Young Mrs. Savage, page 9
Dan ordered three ice-creams and they paid for them then and there (Dan paid for his own, and Mark paid for the other two). Mark heaved a sigh as the waitress took the shilling; not a sigh of regret, but a sigh of relief to be rid of it at last. Odd little beggar, thought Dan, looking at him with affection—so determined, so old-fashioned, so conscientious—there was no need to worry about Mark’s future; whatever he chose to do in life he would do well and thoroughly.
“There’s Nigel!” exclaimed Polly.
“So it is!” exclaimed Mark.
It was Nigel. He strolled into the café as if the place belonged to him and took a seat at an empty table further down the room. He knew they were watching him, of course, and obviously he wanted them to see him, but he took no notice of them at all. When the waitress came he ordered a double ice-cream and, taking a shilling out of his pocket, handed it over with a nonchalant air.
Dan was dismayed. He realised how absurd it was to feel dismayed by the trivial incident, but—but was it trivial? There was something definitely nasty about the whole affair. Nigel’s behaviour was a piece of bravado (yes, bravado, thought Dan) and where had he got the money? Where had the shilling come from?
The same idea had occurred to Polly. “I expect Mummy gave him the shilling,” she whispered.
“Yes, of course,” agreed Dan. But he was perfectly certain she hadn’t, for that would have made nonsense of the whole affair. No, Di had not relented. She had too stern a sense of justice to propitiate Shylock with his pound of flesh!
After a few moments Dan decided that frankness was the best course. It was an impossible situation and must be tackled immediately. He rose and went over to Nigel’s table.
“Hallo,” he said. “What’s the idea? Why didn’t you speak to us when you came in?”
Nigel was taken aback. He was only a child, after all.
“And where did you get the shilling?” inquired Dan.
Nigel smiled. That was the question he had expected and his answer was ready. “From Mr. Monk, of course!” he replied promptly.
“From Mr. Monk?”
“Yes, I showed him my fish,” said Nigel easily. “He saw at once it was twice the size of Mark’s.”
It was too difficult for Dan. He did not pretend to his namesake’s wisdom in judgment. Dinah would have to deal with her son and he had a feeling she would deal with him drastically.
11
Friday dawned grey and cloudy. The sea was grey, a circumstance which astonished Polly, who had been under the impression that the water in the sea was blue. It was too cold to paddle but the conditions were ideal for digging, so Dan drew out a square and set the children to work on building a sand-castle of noble dimensions. Several other children appeared and were invited to join the party and soon there was quite an army of industrious little creatures toiling upon the shore. When the castle was half-finished it was reinforced with a layer of seaweed, then more sand was piled on top and the whole stamped firmly down to make a solid platform.
In the afternoon the sea came in—as Dan had foretold—and the builders stood upon the castle and waited to be surrounded. Gradually the waves crept up, the sea poured into the moat and the castle was an island. But the sea did not stop there of course (even Canute of venerable memory had been unable to halt the encroachments of the tide); it advanced slowly but surely, the waves lapped against the castle and sucked the sand away . . . suddenly an extra big wave approached in majestic strength and swept right over the top, drenching the children’s feet. There were screams of excitement and delight. The children splashed across to the shore; they jumped up and down; they rushed backwards and forwards leaping upon the castle and shaking their spades in the air and retreating before the advancing waves. In a few minutes it was all over; the castle had melted away to a sodden heap and the sea rolled over it unchecked.
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” said Polly, as they walked back to tea.
“Sad? I think it was gorgeous,” declared Mark.
“I mean the poor castle has gone. We made it so beautifully, too.”
“We made it for that purpose,” said Dan, comfortingly. “We made it to be swept away, so it has done its job. That’s the main thing.”
The children did not understand, but Dan was struck by the symbolism of the vanished castle. It had been well constructed and had provided a whole day’s entertainment for its builders. Now it was a memory—no more.
To-night was the night of the dance for which Dan had obtained tickets, and Dinah, after a good deal of persuasion, had consented to go with him. The children were put to bed and Dan was waiting for Dinah in the drawing-room when she came in. He was glad to see she was already dressed for the occasion in an afternoon frock of printed voile, for he had had a feeling that even now, at the eleventh hour, she might change her mind and decide to stay at home.
“Supper in ten minutes,” said Dan, cheerfully. “Just time for a glass of sherry and a cigarette.”
“I don’t know why we’re going.” said Dinah, sitting down. “I can’t think why I said I’d go. Couldn’t you get somebody else?”
“I’m going because I like dancing and you’re going to please me; and I couldn’t possibly get somebody else. I don’t know a soul.”
“That girl on the shore this afternoon—”
“You mean the one with the sticking-out teeth?” inquired Dan in disgust.
“I thought she seemed rather nice,” said Dinah with a sigh.
“It will be fun,” wheedled Dan. “There’ll be reels and country dances—Dashing White Sergeants and things. You’ll enjoy it, Di.”
“I know quite well why you took the tickets. I’m not so silly as you think,” Dinah told him.
“I think you are a little bit silly,” declared Dan. “I do like dancing and you are going to please me. Why not leave it at that?”
“All right,” agreed Dinah, without enthusiasm.
“I intend to enjoy myself,” added Dan.
“I hope you will,” she said listlessly. “I’m pretty certain I shan’t. You know, Dan, you’ve got it all wrong. You think I’m sad because Gilbert isn’t here. It’s much more complicated than that.”
This is it, thought Dan. It’s coming now, and he poured himself out another glass of sherry to sharpen up his wits. Aloud he said: “How is it complicated, old thing?”
“It was something that happened,” said Dinah slowly. “I wish I could forget about it but I don’t seem able to. It comes and goes—like toothache.”
“Gilbert was a curious creature.”
“He was, wasn’t he? This particular thing that happened was very curious indeed—rather horrible, really. I wish I didn’t know about it. I wish I could think about him naturally—and sadly—without always remembering this. I wish I could . . .” She hesitated and stopped.
“Tell me,” Dan said.
“Well, it sounds so awful. I was going to say I wish I could forgive him. I try to forgive him, and sometimes I think I’ve succeeded, and then the horrid feeling comes back. If I could understand it would be easier. If I could find some excuse!”
“You couldn’t judge Gil by ordinary standards, Di. You’ve got to take people as you find them, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and usually I can. Anything but lies.”
“Lies are horrible,” he agreed.
“Gilbert lied to me,” said Dinah, in a low voice. “He wrote and told me his leave was cancelled—and it wasn’t. He went to London instead of coming home; he was with a party, I suppose. I wouldn’t have grudged him his fun—at least—well, perhaps I would, a little—but it wouldn’t have left such a horrid taste.”
Dan did not know what to say. He should have been prepared of course (Heaven knows he had been trying to prepare himself and to decide what to say ever since his chat with Irene Barnard), but the fact was Dan was afraid of saying too much and making things worse than before. It was obvious when Dinah said she did not grudge Gilbert his fun she assumed that “his fun” consisted of spending his leave in London “with a party” and dancing all night. Dan’s assumption was different. For a moment Dan wished Gilbert were alive so that he could get hold of him and tell him exactly what he thought of him, and follow his relation with bodily violence (it would have eased Dan’s rage and fury considerably if he could have dealt out some shrewd punishment to his one-time friend) but second thoughts reminded him that Gilbert’s death was a fortunate eventuality for Di. Imagine if Di had been tied for life to that unspeakable cad!
“It was horrible, wasn’t it?” continued Dinah. “It hurt me frightfully, of course, but that isn’t the worst of it, Dan, not really. The worst is I lied to Gilbert—acted a lie—pretended I didn’t know. That’s the worst.”
“Pretended you didn’t know!”
“Somehow or other I just couldn’t—couldn’t speak of it.”
Dan was silent. This was the most difficult part to understand. It was not difficult to believe that Gilbert had acted like a cad because unfortunately Gilbert was completely selfish and had had no scruples about lying his way out of anything he didn’t want to do; but Dan thought he knew Di pretty well and, knowing her as he did, he would have expected her to blurt out the whole thing in the first five minutes. It was out of character for Di to keep things to herself and brood upon them . . . and when people act out of character it means that they are terribly hurt, wounded beyond endurance. Yes, thought Dan, it was because she minded so much.
“It was awful of me, wasn’t it?” said Dinah miserably.
“I don’t see why,” objected Dan.
“You don’t see why!”
“What could you have done?”
“Told him the truth. Told him that I knew and was angry about it.”
“There would have been a most unholy row,” said Dan with conviction.
“I know—that’s why I funked it.”
“You didn’t funk it,” he said quietly. “You realised it was no use, which is a very different thing. I knew Gil very well—better than you, perhaps—and I can assure you it would have been no use at all. You would have had an almighty row and been worse off than ever. It was no use trying to have things out with Gil; it never got you anywhere. He couldn’t bear criticism—nobody had the right to question what he did.”
“I know that.”
“Unless you wanted to break with him entirely—”
“No, of course not!” she exclaimed. “I mean I never even thought of it.”
“—the only way was to take him as you found him—the good with the bad.”
“And I took him for better, for worse,” said Dinah, thoughtfully. “I accepted him as he was, so I had no right to criticise him or complain if he acted according to his nature. Is that what you mean?”
It was not what he meant at all but it seemed to comfort her so he let it pass. Women were queer, reflected Dan. Even Di was queer about some things.
Now that the ice was broken Dinah found it easy to tell Dan everything that had happened in detail and Dan encouraged her. They talked about it while they had their supper and were still discussing it when they set off to the dance. Dan was not going to let her off the dance. She had promised to come, and come she must. He felt rather a brute in holding her to her promise but comforted himself with the reflection that it was for her good. Fortunately it was a damp, misty evening so Dinah was not able to say they were wasting fine weather.
The hall was decorated and brilliantly lighted. It was full of people, though not uncomfortably full, and Dan noticed with relief that it was reasonably well-ventilated. The band consisted of a piano and two violins. They were playing a waltz, and playing it with plenty of vigour, when the Dees arrived.
“Come on,” said Dan, and putting his arm round his partner’s waist he swept her on to the floor.
It was years since Dinah had danced, not since that leave—but she wouldn’t think of it. She would stop thinking about Gilbert and think of Dan who was worth half a dozen Gilberts. Dan danced well and after a few moments Dinah’s feet became alive and followed of their own accord . . . it was extraordinarily pleasant. I’m enjoying it, thought Dinah with surprise.
The music ended and they found chairs. There was time now to look about; they saw nobody they knew (which seemed funny in dear old Seatown) but for all that it was a cheerful sight. The men were in flannels or lounge suits and the girls in gaily-coloured frocks.
“Not too bad, is it?” Dan inquired.
“Nice,” said Dinah smiling.
A reel followed. The Dees got into a good set and acquitted themselves well. They were quite pleased with their performance—though extremely hot—when the reel was over.
It was just after the reel that Dan saw a tall, thin figure making his way across the floor towards them.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Dan. “Here’s a fellow I know—Pat Yoker—he was in hospital with me at Colombo. What on earth is he doing here?”
“Hallo, Dan!” exclaimed the man. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Just what I wondered about you,” retorted Dan rising.
“Golf,” said his friend. “Golf by day and dancing at night whenever possible. Not a bad spot, is it?”
“Better than Colombo!” Dan said.
At this moment the band started to play with its usual verve, so Dan’s introduction of his friend to his sister was practically inaudible. Fortunately he had mentioned his friend’s name before, so it did not matter much. Yoker, thought Dinah (as she smiled at her new acquaintance) and obviously a sailor . . . Commander Yoker, perhaps.
“May I butt in?” he asked, bending down and shouting to make himself heard.
Dinah was not particularly anxious to dance with him and leave Dan in the lurch, but she could hardly refuse and Dan was no help at all; in fact Dan seemed delighted to surrender her.
“Go on!” said Dan. “Don’t waste your time.”
They danced.
“Rather mean of me, I’m afraid,” said Commander Yoker.
“Dan doesn’t mind,” she replied.
“And I hope you don’t mind either?”
She did not answer that. She was a little breathless; dancing took up all her attention. Commander Yoker was a very good dancer and expected intuition from his partner—and Dinah was more than a little rusty. His dancing reminded her of Gilbert, who was wont to do the most extraordinary things and expect instant co-operation.
“Dan’s found someone,” said Commander Yoker suddenly. “Quite a nice little bit of fluff in a pink dress . . . that make you feel better or worse?”
“Better,” gasped Dinah.
He laughed and swung her round so that her feet almost left the floor. “Fun, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. “You’re a feather. We’ll streak now.”
They streaked. It was an eccentric evolution but somehow her feet followed his.
“Great!” he exclaimed. “We’ll do that again in a minute.”
They did it again with equal success.
The dance ended and they found seats near the door. Dan seemed to have vanished.
“Saw you on the beach with some children,” said Commander Yoker, abruptly.
“Yes, I’ve got four.”
“Four?”
“It isn’t too many,” Dinah assured him.
“No, of course not,” agreed her companion hastily. “People like you ought to have dozens of children.”
Dinah was somewhat taken aback at this sweeping statement, it was so different from the usual reaction of those who heard for the first time that her family numbered four. What could he mean, she wondered . . . and glanced at him to see if by any chance he had intended it as a joke; but Commander Yoker’s face was as solemn as the face of a judge.
“Dozens,” he repeated nodding. “We can’t have too many—if you see what I mean.”
She laughed. This friend of Dan’s was a queer card and no mistake.
“I’m staying here with the uncle and aunt,” he continued. “You spoke to the uncle, didn’t you? He’s a little old fellow with a good deal of hair about him. The aunt is a bit of an invalid, doesn’t get about much. She’s terribly interested in your children, watches them from the window with a glass. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
“Good!” said Commander Yoker, nodding. “Very good indeed. You don’t mind. She hasn’t much to interest her, you see.”
“I don’t mind a bit. Why should I?”
“I suppose,” began Commander Yoker doubtfully, “I suppose you couldn’t let them come in and see her. You couldn’t let them do that of course, could you?”
“Why not?” asked Dinah, smiling.
“You could?”
“Yes, if she wants them. They’re rather wild sometimes.”
“No matter,” declared her companion. “The aunt understands children and the uncle would be there to keep them in reasonable order. I’ll pass on the good news. Tea would be best, wouldn’t it?”
“Tea!” exclaimed Dinah, in surprise.
“Oh, definitely tea.” said Commander Yoker. “I mean children like cakes and biscuits and Miss Brown provides quite an astonishing spread. We’ll fix up the day later. It’s terribly good of you to let them come. Shall we dance again?”
They danced again. Then Dan appeared and the Dees took part in Petronella while Commander Yoker looked on.
It was getting hot now, hot and airless, and Commander Yoker suggested that they had had enough.
“You wouldn’t like a drink, would you?” he inquired. “I mean I know rather a decent little place just around the corner.”
Dan was quite ready for a drink and Dinah was willing to do what the others wanted, so they got their coats and followed their guide to a small pub in a back street. It was a clean, bright little room with a sanded floor and rows of bottles on the shelves behind the counter.
“Trust you to find a good place!” commented Dan as they went in.
“Yes,” agreed the Commander. “I’ve got a nose for this sort of place. I’ve been coming here for years. You know me well, don’t you Sam? Three beers, please.”
