The Nutmeg Tree (24 page)

“What about Bryan, Sue? Would he like to come as well?”

“Oh!” said Susan. For a moment it seemed as though she were really going to open her heart, and Julia, at the dressing-table, held her comb suspended. Then through the mirror she saw Susan slowly get up, smooth the counterpane where she had been sitting, and walk towards the door.

“No,” said Susan casually, “I don't think Bryan would be interested. By the way, dinner's going to be a little early, because Anthelmine has the evening off.”

Julia finished her dressing in great satisfaction. For the first time she felt herself to be completely accepted, by Susan, as Susan's ally. It was fortunate, since she enjoyed the sensation so much, that she could not see twenty-four hours ahead.

3

Twenty-four hours later an event took place in the village which had the extraordinary effect, at the villa, of ranging Julia on Bryan's side against her daughter. Jeanne-Marie, the niece of Claudia, the distributor of sugared almonds, got married; and at the ensuing celebrations, Bryan got tight.

He went to the party alone, and, as afterwards transpired, was the life and soul of it. There was dancing, and he danced. There was singing, and he sang. (For several days afterwards Sir William, whenever he walked through the village, was constantly being surprised by the strains of “Forty Years On.”) To support his energies he naturally needed a good deal to drink, and by the time the party broke up, shortly after midnight, it was obvious that he had had it. Even then all might have been well, for there were plenty of volunteers to escort him back to the lodge; but with the perversity of his condition he insisted on going up to the villa to bid his friends there good night.

By chance, and because of the heat, they were still in the billiard-room. Bryan flung open the door, skidded a little over the parquet, and came to rest on the chair next to Susan's. There he began to sing.

He was not drunk, but he was undeniably intoxicated.

At once Susan, Julia, and Sir William all rose from their seats; but whereas Susan instinctively backed away, her face white with anger, Julia and Sir William as instinctively approached.

“Stop it!” said Julia severely.

Bryan looked at her, his mouth still open on a high note, with natural surprise. People had applauded his singing all evening, why should they suddenly stop now?

“Why, darling?” he asked. “Tell me why?”

“Because you're disturbing Mrs. Packett,” said Julia. She glanced over her shoulder, and was briefly struck by the calmness of that lady's demeanour. Mrs. Packett didn't look disturbed at all. Bryan meanwhile had risen to his feet, not from any personal volition, but because of Sir William's firm hand under his arm.

“I wouldn't like to do
that
,” he said. “Wouldn't like to 'sturb anyone. Sue, darling—”

Susan walked straight past him and out of the room. He made a spasmodic effort to follow, and felt the restraining weight of Sir William.

“No, you don't,” said Sir William. “Sue doesn't want disturbing either. You'd better come to bed.”

“All right,” agreed Bryan. “I—I'll jus' say good night. Good night, all!”

His innocuousness, in the face of Susan's demonstration, was almost pathetic. Sir William led him away, and all was still.

“Aspirin, I
think
,” said Mrs. Packett. “There's some in my room.”

“I've got some too,” said Julia; and for once kissed her mother-in-law good night.

4

The following morning was an uneasy one. Bryan appeared about twelve o'clock, looking slightly pale, and apologized all round. By Mrs. Packett, Julia, and Sir William his expressions of regret were at once accepted; and they might all have been comfortable again but for the attitude of Susan. She too accepted his apology; but she could not forgive him. She did not—felt Julia—
want
to forgive; what he had done was in her eyes unpardonable, and the fact that her elders actually had pardoned it simply lowered her opinion of them as well. Julia saw this, and on Sir William's behalf was extremely annoyed; her heart was also touched by Bryan's mournful looks. Logically she should have rejoiced, but then logic was never Julia's strong point. She had made up her mind, however, not to interfere, and would probably have managed to hold aloof had not Susan deliberately brought up the subject in the garden after lunch.

“Grandmother has just been telling me,” she said, with a lift of the eyebrows, “that
her
father was a three-bottle man. I suppose I'm to make a comparison.”

“Your grandmother,” said Julia sharply, “has more sense than anyone I know.”

“Then you probably agree with her,” said Susan, “that last night doesn't matter in the least?”

“Of course it doesn't!” cried Julia, roused from her neutrality. “Every young man gets a bit squiffy now and again—and that's when you see what they're like. Bryan—”

“Well?”

“He was sweet,” said Julia firmly. “He didn't give a bit of trouble, and he isn't being proud of himself afterwards. You're behaving as though he got rolling drunk and chased the cook.”

She broke off—a little alarmed, for her own sake, by the vigour of her language. It wasn't the sort of thing she ought to have said: it implied too much experience. But Susan did not appear to notice. She was withdrawn into her cloud.

“You think, then, that I'm uncharitable?” she said at last.

“No,” said Julia slowly. She also had had time to reflect. “Only … you don't
like
people.” She thought again, and changed the intonation. “You don't like
people
. You only like—it's so hard to explain—their good qualities.”

“You don't expect me to like their bad?” asked Susan grimly.

“No,” repeated Julia; “but if you liked
people
, their bad qualities wouldn't worry you so much.”

Susan locked her hands in her lap and stared at the treetops. Her young figure was stiff with pride.

“I think you're wrong,” she said. “I'm sorry. But then I don't think I need people so much as you do.”

Julia could only hope that she was right; but an instinctive fear as to the results of such an outlook drove her on.

“At any rate, I think you ought to make it up with Bryan. If you must quarrel with him—”

“I've no intention of quarrelling with him,” said Susan quickly. “I can't tell him it doesn't matter, but—but I'll be nice.”

And that afternoon she was nice—so charming, so light-hearted, that Bryan was quite taken by surprise when she suddenly asked for his promise not to drink wine again so long as they were in France.

“But I'll look such a fool!” he said. “It's always on the table!”

“I'll drink barley-water too,” promised Susan.

“No,” said Bryan firmly. Susan's niceness had rather gone to his head: he felt that for the first time her rigid will showed signs of becoming more pliant. “No, darling; it's absurd.…”

Even then Susan only smiled. She remained charming to him all day. But on the dining-table that night he noticed, and everyone else noticed, that the carafe of
vin ordinaire
was only half-f.

Chapter 22

1

In Julia's opinion it was that half-f carafe which led Bryan to view more seriously Susan's philanthropic activities. His subconscious was thoroughly alarmed, but at the same time refused to admit what had really frightened it. Julia knew a lot about the subconscious from Louise, who had once been psychoanalyzed with very exhilarating results. It therefore came as no surprise to her when Bryan cornered her alone in the billiard-room and observed that he was getting very tired of all this rot about clubs.

“It isn't rot,” said Julia tartly. “It's a very good work.”

“All right, darling. But I know Sir William ducked out of it.”

“He needs a rest. He's on holiday.”

“So is Susan. So—more to the point—am I. It was bad enough when she was always dashing off to read French, but this thing's the limit. She can't talk about anything else.”

“Well, you'd better get used to it,” said Julia calmly, “because it's the sort of thing she'll be doing all her life. I expect you will too.”

“Not me,” said Bryan, in genuine alarm. “I've got too much sense. I know my own limitations. All I want is a quiet life. When you open your cake-shop, darling, I shall apply for a job as errand-boy.”

“I'm not going to open a cake-shop,” snapped Julia, whom this subject was beginning to infuriate.

“Not even for the sake of giving me employ? What do you expect to become of me?”

Julia considered.

“I shouldn't be surprised,” she said thoughtfully, “if you were to turn out a journalist.”

“That's clever of you, darling, because I've had the same notion myself. I'd make a damn good special correspondent. How did you tumble to it?”

“I used to know a lot,” said Julia vaguely. “They never seemed to settle down. But what are you talking like this for? You're going to be a barrister!”

“Weather permitting, my dear. I'm not sure I should ever stick it. Besides, most barristers
are
journalists. That's how they earn the odd guineas to buy their beer.”

Julia sat up in exasperation. “Can't you see,” she wanted to say, “can't you
see
how hopeless it is?” But instead—for she was at last learning wisdom—she merely remarked that even if his own income proved insufficient, Susan's should at any rate be able to supply him with drinks.

“If you think I'm going to sponge on Susan—” began Bryan hotly.

“She'll have much more money than you will,” Julia pointed out; “especially if you're going to be an errand-boy. I don't know exactly, but she'll have all the Packetts'.”

Bryan stood up and walked quickly to the window.

“She'll probably give it all away,” he said over his shoulder. “To these good works you're so keen on.”

Julia nodded.

“Very likely. I expect she'll go in for them really seriously.”

His fingers began to drum an impatient and angry tattoo.

“If you ask me,” he said at last, “if you ask me—”

“I'm not asking, I'm telling you,” said Julia. “It's what I've been telling you all along.”

The next moment the door slammed behind him.

2

The party at luncheon was reduced by one: Mr. Relton had gone off on a long walk—so ran the message left with Claudia—and would not be back to tea. Julia looked quickly at her daughter, to see whether the interview which she so confidently anticipated had already taken place; judging by Susan's countenance, it had not. Susan was openly annoyed, because she had desired Bryan's company for a trip to Belley, and her afternoon's plans were thus disarranged; but she showed no sign of having been faced with the disarrangement of her whole future. Her future, as it happened, was what she chiefly talked about, and it was concerned so largely with the problems of club management that Julia could not help wondering whether the absence of Bryan would really disarrange it all. “She'll get over it sooner than I thought!” Julia told herself happily. “If only she can keep her opinion of herself, she'll be right as rain!” A wound to Susan's self-esteem was the only one Julia really feared, and if the break came from Bryan—as it would—even that might be avoided: Susan wouldn't have let him down; she would have kept, scrupulously, her side of their mutual promise. For Bryan's self-esteem Julia didn't care a rap, and so she told Sir William when she met him, at three o'clock, in the ruined pavilion.

They met there every afternoon, stealing up—at least Sir William walked, but Julia definitely stole—from the quiet house while its other inhabitants took their siestas. There was no actual reason, of course, why they should not have ascended boldly side by side, but Julia's romantic and sentimental heart—had she not drawn it, in lipstick, on the pavilion wall?—always missed a beat as she pushed through the nut trees and found Sir William waiting for her. She enjoyed that moment too much to forgo it, even though they never stayed longer than five minutes, because there was nowhere to sit.…

“As for Bryan, I don't care a rap,” said Julia. “He ought to be just plain grateful to me.” As always on leaving the pavilion, she put out her hand and with a light caressing gesture touched the lipstick heart. Sir William turned back from the steps to watch her. “And if he isn't now,” continued Julia, her rite performed, “he will be in a week or two. I've been an absolute providence to him.”

“If not a mother,” agreed Sir William. “Would you like to go over and dine at Aix?”

“In evening dress?” asked Julia at once.

“Certainly,” said Sir William. “That's mainly why we're going. I have a craving to put on tails.”

“I bet you look a dream in them,” said Julia sincerely. She let him help her down to the path, and there stood a moment in thought. But she was no longer thinking about Bryan. “I can't do much myself,” she said regretfully, “because my wardrobe's a bit low. I've got a lovely dark-blue taffeta, only I don't know if you'll like the top. I mean, there practically isn't any—not even shoulder straps. I don't mean it isn't
decent
, because it is; but it's a bit—well, dashing. I've got a nice lace scarf, though; it used to be white.”

“And what colour is it now?” asked Sir William with interest.

“Écru. I lent it to Louise once, and she got into a roughhouse somewhere—just like she always did—and upset coffee right across the middle. So we made a lot more, in a hand-basin, and dipped the whole thing, and it came up beautifully. And then Louise went and spilt the whole basinful, right down her frock!”