In the great hall on the dais was one of the new pianos and there were violinists, too, to provide the music. The tables were laden with food of all descriptions and people were invited to help themselves whenever they felt the inclination to do so. Needless to say, many constantly felt the inclination and Mrs. Baines and her kitchen staff were in a twitter of excitement and gratification at the fast disappearances from dishes, which needed constant replenishing.
The music floated out to the grounds and in the light of the torches flaring on the walls people wandered through the grounds while others sat and talked and some of the younger ones danced.
I found Charles Forster at my elbow.
I said: “Are you enjoying this? No. It’s an unfair question. It isn’t much to your taste, is it?”
“I’m a bit of a sobersides, I’m afraid.”
“Well, you are occupied with more serious matters. Though this is a serious matter. I think all the tenants are rather pleased that we are here and this is a way of telling them that we are not making great changes but are going on in the way the family have run things for years and years.”
“That’s true,” he said. “It’s a worthy occasion. I’m just not a good socializer. Let’s walk a little, shall we? The night air is refreshing after the heat of the day.”
“It’s certainly wonderful weather. I was terrified that it would rain, which would have meant having it in the hall. I suppose we could have managed but not quite so pleasant. I think.”
“This is ideal. I am pleased you have come here.”
I felt absurdly delighted by that remark.
But he went on: “You are good company for Isabel. She needs a friend.”
“Isabel is the sort who makes friends easily, I am sure. It is I who am grateful for her friendship.”
“Isabel is a fine woman. I often tell Derek how lucky he is. She is calm, good-natured and sound in judgment.”
“I see you are as fond of her as she is of you.”
“They are my family … my brother and his wife. They came here, you know, to be near me.”
“Well, that seems a reasonable thing to do. Families should be together when they can.”
“The hospital was here. … It’s an ideal place for it. It’s facing the sea … an old house which was more or less derelict when I took it. But it had everything I needed. The isolation was important.”
“Why did you have to be so isolated?”
“It was comforting for my patients.”
“They are young mothers, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” he said, “unfortunate young mothers.”
“Unfortunate?”
“Yes, that is the reason why they are there. It is for people whose circumstances are rather distressing. That is why they want to get right away from people. It’s a helpful start.”
“So your hospital is for those who are … friendless.”
“They are often friendless.”
“And unmarried?”
“Some of them.”
“I believe you are doing a wonderful job. Isabel says …”
“Oh, you mustn’t listen too much to Isabel. She will give you an entirely false picture of me.”
“Surely anyone who works as you do for such a cause is worthy of praise?”
“Well, I suppose most of us earn a little praise now and then. It’s a matter of setting the good deeds against the evil … and seeing which weigh more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I see I’m talking in riddles, which is foolish and incredibly boring, I am sure.”
I leaned toward him and touched his hand lightly.
“Not boring in the least.”
At that moment I saw Evalina stroll by. She was arm in arm with one of the young sons of a farmer. She turned her head and smiled at me.
“Having a wonderful time …” she said. “Aren’t we?”
She had spoiled the moment for me. I knew what it was I hated: that inclusive smile … or word. That implication: We are at the same game, you and me.
I said: “I think we should go in.”
Immediately we turned to the house. I felt frustrated. I wanted to go on talking to the doctor.
Jean-Louis was sitting down in deep conversation. I went over to him. He smiled at me and took my hand.
“All going well,” he said. “It’s a very satisfactory evening. An excellent idea to meet our friends thus.”
Yes, a satisfactory evening … an excellent idea … until Evalina had appeared like the serpent in paradise.
One of the maids was making her way towards me.
“Yes, Rose?” I said.
“It’s one of the men from Grasslands, madam,” she said. “They want to know if the doctor is here so he can go over. Mr. Mather is taken worse.”
Andrew Mather died that night of a heart attack. Charles Forster told me about it the following day when he called to thank me for the party and to ask me if I would go back with him to see Isabel.
As we walked over to Enderby he told me what had happened.
“By the time I arrived at Grasslands he was unconscious. I knew there was only an hour or so left to him. His wife was distraught. She seems really heartbroken. She looked scared too, I thought. I suppose she relied on him to take care of her.”
“I think Evalina would be able to take good care of herself.”
“Yes … that woman’s daughter … you would think so. But somehow she seemed pathetic … vulnerable.”
I smiled at him, wondering if he too had fallen under the spell of Evalina’s fascination.
I had to admit that there was something appealing about her; it was a certain helplessness which I supposed could be called femininity; whatever it was it aroused the interest of men of all ages … even Charles Forster, who was the last man I should have thought would be affected, was taken in by it.
“At least,” he went on, “it was expected. I had warned him … and her … of the state of his heart.”
Isabel greeted me warmly and we talked of the success of the party until the doctor had been called away and had left with Evalina.
“Poor Andrew,” said Isabel. “At least he had some happiness at the end. To see him with that child was heartwarming.”
“I wonder what will happen now?” I said. “Of course Grasslands is not a large estate. How many farms are there? … only two, I think.”
“Yes, I think so. Andrew had a good man in Jack Trent. I daresay he will go on … if Evalina stays here.”
“What else would she do?”
“She might sell up and go.”
I thought that was an outcome which would be very desirable as far as I was concerned.
During the next days members of Andrew’s family began to arrive at Grasslands. I saw one of them—a man who looked to be in his forties. I thought he looked rather grim and disagreeable. Isabel, who had called on Evalina to offer her condolences and to ask if there was anything she could do, told me that the man was a nephew of Andrew’s and that she did not seem to be very pleased that he had come.
The funeral took place about a week after Andrew’s death. I attended the service in the church with Jean-Louis, and Evalina spoke to me as we came out of the church, asking me to come back to the house with the mourners. She looked fragile in deep black with a flowing veil hiding her face.
“Please come,” she said. It was almost like a command; but perhaps that was my imagination as I had begun to feel that she thought she had a right to make demands on me.
This seemed a small thing to ask and I went back.
It was very somber in the hall where refreshments were served. The nephew seemed to be taking charge of the proceedings, which I suppose was natural, as he would be the nearest relative apart from Evalina and the baby.