He looked at me steadily, his eyes a burning blue. “I understand. In your view it would be unwise to think of me.”
“I want to forget,” I said. “And why are we talking like this?”
“You have brought us back to it again. It must be very much in your mind.”
I stood up and walked round the room, examining the brasses.
“Thomas has some very fine stables,” he said. “This is a typical coaching inn. I’ll show you round after we’ve eaten.”
There were some old hunting prints on the walls; he walked round explaining what they represented and while he was doing this Matty came in with the soup.
“There,” she said, “that will warm you before you get down to the cold. I’ve always got a cauldron of soup. People ask for it again and again.”
The pease soup was delicious and so was the roast beef, garnished with herbs, served with hot crusty bread and a fruit pie to follow.
I sat back, drowsily content. Jonathan watched me closely.
“You agree that I have brought you to a worthy inn?”
“It was a very good meal.”
“Imagine what Matty would have done if she had known we were coming!”
“It could not have been better.”
“Oh, you don’t know Matty.”
We complimented her while she cleared away and Jonathan said we would rest awhile before resuming our journey.
I felt very happy. I knew I shouldn’t be, but Jonathan had that certain effect on me. It was a kind of bewitchment. There were warning voices in my mind, reminding me what could easily happen again. It must not be.
I kept telling myself that my being here was not of my contriving. Excuses come glibly when one has need of them.
I just knew that I wanted this to go on. I had never felt the same with anyone else. Never with anyone had I felt the desire to catch at time and hold it, making moments last for ever.
He talked about London, how he would be there more and more, for his father was gradually relinquishing the London business to him.
“It was a good thing,” he said, “that there were two of us… and so different. David the countryman; myself the townsman.”
“I think your father arranged it.”
“Would even he be clever enough for that?”
“He always seemed to get what he wanted.”
“A trait I sincerely hope he has passed on to his son.”
“I think there is no doubt that you have inherited a little of that spirit.”
“A little? I was hoping it was a great deal.”
“Well, you are young yet. I don’t suppose that when he was your age everything fell quite so neatly into Dickon’s hands. For one thing, he wanted my mother and he didn’t get her, did he, until later.”
“But in the end he did.”
“Only after years…”
“And thank Heaven it worked out that way or where should you and I be today, somewhere in the region of the unborn… if there is such a place.” He stood up. “Let’s go. We’ll ride along by the river. There are some pretty spots. That is what is so delightful about London. It is teeming with life… yet in a short time you can be out in the heart of the country.”
What a perfect afternoon that was! We said our goodbyes to Matty and Thomas, complimenting them on the excellent meal, inspected the stables, mounted our refreshed horses and set out.
About a mile from the inn we came to a grassy bank and Jonathan suggested that we tether the horses to a nearby bush and sit down to watch the river. A few craft passed… one or two returning home after having been in the city for the celebrations.
Contentment… forgetting all evil… sitting on the grass idly watching the ripples in the water… looking up as the occasional vessel floated by.
Suddenly Jonathan said: “We should have married, Claudine, you and I.”
I was silent and he went on: “It would have been ideal. You know it, don’t you? You and I… loving… really loving.”
“I would want a faithful husband, and you would never be that.”
“I might. Who knows?”
“No,” I said. “It is not in your nature.”
“Look at my father. He had adventures far and wide. Now there is not a more faithful husband in the country.”
“He has matured and grown wise. You are young yet.”
“My dear Claudine, are you wishing that we were old?”
“I wish—”
“Come tell me what you wish. You wish that you had not hastily married my brother. You know that I am the one for you. You long for the kind of life you could have shared with me… exciting, adventurous.”
“Your wife would not be very happy.”
“Oh, she would. There would be the reunions after my absences. It would be like starting all over again… the honeymoon, the perpetual honeymoon.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I am happier as I am.”
“You merely accept life, Claudine.”
“You seem to have forgotten that you will soon be a husband yourself.”
“It has not escaped my memory.”
“Oh, Jonathan, do you feel no shame at all! You would deceive Millicent, and what we did, you and I… you don’t regret that…”
“How could I regret the most exciting experience of my life?”
“Save such talk for your gullible victims.”
“On this occasion I speak the truth. I love you, Claudine. I did, right from the first moment I saw you. You remember… a little girl who spoke such quaint English. I thought, She’s mine. From the moment I saw you I thought that.”
“We did a terrible thing, Jonathan.”
“Is it so terrible to love?”
“In the circumstances, yes. I deceived my husband. You deceived your brother. Surely you see how despicable that is. I cannot understand why you do not feel shame. You don’t, do you?”
“No,” he replied coolly.
“You think we did no wrong?”
“We shall only have done wrong if we are discovered.” He laughed at me. “You are shocked. Listen, Claudine, this is the way I see it.” He picked up a stone and threw it in the river. “Sin… wickedness is hurting others. If others are not hurt by what one has done, then one has done no wrong.”
“But we know that we did.”
“We do indeed… and I shall never forget. Constantly I long to be with you… as we were in that room. I shall never forget it. I can’t regret… As long as David does not know, what harm have we done?”
“You are amoral… as well as immoral.”
“Perhaps you are right. We were happy, you and I, and happiness is a rare and wonderful gift. Could it be a sin not to take it when it is offered to you?”
“When it is a sin against one’s marriage vows and duty towards one’s brother?”
“I repeat that if no one is hurt there is no need to regret. The trouble with you, Claudine, is that you have been brought up to observe a set of conventions. You believe they are unalterable. They are the Right and the Wrong, and to offend against them is to incur the wrath of God… or at least the wrath of your relations. That is too simple. It is not as easy as that. The rules are flexible. Take my simple one: Do not hurt anyone. Keep people happy. That is as good a doctrine as any.”
“But don’t you see how bitterly you and I have sinned against David?”
“Only if David discovers. Then we shall have hurt him. If he does not know, what harm is there? I can tell you I have rarely seen David as happy as he is now.”
“It is impossible to make you see reason.”
“Your reason, Claudine. I am trying to make you see mine.”
“Yours is trimmed to suit yourself.”
“Perhaps yours is too.”
“And,” I said, “there is something else I have to say to you. Someone knows about us.”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. You laughed at my voices. They were not fantasy. Jeanne discovered some sort of speaking tube, which extends from that room to the kitchens. So… someone was in the Enderby kitchens when we were there. It was that person’s voice I heard.”