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person. And what vexed him most of all, what made him clang the
gate at the end of the field so violently that it hit one of his
retrievers shrewdly on the nose, was the sense of his own
impotence. He knew perfectly well that in point of view of
determination (that quality which in himself was firmness, and in
those who opposed him obstinacy) Michael was his match. And the
annoying thing was that, as his wife had once told him, Michael
undoubtedly inherited that quality from him. It was as inalienable
as the estates of which he had threatened to deprive his son, and
which, as he knew quite well, were absolutely entailed. Michael,
in this regard, seemed no better than a common but successful
thief. He had annexed his father's firmness, and at his death
would certainly annex all his pictures and trees and acres and the
red roofs of Ashbridge.
MICHAEL
118
Michael saw the gate so imperially slammed, he heard the despairing
howl of Robin, and though he was sorry for Robin, he could not help
laughing. He remembered also a ludicrous sight he had seen at the
Zoological Gardens a few days ago: two seals, sitting bolt upright,
quarrelling with each other, and making the most absurd grimaces
and noises. They neither of them quite dared to attack the other,
and so sat with their faces close together, saying the rudest
things. Aunt Barbara would certainly have seen how inimitably his
father and he had, in their interview just now, resembled the two
seals.
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And then he became aware that all the time, au fond, he had thought
about nothing but Sylvia, and of Sylvia, not as the subject of
quarrel, but as just Sylvia, the singing Sylvia, with a hand on his
shoulder.
The winter sun was warm on the south terrace of the house, when, an
hour later, he strolled out, according to arrangement, with his
mother. It had melted the rime of the night before that lay now on
the grass in threads of minute diamonds, though below the terrace
wall, and on the sunk rims of the empty garden beds it still
persisted in outline of white heraldry. A few monthly roses, weak,
pink blossoms, weary with the toil of keeping hope alive till the
coming of spring, hung dejected heads in the sunk garden, where the
hornbeam hedge that carried its russet leaves unfallen, shaded them
from the wind. Here, too, a few bulbs had pricked their way above
ground, and stood with stout, erect horns daintily capped with
rime. All these things, which for years had been presented to Lady
Ashbridge's notice without attracting her attention; now filled her
with minute childlike pleasure; they were discoveries as entrancing
and as magical as the first finding of the oval pieces of blue sky
that a child sees one morning in a hedge-sparrow's nest. Now that
she was alone with her son, all her secret restlessness and anxiety
had vanished, and she remarked almost with glee that her husband
had telephoned from the golf links to say that he would not be back
for lunch; then, remembering that Michael had gone to talk to his
father after breakfast, she asked him about the interview.
Michael had already made up his mind as to what to say here.
Knowing that his father was anxious about her, he felt it highly
unlikely that he would tell her anything to distress her, and so he
represented the interview as having gone off in perfect amity.
Later in the day, on his father's return, he had made up his mind
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to propose a truce between them, as far as his mother was
concerned. Whether that would be accepted or not he could not
certainly tell, but in the interval there was nothing to be gained
by grieving her.
A great weight was lifted off her mind.
"Ah, my dear, that is good," she said. "I was anxious. So now
perhaps we shall have a peaceful Christmas. I am glad your Aunt
Barbara and Francis are coming, for though your aunt always laughs
at your father, she does it kindly, does she not? And as for
Francis--my dear, if God had given me two sons, I should have liked
MICHAEL
119
the other to be like Francis. And shall we walk a little farther
this way, and see poor Petsy's grave?"
Petsy's grave proved rather agitating. There were doleful little
stories of the last days to be related, and Petsy II. was tiresome,
and insisted on defying the world generally with shrill barkings
from the top of the small mound, conscious perhaps that his
helpless predecessor slept below. Then their walk brought them to
the band of trees that separated the links from the house, from
which Lady Ashbridge retreated, fearful, as she vaguely phrased it,
"of being seen," and by whom there was no need for her to explain.
Then across the field came a group of children scampering home from
school. They ceased their shouting and their games as the others
came near, and demurely curtsied and took off their caps to Lady
Ashbridge.
"Nice, well-behaved children," said she. "A merry Christmas to you
all. I hope you are all good children to your mothers, as my son
is to me."
She pressed his arm, nodded and smiled at the children, and walked
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on with him. And Michael felt the lump in his throat.
The arrival of Aunt Barbara and Francis that afternoon did
something, by the mere addition of numbers to the party, to relieve
the tension of the situation. Lord Ashbridge said little but ate
largely, and during the intervals of empty plates directed an
impartial gaze at the portraits of his ancestors, while wholly
ignoring his descendant. But Michael was too wise to put himself
into places where he could be pointedly ignored, and the
resplendent dinner, with its six footmen and its silver service,
was not really more joyless than usual. But his father's majestic
displeasure was more apparent when the three men sat alone
afterwards, and it was in dead silence that port was pushed round
and cigarettes handed. Francis, it is true, made a couple of
efforts to enliven things, but his remarks produced no response [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]