The New Moon with the Old (32 page)

Richard had never thought Drew frivolous. He said so, adding: ‘But I think that, for once, you’re being sentimental.’

‘If so, it’s highly unsuitable for the occasion. I doubt if there’s much sentimentality in Clare’s formidable friend. And she’s always been romantic, not sentimental; there’s a world of difference. Your true romantic will accept things sentimentalists would run a mile from – including a certain amount of horror.’

Richard looked at his brother curiously. ‘Then you admit the situation has its horror? I thought you found it holy.’

‘So I do. But I feel in my bones there’s some horror lurking in the background. That house of assignations – she spoke of it as frightening. It’s fascinating to remember that St John’s Wood once enjoyed a bad reputation because so many men kept their mistresses there. It was jocularly referred to as Jack’s Forest.’

‘The things you know! Clare seemed to take a particular pleasure in using the word “mistress”.’

‘True. No sentimentalist would. Impressive to see the dithery girl so sure of herself. I wish we knew how the affair started. She told us nothing. And I pine to have seen her house as it was, and know all about its past.’

‘I know more than I care about its future,’ said Richard. ‘Where are we?’

‘Back streets of St James’s and Piccadilly. Surprising, aren’t they? So small and at night so deserted.’

‘Yet they don’t look like business premises.’ Empty milk bottles stood outside many of the doors. Aspidistras graced several downstairs windows. A drowsy cat on a window-sill awaited admission.

‘No, I think people live here,’ said Drew. ‘Club servants, perhaps; cleaners and the like. Strange that such streets should survive in a district where land’s so fabulously valuable. Well, they won’t survive much longer. Look!’

They had turned a corner. Not far ahead was a half demolished row of houses and, beyond it, a tall new block of offices.

‘I wonder if Rowley had a hand in that,’ said Richard. ‘You know, I think I’d mind less if he wasn’t so rich.’

‘Really? Personally, I’m delighted the wages of sin are high.’

‘So’s Clare. She’s so obviously proud of his wealth.’

‘Well, it’s inbred in women to be proud of capturing a rich man. Dear me, I hope Clare’s tiny ego can assimilate so much food – adoration from rich ex-royalty. And you must admit he’s charming.’

‘Also dissipated,’ said Richard grimly.

‘I wouldn’t put it past her to be proud of that, too.’

Richard chuckled. ‘How worldly wise you are, Drew!’

‘Well, it’s wonderful what one can learn from literature, life being something one’s rather remote from.’

Richard thought his brother’s tone a trifle bleak. ‘Are you tolerably happy at Whitesea?’ he asked, seriously.

Drew was silent for several seconds: then he spoke with his usual cheerfulness. ‘Oh, rather more than tolerably. There’s quite a satisfaction in the job. But I’ve written to you about it pretty fully. Let’s talk about you. Not a copious letter writer, are you?’

‘Nothing to write about … well, nothing much.’ He hadn’t so far written or spoken about Violet’s arrival. Should he mention it now? But if he did, he would do more than mention it. And he did not fancy launching out about Violet so soon after his disapproval of Clare. If the Clare story wasn’t pretty, neither was the Violet story … But he did want to tell it to Drew. They walked on in silence until Drew said: ‘Well, let me know if you decide to tell me whatever it is you haven’t yet decided to.’

Richard laughed. ‘The famous Drew intuition! This is the Haymarket, isn’t it? Did we come through Piccadilly Circus?’

‘No, we skirted it. Even you, Richard, would surely have noticed Piccadilly Circus? Now let me see, between
Haymarket
and Leicester Square there used to be one or two nice little mean streets – but one always fears they’ll be gone.’

Eventually he found one but was dissatisfied with it. ‘Not very attractive now, so messy; though there is still the faintest suggestion of a street in a country town – such small, dim shops.’

Richard, only mildly interested, said: ‘I suppose there’d have been prostitutes here, before the streets were cleared of them. And now the poor dears have to sit at windows. There’s one up there.’

‘I think not, Richard. Look again – and you needn’t mind staring.’

‘What …? Good God!’

Leaning out of a brightly lit third floor window was a large collie dog. Its front paws flopped over the sill, its silky hair stirred gently, and it appeared to be regarding them most benignly down its long, pointed nose.

‘The things one sees in London!’ said Drew, happily. ‘I shall never forget that. Now let’s walk very fast across Leicester Square because I hate it. Well, not really. It can’t help being like it is; still, let’s hurry.’

‘Where to?’ said Richard, who had begun to feel hungry.

‘Back of the Strand. The quiet streets there are very different … sombre, dignified, some of them.’

‘I find this depressing,’ said Richard, a few minutes later.

‘I know what you mean. But I do love Covent Garden. We might have a look around there.’

‘I’d rather get a meal,’ said Richard. ‘I shall have to eat before I drive home. And my lunch was forgettable.’

‘We’d better go into the Strand.’

‘I’d like somewhere quiet.’ Richard was now sure he would talk about Violet. ‘And I’m not dressed for any decent restaurant.’

‘I don’t think they expect much of one nowadays. And you
are
wearing a tie – just. Still … there’s a café over there – or rather, a caff, and that’s flattering it. Undoubtedly quiet.’

It was almost empty. Richard opted for it.

‘Difficult to choose between twenty tables,’ said Drew. They settled near the window, far away from the counter. ‘Well, I gather one goes and gets what one wants.’

Sandwiches seemed safest, plus cups of tea, no pots being available. ‘Sorry I let you in for this,’ said Richard, as they went back to their table. ‘You wouldn’t think such places could survive – those archaic urns, in these days of dashing Espressos.’

‘It’s probably used by Covent Garden porters. Anyway, London’s full of survivals, like the streets we’ve walked through. For that matter, all England is, as our family’s proved these last weeks. Merry with the desiccated Crestovers – they’re typical of hundreds of great families on their last legs. Me with Miss Whitecliff, though I don’t say she’s typical. I’m not sure I didn’t create her out of my love of Edwardiana; perhaps she isn’t there when I’m not.’

‘And is Clare’s man typical royal blood and all?’

‘Perhaps
she
created him. But really he is typical and so’s my Miss Whitecliff, in a curious, basic way. They’re typical
because of … their unusualness, their eccentricity. I’m convinced England’s overflowing with eccentric people, places, happenings. Indeed, you might say eccentricity’s normal in England.’

‘Only it just so happens that Rowley isn’t of English descent.’

‘Well, England not only breeds eccentrics, it plays host to them. How I long to have met that old dead king! Come to think of it, we’re a bit freakish as a family, particularly Clare and I. Do you think that’s why we’ve landed in such … well, freakish circumstances? Perhaps like gravitates to like.’

It was the kind of discussion Drew could enjoy for hours. ‘What interests me more,’ said Richard, ‘is that you’ve gravitated to such rich circumstances. Why haven’t I that knack?’

‘Probably because you belong to the future – not to the past, as individual wealth really does. Anyway, I never heard of a great composer who began life wealthy.’

‘The idea of my becoming any kind of composer has begun to strike me as ludicrous,’ said Richard gloomily.

‘No work at all? Well, you’ve so much to worry about. I do wish you’d let me help with expenses at home.’

‘I will when I need to.’ Richard took a long drink of very nasty tea and decided it was now or never as regards mentioning Violet and it was going to be now. ‘By the way, I don’t think I’ve told you that Violet has arrived.’

Drew looked blank but only for a second. ‘You mean Father’s Violet? No, Richard, you haven’t told me that.’

There was no sign of avid curiosity; merely a mild, encouraging interest. It was the usual Drew technique for eliciting a full confidence and Richard had no desire to resist it. He waded in without conscious reservations, and knew that Drew was liable to spot unconscious ones and trot them out for inspection. Incidentally, telling the story
clarified certain points for himself and he was not surprised when Drew said: ‘But, my dear Richard, she obviously came with just one idea in her head: you. Didn’t she show any special interest in you when you called on her after Father bolted?’

‘Looking back, I see that she may have done.’

‘I, of course, knew of your interest in her from your very first meeting. I assure you I did.’

‘Nonsense. You’re just being wise after the event.’

‘No, really. Clare knew, too.’

‘Well, I didn’t, anyway,’ said Richard.

‘Because you didn’t let yourself. It would have been – what’s the word you’ve just used repeatedly? Distasteful: a horrid word, sort of sour. Well, what are you going to do? Obviously you must let the girl have her head, I mean as regards having her say.’

‘I’m convinced she’ll just tell me a pack of lies.’

Drew looked at him searchingly. ‘Richard, do you
like
her at all? I used the word advisedly.’

‘Not much. Sometimes I actually dislike her.’

‘Then I think you should turf her out. I don’t feel at all strongly about your “distasteful” angle. It’s a bore she was Father’s girl friend but that barrier’s not much more than conventional and if you were really in love I’d give you my blessing. I even would if you … well, just felt fond of her. But to have an affair with a woman you actually dislike strikes me as sheer vice.

‘You’re leaving out one trifling fact,’ said Richard. ‘At times I find her overpoweringly attractive.’

‘You don’t – if she hasn’t overpowered you.’

‘Well, she’s only been on the job a week.’ Richard was beginning to find Drew’s paternal manner annoying. Really, his dear, intuitive but utterly innocent brother was out of his depth. ‘Oh, I must just work it out for myself. And I
ought to be able to – after all, I had two affairs when I was in Germany.’

Drew smilingly remembered. ‘One with a near tart and one with a near virgin, you told me. An interesting selection, though I never believed in the latter; virgins, surely, are or aren’t. Anyway, my advice is: go home, let poor Violet talk, then make up your mind what you really want. Don’t just, well, oblige her. Would you like some more of this revolting tea?’

Richard shook his head.

‘Then let’s go. Peculiar place this – like a television set without enough people in it. Where did you leave your car?’

‘Back of Regent’s Park – vaguely.’

‘I hope you don’t
mean
“vaguely”.’

‘No, no, I memorized the name of the street. Only … well, it’ll come back to me.’

‘It had better,’ said Drew, ominously. ‘Let’s cut through to the Strand and get a taxi. I’ll come with you. I’ve still got over an hour. Don’t talk. Just try to remember.’

‘I feel sure it was near the Zoo.’

‘Well, that’s something. We’ll start there.’

As they got into the taxi Richard said: ‘It was one of those streets which run
away
from the Zoo.’

‘Run north?’

‘If that
would
be north.’

Drew and the taxi driver worked out a plan of campaign which conveyed little to Richard. He sat looking out of the window and presenfly remarked that the Strand struck him as garish.

‘Very. Don’t waste your mind on it,’ Drew told him. ‘Just go on trying to remember.’

‘I
am
sorry. And I’d have said I’d been better of late; nothing like as absent-minded as when I’m working.’

‘I’m all
for
your being absent-minded when you’re working. And you’re really more single-minded than absent-minded. But you might have to spend hours looking for that car.’

They drove in silence until Richard suddenly said:

‘Hello! This looks like the place.’

‘This, Richard, is the south side of the park and quite a long way from the Zoo.’

‘Oh. Well, I
am
sure about the Zoo, because I went there. Though it comes to me now that I parked before I had lunch and then walked to the Zoo.’

‘Well, we’ll start east of Primrose Hill and try every street.’ They went for some distance up three streets. Richard gazed at the lighted windows of flats and houses with envy. So many people safely in for the night, and so aloof from him and his plight; slight resentment was added to the envy. After another street, Drew said: ‘Are you sure you came in the car?’

Richard’s eyes went blank; then light retumed to them. ‘Yes! Look, I’ve got the key!’

They tried more streets, with no better luck.

‘You’ll miss your train, Drew,’ said Richard.

‘I
shall
have to dash for it soon, as I promised to get back tonight.’

‘And I’m sure we’re too far from the Zoo. You take this taxi on to your station and I’ll walk back and go a bit farther up each street, right from the beginning.’

‘You wouldn’t know where the beginning was,’ said Drew. ‘Anyway, let’s do the job properly. There are only two more streets before the road where all the buses are. Even you couldn’t have parked there.’

They found the car in St John’s Wood High Street, close to the churchyard.

‘Believe it or not,’ said Drew, ‘that building has nothing to do with the Zoo. It’s St John’s Wood Church – Clare’s future parish church, incidentally. Not that she was ever by way of being religious.’

Richard apologized abjectly and offered to pay for the taxi. ‘Well, at least let me drive you to the station,’ he said, when Drew waved the money away.

‘No, thank you,’ said Drew. ‘I want to get there.’

He saw Richard into the car, then stood by the open window.

‘There’s so much we still haven’t talked about,’ said Richard, regretting he hadn’t done more to make Drew talk about himself.

‘Well, we must meet again before long. Richard, I was intolerant about Violet. And I don’t believe you do dislike her.’