trying to take Gertrude’s place, but she lacked Gertrude’s charm. She was very friendly towards me and even asked my advice about babies and household things and occasionally about Bernard. She would say, ‘He’s so fond of you, he’d do anything for you. He thinks of you almost like a daughter. What was it I said that upset him so at lunch? Why did he leave most of his prunes, doesn’t he like them? And the Vivaldi record. Why tear it from the machine and stamp on it? Such beautiful music and one of Gertrude’s favourites.’ She never spoke to me about anything intellectual although she quite rightly prided herself on her good brain. She seemed to think mine was entirely domestic and if I came out with a remark about surrealist paintings, for instance, she would say, ‘Well, well, who’s talking.’ I’m sure she didn’t mean to be unkind but she didn’t understand people and their feelings.

Bernard suffered more than I did because he had her every day and couldn’t see the end of it. ‘She’s so insensitive, that’s the trouble, and she looks very like Gertrude at times, which makes it worse. Oh God, what am I saying? She has given up the work she loves, she’s doing everything she can to help and all I do is criticize her. I must start taking her to concerts again, she enjoys them and we get on much better when there is something serious to talk about.’ He drew me to him and said, ‘And as for you, my little one, we must continue your education. There’s a new play I’d particularly like you to see and I still haven’t taken you to a concert. Perhaps we should start with Schubert.’

After Bernard started taking us out again life was not so gloomy and we all got on together much better. Charlotte was very generous about looking after Marline, when Bernard took me out on my mind-improving evenings, and in return I sometimes helped her with the cooking, particularly when Bernard’s business associates came to dinner.

Marie had stayed on for nearly two extra months and was fretting to return to Australia so another nurse had to be found. Bernard was in favour of an old-fashioned nanny but Charlotte thought she would need to be waited on and it would mean meals on trays and that kind of thing so they eventually chose quite a young girl called Nell who turned out to be cheerful and kind but Bernard objected to her clothes. She was suitably dressed for the interview but must have hired or borrowed the neat, dark clothes because after the first day they never appeared again. She constantly wore crumpled jeans and T-shirts, usually with messages printed across the chest, and the thing that really upset Bernard was that every time she bent down, and one is always bending down when looking after young children, a large bare gap appeared between her shirt and jeans. Quite a nice piece of back but Bernard and Charlotte both objected to it.

Suddenly Christmas loomed, my first Christmas in the shop on the Green. Customers began to ask for small things like glass paperweights and Staffordshire china and plates that could be hung on the wall. Large dishes suitable for turkeys were much in demand too. I spent my free Mondays searching for small treasures and to my great joy found a family of Edwardian dolls wearing their original clothes; otherwise it was mostly pretty little jugs, muffin dishes and silver jewellery, all very saleable at that time.

With Christmas coming I began to have guilty feelings towards my mother. Should I send her a card or present or even go and see her? I knew Gertrude would urge me to if she were still alive, but I kept putting it off. Then the problem was solved because mother telephoned one evening and in her abrupt way announced that she was calling the following afternoon. ‘Of course I shall expect to see my
Brazilian
grandchild,’ she said and banged the receiver down without mentioning Mr Crimony. As she had such a low opinion of London transport it was unlikely she would come without her tame chauffeur. Although it was late in the evening I hurried to the kitchen and made a six-egg sponge cake and it rose beautifully and stayed that way. Some of my cakes came out of the oven looking perfect, but as soon as I turned my back on them they sank in the middle.

I fetched Tommy home early from the nursery. We ran back across the Green together just in time to see a red Rover drawing up outside the shop. Out of it stepped my Mother, but there was no sign of Mr Crimony. We watched her collect some parcels from the boot of the car and make sure the car was safely locked before she crossed the road. She looked back at it with such a look of pride on her usually severe face that it even lingered a little when she saw us.

Altogether the visit passed off better than I had expected. There was the car to talk about, the driving lessons and the test, which she passed with flying colours – ‘and to think I could have been driving all these years. Mr Crimony says I’m a born driver, except when I lose my temper with other drivers, of course.’

Tommy said, ‘Where is he, the man called Mr Chimney?’

Mother laughed. ‘Mr Crimony, you mean. Well, he couldn’t come today but has sent you a present.’ Then, turning to me, ‘He’s having his feet done. Poor man, he suffers with them a lot. In the summer his feet feel the heat and he has to wear charcoal in his socks, and in the winter it’s arthritis and ingrowing toenails. Now, what about these presents?’

I was touched by the presents, all wrapped in Christmas paper. A handknitted pullover for Tommy, and the right size too, so mother must have thought about her as she knitted away in Kilburn. Very expensive-looking suède gloves for me and the promised violin for Tommy, also a large golden-haired doll, both from Mr Crimony. Mother said he had chosen the doll himself. It had its own hairdressing kit and was about as vulgar as a doll could possibly be, but fortunately Tommy thought it beautiful. Just before leaving, mother thrust another present into Tommy’s eager hands. When unwrapped it turned out to be a golliwog.

A few days before Christmas Stephen left for the States to marry Brit. Somehow I’d never really expected this to happen, particularly as Stephen hardly mentioned her for weeks, perhaps just to save my feelings. It seemed so final, his going so far away. I went with him to Heathrow to see him off and was almost glad when he announced that he had no English money with him and would need me to pay for his excess baggage. It was only nine pounds; but he appeared to have plenty of English notes when he paid for our taxi a few minutes before. I’d almost forgotten his little meannesses. Now I remembered how mad they used to make me when we lived together.

As we parted I said, ‘Goodbye, old Meanie.’ Then we kissed each other and I said, ‘Goodbye, dearest old Meanie,’ and he said, ‘Goodbye, dearest little Scarface,’ and he hurried away towards the departure lounge. We never saw each other again. There were letters, but as Marie said, letters aren’t the same.

Chapter Sixteen

G
ertrude’s ashes rather weighed on my mind, lightly, but they weighed. Had Bernard already sprinkled them in the thicket or were they still in their silver box, waiting for a suitable occasion, Christmas perhaps? Would it be a solitary scattering or a gathering of family and friends? Eventually I asked Charlotte, only to find that she was as puzzled as I was. ‘The only thing I know is that they are still in their silver box in Bernard’s study. Actually, I polish it sometimes and would know if it were empty, but they have never been mentioned between us. It could be that he can’t bear to part with them.’ She drew her hair back from her strong, smooth forehead and added, ‘All I do know is that it would cause a hell of a rumpus if I mentioned them, don’t you agree?’ I agreed and we didn’t speak of them again, even to each other.

Bernard seemed to take it for granted that we were to spend Christmas at Richmond, although it wouldn’t be a very happy occasion for adults. I’d hoped that Tommy and I would have a quiet one of our own, with no complications; but it turned out that we had to spend three days of sad celebrations. Even Nell, who had never known Gertrude, was downcast. We exchanged silly presents wrapped in gaudy paper, and Charlotte and I cooked a great meal; but we could just as well have served mutton chops, no one was hungry. At least we didn’t have crackers. Marline was disappointed about this but otherwise was happy opening and playing with her presents, and there was Johnny lying in his carry-cot before the fire.

Already he was lifting his head and trying to look round the room, and he had the sweetest smile. Bernard loved to watch him and sometimes held out a finger to be clasped in the soft baby hand; but he seldom held him in his arms. On the other hand, I, who loved the child with reservations, often sat with him on my lap or held him against my shoulder with his little face against mine. He was a very comforting baby and seldom cried. Nell looked after him well, in spite of her bare back, which did not appear quite so often now the cold weather had set in.

It was a relief when the twelve days of Christmas were over and I didn’t have to keep closing the shop for unwanted holidays. The auction sales picked up again and at one I bid for a table that looked like a mahogany sofa table. It was heavily disguised with dirty cream paint and, as no one else saw through the disguise, I bought it for very little. When I got the table home and was able to examine it at leisure I saw that I was right. Wearing rubber gloves, Mary and I tried to remove the offending paint, but it was beyond us and we had to take it to a nearby workshop and have it removed professionally. This proved expensive, but even then we made a large profit, which was good for my ego as well as my bank account. I felt how fortunate I was to be able to earn a living doing something I so enjoyed and I really loved the little shop. Perhaps it was a bit of a tie sometimes, but I could always close it for a few hours. It wasn’t like an ordinary job and Mary absolutely trusted me and never interfered.

Really, the only problem of a practical nature I had at this time was Tommy’s education. She was definitely too old for the nursery and thoroughly bored with it, and although there were three state schools within walking distance, they were for older children. Eventually I found a privately-run playschool which suited her very well. She enjoyed the simple lessons and the company of slightly older children, so it was well worth paying the extra money. But we missed running across the Green and feeding the birds every morning. Instead we had a long wait for a bus to take us quite a short journey. When Bernard heard about this he bought me a gleaming new bicycle with a small seat for Tommy fixed on the carrier, so another problem was solved.

Although I missed Gertrude terribly and Stephen in a lesser way, this was a rewarding and peaceful time of my life. Tommy was well settled, I had a slightly better relationship with my mother, the shop was thriving, I enjoyed my outings with Bernard and my visits to Richmond were no longer to be dreaded. Bernard and Charlotte seemed to be getting on better together and the clouds of sorrow had slightly lifted from the house. Charlotte could listen to records without fear of them being ripped from the machine and stamped on. But Bernard was working hard and spent a lot of the weekends shut in his study or with Peter, his assistant, who had a studio and a workshop in the house although one seldom came across him. During the week Bernard stayed late at his gallery in Dover Street and Charlotte complained: ‘It is as if he doesn’t want to come home any more now Gertrude has gone. I’m sure he would sell the house and live in a flat if it weren’t for Johnny. Sometimes he says he hates it because Gertrude is here no more, then at other times he says the house is sacred because she once lived here. Her clothes are all hanging in the cupboards, you know, and Mrs Hicks got into fearful trouble because she threw away a half-empty pot of cold cream that was collecting dust on the dressing-table. It’s not like him to be so morbid.’

Sometimes on Mondays, when I closed the shop, Bernard would take me to art exhibitions and afterwards we would lunch together and discuss the paintings we had seen. Often we ate in expensive restaurants but at other times in places that were almost workmen’s cafés, smelling of frizzling chip potatoes – it depended where the exhibitions were held and our mood. But wherever we went, I loved it. Occasionally Bernard would take me to a sale room and ask me to bid for some painting in my amateur way, usually a painting that he didn’t want other dealers to know he was interested in. This made me feel like the mouse in the fable, who helped the lion. Only once did I bid for the wrong painting. I thought Bernard told me not to bid more than a hundred pounds for a dim-looking seascape and to my surprise I got it for only three. It was quite a different seascape that he wanted; but at least the gilt frame was worth far more than three pounds, so I hadn’t made such a fearful mistake and it gave us something to laugh about.

Just when things seemed to be going rather well at the Richmond house there was trouble with Nell. It was something worse than a few inches of bare back this time. One weekend, when I was staying at the house, Bernard, Charlotte and I returned home earlier than we had expected after a particularly dull dinner party given by some kindly people who thought we needed ‘cheering up’. vAs soon as we entered the house we could hear Johnny’s piteous cry and it sounded as if it had been going on for some time. We ran upstairs and found him wailing in his cot, his cheeks all wet and his nappy in a bad state. There was a scrabbling sound from the next room where Nell slept, then stifled voices. Charlotte burst open the communicating door without even knocking and switched on the hard electric light to reveal a naked young man struggling into a T-shirt with ‘I’ll tell the world’ stamped across it and a startled Nell trying to wrap herself up in a sheet.

She pushed past Charlotte muttering with a yawn, ‘Sorry about that. I must have dropped off,’ then bending over the baby. ‘Oh my God. What a mess you’re in!’

Bernard made to leave the room and bumped straight into the young man kneeling on the landing, trying to put on his socks and shoes. Bernard snarled, ‘Get out of my house or I’ll kick you down the stairs. Charlotte, telephone the police.’