The Wheel of Fortune (80 page)

“Will you talk to Robert?” I said at last. “Perhaps he could arrange for a first-class agent to help you.”

“I can manage. Go away and stop trying to interfere in my affairs.”

But I stood my ground as I tried to work out how I could say what had to be said next, and finally I replied, “I quite understand why you don’t wish me to be involved in the estate and of course I completely accept your decision. But can I help you at all with your private income? I could perhaps attend to the correspondence with your stockbrokers, your accountants, the Inland Revenue—”

“I don’t use accountants. Waste of money. I’m good with money, always was. Head for figures.”

“I know that. But I thought perhaps I might help you during those times when you’re not well.”

“No need. I’ve got Milly. She’s got a head for figures too, wonderfully clever she is, thinks just like a man.”

The conversation shattered into silence again. During the interval that followed I framed my next sentence several times in my head before I found the version that satisfied me.

“How fortunate,” I said. “I didn’t realize you’d given her a power of attorney.”

My father immediately flew into a rage. “What power of attorney? I’m not giving anyone a power of attorney! How dare you imply I’m incapable of signing my name!”

“Oh, I see. Milly just prepares the checks.”

“I refuse to be subjected to this cross-examination any longer! Go away and leave me in peace!”

I went away. Upstairs in Thomas’s bedroom I found Milly completing the packing of his clothes.

“I want to warn you,” I said, “that I know you’ve involved yourself in my father’s financial affairs and that I’ll go to court if I find any evidence—any evidence at all—that you’re abusing your position here.”

“Abusing my position, dear? But I do nothing without his written authorization! What kind of a fool do you think I am?”

“Written authorizations are meaningless when someone’s not competent to conduct his own affairs.”

“Well really, dear, what a nasty mind you’ve got! I’m quite shocked! Now look here, my friend. If you don’t think your father’s fit to conduct his affairs, then go to court and get an order but don’t come whining to me about undue influence when he’s not certified, not legally incompetent and still has a right to manage his affairs as he pleases!”

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t intend to tolerate larceny.”

“The day I go to jail for larceny, John Godwin, is the day you retire to a monastery and become a monk. Oh, don’t be so silly, dear, really, I feel quite put out! I thought we were friends nowadays?”

I picked up the packed bags and walked out without another word.

XVII

I arrived at Little Oxmoon to find a marital row of earsplitting violence was being concluded, and although I had schooled myself to take no notice of these searing verbal battles, I found it hard this time to look the other way.

“Just another little disagreement, sir,” said Bennett soothingly as he admitted me to the hall. I had jumped at the sound of breaking glass. The next moment Ginevra was screaming, “All right, die—and the sooner the better!” and there was another crash before she rushed sobbing into the hall. She saw me, screamed, “Hit him, kill him, I don’t care!” and stumbled, weaving, down the passage to her bedroom. As Bennett and I approached the drawing room we were almost overcome with the reek of gin, and on crossing the threshold we found she had smashed both her glass and the bottle against the wall.

“Oh hullo, John,” said Robert, unperturbed. “What’s this? Two visits in one day? Don’t start flagellating yourself again in the name of moral duty; my nerves couldn’t stand it. Bennett, get me out of here before I die of alcohol fumes.”

We retired to Robert’s bedroom. As soon as Bennett had left I said in a voice that I hoped was laconic, “Has she been drinking too much again?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing to be excited about, just another of her bouts. They come and go like the Cheshire Cat’s smile.”

“What happened to upset her?”

“I was bloody ill this morning. My sense of balance went haywire and my vision was affected. Gavin thought rest would help and gave me a sedative and sure enough when I awoke I was better.”

“Thank God.”

“No, don’t waste your time. I’ve now made up my mind that I must die as soon as possible.”

“But you may not suffer that sort of attack again for years—”

“I can tolerate a simple inconvenience like incontinence, but the thought of being blind and possibly deaf and dumb—”

“But surely—”

“Oh,
shut up!
I want to die and I’m going to will myself to do it. People will themselves to live, don’t they? I know I did, on Ben Nevis after the accident. Well, now I’m going to will myself to die. Death wants me to continue for another twenty years as a vegetable, but I’m going to outwit him; I’m going to win.”

Since speech was impossible, I busied myself in drawing up a chair.

“Think of the way I was, John. You wouldn’t want me to live as a vegetable, would you?”

I shook my head. But I whispered, “I’ll be so alone.”

“We’re all alone,” said Robert. “We’re born alone, we live alone and we die alone. Any companionship is transitory and for the most part meaningless. The human condition is essentially tragic. Ask anyone over eighty who’s seen all their friends die one by one.”

Unwilling to upset him by arguing I said nothing, and eventually he asked why I had returned to see him.

“Bad news,” I said. “But it can wait.”

“Don’t be a fool, can’t you see that any bad news would rank as light relief after all I’ve been through? Get hold of Ginette at once and bring her in here.”

I was most reluctant to disturb Ginevra but when he insisted I went to fetch her. She was calm but looked exhausted and disheveled in a dirty dressing gown.

“Robert thought you might like to join us—there’s another crisis at Oxmoon, and—”

“Oh good,” said Ginevra. “How simply heavenly, I can’t wait to hear all the divine details.” We returned to Robert.

“I hated to think of you missing the fun,” he said to her. “Sweet of you, darling, it’s made my day. God knows it needed making.” She sat down beside him and covered his hand with hers.

Marveling at their endurance, I began to talk about my father.

XVIII

“What can we do, Robert?”

“I’m afraid the answer’s still damn all.”

“But there must be something!” exclaimed Ginevra.

“So long as he’s insisting that he’s fine, we’d have a hard time proving in court that he’s not. Can’t you picture the judge, who would probably be over seventy, saying, ‘There, there, Mr. Godwin, I suffer from a poor memory myself now and then, it happens to us all!’ No, Papa would have to have a full breakdown before we could successfully claim he was incapable of managing his affairs.”

“But I’m quite sure,” I said, “that his financial affairs are getting in a mess.”

“That may well be so,” said Robert, “but it’s not a crime under English law for a man to make a mess of his financial affairs and it’s not evidence of insanity if he voluntarily signs checks prepared by his mistress.”

“So we just stand by, do we,” said Ginevra, “while Oxmoon goes down the drain?”

“We have to stand by at present, certainly, but if Oxmoon starts to go down the drain on a grand scale, I think we should be the first to know about it. Let’s get in league with the lawyers.”

We agreed that I would seek an interview with my father’s solicitor Freddy Fairfax. Then I offered to call at the major farms and talk casually to the foremen to see if there was any imminent possibility of catastrophe.

“Although it’s my guess,” said Robert, “that the estate can muddle on well enough for some time. He’ll probably delegate more and more responsibility to the foremen and that would be a good thing. At least Straker doesn’t know enough about estate management to queer that particular pitch.”

“And his private fortune?”

“Oh, hopeless! She’ll get her paws on that all right—and legally, too. He’ll simply give it away.”

“If only he could break down now—”

“No such luck. Life isn’t so tidy.”

The three of us were silent, considering the untidiness of life.

“I can’t quite see the bottom of the wheel of his fortune,” said Robert, “but I’m beginning to think it’s a very long way down.”

“That reminds me, Robert: how did Boethius circumvent the horror of predestination?”

“Darling,” said Ginevra, “what a frightful question! How you could!” She stood up, caught sight of herself in the glass and winced. “God, I look eighty! Johnny, come and have some coffee. Robert, you should be back in bed.”

“The horror of a preordained future,” said Robert, embracing the diversion with relief, “is circumvented by saying there is no future. God is outside time and therefore as far as God and his preordained plans are concerned, past, present and future are all happening simultaneously. This permits the exercise of the individual will and yet still permits God to remain omnipotent.”

“Good heavens!”

“I agree it’s weak,” said Robert apologetically, “but the post-classical mind often left much to be desired.”

“I think it’s all rather heaven,” said Ginevra idly, ringing for Bennett, and drifted away to the drawing room.

When I joined her later, she was drinking black coffee and reading the label on the bottle of aspirin in her hand. Pouring myself some coffee, I sat down beside her.

“Just warding off the inevitable hangover,” she said, putting the bottle aside. “Sorry we were so awful when you arrived but this morning was a bad shock.”

“Does he mean what he says about dying?”

“He does and he doesn’t. He’ll be all right so long as he can sit in a wheelchair and read and talk to people. He can accept that. But beyond that point … yes, he’d be better dead, and he knows it. I know it too, but I couldn’t kill him; I’ve made that quite clear. I think Gavin might if things got quite beyond the pale, but of course doctors have to be so careful. Especially Gavin.” She had been watching her cigarette as she spoke, but now she looked directly at me. “Has there been any gossip,” she said, “about Gavin and me?”

“None.”

“Good. Robert was worried in case Gavin couldn’t cope and wound up being struck off the register, but Gavin can handle a dangerous situation without losing his head. He’s tough—and I’m careful.” She smoked thoughtfully for a time. “Gavin understands how I feel about Robert,” she said at last. “None of the other men ever did. Gavin understands Robert too, and Robert likes him—Robert’s glad I have someone he can trust and approve of, so you see, we’re all very close, it’s … but what word can possibly describe it? It’s comforting—yes, that’s it. Comforting—and not just for me but for all of us. We all benefit.”

“I’m glad.” I waited while she poured me some more coffee. Then I added: “I hadn’t guessed. I suppose I’ve been far too preoccupied with my own affairs.”

“Well, God knows they must be a full-time preoccupation, but all the same even though you don’t have much time at present I do wish poor Bobby would let you help him with Oxmoon. Why won’t he, do you think?”

I thought of Bronwen urging me to be truthful. “He doesn’t trust me not to play the villain and cheat Robert.”

“Don’t be silly, darling, you mean he doesn’t trust himself not to give Oxmoon to you and promptly die of remorse!” She smiled at me but her eyes were wary. “And that wouldn’t be such a tragedy for you, would it?”

“Possibly not.” I kept thinking of Bronwen. “I covet Oxmoon sometimes,” I said. “Of course I do. But I couldn’t take it by fraud or duress. I could only take it if I felt that was what Papa and Robert both wanted.” I smiled at her suddenly and said, “I have to do what’s right if I want to avoid the Home of the Assumption!”

“Darling Johnny!” said Ginevra, kissing me. “How thrilled your poor old grandmother would be if she knew what a fortifying influence she’d become!”

I was believed. As I held her hands I was aware of her trust. It made me want to believe too.

She escorted me outside to my car and when we opened the front door we saw that although there was no moon the stars were shining. It was cold.

“Thank you for telling me about Gavin,” I said.

“I thought you might be worrying in case someone got hurt.”

We embraced again.

“My God,” said Ginevra, “what a life.”

“What a life. Never mind. Hold fast, stand firm and soldier on.”

“Darling, how divine—just like a poem by Kipling! It almost gives me the courage to say bugger Boethius and his ghastly Wheel!”

We laughed, drawing strength from each other. Then I left her, got into my car and drove on once more into the dark.

10

I

I
T TOOK FOUR YEARS TO COMPLETE MY
Father’s disintegration and all the while Bronwen and I moved deeper into a gathering chaos. Some of our early troubles were resolved: our domestic difficulties were eased after the advent of Mrs. Wells; Marian recovered from her initial misery; the children settled down tolerably well together. Most important of all Bronwen and I knew a deep personal contentment which created a happy atmosphere in the house, and by the end of 1924 it seemed we had evolved a pattern of life that transcended the differences between us.

That was the honeymoon. After that life became increasingly less easy.

At first Bronwen found life at the Manor so intimidating that she spent much time secluding herself in the nurseries and evading the servants, but gradually she adjusted to life in what was for her a large house, and she became less self-conscious. To help her I modified my own mundane daily habits; we did not dine at eight and on our own, as I would have done with Constance or Blanche, but instead ate an informal meal with all the children at seven o’clock. This was far past Harry’s bedtime, but Bronwen’s children seemed to stay up later without ill effect, so to my children’s delight they found their day extended. By the time they were all in bed the evening was far advanced, but Bronwen and I were disinclined to spend much time on our own in Blanche’s drawing room and we would retire to our bedroom, which had soon acquired armchairs and a table. It was here that Bronwen, shying away from the intimidating elegance of the downstairs receptions rooms, was able to relax and soon I too was drawn to the room’s attractive informality. Needless to say it was not the bedroom I had shared with Blanche. There was another bedroom, equally large, on the other side of the house, and Blanche’s room was now set aside for the guests who never came.