‘Places like this are only beautiful when they’re near a town,’ remarked Kynaston.
‘I don’t think I follow.’
‘When there’s no town, the landscape should be more startling. Miles of this sort of thing and nothing else, would be intolerable.’
‘It’s what I’m used to. I haven’t travelled much. Where do we settle?’
‘What about here? You can just see the main line through that gap in the trees. At least you will be able to, when there’s a train. I like trains.’
It was a spot where several trees had been cut down. Generations of pine needles warmed and cushioned the dead roots. Griselda began to convert one of the stumps into a table. Kynaston lay on his back.
‘I suppose you work.’
‘Not at the moment. Or not in the way you mean. I had to give it up owing to troubles at home.’
‘You mean they took exception to the nature of your employment?’
‘No. I had to return home and help.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Things went wrong. Have a sandwich?’
Still regarding the tree-tops he reached about with his arm. ‘You’re not very informative. Never mind. It’s unlikely that I’d be able to assist much. Even with advice.’ His hand, roving through the air, struck the arm of her jacket. He took her arm between his fingers and thumb and followed it down to the wrist. Then he took the sandwich. ‘I detest mustard, by the way. I should have mentioned that.’
‘There’s no mustard. I forgot to ask you. I don’t like it either.’
He began to drop bits of the sandwich into his upturned mouth.
‘As we’ve carried plates all this way, perhaps we’d better use them,’ said Griselda.
‘Am I eating swinishly? After all, it’s swine I’m eating.’
‘Here you are,’ said Griselda firmly. ‘Take it.’ She held a plate before his face.
Kynaston sat up. He placed the remains of the decomposing sandwich on the plate. ‘I am a creature of moods,’ he said. ‘As you see. But I like women to know their own minds.’
For the remainder of the meal his behaviour was irreproachable.
After they had consumed the final tinned apricot, Kynaston busied himself making Nescafй on the little stove. The stove was slow to light and laborious to sustain. ‘It’s getting old,’ he remarked. ‘I’ve had it since I was at school. I was at Stowe, you know,’ he added, as if alluding to a matter of very common knowledge. ‘It’s supposed to be better than the usual reformatory. We were allowed to have a few possessions of our own. This was mine. I used to make Bantam in the grounds. Nescafй hadn’t been invented, I think, at that time.’ He was striking matches and blowing the minute flame. ‘Don’t get me wrong all the same,’ he went on. ‘At the best Stowe’s only a vulgar makeshift. It was built for another purpose.’
‘Wasn’t it the house of the Duke of Buckingham?’
‘It was, Griselda. May I call you Griselda? I think one should ask. Oh, curse.’ He had burned himself rather badly.
‘You may call me Griselda. I like you to ask. Can I do anything helpful?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Cold tea would be good for that burn.’
‘We’ve only got Nescafй . . . How did you know about the Buckingham’s?’
‘I read.’
‘About the history of architecture?’
‘Family histories.’
‘What else?’
‘Almost everything else. You can’t define. You know that.’
‘I know that. I was trying to trap you into an admission.’ The stove was now flaming merrily; almost hysterically, Griselda thought. ‘I was trying to trap you into an admission of anything.’
‘I have little to conceal.’
‘Are you awakened? I think not.’
‘You think the same of others, I notice.’
‘Doris, you mean? It’s true. Have you read Casanova?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, You have. Then you’ll recall his remark to the effect that most people never receive the initial jolt which is required to bring the mind to consciousness.’ The water boiled over, extinguishing the long yellow flames. There had been a good blaze and little of the water was left.
But they made the best of it and somehow began a conversation about books and the psyche which continued until Griselda noticed that her wrist-watch showed half-past three.
‘What about my lessons?’
‘You’ve too many brains to make a good dancer, but I’ll do what I can in the time.’
‘Whose fault is it about the time?’
‘Blame it on life. It’s hard to know where to begin else. Living in Hodley I cannot be expected to regard someone like you only as a source of income.’
Griselda wondered what there was about her to elicit a compliment from a man who, however irritating in his habits, yet undoubtedly had seen much of the world. She wondered but smiled. Then she thought of the ordeal before her.
They returned with the picnic basket to the bungalow. Entering the studio immediately, Kynaston put a record on the gramophone.
‘Leave that outside,’ he said, referring to the basket. ‘Anywhere.’ Soft music trickled forth.
‘There’s a note for you,’ cried Griselda, staving off events. ‘It was behind the front door.’
‘Read it. Out loud.’
‘“I have put your shirt in the top left hand drawer on top of the others.”’
‘For tonight. Doris has been washing it. She has to wash her own shirts the whole time and she’s become very good at it.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting her again tonight.’ This remark could hardly do more than gain time.
‘Doris won’t be coming. I’m asked only for professional reasons.’ The music was murmuring on. Kynaston was in the centre of the room. He spoke with a touch of impatience. ‘I’m ready.’
There seemed no help for it.
VII
Immediately Griselda re-entered Beams, the Duchess clutched her by the arm.
‘You have returned at the right moment, my dear,’ she said. ‘I have something I want to ask you. Tell me the truth. Did you hear Fritzi last night? Were you awakened?’
This last question seemed to recur.
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Griselda, courteously but cautiously. Could the Duchess be referring to the noisy frequenter of the distant passage?
‘I am so very glad to hear it. The lovely Pamela was not awakened either, and, of course, George it is always utterly impossible to awake. But everyone else, it seems. Even that Irish assassin, who sleeps outside above the motor-cars. And poor little Fritzi he could not at all explain to me what was the matter with him.’
Griselda realized that Fritzi was the Duchess’s dog. She remembered. She was a little frightened.
‘Have you no idea yourself?’
‘No idea at all. Gottfried and I woke up together. There was little Fritzi crying his poor heart out. We could not see him as there was no light. Gottfried, you know, will never allow there to be a crack of light in the room when we are in bed. I clutched Gottfried very tightly. What could it be? Gottfried kissed and caressed me. Then he got out of bed and turned on the light. Fritzi was standing up in his basket, quite erect and stiff as a statue. I got out of bed too. I went to Fritzi and asked him why he was crying. And do you know, my dear, what happened then? He growled at me as if he didn’t know me. Fritzi has never growled at Gottfried or me in all the eleven years we have had him. But Gottfried made it better for me again and in the end Fritzi stopped crying and fell asleep quite suddenly. I asked him again in the morning but he couldn’t tell me what it all meant.’