The Juniper Tree (14 page)

At last it was arranged that she would be away for three weeks in July and that I was to live in the house during her absence. Bernard would fetch Tommy and me from the shop every evening and bring us back in the mornings on his way to his gallery. Mrs Hicks, in spite of an invalid husband, agreed to work for extra hours and Catalina to shop and help generally besides looking after Johnny. I was to be responsible for running the house and planning the meals and cooking the dinner in the evening. Fortunately I knew the kind of food Bernard liked and had often helped Gertrude prepare the meals.

Johnny was more of a problem. There would be whole days when Catalina was out. I didn’t mind giving a helping hand when she was in charge of him, but my heart did sink at the thought of being completely responsible. Often Catalina was still bouncing him on her knee until ten o’clock at night. Suppose he choked on a hair – clip – mine were always falling from my hair – or he could have one of the frightful crying fits he sometimes indulged in, and the nappies were quite different to the towelling ones Marline had had. Johnny wore huge fluffy things like blown-up sanitary towels. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to taking Charlotte’s place in the household and running the shop at the same time.

And of course, after Charlotte left the shop was neglected and on some days not opened at all. Mary Meadows helped when she could and Miss Murray provided a basket of charming but chipped Victorian china. Bernard also gave me a lot of picture frames that were not up to his standard and, although they didn’t improve the appearance of the shop, they sold quite easily. Relying on a lift from Bernard as I had to do meant that I often arrived late and left early. Some days there wasn’t time to arrange the window as I liked it and there was no time to search for new stock. Still, it was only for three weeks, and I had promised Gertrude I would look after her child.

I often reminded myself of this promise; it had a habit of slipping to the back of my mind. Poor little Johnny, I did love him in a way and it wasn’t so difficult looking after him as I had expected, no swallowed hair-clips or anything like that. However, there was one fatal day when I was left in sole charge of him and he cried almost non-stop. It wasn’t only that he missed Catalina; he really seemed in a bad way although he had no temperature. He refused his food and tugged at one of his ears, his face even more red and white than usual. The worst thing was the constant crying and Bernard being annoyed about it when he returned home. I had not been able to do much about an evening meal because I’d had the baby in my arms most of the time. It wasn’t so much the flabby ham and boring undressed salad but the child’s crying that got on his nerves.

We had a bit of an argument because I hadn’t sent for the doctor; but he had had these crying fits before. Finally I took the screaming baby up to my room after Bernard had reproached me with ‘And we both thought you were so good with children.’ I stayed upstairs until Catalina returned; even then he was crying on and off until midnight when he fell into an exhausted sleep and so did I. At about six o’clock in the morning Catalina burst into my room with a smiling Johnny in her arms to show me that he had cut his third tooth. I hoped he never had another while I was around.

Besides being tired I was sulky with Bernard when he drove us to Twickenham; but Marline chattered away and I didn’t think he noticed my mood. But in the evening when he came to fetch us he was very contrite and showered me with presents – a record of James Galway playing Bach and a box of marrons glacés, my favourite sweets, and also a ticket for a play at the Richmond Theatre I very much wanted to see, but it was a great success and I hadn’t had time to queue for a ticket. He had another in his hand and said: ‘I know I don’t deserve to, but can I come with you?’ Of course I laughed and agreed and he was completely forgiven.

Bernard held me to him for a few moments and suddenly I felt a wave of love and closeness envelop me I think Bernard must have felt a shadow of it because he looked quite startled, held me closer for a little time, then pushed me away and said something about hurrying if we were going to the theatre. I sailed up the narrow stairs, I can’t remember walking, and sank into a dark velvet chair, a recent acquisition. I felt as if I were singing inside and there seemed to be a queer white light in the room. I stayed quite still until Tommy-Marline put her little face round the door and said, ‘Haven’t you changed your clothes yet? Bernard’s waiting for you,’ in a shocked way. Usually we never kept him waiting. I quickly changed, hardly knowing what I put on because I knew that whatever I wore that evening I should appear beautiful because I was shimmering with loving beauty. Bernard immediately noticed it and asked what I’d done to myself: ‘Why Bella! You look really charming in that dress. I’ve never seen it before.’ I smiled because I’d worn it all the previous summer.

We sat in the theatre, Bernard enthralled by Peter Bark-worth’s acting and me enthralled by Bernard. Sitting so close to him in the rather cramped seats was such a beautiful thing and even in the comparative darkness I could admire his haughty profile, rather like a hornbill’s.

When we returned to Bernard’s house we had a drink together sitting by the fire. Bernard wanted to discuss the play but there was little I could say. Puzzled, he asked if I was still annoyed with him, so I told him the truth, that I was quiet because I felt so happy, and he said, ‘How extraordinary, people so seldom admit they are happy. Gertrude did and look what happened to her. Take care, dear Bella. Happiness is a very fragile thing, but no one deserves it more than you.’

Charlotte stayed away an extra week and when she returned she told us that she was engaged to be married to a German doctor. She was her old self again, high coloured and self-possessed, and had an argument with Bernard almost as soon as she entered the house. Then she upset Mrs Hicks by giving her a large sausage highly flavoured with garlic and suggested that they gave the house a good clean-up together. She frightened Johnny by kissing him when she was wearing a large felt hat and annoyed Catalina by making him cry. But if she did anything which might have annoyed me, I never noticed it because I was protected by my happiness. She did give me an unreadable German cookery book and I thanked her and said it was just what I’d always wanted, and I almost thought it was for a few minutes.

In spite of my love for Bernard I was glad to return to the freedom of the shop and to be queen of my own home – eat cornflakes or baked beans for supper, wear a dressing-gown for breakfast and read books that did not improve the mind in bed. There was a large box filled with second-hand ones in the shop, which I dipped into from time to time (so did my customers, often forgetting to pay the 2op). Tommy said, ‘I don’t like living in two houses, mummy. There’s no time to play,’ and she was right, we’d hardly had time to go in the Forbeses beautiful garden during the last month. Another thing, Bernard was far more affectionate and open with me at the cottage than he was in his own house, perhaps because the memory of Gertrude was so strong it was as if she were with us. But that’s how it was, he hardly ever touched me there.

The first evening at home I was alone except for Tommy, and after she went to bed I spent the evening telephoning my few friends and, of course, Mary Meadows. Mary had become quite worried in case I never returned to the shop and became absorbed by the Forbes family. I told her that was unlikely and how pleased I was to be home and how I hoped I’d be able to keep the shop open during August, but if business was very slack I’d spend the time collecting stock. Mary said it was almost as difficult to find stock as it was to sell it at that time of the year. She planned to drive round north east England to see what she could find and suggested I went with her. After a moment’s hesitation I refused, partly because it wouldn’t be much of a holiday for Tommy and might prove expensive, but mainly because I didn’t want to be parted from Bernard.

He arrived early the following evening when Tommy and I were watering the garden and the tiny lawn was glistening. Tommy continued to water while we sat talking and drinking canned beer from glasses – neither of us liked drinking from the cans, anyway it wouldn’t have suited Bernard’s face. There was a little table placed between the white-painted garden chairs and we were not very close together although from time to time I did move my chair a little nearer. We were talking about Charlotte’s coming marriage. It was to take place fairly soon and she was impatient to return to Germany, although she had reluctantly agreed to stay until someone suitable was found to take her place.

‘Thank God we’ve got Catalina to care for Johnny. We don’t want another of those battle-axe nannies,’ Bernard said dejectedly. ‘Couldn’t you take it on, Bella? You are like one of the family already and I so hate all these strangers coming to the house and perhaps having to have meals with them.’ He held my bare arm with one of his beautifully-manicured hands (I’d moved much closer by this time) and pleaded with me to give up the shop and return permanently to Richmond: ‘I know I’m selfish, but think what a good thing it would be for Marlinchen – no more nurseries and playschools, she’d be brought up with Johnny as if she were his sister. It would have pleased Gertrude so much. Oh, Bella, do change your mind. It would be so good for all of us, including you, my dear girl.’

I timidly put my hand over his and pleaded, ‘Please don’t make me leave here, Bernard. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life, particularly on the days when I see you. I just fit in here and don’t want to change anything. I’ll do all I can to help you and Johnny, but let me stay here.’

Bernard looked quite startled and exclaimed, ‘What a brute I must be, trying to change your life-style to suit my own ends! Of course you must stay here and be as happy as you like. But you’ll still come for the weekends, won’t you? It makes such a difference when you’re there.’

He left when it was growing dark but we didn’t sit close again that evening. He just patted my head as if I were a good dog when we said goodnight.

Chapter Nineteen

W
hen my mother heard that I’d been living in Bernard’s house for over a month she was displeased that I hadn’t asked her there although I explained that I’d been working in the shop all day and had been too busy to think of entertaining in someone else’s house. ‘What about the weekends and the evenings?’ she snapped down the telephone. ‘You have already told me that you cook a meal for the family every night; surely you could have had us one evening. I suppose you think that Bernard of yours will marry you. Well, I can assure you he won’t. Can you imagine a man like that taking on a little black stepdaughter, not that she hasn’t a certain charm, poor little mite. I must say I was very surprised to see how fond of her he appeared to be, but as for taking her into his family, that’s another matter.’

I said, ‘Mother, I do wish you wouldn’t talk such nonsense. Bernard has no intention of marrying me or anyone else. He still worships Gertrude and always will and he would have married her if she had had ten black children. He has no feeling about colour whatever and Gertrude was the same.’

Mother snorted. ‘So you think. I can’t talk any longer, there’s Mr Crimony’s supper to prepare – liver and bacon with mashed potatoes; but I suppose you despise that kind of meal.’

I could almost smell the liver and bacon coming through the telephone wires until she crashed down the receiver in her usual rough way and we lost contact. I wondered why on earth she thought I should have asked her to Bernard’s house. I had no idea she was so interested in him or his home. He must have made a great impression on her the only time they met, almost a year ago. All the same I seemed to remember her speaking to him in a very scathing way.

Charlotte had advertised in
The Times
for a lady cook-housekeeper and, to her surprise, there were twenty-seven replies: so we spent the weekend sorting through them. Most of the applicants seemed to be widows or divorcees, with or without children. Bernard said, ‘I don’t think we want any extra children, we already have two. What about one of the young Spanish señoritas, they’d be company for Catalina?’ But Charlotte thought the señoritas sounded rather frivolous, and there was the language difficulty. Her choice was a spinster of fifty-five, with good references and a small dog, and I favoured the eldest señorita, a girl of twenty-four. She seemed sympathetic and reliable and, if her letter was anything to go by, spoke good English. I was also interested in a childless divorcee of thirty-one, an out-of-work bookseller who wrote an excellent letter and didn’t feel sorry for herself like most of the applicants, with their dead husbands and shattered marriages. By Monday we still hadn’t made a final choice and I left it to the two of them to sort it out.

On Tuesday evening Bernard called, as he so often did, on his way home. He was later than usual and appeared depressed about the housekeeper Charlotte had chosen. ‘She is so obstinate, nothing will change her mind. She insists on the spinster with the small dog and good references. She’s in Devonshire at the moment looking after the house of some old lady who has just died. Charlotte has already been on the phone to her. They were clacking away together when I left this morning and she says she will be free in about a week. Really, Bella, I dread her coming. Fifty-five is too old. She’ll be set in her ways and want a nap in the afternoon and be no good at all with Johnny. I’d much rather have one of the Spanish girls; the older one you chose would be ideal.’

He really looked worried so I suggested having the woman on a month’s trial; then it would be much easier getting rid of her if necessary. He leapt from his chair: ‘That’s a marvellous idea. Why didn’t I think of it myself? I’ll go home immediately and tell Charlotte all housekeepers must be on a month’s trial. I can stand anything for a month, at least I think I can.’ He dashed from the house after only staying for about ten minutes. I wished I’d reserved my suggestion until later in the evening.

Charlotte had her own way and engaged the housekeeper of her choice – Joan Webb, she was called – but at least she was on a month’s trial, so Bernard wasn’t too committed. I didn’t visit the house the first weekend she was there because I thought it rather unfair to burden her with extra people as soon as she arrived, but I went the following one because Charlotte had called at the shop – actually for the first time – and begged me to use my influence with Bernard to make him see what a nice little woman Joan Webb was. ‘I must admit she appears older than she said, fifty-five wasn’t it? Otherwise she is a hardworking little soul, very bright and wanting to help. Unfortunately she’s not very strong, can’t drive the car and finds it difficult to carry the shopping up the hill; but Catalina has been helping, so there’s not too much of a problem. Bernard says she has a certain arch brightness that appals him and he can’t stand having meals with her. She’s a bit of a fusser, I’m afraid, and so is the dog, always jumping up and down. He’s called Fizz, and Bernard does not like that either.’