Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘No, Monk. Don’t go outside.’

‘Leave her alone, darling,’ says Kitty.

‘That forest out there,’ says Ed. ‘How far does it go?’

‘A long way,’ says Larry. ‘You can walk for miles and see nothing but trees.’

‘It frightens me,’ says Geraldine. ‘I’ve been telling Larry we should sell this house and buy somewhere on the coast. Étretat, maybe, or Honfleur. I love to look out over the sea.’

Pamela stares at Geraldine in astonishment.

‘It’s not mine to sell,’ says Larry lightly. ‘Not for many years yet, I hope.’

Their guests have hardly been installed for a day before Ed finds his way into one of the forest paths. He’s gone for hours.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ says Kitty. ‘He’ll be back for dinner.’

Geraldine takes pride in her dinners; not just the food laid on the table, but every detail of the table settings. She speaks poor French and has difficulty communicating with Albert and Véronique, the young couple recently hired by Larry’s father to cook and clean and tend the garden. This produces many moments of frustration.

‘Larry, could you tell Albert not to put out bowls for coffee in the morning. Why do the French drink coffee from a bowl? When it’s hot you can’t pick it up, and before you know it the coffee’s stone cold.’

And, ‘When will Véronique get it into her head that I want the vegetables served at the same time as the meat? I told her, I said, “Toutes ensembles”, but she just gaped at me.’

The standard of service at La Grande Heuze, under Geraldine’s watchful eye, is in fact very high. The bread, crusty and fresh, arrives on a bicycle each morning from the boulangerie in Bellencombre. The coffee, made in a glass retort as if in a science lab, is dark and smooth and strong. The plain unsalted butter comes in a large cake, white and creamy, too good to need jam.

‘You have no idea what a luxury this is for me,’ says Kitty to Geraldine. ‘It’s simply heaven.’

‘My mother always says guests are like horses. You have to keep them warm and watered and well fed.’

‘I’m a very happy horse. You think of everything.’

‘It’s all about putting yourself in other people’s place, isn’t it?’ says Geraldine. ‘I think that’s all that good manners comes down to.’

In the evenings the Monk is fed early, in the kitchen, where she is much fussed over by Véronique. Pamela is allowed to stay up to dinner with the grown-ups.

Larry can tell that this agitates Geraldine.

‘Shall I say we’d rather the children both ate in the kitchen?’

‘No, no,’ says Geraldine, giving him a quick guilty look. ‘If that’s what Kitty wants. I’m just worried she’ll find the food a bit much for her. Do you think I can serve moules ?’

Pamela is aware that this privilege is also a test, and is undaunted by the moules .

‘I like this,’ she says. ‘I expect I shall ask for more.’

‘Oh, it’s too bad!’ exclaims Geraldine, taking her napkin out of its ring. ‘I told Albert the napkins must be clean each evening. What am I to do, Larry? They don’t pay any attention to a single thing I say.’

‘I’ll make sure they understand,’ says Larry.

Geraldine smiles at Ed and Kitty, and smooths the offending napkin on her lap.

‘I know it doesn’t really matter, but one might as well get things right. Otherwise why don’t we all sit on the ground and eat with our fingers?’

‘Like the Monk,’ says Pamela.

Kitty wants to know what’s happened to Larry’s painting.

‘I don’t have the time any more,’ says Larry.

She looks at him with a puzzled smile, trying to guess what he really feels. Returning her gaze, lingering on her long-loved features, he realises that there’s no one else who knows what this renunciation has cost him. Since that day he threw his canvases into the Thames, he has resolutely turned his back on his artist-self. He tells himself this is honesty, this is realism. But seeing Kitty’s troubled look, he remembers the pain of it.

‘To tell you the truth,’ he says, ‘I realised I just wasn’t good enough.’

‘But you sold your paintings! You told me so.’

‘To George, because Louisa made him.’

‘No. The others too.’

‘Yes, there was a genuine buyer. I never knew who. That was my moment of glory.’

Kitty appeals to Ed.

‘He was so good. Wasn’t he, Ed?’

‘I’ve believed in Larry since school,’ says Ed. ‘But we all have to live.’

‘Don’t you love his paintings?’

Kitty says this to Geraldine, innocently confident of support.

‘I’ve never seen them,’ says Geraldine.

‘What?’

Kitty’s bewilderment is devastating. Geraldine blushes, and turns to Larry.

‘Why haven’t I seen them, darling?’

‘Because there are none to see,’ says Larry. ‘I threw them all away.’

He speaks flatly, meaning to remove any emotional weight from his words. Instead he communicates to all of them how much he cares.

A silence follows. Véronique comes in to clear the plates. The clatter of crockery releases them.

‘Have you ever heard of a painter called Anthony Armitage?’ says Larry, his voice now bright again, conversational. ‘He’s younger than me, but he’s become quite a legend already. I knew him at art college, before he was famous.’

It’s clear from their faces that none of the others have heard of him.

‘It was my bad luck,’ Larry goes on, ‘to come up against a true talent. I looked at Armitage’s work, and I looked at mine, and I knew I was fooling myself.’

‘Oh, Larry.’ Kitty soft with compassion.

‘It’s not all bad luck,’ says Geraldine. ‘That’s one of the reasons why Larry came out to India.’

‘That’s quite true,’ says Larry, smiling at her.

‘This Armitage,’ says Ed. ‘Is he really so wonderful?’

‘You can see for yourself if you want,’ says Larry. ‘He lives not very far away. A little place on the coast called Houlgate.’

‘You never told me that,’ says Geraldine, caught by surprise.

Nor has Larry told her that Armitage lives there with Nell. There has seemed to be no point. But now he finds he wants to see Nell again, and Armitage, though for very different reasons.

‘And guess who he’s married?’ he says to Kitty. ‘Nell.’

‘Nell! Your Nell?’

‘Not mine for a long time.’

‘Oh, do let’s go and visit them!’

That night going to bed Geraldine is silent in the way she goes when she feels ill-treated. This annoys Larry, but he also knows she’s right.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Oh, you’re sorry. I wonder what for.’

‘I shouldn’t have sprung all that on you.’

‘So we’re going to go and visit them, are we? Your exgirlfriend who you asked to marry you, and her famous artist?’

Larry knows he should say that Nell means nothing to him, that of course they won’t go if she doesn’t want them to. Then she’ll cry a little and say she only wants him to be happy. But a stubbornness takes hold of him.

‘I think it would be fun,’ he says. ‘And Kitty wants to.’

‘Oh, well then, we must go.’

They lie down on the bed side by side, not touching, in silence. After some time, neither of them asleep, Geraldine wriggles close and kisses his shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m being silly. Of course we can go.’

The Monk is happy to stay behind and help Véronique cook. The rest of the house party set off, squeezed into the sand-coloured Renault 4CV usually driven by Albert. They drive through Rouen and Pont-Audemer, passing war-damaged buildings all the way. Larry tells the others how La Grande Heuze was occupied in the war first by German officers, then by Americans as the front advanced, and finally by former prisoners-of-war en route home.