The Sweet Dove Died (12 page)

XIX

There was no doubt in Leonora’s mind that something must be done about Ned, but ruthless action, even if it lay within her power, was apt to be upsetting and exhausting. It might well turn out to be like Hercules cutting off the Hydra’s head only to find that another had sprung up in its place. Obviously Ned was not to be as easily got rid of as Miss Foxe or Phoebe, who had so conveniently removed herself, yet he would be in England only for a year, such a short time compared with the whole of life. Starting with the lunch party today and then the visit they had planned to Keats’s house, what fun the three of them – Leonora, Ned and James – might have together. An exciting and dangerous prospect opened before her as she thought of it. Perhaps it would be best to reach a compromise whereby Ned could be woven into the fabric of their lives in such a way that he became an unobtrusive thread in the harmonious tapestry of the whole. Yet when he came into the room he immediately took the centre of the stage, the glitter of his personality making Leonora seem no more than an ageing overdressed woman, Liz a shrewish little nonentity, and James and Humphrey a callow young man with his pompous uncle.

‘Leonora, how
wonderful
to see you!’ Ned’s lips brushed her cheek, while his soft little hand rested for a moment on her arm.

She had not expected him to kiss her after only one meeting and it occurred to her that when it came to weaving people into the fabric of one’s life he had perhaps stolen a march on her.

James, handing drinks like a silently efficient manservant or hired waiter, was dismayed and embarrassed at the way things were going. He wished now that he had never mentioned Ned in that letter to his uncle, for it had not occurred to him that Humphrey would tell Leonora, that Ned would call at her house or that the two of them would get together in this unexpected way. He should have kept it all a secret – as he had kept Phoebe secret – but how could he have foreseen the way things would develop between him and Ned? Surely Leonora was not going everywhere with them? He brooded sulkily over this prospect and went with a bad grace into the kitchen to bring in the joint, a splendid piece of beef.

Humphrey rose to carve it. He was one of those men who are at their best with a carving knife and here was meat worthy of his talent.

‘A terribly
English
meal, I’m afraid . . ‘ Leonora turned apologetically towards Ned.

‘Roast beef – that’s great!’ Ned smiled charmingly back at her. ‘And Yorkshire pudding, too – you must have known it was my favourite thing.’

Leonora was gratified to see what good appetites the men had, but she was too emotionally exhausted to eat much herself. Being with Ned was a great strain and James had hardly spoken a word since he arrived – what could be the matter with him? When Humphrey and James went away to the shop, taking Ned with them, she hoped Liz would leave too. But Liz, in the manner of some women, was determined to get the washing-up done and made for the kitchen where she proceeded to scrape up any bits of meat that were left into a dish for her cats.

‘James seems very taken with his new friend,’ she observed.

‘Oh? I didn’t really notice,’ said Leonora casually.

‘I was watching him when you were talking to Ned – his face was a study, as they say.’

‘Yes, poor James, he did get left out of the conversation, somehow. It’s so difficult, isn’t it, to bring everybody in.’

‘I wouldn’t trust Ned any further than I could throw him,’ said Liz rather smugly.

‘Well, it’s hardly a question of trusting him, is it?’

‘Oh, no – we’re well out of it, my dear.’ Liz spoke with the detachment of one who is past all emotional involvements, and by including Leonora with herself she was perhaps trying to warn her to draw back while there was still time. Yet another part of her wanted her to go on, to find out whether it was possible for the cold, proud and well-organised Leonora to suffer as she had suffered and so to provide an interesting spectacle, a kind of diversion from the boredom of everyday life. ‘I wonder what Humphrey thinks about it,’ she added, seeing that Leonora did not answer.

‘It’s not at all convenient,’ said Humphrey irritably. ‘You know I don’t like leaving Miss Caton by herself in the afternoons.’

It sounded almost as if his uncle feared she might be attacked or raped by a prospective buyer, thought James. ‘She can cope as well as I can,’ he said. ‘And I did promise Leonora I’d take her and Ned to see Keats’s house. He has to go there for his work, you know.’

Humphrey was silent, confronted by the force of a promise to Leonora and Ned’s ‘work’, though the latter cut no ice with him, as he put it. He was at a loss to understand this new turn things had taken since Ned had come into their lives. What was James up to? First a mistress and now a lover. And why was Leonora making such a fuss of Ned? For all his charm it was obvious that she didn’t like him. How much more sensible it would be for her to admit defeat and give up.

‘Very well, then,’ he said at last. ‘I shouldn’t like you to disappoint Leonora, of course, but don’t make a habit of it. A pity it’s such a wet afternoon,’ he added, not without satisfaction.

Leonora came out to the car in the beautiful iridescent raincoat she had worn when she went to meet James at the air terminal. One was not at one’s best in the rain, obviously, and one needed to be that now as never before. She had pictured a golden autumn afternoon for the excursion – season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, wasn’t it? – and in the past she and James had always been lucky in their weather.

‘I seem to have brought rain,’ said Ned complacently, as he kissed her cheek. ‘It was really glorious
yesterday.’
He glanced at James, half smiling, but James was helping Leonora into the car and it was she who intercepted the look.

Yesterday had been Sunday and a fine day, certainly; she had heard James go out soon after breakfast and not return till late in the evening. She had tried not to imagine where he might have been and had made a point of not asking.

‘We shan’t be walking about outside,’ said James, ‘so there’s no need for any of us to get wet.’

All the same, the overcast skies and dripping rain spread a pall of sadness over the little house, with its simple bare rooms. There was nobody else looking over it except for a middle-aged woman wearing a mackintosh pixie hood and transparent rainboots over her shoes. She was carrying a shopping bag full of books, on top of which lay the brightly coloured packet of a frozen ‘dinner for one’. Leonora could see the artistically delineated slices of beef with dark brown gravy, a little round Yorkshire pudding, two mounds of mashed potato and brilliantly green peas. Her first feeling was her usual one of contempt for anybody who could live in this way, then, perhaps because growing unhappiness had made her more sensitive, she saw the woman going home to a cosy solitude, her dinner heated up in twenty-five minutes with no bother of preparation, books to read while she ate it, and the memory of a visit to Keats’s house to cherish. And now she caught a glimpse of her face, plain but radiant, as she looked up from one of the glass cases that held the touching relics. There were tears on her cheeks.

Leonora moved over towards a small conservatory where some late flowers, begonias and pelargoniums, were still in bloom. Bunches of grapes hanging from a vine reminded her of Phoebe’s cottage. How simple that had been compared with this! Depression overwhelmed her and seeing James and Ned some distance away, talking together in low voices, she felt as if she were already defeated. She wished now that she hadn’t come. Keats meant nothing to her except Ned’s voice on that Sunday afternoon, quoting those horrible lines about the dove.

‘Fanny Brawne’s
engagement
ring!’ he exclaimed in his rapturous way. ‘And the stone is almandine, it says here. What
is
it, Jimmie?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said James, to whom Keats also meant nothing.

‘It looks like a garnet,’ said Leonora, who had now joined them.

‘Yes, I do believe it is,’ Ned agreed. He put his hand on her arm and gazed intently at her. ‘Leonora, I think you want your tea. You look
exhausted
,’ he added gently.

‘Have you had enough, Leonora,
are
you tired?’ James sounded as solicitous as ever, but now she wondered if he would have noticed if Ned had not spoken first.

‘Of course I’m not tired,’ she said rather sharply.

‘It
is
tiring wandering around museums – I know Mother always finds it so,’ said Ned, ‘and I do feel a bit guilty. But if you could know what this
means
to me …’

Leonora found herself wondering if it really did mean all that much to him. ‘Of course I understand,’ she said, ‘and it was my idea to come here, anyway.’

But now Ned, capricious as a child, suddenly decided that he had had enough. He demanded tea, and they must have muffins or hot buttered toast. And after that they must go and see the flat he had found for himself, ‘Ned’s pad’, as he called it.

Curiosity and a certain doggedness which a fragile woman can display even in the most unpromising situation led Leonora, tired as she undoubtedly was, to go with them to the house near Brompton Oratory (‘Catholic services are very much me,’ Ned had remarked) in which he had taken a furnished flat.

They entered the sitting-room which was in darkness. Ned switched on a reading lamp which gave just enough light for Leonora to obtain an impression of walls patterned in deep olive green leaves – almost a Morris paper – and furniture upholstered in black leather. A large black rug of synthetic fur covered half the floor and in one corner was a red divan heaped with cushions, also of a fur-like material. The general impression Was disturbing in some undefined way, perhaps because it was so very much not the kind of room Leonora or anyone she knew would have chosen. It reminded her of the dark unsympathetic basement where Colin served out salads.

‘It belongs to an actor who’s away filming,’ said James, as if sensing that some kind of comment was called for.

‘Then it’s not your taste?’ Leonora asked Ned, feeling that it easily might have been.

‘Not exactly – but it’s amusing, don’t you think? And I do feel the bedroom’s rather me.’ He flung open a door through which could be seen an exceptionally wide bed covered in mauve velvet.

‘Is it a comfortable bed?’ Leonora asked, foolishly, she realised.

‘I guess so,’ said Ned, ‘though maybe comfort isn’t all I go for.’

‘That striped paper is pretty,’ said Leonora, doing her best.

They returned to the sitting-room where drinks were offered. There was Scotch or vodka or creme de menthe. Leonora accepted half a glass of plain tonic water, but she could feel a headache coming on and put it down untouched after the first sip. James had Scotch and Ned made himself a creme de menthe on the rocks. There was a great business of crushing the ice in some special way which he and James seemed to find amusing. Leonora was unable to see why and felt increasingly embarrassed at the atmosphere which seemed to be creating itself around the two young men. She was just about to suggest that James might run her home when Ned said in his sweetest tone, ‘Leonora’s tired and it’s been rather selfish of us to make her stay out so long. We’ve had a lovely afternoon and now I’m going to ring for a taxi to take her home.’

He was at the telephone – an elegant ‘antique’ instrument – before Leonora could protest that of course James would take her. Nor did James make any attempt to offer. He just sat in one of the black leather chairs brooding over the ice cubes melting in his glass. When the taxi arrived they both went down with her. Both kissed her, goodbyes and thanks were uttered and they went back into the house together.

‘Well,Jimmie, congratulations!’ Ned turned towards James and they faced each other in the narrow box of the lift. ‘So you finally did it!’

‘Did what?’

‘Shook off Leonora, of course! I thought she’d
never 
go-‘

‘I felt rather bad about not taking her home,’ James admitted.

‘For God’s
sake – we
got her a taxi, didn’t we? She could’ve gone home on a bus – lots of people do.’

‘Not Leonora, somehow. Perhaps I should give her a ring later on to see that she got home all right.’

‘Jimmie,
really I
What are we going to do about this terrible conscience of yours?’

James smiled, more relaxed now that he and Ned were alone together. ‘I haven’t got all that much of one, really,’ he said, ‘but Leonora’s fond of me.’

‘So am I fond of you. We can’t go on like
this.
The first thing you must do is to get out of her house.’

‘I know. I’ve been looking for another flat. It was only temporary, my staying with Leonora.’

‘Does
she
know that?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Ned smiled. After a while he said, ‘Well, that’s something. When you move away it’ll be much easier to drop her.’

James looked startled.

‘You just don’t bother to call her,’ Ned went on. ‘She’ll soon get the message.’

James made a movement of protest but no words came.

‘Will
she
call you?’

‘I don’t know, probably not. She’s always been very good . . He hesitated, for it seemed wrong to be discussing Leonora like this.

‘I can imagine that. She’s the proud type who preters to suffer in silence. Like a wounded animal crawling away to die.’ Ned laughed in a light cruel way. ‘Jimmie, don’t look like
that
– what’ve I said?’

Ned’s words had taken James back to his childhood. They had had a much-loved cat who had been run over. He and his mother had found her in a wood where she had crawled after the car had hit her, dried blood on her mouth, her beautiful fur all dull.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said.

‘Believe me, Jimmie, I
do
.’ Ned was suddenly gentle, there were even tears in his eyes. It would have taken the most cynically dispassionate observer to discern any hint of complacency in his tone when he added, ‘Life is cruel and we do
terrible things
to each other.’