Harnessing Peacocks (30 page)

Amy said in accusation, ‘You keep in touch with Louisa.’

‘I telephone,’ admitted Bernard, ‘sometimes.’

‘And why not?’ Amy was magnanimous. ‘But you don’t let her see you, poor shrivelled old manikin.’

‘No.’ Bernard closed his eyes. ‘I don’t.’

‘He didn’t want to marry any of us.’ Amy switched her attention to Jim. ‘Not that it matters now. Do you want to marry Hebe?’

‘I—’ Jim felt distraught. What business was it of this old crone to question him?

‘It’s up to Hebe, isn’t it?’ said Amy.

Bernard opened his eyes. ‘Only Hebe?’

‘As far as I am concerned only Hebe matters,’ said Amy, her eyes flicking from Jim to Bernard. ‘And for Hebe read Silas, for Silas is what matters to Hebe. Wherever he is, he seems to be lost.’

‘Silas,’ said Bernard smugly, ‘is at my house and Hebe is with him. That is why Jim is here. I tactfully removed him so that Silas could explain why he ran away from the Scillies without a problematical father getting underfoot.’

‘I thought you came to visit the dead. Is Silas all right?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Bernard. ‘We cherished him as I’—he squeezed Amy’s hand—‘cherish you.’

Amy heaved with laughter.

‘Mind your heart.’

‘Actually,’ murmured Amy, ‘my heart is better.’

‘All the better for seeing me?’ asked Bernard slyly.

These outrageous old people are flirting, thought Jim. He wondered whether they would notice if he slipped away. They did not, he thought, need an audience for their reunion.

‘Actually,’ the word seemed to amuse Amy, ‘actually yes.’

Hannah chose this moment to come into the room, followed by Terry and Giles, her green eyes sparkling, teeth aflash.

‘Goodness! Is this a party?’ She looked from Bernard to Jim. ‘We came to impart our good news.’

‘Impart?’ questioned Amy, holding Bernard’s hand.

‘One of Terry’s words. We wondered whether your heart was up to it.’

‘My heart is fine.’

As he left the room Jim thought the good news is the white girl and the black boy are, for want of a better word, in love. As he ran down the stairs and out to his car he resented the almost tangible glow of happiness surrounding the ill-assorted couples. He had yet to confront Hebe.

Jim parked his car beside Hebe’s. He walked fast across the fields, fighting the inclination to go back to London, recapture the shield which had effectively protected him from serious relationships for thirteen years. Skirting the kale field and climbing the banks he reviewed the girls of past years. Fun girls, pretty girls, clever girls and stupid, he had shielded himself from any depth of feeling, with the memory of the perfect girl in Lucca, the girl who had left him, running fleet of foot, disappearing into the crowd. Remembering Hebe racing across the fields earlier in the day, he thought, She still runs pretty fast. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself on. She is there in Bernard’s house. I have to put an end to this one way or another, he thought, as he climbed the last bank into Bernard’s garden. Put an end to my dream, he thought resentfully, face up to some sort of reality. It is destruction, he thought, opening the door and walking into the house. He felt desolation and regret for his loss, now that it was too late to run away. If I had had any sense I would have stopped looking years ago. Not finding her I would have had something to keep.

Hebe was sitting in Bernard’s chair, her arms round Silas curled beside her, asleep.

Jim sat on a chair by the door. Feathers came wagging and grumbling to greet Jim, pressing his head on his knee, inviting attention. Jim stroked the dog’s head and looked at Hebe, who peered at him over Silas’ head.

‘Is he all right now?’ indicating Silas.

‘Yes,’ she said evenly.

Feathers wandered back to sit at Hebe’s feet. Jim felt exposed. Hebe had Silas as protection and now the dog also. He cleared his throat, unable to think of anything to say. Minutes passed. Hebe and Jim looked at one another. Hebe said something in a low voice.

Jim said ‘What?’

She said, ‘It’s the smell. I think I recognise the smell, it’s—this jersey you lent him.’

‘You mean
me
? I smell?’

‘Yes.’

‘I smell of coffee. I keep a coffee shop, my clothes are impregnated with it. Why?’

‘I get panics, nightmares. Then there’s this smell which is nice.’

‘I’m glad of that.’ He studied her. She had cut off most of the long hair, the eyes were the same, the face thinner. ‘It’s a coffee shop on one side and antiques on the other.’ Must keep talking, he thought.

‘Oh.’ She was not giving him much help.

‘I was working in a coffee bar in Lucca; do you remember me? Do you remember the fiesta, the nut necklaces, the candles along the window-ledges, the narrow streets? You ran away—’

Hebe watched him. What were her thoughts?

She said, ‘My nightmare panic.’

‘It’s been a marvellous haunting memory for me,’ said Jim. ‘I’m sorry if it was a nightmare for you.’ He was stupefied. After all these years all she remembers is a bloody nightmare.

‘The smell is mixed up with something else. I see now it was you. It’s the other, the result, the—the—I—’ She looked at him, distressed. ‘I tried to tell Silas and do you know what he said?’

‘What?’

‘He suggested I’d been on a “trip”, that someone had given me LSD.’

‘That would explain a lot,’ said Jim. ‘You were with a bunch of hippies, people said, when I tried to find you.’

‘I’d just met them. I was living with a family as an au pair learning Italian. I didn’t know them.’

‘In Lucca?’

‘I was going home next day. I remember now. I must have blotted it out when the horror came later. I am sorry.’

‘I am Silas’ father,’ said Jim, making the effort. There is no retreat now, he thought. For years my dream has been her nightmare. ‘I think, I mean it’s obvious, look at his nose and hair, he’s my son.’ Hebe said nothing. ‘He has got your eyes,’ said Jim. ‘Perhaps we could get to know each other.’ Still she said nothing. ‘We seem to have put the cart before the horse,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to bother you but Silas seems to be the result of our encounter. Perhaps if we—’

‘The result.’ Hebe looked down at Silas. ‘I see I—’ She tightened her hold. She is afraid I may hurt Silas, Jim thought. I must stop her being frightened. She makes no attempt to deny my fatherhood.

Hebe said, ‘If you are—’ defensively.

‘I am sure I am.’ Idiot, there is still time to back out.

‘Yes.’ She was not in doubt.

‘Look,’ said Jim, ‘when I met Silas yesterday he was pretty upset. Perhaps we could start from there. Perhaps I could help if he is in trouble. How would that be?’

‘Put the cart before the horse
again
?’

She’s intelligent. Thank God. ‘Put Silas first and possibly we will get to know each other.’

‘I don’t mind you getting to know Silas,’ said Hebe, keeping herself out of it, reminding herself not to be possessive.

Jim, who had been sitting grim and strained, smiled for the first time. ‘You don’t know me,’ he said. ‘You can keep yourself as private as you like.’ I don’t mean that, he thought. I want to know her but it may take the rest of our lives to break down this privacy.

Hebe reached for her glasses and put them on to see Jim clearly. He is already assuming possession, she thought. He thinks he can barge into my life, Silas’ father. I can’t deny it, they are alike, he even talks like Silas. What about my Syndicate? My cooking? How does he think he will fit in with Mungo, Rory, Louisa, Lucy, with Silas who I live and work for, and Hippolyte? Does he think he can just appear like this? Do I want this man barging in? Thoughtfully she regarded Jim through her glasses.

She is not a bit my dream girl, thought Jim. She looks a fighter. The dream girl was so vulnerable. What is this woman holding my son in her arms going to do with my life? How will she fit in with my coffee trade, my antiques. And the boy, my son, what of him? Oh God, he thought, do I want all this? Resentfully he regarded Hebe, blaming her.

‘If we were writing a book,’ Jim said, ‘this would be a joyful occasion.’

‘In real life it’s a positive quicksand,’ said Hebe.

They succumbed to laughter and Silas woke.

S
ILAS, LOOKING FROM HIS
mother to Jim, remembered where he was. The humiliations of his visit to the Reeves came crowding blackly back.

‘What am I to do about my bag? I left it behind.’ His duffle bag seemed of paramount importance.

‘Mrs Reeves is bringing it tomorrow. We can collect it at the heliport,’ said Hebe.

‘And have to talk to her?’ Silas was aghast. ‘Meet them all?’

‘We’ll be with you.’ Jim stood up and stretched. ‘It’s rather claustrophobic in this small room,’ he said. ‘What about a cream tea somewhere?’

‘Brilliant. There’s a farm which does teas over the hill. We could walk along the cliff.’ Silas was delighted at the prospect. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Come on, then,’ said Jim. ‘It stopped raining long ago.’

‘All right.’ Hebe felt violently hungry, tried to remember when she had last eaten. Breakfast in Louisa’s house in the early hours. Was it the same day? ‘I’m quite hungry, too,’ she said carefully.

Feathers ran ahead across the fields, carrying his tail high, signalling them to follow as might a tourist guide in St Mark’s Square. They crossed the road to the cliff path winding above the sea. We look like any ordinary family, thought Jim, as they walked in single file. Family dog, child, mother, father, but the dog is not our dog, the father has not spoken to the mother for thirteen years, he only met his child for the first time yesterday. Bringing up the rear of the procession he studied Hebe’s back, observing her long stride, the dark hair falling against her shoulders. She walked ahead above the sea which, calm now in the afternoon sun, was cobalt blue, the rocks shading lighter and paler over sandy patches. What is she thinking, Jim wondered. If we were what we appear to be, an ordinary family, would I know?

Silas led the way up a valley which clove the cliffs running down to a sheltered cove. Halfway up there was a farm with tables on the grass, chairs and benches. They sat at an empty table. Jim ordered tea, Hebe sat slumped, white faced. She put her glasses on the table, a curiously secretive act. She doesn’t want to see too clearly. Jim observed her surreptitiously. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked.

‘Louisa made me eat breakfast.’

‘Fool.’ Jim got up and went into the farm. ‘Would it be possible,’ he asked the woman serving teas, ‘to give the lady a boiled egg? She hasn’t eaten since breakfast.’

‘Poor thing. She had better have two and bread and butter.’

‘Thank you. ‘Jim went back to the table and sat in silence until the tea was brought.

Silas watched teapot, milk, sugar, scones, cream and jam placed on the table. Two brown eggs arrived next.

‘Salt,’ said the waitress. ‘Okay?’ She caught Jim’s eye.

‘Most okay,’ he thanked her.

‘Who are the eggs for?’ Silas asked.

‘Your mother. Eat them,’ he said to Hebe, pushing the eggs towards her.

‘Oh.’ She looked at him quickly. ‘Thank you.’

‘You will need your spectacles.’

‘Yes.’ She put them on obediently.

They ate in silence. Jim watched colour return to her cheeks. Silas ate and drank, feeding snippets to Feathers. If I bought a house in the country we could live like an ordinary family, thought Jim, watching Hebe and Silas. We could have a dog of our own. I don’t somehow see her in Fulham. I could run my business just as well in a country town. I can’t believe she likes living in that hideous street. That cat of hers would like the country. We could find a house in Dorset, perhaps. He visualised Hebe against a backdrop of downland within reach of the sea. Other families who had been having tea left, wandering up a path which led to the road and their cars. From the farmhouse came sounds of washing up, an occasional laugh or burst of music from the radio.

‘Did you see Amy?’ Hebe turned to look at Jim. ‘I have been too afraid to ask.’

‘Much better,’ said Jim. ‘Last seen flirting with Bernard. Almost as though they were having an affair.’ He failed to keep surprise out of his voice.

‘Old people still have feelings,’ said Hebe.

‘Bernard seems to have distributed his feelings rather widely,’ said Jim.

Hebe smiled, thinking, What about my feelings distributed among the Syndicate? What about them?

‘Will they marry?’ Silas was curious. ‘They could. Amy could look after Mr Quigley.’

‘I don’t somehow think a sunset home for Bernard fits into Amy’s calculations,’ Hebe murmured.

‘He is too independent to marry,’ said Jim, defending the male sex.

‘But he likes romance,’ said Hebe, amused.

‘Even so, he will go on living alone in that isolated house. And some day the postman will arrive with his letters and find him dead,’ Jim suggested.

‘That is what he would like,’ agreed Hebe.

‘Amy accused him of being in love with a lot of women.’

‘Probably true.’ Hebe did not wish to pursue the subject. ‘Did you see Hannah?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t she looking after Amy?’

‘She did appear. Brought with her a handsome black chap.’

‘Ah yes, Terry.’ Hebe was thoughtful. ‘M’m yes.’

‘They seemed bursting with the joys of life, a romance there, would you say?’

‘Hannah would call it a conjunction of vibes.’

‘What about George?’ enquired Silas. ‘He’s her dentist,’ he explained for Jim’s benefit.

‘Too dull. Hannah wants marriage and romance.’

‘Will she get it with Terry?’ asked Jim.

‘I think she will.’

‘Where does he come from?’ Jim was interested. If I can find out about her friends I may discover Hebe, he thought.

‘He comes from London. He is self-employed, he makes quite a lot of money. He loves poetry, fantasy—’

‘Ah—’ What was that in her voice? Affection?

‘He has lots of interests: music, antiques, poetry—yes, he will make Hannah happy. Gorgeous contrast, don’t you think? Very fair Hannah with bitter chocolate Terry?’ Hebe was enthusiastic for Hannah’s future.