Читать книгу Mr. Emmanuel - Louis Golding - Страница 9

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It was the second afternoon after the dispatch by Mr. Emmanuel of his letter to Rose. Mary Cooper was at work on her lawn. The grass had grown skimpy where sun and rain had been kept from it by the clusters of aubrietia that hung over the low brick rim of the herbaceous border. The dogs had burned away a few patches here and there. And her nephew Dick had done some damage in an attempt to dig up Captain Kidd’s hidden treasure from the corner near the vine-trellis.

This afternoon the dogs were safely out of harm’s way, scampering about in the paddock behind the cottage—all except Tessa, the black spaniel bitch, who, lying with her nose between her paws, looked up and adored. Young Dick was building houses and things in the glass portico. The aubrietia had been thinned out. Mary Cooper was free to get on with it. She was loosening the bare patches with a fork, and raking in a thin scattering of wood ashes. She looked a little witch-like, with that rake, the drooping bonnet, the stern grey eyes, the spellbound animal following her least movement. But Dick Cooper did not seem perturbed. Having built up a big, big house, he knocked it down again and got to work on a big, big ship.

A car hooted and slowed down as it turned from the road into the lane. The dogs in the paddock barked. Tessa inflated her cheek-flaps, but said nothing.

“There’s Mum!” called out Dick. “P’waps she’s got ice-cweam!”

“You’re to have no ice-cream in the morning!” his aunt said. She looked rather less like a witch than like Tessa as she turned to him. “Your stomach will be like an iceberg!” The car braked. The engine was switched off. “Get up, please! Come and say good-morning to Mammy!” One door, then other doors, were opened and slammed to. There was a thud of feet tumbling out into the roadway. It sounded like a platoon of soldiers discharging out of a transport-wagon.

“She’s brought them all with her! The whole lot!” murmured Mary Cooper. She dropped her rake, hurriedly crossed the lawn, and ran over to the wicket-gate. It occurred to her that a mob of growing boys and girls tramping over the lawn would be no better for it than a valance of aubrietia, three dogs, and a digger for secret treasure. Her sister-in-law, Rose Cooper, was being helped out of the car by a broad-shouldered dark young man in green plus-fours. She was looking very bright and fresh in a suit of brown tweeds, her brown eyes twinkling, a blue silk motoring-scarf tied round her clustering dark hair and under her dimpled chin.

In the lane was a gang of young people, four more lads, two girls. They had clearly all come along in the same conveyance, though it was not easy to see how it had been done. The girls were Rose Cooper’s daughters, but they might almost have been her sisters. It was hard to believe she was not more than three or four years the junior of the grey-haired spinster who came up a little forbiddingly from round the hedge of flowering shrubs, the languishing spaniel at her heels.

“Good morning, Rose!” Mary Cooper called out. “Good morning, all of you!”

“Good morning, Mary! Good morning, Aunt!” came from the females, in breezy English voices. “Gut morning, Miss Cooper! Guten Tag, Fräulein!” came from the males in a more exotic accent. There was a click of heels as five lads came smartly to attention in the German manner, and bent forward stiffly from the waist.

“Yes,” said Rose. “A bit like a musical comedy, isn’t it? Can I come in and see the lodger, please?”

“Hello, Mum!” a child’s voice called. A child’s nose thrust itself through the slats of the gate. “Any ice-cweam?”

“What’s that you’re holding behind your back?” the aunt asked the mother sternly.

“We found there was one over!” exclaimed Rose guiltily. “I thought Dick might as well have it!”

Mary Cooper folded her arms and set her jaw.

“I won’t hear of it!”

“Be a sport!” cried the two girls.

“I’m just patching up the lawn! There’s wood ash all over the place. What do you want them to do, Rose?”

There was a tug at Mary’s apron. She felt a small smooth cheek nuzzle against the back of her hand.

“Please, Auntie Mawy!” the small boy wheedled.

“I won’t hear of it!” said Aunt Mary, with less conviction.

Rose came forward to the gate, bent over towards her son, and kissed him. Then, a little diffidently, she passed across a small carton.

“She says just this time, and never again!”

“Thank you, Mum!” the small boy said placidly. He turned his back, and for the time being took no further interest in the proceedings.

“I want to see you for a minute,” said Rose nervously.

“All right, come in. What do you want the others to do?”

“Can they go round into the paddock, please, Mary?”

“The other way. Round by the hedge.”

“All right, Aunt, we’ll take them!” the elder of the two girls called out. “We’ll see they don’t chew up the apple trees!”

“Blease!” said the broad-shouldered boy in green plus-fours. “We bromise! There shall be no damage! It is very kind!” The youth had a sense of responsibility.

“Very well, Bieber. It is Bieber, isn’t it?” said Mary, and smiled at him. A smile made a lot of difference to her face. “I rely on you!” The boy clicked his heels again, like a sergeant-major. “Where’s Sarah?” Sarah was the eldest daughter.

“She’s gone out riding!” explained Rose. “These young men are a little too young for her! Can this one come in with us? He and Dick seem to like each other.”

She put her hand on the shoulder of the smallest and youngest of the lads. He seemed not quite fifteen. He had unruly chestnut-coloured hair and green eyes with brown specks swimming in them. He had a full sensitive mouth, a full chin, and a rather waxy complexion, bloomed over with the summer sun. The boy’s eyes were not happy.

“You’re Bruno, aren’t you? Of course, he can come in!”

The boy opened the gate and let Rose through. The gesture was a little courtly, almost stilted.

“Inside?” asked Mary. “Dick!” she called out to her nephew. “Here’s Bruno! He’ll give you a pick-a-back. Not on the lawn, Bruno! Round the hut there, in the deep grass!”

“Pick-a-back?” asked the German boy.

“Like this! Like this!” The English boy showed excitedly. The two boys being safely disposed of, the two women passed through the portico into the little sitting-room on the left.

“You’ve heard?” said Mary. “Please sit down!”

“I won’t sit down. Yes, I’ve heard!” exclaimed Rose, bubbling. She snapped her bag open. “He swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker. He sent me the loveliest letter.” She rummaged about among a sheaf of bills and things. “Where is that letter? Oh, here it is! Listen, Mary! Don’t you think it’s lovely?” She read it out, with both tears and laughter in her voice. “Isn’t he a pet, Mary!”

Mary had sat down. She was sitting on the edge of an easy chair, her body arched forward, her hands on her knees. Her eyes stared straight before her, as if there were no vision in them. She said nothing. The silence became disconcerting.

“Mary!” Rose called out sharply. “What are you thinking of?” Then, after a further silence, again she called out: “Mary!”

The eyelids flickered. The pose became less rigid. “I’m sorry!” she brought out.

Rose was over at her side. She lifted one of her hands and chafed it between both her own.

“My poor dear!” she breathed. “Will nothing ever make it up to you? It’s such a long time ago!”

“It seemed like yesterday, as you stood there reading. Forgive me, Rose! And you are so generous!”

“My dear!” said Rose. “I really couldn’t manage Dick on top of all these others! No room for a sardine!”

Mary smiled faintly.

“Why do you smile, Mary?”

“Where are you going to find room for Mr. Emmanuel?”

“We’ll manage somehow,” returned Rose. “Look here, Mary. I’m rather unhappy. It’s not going to ... is it going to upset you? I mean ... bring things up again?”

“I have my darling,” said Mary. There was a note of savagery in her voice. “And besides, I like the old man. He’s ... he’s a gentleman. It will be good to see him again.”

“He is a pet, isn’t he!” Rose exclaimed happily. “I suppose he’ll want more looking after than all the boys put together.”

“I think you’re wrong,” said Mary quietly. “You underrate Mr. Emmanuel. Tell me”—she changed the subject brusquely—“of course that boy hasn’t heard from his mother yet?”

“Bruno? No. He hasn’t. Poor kid!” Rose sighed. “I don’t know what to do with him.”

“There isn’t anything you can do with him. Not till he’s heard from her. I don’t think he will.”

“You can’t tell, Mary, you can’t tell ... these days in Germany. Anything might have happened. But if she’d been dead—” She broke off.

“Yes,” said Mary sombrely. “You’d have thought he’d have heard if she’d been dead. Do the other boys still treat him so badly?”

“Not Bieber, of course. Not Klaus. You know what boys are. It’s just thoughtlessness. I’ve tried ... Hello!” she interrupted. “Is that you, darling? Yes, Dickie, Mummy’s coming!” The child’s hand was straining up to the latch. It was just too high for him. She went up to the door, opened it, and caught the child up in her arms. “Aren’t you playing any more? Where’s Bruno?”

“Won’t play!” Dick pouted.

Rose strode swiftly out into the glass portico. Mary followed. Through the panes on their right hand they looked out on the patch of rough grass where they had left Bruno and Dick playing together. The German boy was sitting in the roots of a walnut tree, his hands clasped round his knees. He stared straight in front of him. Large tears were coursing down his cheeks.

“Let’s leave him!” bade Mary, with the authority of a specialist in grief. “There’s nothing we can do.” They turned back into the sitting-room. Both women sat down in easy chairs. It was in Mary’s lap the small boy ensconced himself, his arms round her neck. “I think it’s a good thing you’ve asked Mr. Emmanuel to come,” she said in measured tones. “I have a feeling he’ll be more helpful than you think.”

“I’m sure,” said Rose. There was no conviction in her voice. “He’ll be coming early in August. I’m going to pick him up in Salisbury. Would you like to come to the station to meet him?”

“Of course I would.”

“Me too,” requested Dick, fearful of missing anything.

“You too,” murmured Mary.

Tessa lifted her head and blew inquiringly.

“You too,” said Rose. “I think I ought to go out to that young man,” she went on rather miserably. “And you’ll want to be getting back to your lawn.”

“Yes,” Mary said with decision. “I hope they’ve not let the dogs out of the paddock. I think Dick’s falling asleep. I’ll wait here for five minutes. Good-bye, Rose.”

“Good-bye, Mary.”

Rose closed the door behind her and went over to the forlorn boy under the walnut tree.