Cold Pastoral (32 page)

“Be good, Mary,'' he said, kissing her again with delicate pressure.

Plodding through the hall with his fishing-tackle, Hannah had seen. When the old woman had watched him run upstairs she gave the girl a sour look.

“Nice to run two of them, isn't it ? In my time we called your sort a hussy.”

Mary Immaculate was shocked. What a vulgar word! Opening the paper she said casually, “Mr. Philip will be out all day, Hannah. I'd like a hot lunch.” The day suggested cool salads and iced jellies. In asking for a hot meal she was sure of a cold.

“Would you, indeed?” said Hannah sarcastically. “And who's going to cook over a hot stove for you? The maids can have a rest.”

The girl had not heard. Searching the paper she saw that Tim's ship must be in. Moreover, there was a note in the personal column—“Mr. Timothy Vincent, who has been a student at a Canadian university for the past year”, etc. etc. Her blood gave a little bound as her mind followed him from the waterfront to his home. Would he be different? It was tragic that he should have missed her graduation, but his flowers were still fresh. That had been a difficult moment! Liberated as a bird, she jumped up to see Philip go. The lush day made him kiss her again, as if he had not done so at breakfast.

Creatures of weather, she thought, remembering her own mother. Even Philip could be affected. He was foot-loose for a day, ready to ride away with the triple feel of her mouth. It was the first time since her graduation he had been so forthcoming. Now within a space of twenty minutes he had kissed her three times. Hemust be in love, she laughed to herself, as he drove towards the gate. High overhead came the song of a white-throated sparrow. Someone had interpreted the notes with such accuracy, “Good-luck, friend-fisherman, fisherman, fisherman!” The sweet, reiterant notes thrilled after him, bidding him be careless and gay.

The morning slipped away with her sunny potter, bringing her to a lonely meal of cold ham with a clovey edge, and a cool green salad. Hannah seemed to be interested in her cooking, scowling as the girl ate with undeniable relish.

“Thank you, Hannah, for giving me such a delicious lunch,” she said blandly.

“You said hot, didn't you?”

“Did I, Hannah?” she asked gaily. “I meant cold. You must have made a mistake.”

“Not me,” said the old woman cryptically. “Will your high and mightiness be home for your tea?”

“I'm taking a walk, Hannah, and maybe I'll go for a swim.”

“And where to, I'd like to know? Mr. Philip won't like you to go swimming with anybody in a pool.”

“The sea is wide,” she said, waving her hand. “I feel like walking a hundred miles. A cove, a bay, a river! I'm sure to find a spot. Here in this little Bay—”

She ran upstairs before the old woman could say more. In her own room she examined her clothes and put on a yellow dress that swung gaily as she walked. Then she packed a rubber bag with bathing-things and ran out of the house. The trees arched above her as she walked down the avenue, but no bird bade her good-bye. It was a lazy time of the day when most things droned and drowsed. She felt fateful. The town could not hold Tim on his first day home without some gorgeous meeting. Why else had everything been so well arranged? Whenever before had she been all alone? Her steps slowed like a person prolonging anticipation. Emerging from the trees to the glare of the road, she blinked and paused, watching dust swirl from passing cars. Almost in front of her eyes Tim came driving, very spruce and smart, in brand new clothes of an urbane cut. The brakes of his mother's car were terribly assaulted as he came to rest by her side.

“Gretel,” he whispered.

She saw that his lips were trembling as his hands reached towards her. What she lacked in girlish quiver she made up in radiance.

“Timmy-Tim,” she exulted, “I knew it. I felt it would happen when I came down the avenue. How lovely to see you! I didn't know how much I missed you until you're back again.”

Her head was in the window very close to his face. Accustomed to being secret they forgot the road. One hand caressed her face as he kissed her, quickly, without thought of her danger. As soon as he had touched her his lips stopped trembling and he could speak in his own voice. To her it sounded more poised and a little deeper.

“Gretel darling, I got in this morning. After all the business mother lent me the car, and I've been driving up and down in the hope that I'd see you walk out. I never dreamed you'd come alone. Gosh, it's great to see you. If only, if only…?”

“If only what, Tim?” she asked breathlessly.

“If only you could jump in the car and come for a drive?”

Mary Immaculate flung up her head and her curls danced on her neck. “The gods planned it, Tim, not you and me! I'm all alone and I will.”

In a second he was out of the car, opening the door for her. They were fleetly back again, sitting staring at each other, searching for difference.

“Tim,'' she said frankly, “you're better-looking. You're wearing a new suit. You look—you look lovely,” she said with high disloyalty to David.

Tim regarded his pinstripe sleeves with some satisfaction.

“I blew myself, Gretel, and I saved at Christmas. Is it really nice?” he said, pulling his tie nonchalantly.

She laughed out loud. “Tim, you're delighted with yourself and you know it. I didn't know how tired I was of people with straight teeth.”

“Now I know I'm home,” he said with a grin. “I haven't heard about my teeth since I left. Now that I've got you, what'll we do? Let's go into the country and find a quiet spot, and you'll tell me all you've said and all you've done. Darling Gretel,” he said, suddenly abashed, “I was so glad to see you, that I forgot about her.”

“Never mind, Tim,” she said quickly, “your letter was lovely, and today she must be all smiles, like us. Let's be foolish today and leave all the news till tomorrow. I haven't been foolish since you went. I've worked and worked, and been sad for dear Mater, and, Tim, I got distinction in five subjects, and, oh, Timmy-Tim, your flowers were lovely, and they're still fresh in my room. I missed you at the college, and I must tell you this—after graduation they thought I might really be a student, and I'm going to England for third year Arts.”

Tim's face changed to a radiant smile, and she saw all of his eyes.

“That's news, indeed, Gretel. I wish I'd known it before. I've been eaten up all winter, wondering, worrying about that last day by the river.”

“Why, Tim?” she asked quickly, and then regretted her question.

“Because, Gretel, when you put me off, about us, I thought I might come back and find you doing something else. I don't want to be a boy any more—”

“Not even today, Tim?” she said beguilingly. “Not even to run off and be just ourselves?”

“Just ourselves, Gretel,” he said, breathing hard, “not just our make-believe? I've been thinking hard all winter.” Then he smiled a little. “I bet they said the same thing to you at graduation, the usual stuff about launching your own ship and grappling with your problems.”

“They did, Tim, real
provehito in altum
stuff.”

“Launch into the deep, Gretel! It's a clarion call for us, telling us to get out of the garden and face up before people.”

“Tim,” she said with wide eyes, “you're not faithless to Gretel and Isolde?”

He smiled in a much older way than she remembered. Travel abroad must be ageing!

“Not faithless, ever, to one bit of you and me, Gretel, but I'd like to add to it, plunge into ordinary life with you.”

“Tim,”—she smiled with eyes that had to be met—“just for today can't we really be
provehito in altum
, meaning, can't we go for a swim, out in the country, and do things we've never done before? Timmy-Tim—I must go on with my Arts—and…”

“O.K., Gretel,” he said with his usual agreement. “I'll give you today because it's more than I dared dream of, and I'd hate to waste a second. I must get my bathing-things.”

She was out of the car before he could even open the door.

“I'll walk up the road. Get your things and pick me up. Pity to take off the new suit, Tim.”

With a laugh of high delight she sped up the road, and the proud slope of her legs was a challenge towards speedy pursual. When he caught her up she had walked half a mile. Easing by, he opened the door and she was beside him before he had really halted.

“Now we're off,” he said with a laugh as infectious as her own. She rolled down the window, and a soft summer breeze became intensified by shattering speed.

“Tim!” she gasped.

He seemed impervious to rules or regulations. His eyes were no longer sleepy, and if he could spare a glance from the road it was for her and not for the beauty of the countryside. She did all the talking, letting him take her where he willed. They ran out of the town by a coast road high above wide blue sea. Useless to tell him to look at the great clumps of Rhodora. When they had mounted to a dizzy precipice they shot into a grove of spruce trees. The ground on either side was tawny, pungent with fallen needles. Tim turned into a grassy lane and they were lost from the sight of the road. He dragged on the brake, and they sat in sudden suspension. The slight tremble had come back to his lips.

“Gretel, I must kiss you. All this long time I've thought of you, and kept you in front of my eyes. Millions of times I saw your face between me and my book. Gretel, tell me you're glad I'm back?”

Tim had grown up. His arms were experienced through a burning devotion. His lips were gentle through reverence for her youth. When he kissed her his eyes were closed; hers were open, seeing the blue sky and the high points of the trees. Against her mouth she felt the jut of his two crooked teeth. When she felt her own eyes droop with some impalpable rival to the summer day she sat up in trepidation.

“Tim,” she appealed, “we came to swim.” He sat back, still holding her shoulders.

“Gretel, you're not half as happy to see me as I am to see you.”

He looked puzzled, as if some of his joy had been quenched. He might have just come away from a swamping bout of geology. It was impossible not to make her usual return. She leaned forward, stroking his face. “Tim, I'm bursting because you're here, and we're free and it's such a lovely day.”

His face suggested the answer was unsatisfactory, but she opened the door with decision.

“I'll race you down to the head if you're not afraid of your new suit.”

The way was beset by stumps and boulders. Sometimes they were in his way and sometimes in hers. The odds made them arrive on an open headland at the same time. Instinctively they brought up together, arm in arm. The blue sea belonged to them if they could get down to it. He knew how to do it. Turning to the right, he plunged into a grove of spruce. It was her native heath, although Tim was the vassal, holding branches from her face. Crashing through the smothering green, feet trod on needles, squeezing out a richer fragrance from the ground. There was a rush of water in their ears. Emerging breathless on a river, they saw it splash against rock, tear through flats, hurl over a long drop and widen with estuarine ease to the surge of the sea. So much water called for immediate immersion.

“Tim, I'm going to undress. Turn your back and find your own dressing-room.”

Dallying did not have any place in her mind. In less than a minute a spruce tree held a few frail garments, and long white legs plunged into a royal-blue bathing-suit. When he emerged she was poised on a rock with nerve-destroying balance. Tim did not plunge with the same confidence. The sight of her milky body accomplished his last enslavement. He appeared to dismiss the aching beauty of the day, and find nothing to admire but herself. He was a boy sorely tried by his own emotions. She dragged him out of them, as she had done many times before.

“Tim,” she screamed, “let's stay in the river, unless we let the waterfall wash us down to the sea. It's not very far—it might be fun— people have gone over Niagara in a tub.”

“Don't be foolish, Gretel,” he said more sanely. Her leap to another rock brought her into the current, and there he joined her. Wearing her own flesh without consciousness, she expected him to wear his. Only a childhood's friendship could give forth such naive candour. “Tim, you're a nice white boy,” she said approvingly. “The same height as me, and I'm glad you've got no whiskers on your chest.” It was impossible not to lose some of his emotional surge. The sun on his back suggested he should be pagan and not personal.

A river is an endless source of enchantment. The body can soak in black pools, loll on grey rocks, be floated on a current and impelled towards danger. They found a submerged ledge under a gradient, leaning back, while the water flowed over their shoulders in a foaming cape. From their necks to their knees they were part of the river, with their chins on its bubbling bosom. From a distant meadow came the sound of a cow-bell, and a white-throated sparrow made its fisherman's call. Mary Immaculate flung an arm into the air in wild salute.

“Good-luck, friend-fisherman, fisherman, fisherman,” she intoned again and again.

“Yes, it's just like that,” said Tim with his head cocked in the air. “I'd like to play this—the rush of the river, its flats and falls, that cow-bell and how I feel myself. If I knew exactly how you feel, I'd play your part first. Once I thought I knew how you felt, but now I don't know.”

“I'll feel as you feel, Tim,” she said happily. “Only make me a little more treble. First violin and second violin, they play the same part. I wish I could play the violin, Tim, and then we could do some Brahms sonatas for violin and piano. I'm crazy about Brahms.”

He looked at her almost in awe.

“You must be liking them, Gretel, because I willed you to, this winter. I'm crazy about them myself.”