Learning to Dance, page 14
Sybil took a rag and cleaned her brush. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. Yesterday out on that dratted moor, Nat did say something.’
‘There you are! Your husband had only been dead two months, and Hausmann knew you would be trying to make a new life. The Markhams live in Bristol or nearby; they were probably looking for something they could do with their Scandinavian friends! Hausmann is known as a West Country painter, and as far as I know the weekend was advertised in the local press only.’ She shrugged. ‘You live in Surrey, and Nathaniel lives in Wales. I doubt Martin Morris’s advertisement got that far. There were just seven of us, that’s all. I think it was arranged for your sake, Sybil. Surely that is love?’
Sybil’s frown disappeared. She laughed and shook her head. ‘I suppose so. Not the sort I wanted, or thought I wanted. But I still think you should be careful; he certainly is very interested in you!’
‘Not really. It’s because of Jack. He … he admires … admired … Jack.’
Sybil stopped laughing and dried the brush with studied care. ‘But … sorry, Jude … but their stuff is so different, and I’m afraid would have come between them. In Robert’s eyes, cartoonists are not painters, they are journalists. Sorry, but that’s Robert.’
‘I mean he admires Jack. The man. Not necessarily his work.’
‘He knew your husband. Personally?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you knew him, too: you came here to see him as well as his work?’
‘No. I didn’t know him, but I’ve seen a couple of his exhibitions and enjoyed them, and it seemed a good thing to do. I needed to do something, you see. I was gardening and cleaning and shopping for food I wasn’t going to eat, and it was all so pointless. Booking a weekend away was … was … meaningful.’
Sybil loaded the brush carefully with olive-green paint. She said, ‘Jude, if he engineered this weekend so that Nat and I would meet up again, don’t you think it is more than likely you were included in such cunning plans?’ She rolled her eyes and vowels on the last two words. But she was not smiling. ‘He kept his eye on the bookings. If you hadn’t booked a place I rather think you, too, would have received an invitation.’
‘I don’t think so.’ It was getting too difficult. She was going to have to admit that Jack was alive.
Sybil gave a little snort of derision. ‘Sorry, but I know Robert through and through.’
Suddenly Judith was annoyed. She hated this conversation; the assumption that she could possibly be looking for someone else was disgusting. Sybil obviously thought she was a flirtatious widow. Yes, it was all disgusting.
She said tersely, ‘You need not worry about Robert and me. You must know he is gay.’
Sybil’s reaction was slow. She held her brush in mid-air while she stared at Judith with astonishment. Then she exploded with genuine mirth, somehow or other replaced the brush in its saucer, and lifted her head to the ceiling. She looked so like Naomi with the long throat exposed that Judith wanted to weep. All the good that she had felt emanating from Castle Dove – and Robert Hausmann’s work – was swept away. She looked down at her sketches: the Frobishers, one like Jack, the other like her mother. Now Sybil was reminding her of Naomi Parsons. All of them lost.
Sybil spluttered, ‘Did he tell you that?’
She said, hopelessly, ‘Yes. In a manner of speaking.’ She would have to confess that Jack was alive, and that would finish any kind of friendship she might have had with Sybil.
But Sybil was only interested in Hausmann. She controlled her laughter, fished for a tissue and wiped her eyes.
‘Jude. He is not gay. I can vouch for that. What sort of game is he playing now, for God’s sake? My dear, be more on your guard than ever. He is most definitely up to something!’
Judith was surprised at her own relief; Sybil was not going to cast her off after all. In that moment she almost told her about Jack and the other woman in Australia. And then she didn’t. Instead, after a while she said, ‘Thank you, Sybil.’
They went back to their work. They had no more to say; Judith’s feeling of discomfort, of insecurity, of imminent loss, grew steadily stronger. Underneath it all was a basis of guilt. She was living some kind of peculiar lie that was absolutely unnecessary.
At one o’clock Sybil sat back, satisfied. ‘I’ve got to a point that I can leave until after lunch. What about you?’
It was obvious that Sybil had not picked up any of Judith’s discomfort. ‘I’m still working on the Fish-Frobisher strip; I can leave it at any time.’
Sybil said, ‘Let’s go, then. It’s been great, Jude. We’ve been so honest with each other. I didn’t offend you, did I?’
‘No. Of course not.’ Judith put away her things and stood up.
Sybil said, ‘I’ll leave our stuff on the trolley. We can push it out of sight and perhaps go on with this for an hour later.’
There was nothing of Judith’s on the trolley, and for a moment she wanted to say pettishly that it all belonged to Robert.
Instead she nodded. ‘Better put the sofas back, I suppose. The others might want to come and look at the paintings again.’
‘What? You must be joking. The Markhams are only interested in trying to make a baby, and the Olsens are thinking about a divorce.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Not really. It’s much easier not to be serious.’
‘Yes.’
Sybil took her arm as they walked the length of the gallery. ‘It would be good to keep in touch, Jude. I’ve got a lot of room at home. You could stay … we could go and see what’s on at the Hayward or Tate Modern … that sort of thing.’
Judith closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you, Sybil,’ she said. It would not happen, of course. But for the moment she was grateful to have a friend again.
They separated at the lift doors. Judith went into her room, and immediately settled at the table and spread out the sketches she had done. She began to jot down possibilities that could make one of Jack’s episodes. The daughter – Stargazer – would have the punchline, as she so often did. She had never aged – none of them had – since the comic strip began. Her aim in life was to shower scorn on her parents. She was the stereotypical teenager. Judith nibbled her lower lip and considered. Jack would say, ‘Is that a pimple I see before me?’ and Eunice would say, ‘Omigod, and it’s the Dalrymples’ sherry party this very morn!’ and Stargazer would say, ‘You would do anything to be the centre of attention!’
Judith nodded to herself; it was so Fish-Frobisher – incredible – the whole thing could have been Jack’s. She read her notes and then read them again with one hand across her mouth. She had renamed Magnus and Edith. Stargazer was the only Fish-Frobisher there. She removed her hand and wrote the three parts again. And then she enveloped dialogue and sketches and stuck two first-class stamps on them and addressed the envelope to William Whortley at the Magnet offices.
The Olsens were in the sitting room drinking sherry and talking to Bart and Martin Morris. Bart immediately offered to post Judith’s envelope for her.
‘I’m off in the car to pick up Nat after lunch. Anything you need that Taunton might provide?’
‘You provide just about everything here. But thank you, anyway.’ Judith accepted a glass from Sven Olsen. ‘Aren’t you bringing your brother back home with you?’
‘No, not at this point. I don’t quite get the whole picture, but Robert will explain when I see him, I expect.’ He did not look particularly hopeful on that score. ‘The main thing is, the patient has double pneumonia. He is taking antibiotics intravenously and oxygen intermittently. He would probably have died if Robert hadn’t taken him off the island in the small hours of this morning. His companion is young and desperate. He won’t leave the bedside, and Robert has taken a room nearby and is hoping he will use it tonight.’
‘So the crisis has not been instantly resolved,’ Sven took up. He smiled. ‘I think Mr Mann will be receiving a great many phone calls this week! We will all need to know exactly what is happening!’
Margaret said sharply, ‘This is not a television serial, Sven! I hope Mr Mann will let us know the outcome of his brother’s courageous rescue attempt.’ She smiled at Bart. ‘Hopefully you will be back this evening, when we shall still be here.’
‘We shall be in the way, Margaret,’ Olsen said. ‘We did agree – or so I thought – that it would be better if we left the family in peace.’
Martin Morris stepped in. ‘If we could all wait until the morning I would be much happier. A mud slide has been reported just down the coast. The forecast for tomorrow is overcast but dry.’
Sybil arrived on the scene and was delighted to see Bart. She listened as the sparse news was told again.
‘Of course we will hang on, Mr Morris! Nat will be able to fill us in with the full details tonight, but I don’t imagine he will be in any state to take to the road! Hopefully a good night’s sleep will put him right. Tomorrow will be fine. Don’t you agree, Jude?’
‘Of course.’ Judith spoke heartily, but her heart was not in it. Her heart was not in anything; she could feel her sporadic good spirits falling rapidly.
Sybil turned to Sven with her wide smile. ‘We all appreciate your concern for Bart and Irena, dear Mr Olsen. But we can all pull our weight. Judith and I know our way around the kitchen here; if Irena is all right with serving our lunch, we promise to do the clearing up afterwards, and you can help us if you like.’
Sven blinked, dazzled by the unaccustomed smile. Margaret took his arm.
‘You see, darling? Everything is as it should be.’
Judith turned to Sybil and said in a low voice, ‘Did we leave our coffee stuff in the gallery?’
Sybil rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll go. How long does it take to drive to Taunton and back?’
‘Probably an hour to get there. Afterwards, I’m not sure how long to pick up Nathaniel and his stuff; but then another hour to get back here.’
‘So he should be here in good time for dinner.’ She smiled. ‘Lovely. I’m going to spend a long time in a scented bath.’
It was Judith’s turn to roll her eyes.
‘Not only that – have you got a spare nightie like the one you were wearing this morning?’
‘As it happens, yes.’
‘May I borrow it? And I’m going to scoot down to the orangery and pinch some of the candles.’
Irena came out of the kitchen wheeling the inevitable trolley.
‘Lunch is served!’ she called across the foyer.
‘Come on for now. I’ll see to the coffee things.’ Judith took Sybil’s arm and they walked over to Irena, who looked at them without pleasure and spoke tersely.
‘There is a trolley missing, Mrs Jessup. I shall need it for the evening meal.’
Sybil gave her the special smile. ‘I couldn’t find you to ask if we might borrow it. We’re using some of Robert’s paints, and it is making a very useful table for them; and for everything else!’
‘Perhaps you could return it as soon as possible.’
Judith said quickly, ‘We do apologize. Especially as – if you will accept our offer to clear away this afternoon – we shall need it down here ourselves. I’ll see to it right away!’
Irena softened immediately. ‘Oh, please, my dear! Have your lunch first. This is the first time you have been in for lunch. And I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to work in the kitchen. Your holiday has been ruined, and it’s down to my stupid brother-in-law!’ She cast a dark glance towards the others, who were filing into the dining room. ‘I suppose they are all thinking he is some kind of hero! If anything had gone wrong it would have been his fault entirely! He took his friend over to Lundy on Saturday; he must have shown symptoms of his illness! The weather forecast was already talking of westerly gales—’
Judith could feel Sybil by her side boiling with anger. She said as smoothly as she could, ‘Irena, you must not upset yourself like this, all is going to be well now, that is what matters.’
Irena calmed down immediately, even managing a smile. ‘I know you are right. You see through to what matters; like your husband, like your dear husband.’
Sybil peeled away from Judith and walked into the dining room.
‘What is the matter with Mrs Jessup now?’ Irena asked. ‘Bart has told me about her. What was the word he used? Unpredictable. That was it. Apparently her father blamed the boys for her odd behaviour, and moved to London. But she’s found them again, hasn’t she?’
She did not wait for an answer, but strode into the dining room, cutlery clattering on the trolley as it jerked over the threshold. Judith took her chance, and went upstairs and down the second landing to the Long Gallery. She pulled a newspaper out of her bag and spread it on the floor, smoothing its crumpled surface and revealing the Fish-Frobishers unable to find their car keys. She put the contents of the trolley on to the newspaper, and set the coffee things in their place. It meant she had to use the lift. She bent down to see the buttons and saw that the vinyl-tiled floor of the lift was damp and muddy. She had not seen any cleaners since she had arrived. Surely Irena didn’t do the cleaning as well as the cooking?
The lift arrived on ‘entry level’ and the doors slid open. She wheeled the trolley into the kitchen, unloaded the mugs into the dishwasher and found a tea towel. She rinsed it under a tap and wiped the trolley clean of all paint remnants.
Then she put the wet towel into the laundry bin and joined the others.
It was rather embarrassing when Irena brought in the puddings and was loud with praise of, ‘Judith’s excellent work in the kitchen.’
Sybil barely waited until she was out of earshot before she said, only half-jokingly, ‘You creep!’
Judith responded coolly. ‘I put the paints on some newspaper and brought the trolley down – at a gallop rather than a creep!’
‘So we can go back there after lunch; unless the Markhams need the Long Gallery for any unspecified reason?’
‘Oh, Sybil, don’t!’
‘Sorry. It’s difficult for me. Moss and I decided on no children right from the outset.’ She turned down her mouth at Judith’s expression and added, ‘But I do see how totally committed they are, and it was wonderful … magical … surreal—’
‘Shut up!’ Judith said.
Sybil raised her brows. ‘I reckon we’re friends. You wouldn’t have told me to shut up yesterday. Probably not even this morning.’
‘It hasn’t worked, has it?’
Sybil grinned, misunderstanding. She pursed her mouth and drew a finger across her lips as if zipping them closed. Judith looked up and thanked Irena for the coffee that had appeared in front of her. Then she bent down to pick up her handkerchief, and for the first time she let herself picture Jack. He seemed to be reaching out to her. Then he was gone. She whispered, ‘Jack. Don’t leave me. Please do not leave me!’
Sybil said, ‘I didn’t hear what you said then.’
Judith looked up and smiled. Some part of her suddenly relaxed.
‘I didn’t say anything. But if it’s so hard to stay shut up, then please feel free to start a conversation!’
Sybil laughed. Judith laughed. It cleared the pain in her throat. And it was as if the laughter sealed a bargain.
Eleven
After lunch they agreed to meet in the Long Gallery in an hour. Sybil was making a routine phone call to an elderly cousin in Dundee, and Judith wanted to help out in the kitchen. She found Irena had loaded the dishwasher and was cleaning the surfaces. She took another cloth and started on the hob. Irena was flustered at first, then much too grateful.
‘I thought I could get ahead of myself … no one else offered … why should they, after all? And you’ve lost that wonderful husband yet you—’
Judith could not let it go on. Even as she reassured Irena, she told herself to come into the open and announce that Jack was still alive but had left her. Admit to the stupid and despicable deception. She did not do it.
She escaped as soon as she decently could, and went to the bathroom to rinse her face and hands. The hand towel was damp, so Sybil must have stopped by on her way to the Long Gallery. She must have gone into the bedroom, too, because the nightie was missing from its place on the pillow. Judith was taken aback; was this how Sybil saw their friendship pact, or was it some kind of joke? She opened a drawer and took out the clean nightie and put it in a bag. Picked up some fresh charcoal, and walked down the landing. At least Sybil had knocked this morning. The door had been locked then, of course; Judith frowned, trying to remember whether she had locked it when she went down for lunch.
She put her shoulder to the gallery door and immediately could hear voices. She paused, taken aback again. Sybil’s voice was unmistakeable: beautiful enunciation with just a touch of south London. It was raised now, the consonants emphasized even more than usual, definitely Welsh. The other voice made sounds only; hushing sounds. But she knew whose it was.
She pushed inside and both voices stopped abruptly. Sybil looked round, her expression scornful.
‘Here she is now!’ She rushed to Judith and took her arm. ‘Jude, he is denying everything! I thought it was really funny when you told me he was gay, and then I realized it was another of his bloody games! Making you feel secure and relaxed with him!’ She shook Judith’s arm roughly. ‘But he’s denying it. So, in effect, he’s calling you a liar! And if I have to choose between you, I know full well who is the liar!’ She pulled Judith forward. ‘Go on, use his own words if you can remember them! Tell him what he said to you, go on!’
Judith looked at Hausmann and saw the exhaustion in his eyes. She said, ‘What on earth has brought this on? Of course I can’t remember what he said. For goodness’ sake, Sybil, does it matter one way or the other?’
‘Yes. It matters. Oh yes, it certainly matters! Because when I was sixteen and he was eighteen, he got a scholarship to the Slade. He didn’t want it. He wanted to live on Lundy like a gypsy and paint every day and eat fish and mushrooms! And if he could make me pregnant, then we could get married and do exactly that! I was sixteen, Jude! Sixteen years old! And I hated living in London; the thought of living on Lundy sounded like heaven.’ She stopped and took a big breath. ‘Jude, he seduced me, and I can assure you he was not gay then! I did not become pregnant, and by the time I knew for sure, he was already settled in at the Slade.’ She looked at Hausmann. ‘I didn’t see him again until he appeared in this gallery on Friday afternoon. Tell her, Robert! Is that how it was? Or can’t you remember all those years ago – thirty-four years?’
