The Parrot Cage, page 3
Gerry wondered whether to say something patriotic, but remembered that Bob and Evelyn knew her too well to be deceived.
‘I’m so bored.’
Suvarov laughed, and his long dark eyes narrowed into sparkling slits in his lean face.
‘So what can you do then, Gerry Alderbrook?’
The use of her own name seemed almost like a gift and she found herself smiling at him as though she had known him for years.
‘Well, I read and write French quite well although I can’t really speak it; I mean, no one would ever believe I was completely French. I have no degree, although I did once have a place at Cambridge. I can ride, run a house … Oh, dear, none of it sounds much use in a war, but there must be something I could do.’
Her voice began to wobble a bit and Evelyn quietly intervened.
‘Peter, don’t cross-examine Gerry like that. She’s been rather ill for a long time, and is still convalescent, whatever Granard says. More coffee, Gerry?’
‘Thanks,’ she answered shortly, holding out the blue and yellow cup. When the two men had gone out into the garden, she blew her nose and said:
‘Evelyn, I am sorry about that. I suppose you’re right. Aren’t convalescents supposed to be over-emotional?’
‘Gerry, what is all this? There’s more than just not being able to join the WRNS. I know that what you have been through must have pulled you down horribly, but it’s nearly seven months now.’
‘I know. I can’t think what the matter is. I keep bursting into tears for no reason at all. I’m foul to Mother – though she’s pretty vile to me too. I’ve just got to get away, but without a job, what can I do? I really loathe the thought of Palestine and army life. I don’t think I could bear it, but I can’t just go and live in London on my own with nothing to do.’ Her voice stopped, but Evelyn said nothing. ‘It’s partly wondering if I’ll ever be able to have one, I suppose.’
‘Well, what does Granard say?’
‘That there’s been a bit of damage to me and that it’s not a good idea to think about having more,’ said Gerry sadly. Then she added with a little more spirit: ‘He says it’s not my fault.’
‘Gerry, of course it’s not your fault. Why should it be?’
‘God knows,’ she answered drearily. ‘It just seems to be. That’s why I have to get away. I can’t bear sitting around and watching the twins being happy, with nothing to do but think about the baby and listen to Mother retelling all the arguments we’ve ever had – and she’s ever had about us all with Daddy; I mean, even down to my name. I’ve heard the whole stupid saga all over again.’
Too relieved to have got the girl talking to pursue her normal policy of refusing to listen to animadversions on Brigadier and Mrs Alderbrook, Evelyn poured each of them another cup of coffee and said:
‘What about your name?’
‘It’s too ridiculous but it sums up the whole business really. My father’s mother was called Marjorie and so when I was born he wanted to call me after her, but my mother thought it was the most frightfully low-class name. In the end – I suppose she must still have cared about him then – she agreed, but stipulated that it should be spelled in the proper old English way with a “g” and an “e”.’
‘Hence Gerry. I see, I always thought you must be Geraldine,’ said Evelyn, avoiding the tricky issue of the Alderbrooks’relations with each other. ‘Oh, help, it’s nearly twelve. We won’t get any luncheon unless I start now. Will you come and give me a hand, Gerry?’
‘Of course. Evelyn, it’s so good of you to let me come and moan all over you.’
‘Don’t be an ass,’ came the reassuring answer as Evelyn led the way down the stone-flagged passage to the kitchen.
Later, as they were companionably peeling carrots and potatoes from the kitchen garden, she said:
‘Gerry, obviously I can’t invite you to stay here – I think your mother would call in the police and tell them you’d been kidnapped – but why not go and stay with Felicity for a week or two?’
‘I can’t,’ said Gerry, dropping a neatly peeled carrot into the bowl of clean water and picking up another from the gardener’s trug. ‘She did ask me, but you know she’s with the Fanys and having a terrific time driving generals around all over the place. I don’t want to cramp her style by moping around her flat. And I don’t suppose it would be any better. Everyone I knew in London is bound to be working or else gone away.’
‘I see. Give me those. I’ll put them on the Aga and then we’ll go and lay the table.’
Gerry did as she was told and made a determined effort to drop her depression and enjoy the little lunch party. In Evelyn’s uncritical friendship that was not hard, and by the time they started on the austere and creamless trifle, Gerry had regained some of her sparkle. Bob was relieved to see it and was moved to go to the sideboard and get out a celebratory half-bottle of Sauternes. There was enough for a good glassful each and it seemed necessary to mark the occasion with a toast. Gerry had been assuming that it would be ‘Absent friends’, as it usually was in the bleak days after France had collapsed, but instead Suvarov raised his glass and said, looking directly across the oval mahogany table at Gerry:
‘Here’s to work and freedom.’ They all drank and, as he put his glass down, he went on, smiling that smile again: ‘There’s always plenty of both when you know where to look.’
‘Will you help me?’ demanded Gerry, hardly even remembering that he was not an old friend.
‘Yes, I think I probably will.’
Chapter Three
Gerry clung to Suvarov’s half-promise for as long as she could and did her best to behave decently to her mother. But both undertakings were difficult and she began to feel as though she were being wound up like a cello string to snapping point. The war news got worse and worse as German fighters battled with the Spitfires daily over the south-east of England. Tempers at Sudbrook House seemed to get shorter every day, although the twins provided a certain buffer between their mother and Gerry: Annie by her imperviousness to tension and Ming by stopping them all from saying the worst of the things that hovered in their minds.
There were times, too, when Gerry enjoyed her sisters’company for its own sake, although she would have traded weeks of it for a couple of hours with Flixe, who at least understood and could talk about Gerry’s real difficulties. The twins rode with Gerry and entertained her with tales of their school life, but, although she was fond of them, she had very little in common with them.
Then Flixe came home for another weekend’s leave. She took one look at Gerry.
‘What’s the matter, old thing? she said. ‘You look even more washed out than last time I was here.’
‘Oh, this and that. Look, why don’t we go for a walk?’
‘I’d better say my piece to Mother; then I’ll come.’
‘I’ll wait in the stables,’ said Gerry shortly, unable to bear the prospect of listening to her mother’s veiled criticisms as she welcomed her second daughter. Gerry trudged off to the stables, telling herself for the twentieth time that it was absurdly childish to feel jealous of Flixe’s uniform. It was only a very few years since she had been able to feel delightfully superior when Flixe was still cursed with their old school’s navy coat and skirt and ugly hat while Gerry could show off her newly acquired civilian elegance. And the Fany’s khaki was no more becoming than that old despised navy blue. Gerry kicked at the muddy puddles with her riding boot and cursed to herself as she felt water seeping in through some tiny crack in the leather. It seemed the last straw.
Felicity emerged at last, pulling off her uniform cap and unpinning her opulent fair hair, casually sticking the hairpins in the breast pocket of her tunic. Gerry pushed her own hair back behind her ears, deciding that it was lank and stringy, and almost hated her sister for the sensuous and luxurious way she ran her fingers through that thick mass of hair, startlingly gold against the brilliance of the blue sky.
‘Gerry, why do you stay here like this? It must be driving you barmy. I’m sure Mother wouldn’t mind if you left for a bit – she’d probably welcome the freedom too.’
There was nothing but concern in Felicity’s voice and affection in her deep-blue eyes. The hair-tossing performance must have been quite unintentional, thought Gerry, as she leaned towards Felicity’s encircling arm.
‘Oh, Flixe, I don’t know – except that I’m still so pathetic. I’ve applied for all those jobs you suggested and a couple that Bob put me on to, but there’s been nothing so far.’
‘Aha, well I don’t think it’ll be all that long-now, old thing.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘They’ve been asking questions about you. I oughtn’t to tell you – careless talk costs lives and all that – but someone wants you.’
‘Who?’ demanded Gerry, hardly daring to hope.
‘God knows. It’s never the ultimate lot who do the vetting.’
Felicity was relieved to see some light sliding into her sister’s dulled blue eyes and a faint curve rounding the lips that used to smile – or mock – all the time, and felt that her slight indiscretion was justified. It had shocked her profoundly to see the once-elegant, sparkling Gerry reduced to this tired, bleak, pale woman, who clung so uncharacteristically to any offered hand. Felicity hugged her and then withdrew.
‘But, look here, if they do call you for an interview, Gerry, I think you ought to be a bit more lively. Couldn’t you … well …’
‘Brace up?’ supplied her sister with some of the old mockery in her voice.
‘Just so,’ answered Flixe, grinning to hear it. ‘You know, do something about your hair – and put on a bit of lipstick. I mean, you do look like a washed-out dishrag.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Je t’en prie,’ said Felicity, holding the bridge of her nose to achieve a precise imitation of their most detested French governess, and they both roared with laughter.
‘Oh, Flixie, it’s good to see you again. I’ve really missed you. Now tell me about all these generals.’
‘The generals are all quite dull – but most of them have ADCs, which is nice.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ asked Gerry, relaxing into the warm gaiety with which Flixie seemed to surround herself.
‘Not really, though Johnny Blenkarne turns out to be much less wet than we always thought him.’
‘No! How astonishing. But don’t you remember that time in the blackberry bush when …?’
‘Come on, Gerry, he was only thirteen then – and he was jolly frightened of you. We all were.’
‘Frightened! You, Flixe? Don’t be dotty,’ she began, but then in a quite different voice added: ‘Oh, God, look – there’s Mother waving.’
‘Can’t we pretend we haven’t seen her?’
‘You can. I’ll have to hear all about it for the next six weeks if I do. Come on, support me.’
They walked with lagging steps towards the back door of the house, where Mrs Alderbrook was standing holding something yellow in her right hand.
‘Heads together, giggling as usual. No one would think you two had grown up at all. Even Ming and Annie are more sensible.’
Felicity could have hit her mother at that moment as she watched the liveliness fade out of Gerry’s face, and she spoke with a biting sharpness that neither of the others had ever heard her use before.
‘What do you want, Mother?’
‘Really, Felicity? What a way to speak. There’s a telegram for Gerry.’
Felicity automatically reached out and put an arm around her sister and urged her to sit down on the mossy stone mounting block beside the stable door. Then she took the yellow envelope from their mother and slit it open. Taking out the single sheet without reading it, she handed it to her sister and put a hand on her shoulder.
Gerry unfolded it and tried to focus on the few words. At first she could read nothing; then the sense seemed to leap out at her and she leaned back against the damp wall and smiled and smiled.
‘Is dear Andrew coming on leave then?’ asked her mother.
Gerry looked up at her and said lazily, almost as though she knew that it would annoy her mother:
‘No, nothing so dull: they want to interview me in Storey’s Gate.’
‘The War Office,’ said Flixe. ‘Good for you, old thing.’
‘No, it doesn’t sound like them. But it must be official. Thank goodness.’
Mrs Alderbrook had no difficulty in interpreting the look of relief on her eldest daughter’s face and drew in her breath sharply. She had done her very best for poor Gerry after the baby, and it was just too bad of her to be so ungrateful. Mrs Alderbrook turned to get back to the pots and pans, which seemed to have a life of their own and a determination to get the better of her.
In her new happiness, Gerry could see what her mother was suffering and called out:
‘Don’t go back to the kitchen. Why don’t you stay and talk to Flixe while I make luncheon today? I’m sure I can, you know.’
‘Don’t look so astonished, Mother,’ said Felicity gaily. ‘Just accept the offer and come and show me what’s been going on in the garden since I was last here.’
After lunch, which even Fanny Alderbrook said would have been all right if Gerry had not undercooked the sprouts, Flixe said she wanted to ride. Ming looked as though she wanted to join her sister, but Annie had other plans for them both and explained them loudly. Ming subsided, and so Flixe and Gerry went off to the stable alone.
‘Do you want Buttercup?’ asked Gerry. ‘I’m lighter than you so perhaps I’d better ride one of the twins’ponies. I used to exercise them while the twins were at school anyway.’
‘Yes, thanks. Who’ll do that once they’re back at school and you’ve gone to London?’
‘I don’t know – or care that much. Mother won’t be able to keep any of them much longer. It’s not as though this was a farm or anything – they’re a luxury.’
‘But she’d never get rid of the twins’ponies. I mean, what passport would they have then into the right world?’
‘Perhaps even Mother will acknowledge that all that’s a bit out of date now.’
‘Don’t you believe it. Remember what Grandfather always said.’
They chanted in unison:
‘“Any girl ought to be able to ride like a gentlewoman, carry on a respectable conversation in French and run a proper household.”’ Then Flixe asked musingly:
‘Do you suppose that was why he married a Frenchwoman – so that any daughters he might have would be able to speak it from the cradle?’
‘I don’t think so. Mother once told me in a very weak moment that it was a fantastically romantic story – almost like Natasha Rostova and Prince André in War and Peace. And then when she died he was inconsolable, but made sure that Mother grew up with all his own sentimental devotion to France and the French.’
‘Hence all those bloody governesses. Do you imagine he was really as awful as she thinks?’
‘But she doesn’t. Oh, I know what you mean. Heaven knows, but I’ve begun to think that it must have been more the life they led than anything he actually taught her. I mean anyone who was made to be hostess in “Government House” at what was it – sixteen? – would develop a certain folie de grandeur. And presumably that was why Daddy married her – you ought to be careful, Flixe, of all those ADCs. Mother found that the glamour was illusory.’
‘It’s a salutary tale, isn’t it? But don’t worry about me, Gerry. Those ADCs of mine are just fun – nothing like what Father must have been to her. Mine are no threat: chaps to dance with, that’s all.’
‘All the more reason to be careful. I look forward to meeting some of them.’
‘Oh, no, Gerry darling, you’re a respectable married woman; you can’t move in naughty circles like mine.’ It was supposed to be only a joke and Flixe winced at the expression she saw in her sister’s face. She thought for a while and then said carefully:
‘Gerry, London’s changed a lot in the time you’ve been away. It’s going to be quite a shock to get back to.’
‘I’m oversensitive, am I?’
‘I didn’t really mean that,’ said Felicity, although she had. ‘But look at all this.’ She pointed down towards the valley where the river flashed its brilliant reflection through the deep green of the huge leaves that hung stilly on the old trees. ‘It’s all so peaceful and glorious here: butterflies, bees buzzing, country smells, lavender in the gardens. London’s dirty and smelly, and we’re all waiting for it to be smashed to bits when the bombs come. People are frightened, and bored, and bad-tempered, and grabbing every last bit of enjoyment they can. It isn’t a time to be fragile, Gerry.’
‘It sounds wonderful. Flixe, the green and butterflies and what-have-you may seem marvellous in contrast, but I feel as though I’m drowning in them. The only times I feel alive now are talking to you or being at the Adamsons’. The rest of the time I’m desperate.’
‘I know, ducky. And I’ll help if I can.’
‘Flixe, do you really not know what they want me for?’
‘No, honestly. I imagine it’s something rather secret; the main recruiting places are well enough known and I’ve never heard of wherever-it-is in Storey’s Gate.’
‘I’d rather like to work there – it’s just off Parliament Square, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but you wouldn’t be there. They never interview for those sorts of jobs in their own offices – that would give away far too much.’
‘Oh,’ was all Gerry said, feeling remarkably foolish and unsophisticated. ‘When are you going back? Can I come up with you?’
‘Tomorrow evening. Of course. Will you stay with me?’
‘No; it’s sweet of you, but there’s so little room. And Aunt Anna will have me in Eaton Gate, I’m sure. I’ll ring her up tonight. Oh, Flixe, I hope they take me. I couldn’t bear to come back here now.’
‘They must be fairly sure of you or they wouldn’t even get you in. But forget about it now. Shall we take a cup of tea off Evelyn?’
‘She may have people. I don’t think we’d better,’ answered Gerry, not wanting to risk meeting Evelyn’s Russian cousin again until she had got through her interview. If it were indeed he who had fixed it up, it would be very embarrassing for both of them, and if it were nothing to do with him, well, then she would be embarrassed.
