Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

‘Yes, I know.’

A slow answer, unnecessarily slow, Nell thought. Either Jane knew or she didn’t.

‘Well, then?’

Again a pause. Then Jane said:

‘Why do you want to see Vernon, Nell?’

Nell raised a white face.

‘Because I’ve been such a beast – such a beast! I see it now – now that this awful war has come. I was such a miserable coward – I hate myself – simply hate myself. Just because George was kind and good – and – yes, rich! Oh, Jane, how you must despise me. I know you do. You’re quite right to despise me. Somehow this war has made everything clear – don’t you find that?’

‘Not particularly. There have been wars before and there will be wars again. They don’t really alter anything underneath, you know.’

Nell was not paying attention.

‘It’s wicked to do anything except marry the man you love. I do love Vernon. I always knew I loved him, but I just hadn’t the courage … Oh, Jane, do you think it’s too late? Perhaps it is. Perhaps he won’t want me now. But I must see him. Even if he doesn’t want me, I must tell him …’

She stood there looking piteously up at Jane. Would Jane help her? If not, she must try Sebastian – but she was afraid of Sebastian. He might refuse flatly to do anything.

‘I could get hold of him for you,’ said Jane slowly, after a minute or two.

‘Oh, thank you, Jane. And Jane – tell me – the war?’

‘He’s applied to join up – if that’s what you mean.’

‘Yes. Oh, it’s dreadful – if he should be killed. But it can’t last long – it’ll be over by Christmas – everybody says so.’

‘Sebastian says it will last two years.’

‘Oh, but Sebastian can’t know. He’s not really English. He’s Russian.’

Jane shook her head. Then she said:

‘I’ll go and –’ she paused – ‘telephone. Wait here.’

She went out, closing the door behind her. She went to the end of the passage and into the bedroom. Vernon raised a dark rumpled head from the pillow.

‘Get up,’ said Jane curtly. ‘Wash yourself and shave yourself and try and make yourself reasonably decent. Nell’s here and wants to see you.’

‘Nell. But –’

‘She thinks I’m telephoning to you. When you’re ready, you can go outside the front door and ring the bell – and may God have mercy on both our souls.’

‘But Jane. Nell … what does she want?’

‘If you still want to marry her, Vernon, now is your chance.’

‘But I’ll have to tell her –’

‘What? That you’ve been leading a “gay life”, that you’ve been “wild”? All the usual euphemisms! That’s all she’ll expect – and she’ll be grateful to you for laying as little stress on that as possible. But tell her about you and me – and you bring it from the general to the particular – and take the child through Hell. Muzzle that noble conscience of yours and think of her.’

Vernon rose slowly from the bed.

‘I don’t understand you, Jane.’

‘No, probably you never will.’

He said, ‘Has Nell thrown over George Chetwynd?’

‘I haven’t asked for details. I’m going back to her now. Hurry up.’

She left the room. Vernon thought, ‘I’ve never understood Jane, I never shall. She’s so damned disconcerting. Well, I suppose I’ve been a sort of passing amusement to her. No, that’s ungrateful. She’s been damned decent to me. Nobody could have been more decent than Jane has been. But I couldn’t make Nell understand that. She’d think Jane was dreadful …’

As he shaved and washed rapidly, he said to himself:

‘All the same, it’s out of the question. Nell and I could never come together again – Oh! I don’t suppose there’s any question of that. She’s probably only come to ask me to forgive her, to make her feel comfortable in case I get killed in this bloody war. The sort of thing a girl would do. Anyway, I don’t believe I care any more.’

Another voice, deep down, said ironically, ‘Oh, no, not at all. Then why is your heart beating and your hand shaking? You bloody ass, of course you care!’

He was ready. He went outside – rang the bell. A mean subterfuge – unworthy – he felt ashamed. Jane opened the door. She said, rather like a parlour-maid, ‘In here,’ and waved him towards the sitting-room. He went in, closing the door behind him.

Nell had risen at his entrance. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

Her voice came faint and weak, like a guilty child.

‘Oh, Vernon …’

Time swept backwards. He was in the boat at Cambridge … on the bridge at Ranelagh. He forgot Jane, he forgot everything. He and Nell were the only people in the world.

‘Nell.’

They were clinging together, breathless as though they had been running. Words tumbled from Nell’s lips.

‘Vernon – if you want – I do love you – Oh! I do … I’ll marry you any time – at once – today. I don’t mind about being poor or anything !’

He lifted her off her feet, kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips.

‘Darling – oh! darling. Don’t let’s waste a minute – not a minute. I don’t know how you get married. I’ve never thought about it. But let’s go out and see. We’ll go to the Archbishop of Canterbury – isn’t that what you do – and get a special licence? How the devil do you get married?’

‘We might ask a clergyman?’

‘Or there’s a Registry Office. That’s the thing.’

‘I don’t think I want to be married at a Registry Office. I’d feel rather like a cook or a house parlourmaid being engaged.’

‘I don’t think it’s that kind, darling. But if you’d rather be married in a church, let’s be married in a church. There are thousands of churches in London, all with nothing to do. I’m sure one of them will love to marry us.’

They went out together, laughing happily. Vernon had forgotten everything – remorse – conscience – Jane …

At half-past two that afternoon Vernon Deyre and Eleanor Vereker were married in the church of St Ethelred’s, Chelsea.

It was six months later that Sebastian Levinne had a letter from Joe.

‘St George’s Hotel, Soho.

Dear Sebastian, – I’m over in England for a few days. I should love to see you. – Yours, Joe.’

Sebastian read and re-read the brief note. He was at his mother’s house on a few days’ leave, so it had reached him with no delay. Across the breakfast table he was conscious of his mother’s eyes watching him, and he marvelled, as he had often done before, at the quickness of her maternal apprehension. She read his face, which most people found so inscrutable, as easily as he read the note in his hand.

When she spoke it was in ordinary commonplace tones.

‘Thome more marmalade, dear?’ she said.

‘No, thanks, Mother.’ He answered the spoken question first, then went on to the unspoken one of which he was so keenly conscious. ‘It’s from Joe.’

‘Joe,’ said Mrs Levinne. Her voice expressed nothing.

‘She’s in London.’

There was a pause.

‘I see,’ said Mrs Levinne.

Still her voice expressed nothing. But Sebastian was aware of a whole tumult of feeling. It was the same to him as though his mother had burst out, ‘My son, my son! And you were just beginning to forget her! Why does she come back like this? Why can’t she leave you alone? This girl who has nothing to do with us or our race? This girl who was never the right wife for you and never will be.’

Sebastian rose.