Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Lord, I feel so dowdy and provincial,’ Kitty exclaims. ‘You mustn’t be too disappointed by the way we live.’

‘How could we be?’ says Geraldine, looking round with the smile of one who has come determined to be pleased. ‘It’s bliss to be out of London. Just look at all this!’ She means the trees, the Downs, the sky. ‘It makes Kensington Gardens feel very poky, I assure you.’

Geraldine has perfect manners. She goes into raptures over baby Elizabeth, now almost five months old. She has a present for Pamela, a doll that isn’t a baby at all but a lady, with clothes you can take off and another set of clothes to change her into. Pamela is mute with pleasure.

‘Say thank you, Pammy.’

The little girl looks up at the beautiful lady and can’t speak. Her eyes shine with gratitude.

‘That’s so clever of you,’ says Kitty. ‘You couldn’t have got her anything she’d like more.’

There are presents for Kitty too, or as Geraldine puts it, ‘for the house’. A box of chocolates from Fortnum & Mason and a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

‘How in God’s name did you get that?’ says Ed, examining the label.

‘From Larry’s cellar,’ says Geraldine. She and Larry have set up house in Campden Grove, along with Larry’s father. ‘It’s a ’37, which I’m told was a very good year. I hope you don’t think I’m bringing coals to Newcastle.’

Over lunch Larry tells them about the source of his newfound prosperity, which is the family firm.

‘The whole thing has been a revelation to me,’ he says. ‘You know how I was so dead set against going into the business, or any business, for that matter. And I’m sure you think the only reason I’m doing it now is for the big car and so forth. But the truth is, I’ve become almost passionate about the job.’

‘Passionate about bananas, Larry?’ says Ed, smiling as he watches him.

‘Passionate about bananas if you like,’ says Larry. ‘But it’s the firm itself I love. I’m so proud of what my grandfather and my father have built. Do you know we’re just about the only company that provides retirement pensions for our employees? We’ve been doing it since ’22. It’s called the Staff Provident Fund. The company pays an extra ten per cent of salary every year into a special benefit account for each employee. Then they get a lump sum on retirement, and if it’s not enough we top it up.’

Geraldine reaches out to touch his arm, stopping him in mid-flow.

‘But I shouldn’t go on like this about business. We’re not in the office now.’

‘No, do go on,’ says Kitty. ‘I love it that you love what you do.’

‘The thing is,’ says Larry, catching fire again, ‘our people love the company. No one ever leaves. We have company sports grounds. In New Malden for the London-based staff, and in Avonmouth, and in Liverpool. We have an annual cricket match, Fyffes versus the MCC. Some of our men are county players.’

‘I take it all back,’ says Ed. ‘This is more than bananas.’

‘Well, of course the banana trade creates the wealth of the company,’ says Larry. ‘But the wealth of the company is spread round all our people, just as if every worker was a member of the family. Though of course’ – he blushes as he realises he has perhaps gone a little too far – ‘my father and I get a greater share of the wealth than most.’

‘I’m impressed with wealth in any form,’ says Ed. ‘I know what damned hard work it is getting it.’

‘Ed’s doing so well,’ says Kitty. ‘He and Hugo now have crowds of people working for them.’

‘If three counts as a crowd,’ says Ed. ‘But once all the restrictions are lifted I think we should make a decent go of it.’

‘Don’t talk about restrictions!’ says Geraldine with a light laugh. ‘I’m so tired of restrictions.’

Kitty wants to like Geraldine and tries to like her, but the truth is she does not like her. She’s ashamed of this, suspecting that it springs from simple jealousy. Larry has always been her special friend, as she puts it to herself, choosing not to investigate further. She should be happy to see him settled at last, but she doesn’t much care for the way he’s changing. She doesn’t like the tweed suit or the big car. She wants her old shabby Larry back, with his friendly puzzled face and his paint-stained fingers. She wants to have him to herself again, to talk about characters in books and how hard it is to make good people interesting.

Geraldine asks after the neighbours, which turns out after a little confusion to mean George and Louisa.

‘Sometimes if it’s not a bore I’d love to see Edenfield Place again,’ she says. ‘It is rather extraordinary.’

‘Rather hideous is the word,’ says Ed. ‘It’s the sort of monster that can only be created when money is no object. They say in his day George’s father was the richest man in England.’

‘We can walk over after lunch if you like,’ says Kitty.

‘I’d love that,’ says Geraldine. ‘Larry has such fond memories of being billeted in the big house.’

‘No, darling,’ says Larry. ‘I was billeted here, in the farmhouse. Kitty was billeted in the big house.’

‘Then how did you become so pally with Lord Edenfield?’

‘Because of Kitty. George had a soft spot for Kitty. Kitty fell for Ed. Ed is my best friend.’

‘Oh,’ says Geraldine. ‘I don’t quite follow. But never mind.’

They walk across the park to the big house, Kitty pushing the Monk in her pram, with Pamela on one side and Geraldine on the other. Geraldine asks her about motherhood and babies. Kitty can’t rid herself of the sensation that Geraldine has no personal interest in the topic, but chooses it out of politeness, supposing it to be Kitty’s current central concern. In this she is correct, but that doesn’t remove the faint polishy smell of good manners.

‘And you manage it all without help!’ says Geraldine.

‘I do have someone to clean,’ says Kitty. ‘Two or three days a week.’

‘Have you had any time at all away from her, since she was born?’

‘No, not so far.’

‘She doesn’t do anything,’ says Pamela from the far side of the pram. ‘She can’t talk or play or anything.’

‘Oh, well,’ says Geraldine with a smile, ‘perhaps we’d better send her back.’

‘Yes, that’s what I think,’ says Pamela.

‘No, you don’t, darling,’ chides Kitty. ‘She’s your little baby sister. You love her.’

Larry walks ahead with Ed.

‘Marriage seems to suit you,’ Ed says to him.

‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ says Larry.

‘I’ve always thought you were husband material. Unlike me.’

‘Why aren’t you?’

‘You’ll have to ask Kitty that. She’s very patient with me, but I can be a bit much, you know? Or maybe I mean not enough.’

‘Ed, Kitty adores you.’

‘Yes, well.’ He looks away, towards the steep rise of Edenfield Hill beyond the big house. ‘It’s a funny thing you going and getting married when you did. Just as well, I expect.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ says Larry.

‘Nothing,’ says Ed. ‘Pay no attention to a word I say.’

They go into the house by the terrace door, Kitty calling as they enter.

‘Louisa! George! It’s only us!’

They find George on his own. Louisa has gone up to town to be examined yet again by her doctors. George is welcoming, but it’s clear they’ve woken him from an afternoon nap. He keeps taking his spectacles off and rubbing them with an enormous pocket handkerchief, as if this will clear his fuddled thoughts.

‘I’m so sorry Louisa’s not here. We’re very quiet when she’s away. So this is your wife, Larry! I must congratulate you.’