Part of the Furniture (18 page)

‘For God’s sake, sir, don’t do that!’ Captain Lazenby and his sergeant sprang back. ‘We must rope it off. Do for God’s sake tread carefully.’

Robert laughed and said, ‘Haven’t you heard of the unexploded bomb in Knightsbridge? The buses rumbled over it for six whole weeks before someone got around to defusing it. These things don’t go off that easily.’

But later, when Captain Lazenby and his party had set their fuse and exploded the bomb, the procedure disrupted the working day, for cows, horses, sheep and pigs had to be moved away from the farm, the windows of the farm and cottage opened in case of blast and the whole area roped off for the explosion. This in itself was anticlimactic, only really upsetting the rooks, who continued to circle long after all was over, caw-cawing in turbulent unease.

Robert, in nervous anxiety to speed his parting guests, found himself inviting them in for a stiff tot of his precious whisky and even asking them to stay for supper, which fortunately they were unable to do, as there were errant bombs on other people’s land which demanded their attention. When they had driven away Robert was left with Ann and Juno and a dampening sense of loss which he knew he had little right to. But Juno, watching the departing car, secretly hugged herself, for that morning, on first sighting the Army car, she had not been constrained to scrutinize its occupants for someone familiar but, buoyed by the burst of joy which had struck her as she ran down the hill and caused her to turn cartwheels, she had been happy to work all day with Bert, herding recalcitrant animals to safety and, when the bomb was exploded, bringing them back to their rightful places.

‘You picked the first primrose. ‘Juno pointed at Robert’s buttonhole. ‘I saw it this morning as I rode down the hill.’

‘It’s dead.’ Robert removed the faded flower, handing it to Juno. Should he speak now? Repair the morning’s damage? Congratulate her, perhaps? Or behave as though nothing had been said? The day had been long, he had found it tiresome. Juno took the flower from him. ‘Poor little thing.’

Ann called, ‘Supper is ready.’

In silence they sat at the table, all of them tired. Robert said, ‘So that was all very exciting,’ not enjoying the silence.

Tartly Ann said, ‘It would have been exciting in another way if Juno had been blown up.’ Forking food into her mouth, she munched and remarked, ‘We should be grateful for bad German craftsmanship. There might have been no Juno.’

Juno sipped water, swallowed and, glancing sidelong at Robert, murmured, ‘And no baby.’

Sleep was evasive. Juno lay listening to the stillness of the house. The ankle which she had not spared working with Bert was hot and painful; the sprain, which she had hardly noticed when the bomb fell nor during its aftermath, was making itself felt. Turning cartwheels from joy, now she had time to consider, was an action which had done nothing to improve it.

Ann had strapped the ankle but it was bound too tight; she unwound the bandage and felt the muscles throb as her blood flowed freely, almost as freely as the blood which had suffused Robert’s face when she had mentioned the baby. He had flushed dark red and his eyes, glancing at her, had appeared very blue. Quickly he had looked away and his face faded to its normal tan as he said something to Ann, and Ann replied. Then he had risen from the table saying, ‘Time for bed.’ He had let the dogs out for their last run, as he usually did, packed up the library fire, covering the smouldering logs with ash, put the fireguard in place and gone up the stairs, calling, ‘Goodnight, goodnight, it’s been a long day.’

Had one of them answered, ‘Eventful’?

‘Thank you for all your hard work,’ he had said. ‘Sleep well, sleep well.’

But she could not sleep. She rolled up the bandage and tested her ankle, moving the joint. Ice would help. There was ice in the kitchen; she slid out of bed and reached for Evelyn’s dressing-gown.

Walking barefoot, she made no sound except for the skirt of the dressing-gown whispering behind her on the stair. The house breathed and creaked as old houses do as they cool from the day. Only the long-case clock measured her passage and Robert’s forebears watched from their frames inscrutably, each with the Copplestone look, strong nose, blue eyes, brown hair and the expression of amusement often present in Robert. It had been there too in Evelyn, known so briefly, almost forgotten. She paused on the stair, remembering Evelyn. Had he been amused? Questioning, she looked at a portrait level with her shoulder, a man in a green coat, in the Copplestone eyes a cast which the artist had made no effort to hide. His expression was racy and
louche
, giving nothing away. She moved on to the kitchen. Here she filled a bowl with ice and cold water, sat by the Aga, plunged in her foot, gasped at the cold, bore it, stroked Ann’s cats asleep against the stove with her other foot, feeling their warmth as they sleepily mewed.

As the pain eased, she considered the past day, beginning with Robert sighting the peregrine, being sick and Robert’s voice, ‘It’s not nothing, it’s a baby.’ And, later, ‘Having a baby can be fun,’ his tone gentle and calm, absolutely certain. This remark, sinking in, had infected her with the spasm of delight which had led to the cartwheels, snuffing out her other feeling, which had been of acute and reminiscent embarrassment at once again displaying her ignorance of bodily functions.

As the pain left her ankle and it stopped throbbing Juno sat on by the stove, considered her ignorance and resolved to cure it. Could she question Ann, who would give matter-of-fact answers? To a degree, yes. She removed her foot from the bowl, dried it, emptied the bowl and, the ankle no longer hurting, left the kitchen. Crossing the hall she noticed that the library door was ajar and, looking in as a log slipped sideways in the grate and a flame flickered up, saw by its light the book-lined walls. She would explore those shelves for the knowledge she needed; there was bound to be a book. She would ask Robert. He would not mock, she need not fear. If he was amused it would not hurt. Climbing up the stairs past Robert’s squinting ancestor she felt elated and secure, a condition of mind she was not used to.

‘S
O HOW WAS YOUR
leave?’ Francis leaned against the bar.

‘All right. A beer, please, landlord.’ Jonty stared at the rows of bottles behind the landlord’s head.

‘You don’t sound enthusiastic’ Francis watched his cousin’s beer froth into the glass.

‘Actually I am quite glad to get back.’ Jonty accepted the proffered tankard. ‘Thanks.’

‘What went wrong?’ Francis quizzed.

‘Nothing.’ Jonty brooded.

‘Come on, you were so keen to get home.’

Jonty let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s all changed, nothing is the same. Let’s sit down.’

They carried their drinks to a table and sat. Francis said, ‘Tell me.’

Jonty gulped beer, sighed, said, ‘Father’s wrapped up in village minutiae, ARP, war committees for this and that, Home Guard, Dig for Victory. He’s taken the war into his soul and your father’s no better; he’s planning to dig up the croquet lawn and grow potatoes.’

‘No!’

‘He would do the same for the tennis court, if it were not macadam. I tell you, they are really enjoying themselves.’

Francis said, ‘But they were like that before we left.’

‘More so now, and Mother—’

‘Oh, how is she? What’s wrong there?’

‘She’d invited Angela Addison to stay.’

Francis whistled. ‘Angela? And were you supposed—’

‘Yes, and she made it so obvious it was embarrassing.’ Francis laughed. ‘Well may you laugh. Just wait till you get the treatment. They have plans, my ma and yours. I think they have gone off their collective rockers, they want us to propagate the species. Your mother even went so far as to hint at marriage.’

Francis, laughing, said, ‘I thought the theory was that we are too young and should concentrate on wild oats.’

‘It was, but all that’s changed. You can’t sow wild oats with Angela, she’s not that sort.’

Francis grinned. ‘I suppose not. I like Angela but I see your point. I take it you held back?’

‘Of course.’

‘Not even a chaste kiss?’

‘Not even that. We went for long walks in the rain, played chess and went to bed early.’ Jonty gulped his beer.

‘You sound disgruntled.’ Francis was amused.

Jonty said, ‘I am, a perfectly good leave wasted.’

Francis said, ‘Well, I haven’t been letting the grass grow. I’ve been mowing.’

Jonty whistled, ‘Who with?’

‘I am not sure I shall introduce you.’

‘Is she pretty?’

‘Not very, but she has good legs.’

‘Mystery?’

‘No mystery, no.’

‘Pity.’

‘Mystery wasn’t much help to us that other time.’ Francis set his empty glass on the table. ‘But perhaps you’d better meet her. I think she’s an amateur tart, very spritely, I learned a lot.’

Jonty said, ‘Oh. You make me envious, curious anyway.’

Francis said, ‘Actually I’ve made a date, want to come? For Saturday if we can both get off.’

‘Won’t she mind?’

Francis said, ‘Of course not, she’ll bring a friend. It’s all right, I’ve met her, she has good legs too.’

Jonty said, ‘Oh.’

They sat silent while Jonty finished his beer and Francis watched him, then Francis said, ‘London is the place to spend our leave. A night at home to soothe parental feelings, then London.’

Jonty said, ‘You may well be right. I had set my heart on getting home but it’s not the same, everything’s changed. It’s not just the war, there is something missing.’

Francis said, ‘Juno.’

‘Juno?’ Jonty glanced quickly at his cousin, then looked away.

Francis said, ‘She was part of the furniture.’

Jonty raised his voice, ‘What a horrible thing to say.’

Francis said, ‘But it’s true,’ and presently, as they drove back to their billet, he said, ‘Didn’t she have an aunt in London? One could ask.’

And Jonty snapped, ‘Ask what?’

Francis said, ‘Ask how she is I suppose,’ but he sounded uncertain.

Jonty said, ‘And where does this aunt live?’ When Francis admitted that he did not know, he remarked sourly that their mothers would not know either and enquired whether Francis knew the aunt’s name, and when Francis admitted that he didn’t, he shouted something to the effect that Canada was a large country, so what was the use?

M
EETING ANN COMING OUT
of the village shop, Priscilla Villiers stood in her way. ‘Oh, Ann, I am glad to see you. It will save me telephoning.’

Ann said, ‘Good morning,’ shifting her shopping from right arm to left, indicating that she had no time for chat.

‘I’ve had a letter from Anthony,’ Priscilla said. ‘He is coming in two weeks’ time to work my garden, and he is bringing a friend, Hugh Turner. I thought you would like to know. They could come on to you when they have finished with me.’

‘We are not as short-handed as we were, now John is back for the garden. He gives Bert a hand on the farm and his wife Lily is helping me in the house.’ Ann was aware, as was Priscilla, that Anthony had originally been sent by Evelyn to help his father. Priscilla was poaching.

Priscilla said, ‘I thought Robert would appreciate help with the haymaking, all hands to the pump, that sort of thing.’

Ann said, ‘Probably.’

‘Of course he should have contacted Robert, but he seems rather to have adopted me,’ Priscilla pressed on.

Ann said, ‘So it seems.’

‘And you have wonderful Juno, such a pretty girl. Is that arrangement working? Is Robert finding her useful?’

Ann said, ‘Yes.’

‘I have not seen her for months except in the distance. Has she heard from her mother? She was so bothered about not joining her in Canada. I helped her sort that one out. She was determined not to go,’ Priscilla said, ‘and I do see her point; in Canada she would have been away from the war, missed all the action.’

Ann said, ‘Copplestone is pretty isolated.’

‘But you did have a bomb,’ Priscilla exclaimed.

‘Unexploded.’

‘But excitement and drama after, I was quite envious, but where were we? Oh yes, Juno’s mother. Has she heard from her? Was she upset by the change of plan?’

Ann said, ‘Not so you’d notice.’

‘Oh?’

‘It appears she got married.’

(‘It slipped out,’ Ann later told Juno, ‘the woman’s such a gossip it’s infectious.’ They were sitting at supper.)

Priscilla said, ‘Goodness! Then there’s hope for us all. What does Juno think about it?’

Ann said, ‘It came as no surprise.’

Priscilla persisted, ‘Really? And you say she is happy? That’s good. As you say, Copplestone is terribly isolated for a young person. I expect Anthony and his friend will make a nice change.’

Ann said, ‘I dare say. I must be getting on. I will give your message to Mr Copplestone.’ She was disinclined to discuss Juno’s happiness with Priscilla or, since it was not yet public property, its cause, but recollecting Juno’s cartwheels she chuckled, surprising Priscilla and leaving her perplexed.

‘Oh,’ Priscilla said, following Ann from the shop, ‘I see you have Millicent in harness, pulling a trap. What a good idea. I had forgotten there was a trap at Copplestone, we used to use it for picnics in our youth. Millicent looks splendid but is she safe in harness? She is such a frisky pony.’

Ann said, ‘Perfectly,’ and began stacking her shopping under the seat.

Enviously Priscilla said, ‘I wish I had a pony trap, it would save so much petrol.’

Ann said, ‘It does.’

‘Let me help.’ Priscilla came forward to snatch at Ann’s parcels. ‘Knitting wool, I see, what are you knitting?’

‘Socks.’

‘For Robert?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you have baby wool here.’ Priscilla peered into the parcels. ‘You can’t knit socks from baby wool, Ann, it won’t wear five minutes.’

Ann said, ‘No.’

‘So it’s baby clothes, too. Is somebody having a baby?’

Ann said, ‘Yes.’

‘Anyone I know?’ Priscilla pried. ‘Not John’s wife again? They have three, haven’t they? Surely that’s enough.’

‘No.’

‘Then who?’ Priscilla persisted.