Busman's Holiday, page 17
Was he in love with her? I didn’t know. I only knew he seemed to be spending all his sparse free time with her, that he was at the age when most men are either married or thinking of it, and was in a better position than most to marry. Very obviously, Helen would marry again. She was so attractive, and even if I thought her rather spoilt and empty-headed, her first marriage had been very happy during its brief period. As Aunt Joey had said, some men as some women preferred to give and not take. As on that occasion, I now thought again: David is a giver.
‘Frances! Frances!’
The man’s voice calling my name came from a long way off, yet even from a distance I caught the urgency. I jumped up and my heart nearly stopped. David was some way off and running towards me. I began to run, then stopped dead and clasped my face. It was not David running so gracefully down the sloping green bank to the footpath. And Psmith, sensing my apprehension leapt from his rabbit-hole, stood in front of me, his shoulders hunched, hackles up and ears down. He gave a long, low growl as the approaching man was only a few feet from me. He stopped and for a few seconds we stared at each other over Psmith’s guarding black body.
I swallowed twice. ‘It’s all right, Psmith. Sit, boy.’ I had to take another breath. ‘Bart,’ I said in a tight voice, ‘what are you doing here?’ Yet even as I heard my voice say his name and ask that question, for a few seconds I could not believe this was really happening. This tall, slim, elegant and too-good-looking man with light brown hair falling in a cowlick over his forehead couldn’t be the Bart who had plunged me into months of bitter despair and self-reproach for never suspecting that all the time he had been married. This couldn’t be the man I had so loved and who had actually, in so many words, asked me to marry him. This could not be him, not because Arumchester was so far from London and I had told no one where I intended taking Psmith this afternoon, but because I could look at him and feel absolutely nothing but bitter disappointment that he was not David.
‘Darling,’ said Bart, ‘if you’ll promise your sturdy guardian won’t turn me into mincemeat, I’ll approach and give you the whole story of my life and hard times.’
I clipped on Psmith’s lead. ‘He won’t hurt you. He only fights in defence.’
Bart came closer and watched me with an expression that had once made my bones seem to melt. Not now. ‘I called at your aunt’s house. Answer came there none.’
‘How did you know her house?’ I demanded sharply. ‘How did you know I was in Arumchester? And how dare you try and find me? I told you I wanted no more to do with you and I haven’t changed on that one!’
‘Meaning you have on other counts?’ I was silent. ‘Tracing you wasn’t too dodgy. Remember the party where we first met? Our hostess’s sister is still at Martha’s. Both are chatty dollies, so I happened to drop by one evening when I knew both would be there, and had a jolly chat ‒ and you can stop thinking what you’re thinking!’ He flushed. ‘That, and this, was my wife’s idea. She sent me to Arumchester, if not to this green and pleasant spot. A very, very, dishy auburn-haired dolly drew up in a bright blue sports’ job as I was retreating from aunty’s front door and said aunty was out driving with a friend and had I missed Frances? I said, alack, I had ‒ which led to another jolly chat! The dollies I’ve had to chat up on your behalf are legion but a fascinating legion, so who’s complaining?’ He shrugged gaily. ‘Auburn Hair said she was sure I’d catch up with you if I came thisaway, as you were bound to have taken ‒ I quote ‒ your usual walk. I let that one pass so as not to waste more time ‒ oh yes ‒ she said she’d be seeing your aunty and would drop a tremendously tactful hint that you might be late home and her name’s Helen Vintner.’
‘Yes,’ I said flatly, ‘so I guessed. Tell her your name?’ He shook his head. ‘Why did your wife send you? If she did.’
He avoided my eyes. ‘I guess I rate that one. Why? It’s this way, Frances. My wife ‒ my wife ‒ is quite a gal. She’s been worried about you.’
‘About me?’
‘I told her the truth. Honestly! So she knows you could so easily have busted up our marriage. Only you wouldn’t and you didn’t. So we’re really trying to make it work and on Saturday we’re all flying to Australia for good. My father-in-law’s business out there is booming, he never could stick me, but for the sake of his daughter and the boys, he’s paying our fares and buying us a house in my wife’s name. I’ll try and write enough to pay him back. I may well do that, as I always write better when the sun’s shining and it’ll be a good life for the boys. My wife’s all for it ‒’ he hesitated, ‘but she thought I should see you again before we left. She says she can’t leave England wondering if you’re all right and ‒ without thanking you. She ‒ she put me on the train. She’s meeting the six fast up from Arumchester.’ His eyes were self-mocking. ‘Think that means she now doesn’t trust me?’
‘I think it means you’re an incredibly lucky man to have such a wonderful wife, Bart.’
‘Yes.’ He looked at the river. ‘If I’ve one real talent, it’s a talent for picking good women. I ‒ she ‒ we both know now I was more infatuated than in love with you, Frances. You won’t believe this, but at the time, I thought it was the genuine article.’
‘I can believe that. Same for me.’
He looked at me, now. ‘You mean that? Can I tell her?’
I met his eyes. ‘Yes to both.’
He sighed with relief. ‘That’s made my day!’ He crouched and held out a hand to Psmith. ‘You can now stop eyeing me so fiercely, mate. My name’s Bart. What’s yours?’
I looked down at his bent head and thought of David at our first meeting on that spare-room roof the last day up north. ‘Didn’t you hear me call him Psmith? With a P?’
Psmith glanced up at his name, but otherwise ignored Bart’s hand with polite disdain. Bart straightened gracefully and flicked an invisible speck of dust off the jacket of his trendy, lightweight summer suit. ‘Darling,’ he drawled just as David on that other occasion, ‘what else for such a toffee-nosed, blue-blood?’
‘Psmith’s not! Unless he ‒’
‘Doesn’t take to someone? Thinks I’m up to no good, does he?’ He grinned. ‘Could be said he’s right!’
It was an ironic reversal. Once I had wanted to run from David as I couldn’t bear being reminded of Bart, now I couldn’t leave Bart soon enough as I couldn’t bear being reminded of that period. Seeing him now, I saw my other error so clearly. It was not Bart himself of whom David had reminded me, but of the man I had wanted to believe Bart to be. He could be blamed for a lot, but not for the weak streak in his gay, artistic character, that was now so apparent in every line of his too good-looking face. The weakness had always been there, only I had not seen it, as when I had looked at him I had seen the dream-figure I had named Bart. Yet, though weak, with the right wife he obviously had, his marriage could still succeed, even if it would never be the kind of marriage I would ever want.
‘Bart, I have to go now.’
‘Frances, I’ve barely seen you.’
‘Long enough.’
‘Can’t you even have tea with me? Some restaurant that’ll admit your mate? My wife won’t object.’
‘Thanks. No.’
We began walking back up the bank. ‘I’ll say this for you, Frances, you’re that rarity amongst dollies. When you say “no” you mean “no”.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a couple of hours to kill. I’ll walk you home ‒ no, come on ‒ I’m just going to walk you home. Not even you can object to that! Besides, I’ve got something to show you.’ He produced from his wallet some photos of his little sons. ‘Four and three now and getting to look more like their old man every day ‒ poor little things!’
I looked at the two chubby smiling faces. ‘When were these taken?’
‘We all took a caravan holiday in Devon. I sold a TV script for a rather fancy sum and took the month off to get acquainted with the family again. Worked rather well. The boys had themselves a ball.’
‘They look it. They’re cute, Bart!’ A great weight seemed to roll off my shoulders. Those were happy, contented children. They knew they were deeply loved, if they knew nothing else ‒ and for children, nothing else really mattered. ‘Got any more?’
‘Well, no more than a dozen or so ‒ like to see ’em?’
We had reached the square before I realised it as we were still discussing his boys. It then seemed pointless for him not to see me to the gate, though I told him there was no question of my asking him in, before I noticed David’s car parked outside.
He eyed it casually, ‘Your aunt’s?’
‘A friend who’s been taking her out for a drive.’
He glanced casually at the front room, then did a double-take. ‘Am I seeing things, Frances, or does aunty’s friend somewhat resemble the face I see when I shave? Wonder if I’ve a long-lost brother I don’t know about.’
‘He’s not your brother.’ I left it at that. ‘Goodbye, Bart. Tell your wife what I said. Good luck to you all in Australia.’
‘Thanks, Frances ‒ and I mean that. I hope this works out and if it does ‒ who knows? One day the boys may even be proud of dear old Dad.’
‘Bart, you must make sure they are! They’re lovely children!’
‘A pair of fiends on occasions, but I think them pretty splendid.’ He stepped closer. ‘One little kiss goodbye for ever?’
I stepped back. ‘No, Bart.’
‘Come on,’ he coaxed wickedly, glancing at the window behind my head. ‘My long-lost brother’s been watching us out of the corner of his eye like he’d like to bust my neck in two pieces. Let’s make him like to bust it in four!’
‘Bart, don’t be childish. You’re a married man and a father. Time you grew up.’
‘You are right,’ he agreed amiably, ‘though I don’t expect I ever will. I’ll have a go and if I don’t make it ‒ who expects to win ’em all?’ He blew me a kiss and walked out of my life as he had walked in, smiling. I watched him briefly then slowly turned away.
David came out of the front door as if jet-propelled. He let in Psmith, then closed the door and stood blocking my path with his back to the window. ‘Frances, don’t tell me what I’m about to say is none of my business as it happens to be your aunt’s and so I’m making it mine!’ He spat his words very quietly, very quickly. ‘What in hell are you playing at, girl? Wasn’t that the man I’ve named George as you’ve never told me his name? And didn’t you tell me he’s now married?’
‘Yes, but ‒’ I began nervously.
‘No BUTS! This isn’t swinging London, girl. This is Arumchester! A quaint little way-out oasis of medieval England, in case you’ve forgotten ‒ which the permissive society, I’m thankful to say, has yet to reach! Think us an olde worlde backwater ‒ think us dull ‒ think us anything you like ‒ but remember your aunt is a very new resident here! She’s a quiet, good, kind woman who wants to make quiet, good, kind friends ‒ and not to be known as the aunt of that little ‒’ he had to cut himself short only as a young woman pushing a toddler passed our gate. She was a few steps on when the toddler wanted to get out and push his own chair. David waited till they had trundled well on and as he was literally in my path, I had to wait. ‘Helen told us he had been to the house for you. Helen’s a nice girl, but she can’t keep her mouth shut ‒ her long weekend’s been pushed forward to start this evening and if her hosts haven’t heard it all by nightfall, I don’t know my Helen! She’s sure you two missed each other at your usual meeting place. No doubt, she’s correct!’ He did not give me a chance to get a word in. ‘How do you think your aunt is now feeling? Or, as you seem to have overlooked her ‒ his unfortunate wife? Isn’t it time you tried looking through her eyes? Or stopped to think how you look through his? And if you really want to know the answer to that,’ he jeered under his breath, ‘try asking him point blank on this date you’ve lined up for tomorrow and watch his eyes as he tries to talk his way out of it. Just watch his eyes ‒ and right now get the hell out of my way as I’ve done with you, but for good!’
I was too dumbfounded to do anything but step aside. He shot into his car, leaving the gate open. I turned and closed it very slowly to give myself a little time before facing Aunt Joey.
The mother and toddler had reached the far left corner of the square. David had to drive by them to his house on the far side of the iron-fenced communal grass patch. He buckled his safety-belt and drove off with his usual care, then as he turned the left corner, without warning, the toddler pushed his chair off the pavement and into the road directly in front of David’s car. He had neither time nor room to brake. The mother screamed, I gasped in horror, as David took the only alternative to running over the child. He swung round his wheel and drove deliberately into the railings. I closed my eyes as the hideous clash of metal on metal echoed round the square.
I ran from the gate and the mother ran to pick up her unharmed toddler. ‘Did you see ‒ did you see ‒’ she cried in near hysteria, ‘he’s killed himself ‒ he’s killed himself to save my baby!’
It was the most terrible moment of my life. I braced myself then had to look at David’s car. The bonnet was crushed in like an eggshell, the windscreen opaque ‒ but David was climbing out of one of the back doors.
‘You both all right?’ he called to the mother. ‘Good! Yes, I’m fine thanks, as my safety-belt held me.’
The square had filled with people. I did not see any of them clearly. I talked with the distraught mother till she grew calmer but I did not know what I said. I kept watching David’s white, strained face and reliving that terrible moment, whilst waiting to catch him alone. If I had needed anything to ram home the truth of my feelings for him, that moment had done it.
Eventually, he moved from the sympathetic group of neighbours. I stood at his elbow but he did not seem to notice. I touched his arm, tentatively. ‘David, is there anything I can do to help?’
He jerked his arm away and stared at me blankly. ‘No, thanks,’ he muttered between his teeth. ‘Briefly, Frances, get lost and stay lost!’
I turned away in silence and knew just what I had lost. The knowledge went too deep for self-reproach, anger, bitterness, or even for tears, then.
Chapter Nine
‘Drink your tea, dear,’ said Aunt Joey. ‘You’ve had a rather disturbing afternoon.’
‘Rather,’ I echoed flatly.
I had told her all about Bart’s visit but not David’s furious reaction. She had admitted being a little perturbed. ‘From a description you once gave me, I guessed Bart was the young man with you at the gate. Possibly, Davie suspected my anxiety ‒’ she paused, and when I stayed silent, added, ‘to look at, he’s a little like a fairer Davie, isn’t he?’
‘A little.’
The mother, toddler and all the neighbours had vanished from the square. A breakdown van had dragged off David’s car and he had waited to examine the cleared, bent railings, then gone into his house without one glance in our direction.
‘Poor Davie,’ said Aunt Joey. ‘No blame could be attached to him had the worst tragically happened, but the horror of that must still be lingering in his mind. Being such a dedicated children’s doctor, he’d never have been able to forgive himself, or forget, if he injured a child whatever the circumstances.’
‘No.’ I gazed at the floor to hide the despair and distress in my eyes and heart. I so longed to help David, to explain about Bart, but he wouldn’t let me do either now.
Unwittingly, Aunt Joey twisted the knife. ‘He’ll need our help, Fran.’
I had to say, ‘I ‒ I offered. He said ‒ er ‒ no, thanks.’
‘I’m sure that was only as he needed a little time alone to collect his thoughts,’ she replied placidly. ‘Even as a child, Davie liked to get away on his own when upset. Remember my telling you he wouldn’t let me see his tears when he was only nine and had to leave his adored pup Bessie with me? Because I know him so well, I’ve not gone straight across with a sympathetic word. I’ve been very tempted, but felt I must respect his need for privacy. However ‒’ she rose, ‘as a little time has passed and there’s one matter I must put to him, I’m now going to ring him up.’
My head jerked up. ‘W-what matter?’
‘Dearie, to offer him my car as he must have one instantly available. No doubt, he’s already tried to hire one, but the tourist season is still on, this is only a small place and there mayn’t be a car free for immediate hire. And though this is Thursday and his free evening, he won’t let that prevent him from answering any professional call.’
She closed the door after her as she went into the hall to telephone. The thick door would reduce her voice to a muffled murmur, but as she would be talking to David, I daren’t let myself hear even that. I went quickly to the piano and played softly, drowning the murmur, but not my thoughts. I didn’t know what I played. My body was at the piano facing the far wall from the door, but my mind was back in the square just after David drove into the railings. I could still hear that distraught young mother’s ‘… he’s killed himself to save my baby …’ and then David’s blank and total rejection of my offer of help.
Aunt Joey’s face appeared in the mirror above the piano. ‘Don’t stop as I so love that Liszt! I’ll just get tidy and take my car keys over. Davie can’t hire any car till tomorrow morning and was just wondering if I would consider lending him mine ‒ as if any consideration’s needed after all he’s done for me!’ She opened the door wider to let in Psmith. ‘Back soon, Psmith. You wait with Fran.’
Psmith flopped down on the hearth-rug with a protective air that reminded me of his mother, Bessie, when Aunt Joey let her into the nursery when Nicky and I were small. I thought how we had loved dear, fat, gentle old Bessie, and then what it cost any child to part from a beloved puppy. The tears suddenly poured down my face but I had to keep on playing as Aunt Joey was still in the house and might look in to ask the cause if I left off in mid-tune.
