Jane Gardam - Last Friends

‘Oh, but I don’t do that sort of thing. Stay with people, if it’s not in the diary.’

‘You’re coming.’

* * *

‘Hi, Dulcie,’ said Henry holding cellotape and a shoe. ‘All well?’

‘It’s not,’ said Anna, and gave a resume.

‘Well, O.K. then,’ he said, ‘I’m off up North tomorrow, Dulcie. I’m lecturing on the Cavalier Poets at Teesside University tomorrow night. It’s about ten miles from Yarm. I’ll fix up the famous Judges’ Hotel, Execution Court, or whatever, for you to stay the night. I’m staying with the Dean at Acklam and a few Cavaliers, but you’ll be well-looked after at the Judges’ by all accounts. Then, next morning, before I bring you home, we’ll visit the Mandarin’s marble hall on the blasted heath and thunder on his door. Then we’ll come home. That very evening. I’ll — Anna will — ring the hotel now.’

‘Oh, but I couldn’t possibly! I don’t travel any more you know. I haven’t had my hair done. And — Anna — I’m afraid I have to get up in the night now you know. I’d never find my way back to my room in an hotel.’

‘They have things called “en suite” now, Dulcie.’

‘Oh, but I try not to eat them.’

‘RIGHT,’ shouted Henry returning to his pizza and Pesto at the supper table, children munching and doing homework unperturbed, ‘All fixed. Hotel’s got a room. Sounds rather an odd one but apparently The Great Old Filth once slept there. Probably Judge Jeffries, too. It’s en suite and much in demand. I said I’d take you up to the Fiscalry first and then see you in and make sure you’ll get a good dinner and then I’ll pick you up the following morning and bring you home. All right?’

Anna said, ‘I’ll go up to Privilege House now and get anything you’re going to need. Pills? Shoes? No. Be quiet. You’re going.’

‘But, it’s hundreds of miles and. . ’

‘Hong Kong’s a few thouands. . ’

‘Oh, but I know Hong Kong. And actually, Anna, I’m afraid I’m not very reliable on the motorway.’

‘You won’t be driving.’

‘No my dear, I mean the facilities. I would have to stop at least twice.’

‘Me, too,’ said Henry. ‘Always did. Don’t boast. We’ll be on the road by eight o’ clock. Could you manage that?’

‘I wake at four,’ said Dulcie, proudly.

‘And you go upstairs and finish that lecture now ,’ said Anna.

‘And there are other things,’ said Dulcie. ‘I have to check on Filth’s house.’

‘There’ve been lights on,’ said Anna. ‘Someone’s taking care of it.’

* * *

Isobel heard the hired car arrive at the garden gate above. She put on her long silk coat, noticed that it was raining, noticed Filth’s old mac hanging on the back of the kitchen door. But no, she’d take nothing. She had everything she wanted (the house she would leave to the boy — Dulcie’s grandson) for Filth had given her everything, not only his worldly possessions, but his living spirit.

She pressed her face briefly against the old waterproof mac on the door and left the house.

On quick feet, without a stick, she climbed up the slope of the garden to the waiting taxi.

* * *

By eight-fifteen the poet’s car was heading North, Dulcie crouched like a marmoset in the back, defying whip-lash, her eyes pools of fear. By the motorway, however, she had settled and started the Telegraph crossword. After a stop at a service-station, cross country towards Nottingham she began to take notice. By lunch-time, when they stopped at a country house hotel Henry had known from literary Festivals before, she had a light in her eyes and was talking about the landscape of D. H. Lawrence and the Mitford sisters and Chatsworth. Soon she appeared to have blood in her veins again and was chatting up the austere black waiter over the cheese, telling him of arbitrations in Africa where he had never been.

‘Now— I am paying for this,’ Dulcie said and blinked when she saw the bill, holding it up first one way and then the other. A deep breath — then, ‘ Oh yes. I am, and I am leaving the tip.’ She put down a pound coin. ‘Henry, this is wonderful. We must do this again and I will pay the petrol. Are you doing the Edinburgh Festival in August?’

It was already dark by the time they reached Yarm. Henry’s lecture was at eight o’ clock. ‘I’ll ring the hotel and say you’ll be late and to keep dinner for you and we’ll go up to Fiscal-Smith’s for a quick look now. I’ll make sure your room will be ready when I drop you back. Here we are, here’s The Fiscal turning. Hup we go to Wuthering Heights. God! There’s nothing!’

The steep lane ran on and up, up and on, white with moon-light, black with wintry heather and, lying to either side of it and occasionally on it, the green lamp-eyes of sheep. A few (‘Oh, look ,’ she cried) new lambs with bewildered faces. Henry honked and tooted and the sheep ambled aside. ‘I have never. .,’ she said.

Down they went again into a village with a noisy stream, a small stone bridge, arched high. Up they went again, twist and twirl, and the stars were coming out.

‘Such stars!’ she said. ‘And I thought The Donheads were the country!’

‘You can see the Milky Way,’ he said. ‘They say it’s disappeared now over London. We’ve blotted it out.’

‘I don’t remember stars in Hong Kong,’ she said. ‘It’s such a competitive place.’

‘Aha!’ he said.

A gate across a track.

‘Henry — turn! You’re going to be late. It’s seven o’ clock. We can come back tomorrow on the way home.’

‘Won’t be beaten,’ he shouted, getting out, opening the gate, dragging it wide for the return journey, jumping back in, splashing the car through another rattling torrent. Over a narrow bridge came a sharp bend upwards, a one-in-three corkscrew, and a shriek from Dulcie. The car made it with only a foot to spare along the edge of a dark brackeny precipice.

‘The man’s a mad-man,’ said Henry. ‘Living here. Oh — hullo?’

Mist had been gathering but now, up here, moonlight broke through and in front of them stood another barred gate. A man stood behind it in silhouette carrying what looked like a pitch-fork or perhaps a rifle. To either side of his head behind the gate swayed the great horns of two wild beasts. Henry stopped the car once more and waited to see if it would roll back.

‘So what’s this then?’ asked the man.

‘Visitors.’

‘Visitors! This time of night. It’s past six o’ clock. Are you daft? Mek an appointment.’

‘ Visitors . To Sir Frederick Fiscal-Smith.’

‘Fred’s out. I’m his ghillie. And these are two of his Highlanders.’

‘ Out ?’

‘Aye. An’ ’e’s not comin’ back. Hall’s for sale. He’s gone to Hong Kong.’

Dulcie stepped carefully out of the car and went over to the gate. She held out her hand to the ghillie. The two wild beasts disappeared into the mist. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, ‘to descend upon you in the dark, and we must go at once — there is a very important engagement. A poetry lecture in Middlesbrough. On The Cavalier Poets . But I just wanted to look in on my very old friend. I quite understand. We hadn’t realised that Sir — Fred’s house was so remote. Might I just come and take another look tomorrow? Could I just have a look in the letter-box? I have been trying to contact him.’

‘ Letter-box ? No letter-boxes. The letters get dropped down the bottom under a stone. I’ve been posting on yeller envelopes but I send them by the batch. Not straight off. You can’t catch the postman. You know, our Fred was always a mystery.’