‘Tell them, Madge,’ Willie prompted.
Madge adjusted her white hair, and said, looking mainly at Squire, ‘Will, at my age, I’m quite … I feel it is rather an imposition to come into a strange house and immediately … sort of … what was that poem about it? Anyhow, Tom, you know that Ernest and I were always very fond of your Uncle Will. Ernest especially. I remember the occasion when we first met him in Norwich, that was in the old Haymarket, no, in the Carlton Hotel, which was then very smart – it’s been pulled down now – and Ernest said afterwards, “I trust that man”, he said. Well, Tommy, old as we are, Will and I have decided – it’s almost a year since poor Ernest was knocked down and killed – he was never what you’d call a strong man – to get married and live together.’
As everyone clapped, Squire put on a puzzled expression and asked, ‘But which are you going to do, Mother – get married or live together?’
Amid the laughter, Willie said, ‘Madge and I are determined to start anew, as far as that’s possible at our advanced age. She’ll sell her place, I’ll sell up mine, and we’ll buy a little bungalow, possibly in Hunstanton. Settle down like Darby and Joan, whoever they were.’
Shaking his uncle warmly by the hand, Squire offered his congratulations. He embraced Mrs Davies.
‘Tom, I hope you won’t find anything too …’ She hesitated for a phrase which had vanished without trace.
‘Does Teresa know?’
‘We told her before she went off to Malta. I mean, your uncle and I are just going to be close friends.’
‘I shouldn’t trust him if I were you, Mother.’
‘It’s thirty-four years since Diana died,’ Willie said defensively. He brought out his pipe and lit it.
Broadwell moved to get more drinks. Mrs Davies’s news was received with amused pleasure. She herself became flustered and apologetic and reminiscent and flirtatious.
When Broadwell returned with champagne, she thanked him and said, ‘If Will and I are to be united, it is important to us that Tom and Teresa – you see, she’s still a child to me, Mr Broadwell, although she’s in her forties, and she and I have always been very alike in our tastes. Not all perhaps, but many. She’s always been artistic. Next year is going to be a good one for Tom, I know, so he can afford to be kind to Teresa and try and understand her point of view. As his publisher, you can exert a good influence on him, I’m sure.’
Ron Broadwell laughed. ‘That’s not a view people generally have of publishers!’
‘It’s dreadful how everyone seems to quarrel nowadays. I’m sure it was never like it is today – I don’t know what’s happening in the world. I heard just this morning that the Persians are demonstrating against the Shah. That man’s done so much for his country, it does seem ungrateful. I saw him in London once, several years ago, and he looked so distinguished.’
They all drank a toast to Madge and Willie.
‘I must remind you that Teresa will not return to Pippet Hall,’ Squire told his mother-in-law a little later. ‘You must understand my position. I will not eat humble pie for ever, although I would like our life to resume as soon as possible. Do you have any notion of my present difficulties? I think you should speak to Teresa, Mother. She can manage her new business from the Hall, if that’s the problem.’
‘Oh, dear, that’s not the problem. I’m afraid you brought this on yourself, Tom, all this unfaithfulness, it’s dreadful. Such things never happened in the twenties, when I was young.’
‘Really, Mother? You surprise me. Historians regard the twenties as a period of noted licence, if not licentiousness. Twenties, forties, sixties, the even-numbered decades, all periods of so-called low morals, separated by outbreaks of so-called morality.’
She smiled placatingly at him.
‘Well, whatever it is, I think it’s all wrong. You’ve only to read the papers. They’re full of it. Something’s gone wrong with the nation. People don’t know their places any longer. All your encouragement of these so-called arts doesn’t help, either. You should know better in your position. I don’t blame you especially, Tom, but don’t you think all this dreadful rock and roll demoralizes young people? When Ernest and I got married all those years ago, we started out with such high hopes. We worked hard, we went to church, we kept ourselves properly to ourselves … Now, oh, England has become – well, I feel it is hostile, I don’t recognize it. Some mornings I feel the world’s going to collapse. Now you and Teresa …’
She left the sentence dangling, as being too dreadful to finish.
He regarded her with sympathy. ‘I feel just the opposite. But perhaps the instability of the world was demonstrated to me rather early in life. I think everything’s all right, despite the newspapers. It’s true we confuse material and moral values. It’s true husbands and wives fall out. It’s true the divorce rate is going up and the birth rate down. It’s true there is a quality we call evil in individuals, which gets magnified by theories and ideologies which have power to rule our common sense. But still humans aren’t bad, and we’re rather lucky to be living together on this snug little planet. Your announcing your engagement to Uncle Willie makes us all feel even luckier.’
Mrs Davies pursed her lips. ‘I don’t understand you, Tom. How you can be so happy away from your wife, I don’t understand. You used to be so loving. Make it up with her this evening – to please Willie and I.’
Squire took a judiciously deep drink of his champagne.
Mrs Davies set her glass down on a side-table, among small silver objects, resting her ringed and wrinkled hand over it. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening. But then, you always were a mystery to me. You’re so intellectual, I suppose. Then there was that rather unpleasant business in Yugoslavia you were involved in – I never could understand that. And I remember when you got married you insisted on having that red Aga installed, whereas poor Teresa had set her heart on a white one. She’s not happy either. Her business is going wrong – she and her partner are in trouble, and I know she owes lots of money all over the place, even New York. Isn’t New York bankrupt, too? I don’t pretend to understand these things, and she won’t confide in me any more. I even have to feed the dog.’
As if the word had been a signal, two enormous spaniels, liver and white, burst into the room. They made straight for Mrs Davies, springing on her with the mindless abandon of their kind. As her hand was knocked, the champagne glass went flying, to finish in pieces against the wall. She lay back on the sofa with her hands before her face, and the dogs trampled over her as if over a small muddy hill. Belinda appeared among them, dragging them off by their collars and cursing them cheerfully.
‘Oh, you canine delinquents! Mrs Davies, how can I say how sorry I am? I hope you like dogs. They were shut in the back hall, weren’t you, you bums, and they made a spirited dash for companionship, freedom and you, not necessarily in that order. Would you like something to eat?’
Willie appeared chivalrously to assist his bride-to-be, the broken glass was cleared, the dogs were returned to captivity, more champagne was poured, and, as the fuss died down, Squire managed to deflect his uncle into Ron Broadwell’s study.
‘I should have written you a note, my dear Tom, but you have been rather elusive. I do hope our news doesn’t come as too much of a shock? Madge is a good woman.’
‘Not at all, no.’
‘We’re going to stay in town tonight. At Brown’s. Haven’t stayed at Brown’s for years. It’s still very comfortable. Separate rooms, of course.’
‘Of course. Now, Uncle, I want a little plain talk with you. Perhaps I’ve been rather slow on the uptake—’
Willie looked unhappy. ‘Do we have to talk personally, Tom? After all, it is New Year’s Eve. Doesn’t your publisher have a telly?’
Squire