A Daughter's a Daughter Read online

  ‘Oh, thank you, Edith.’

  Ann laid down the still unopened letter by her plate. Dame Laura flashed a quick look at her.

  Richard Cauldfield drank his cup of tea rather quickly and then excused himself.

  ‘He’s being tactful,’ said Ann. ‘He thinks we want to talk together.’

  Dame Laura looked at her friend attentively. She was quite surprised at the change in Ann. Ann’s quiet good looks had bloomed into a kind of beauty. Laura Whitstable had seen that happen before, and she knew the cause. That radiance, that happy look, could have only one meaning: Ann was in love. How unfair it was, reflected Dame Laura, that women in love looked their best and men in love looked like depressed sheep.

  ‘What have you been doing with yourself lately, Ann?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Going about. Nothing much.’

  ‘Richard Cauldfield is a new friend, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve only known him about ten days. I met him at James Grant’s dinner.’

  She told Dame Laura something about Richard, ending up by asking naïvely, ‘You do like him, don’t you?’

  Laura, who had not yet made up her mind whether she liked Richard Cauldfield or not, was prompt to reply:

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘I do feel, you know, that he’s had a sad life.’

  Dame Laura had heard the statement made very often. She suppressed a smile and asked: ‘What news of Sarah?’

  Ann’s face lit up.

  ‘Oh, Sarah’s been enjoying herself madly. They’ve had perfect snow, and nobody seems to have broken anything.’

  Dame Laura said dryly that Edith would be disappointed. They both laughed.

  ‘This letter is from Sarah. Do you mind if I open it?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Ann tore open the envelope and read the short letter. Then laughed affectionately and passed the letter to Dame Laura.

  Darling Mother, (Sarah had written)

  Snow’s been perfect. Everyone’s saying it’s been the best season ever. Lou took her test but didn’t pass unfortunately. Roger’s been coaching me a lot – terribly nice of him because he’s such a big pot in the ski-ing world. Jane says he’s got a thing about me, but I don’t really think so. I think it’s sadistic pleasure at seeing me tie myself into knots and land on my head in snow-drifts. Lady Cronsham’s here with that awful S. American man. They really are blatant. I’ve got rather a crush on one of the guides – unbelievably handsome – but unfortunately he’s used to everyone having crushes on him and I cut no ice at all. At last I’ve learned to waltz on the ice.

  How are you getting on, darling? I hope you’re going out a good deal with all the boy friends. Don’t go too far with the old colonel, he has quite a gay Poona sparkle in his eye sometimes! How’s the professor? Has he been telling you any nice rude marriage customs lately? See you soon, Love, Sarah.

  Dame Laura handed back the letter.

  ‘Yes, Sarah seems to be enjoying herself … I suppose the professor is that archaeological friend of yours?’

  ‘Yes, Sarah always teases me about him. I really meant to ask him to lunch, but I’ve been so busy.’

  ‘Yes, you do seem to have been busy.’

  Ann was folding and refolding Sarah’s letter. She said with a half sigh: ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Why the Oh dear, Ann?’

  ‘Oh, I suppose I might as well tell you. Anyway you’ve probably guessed. Richard Cauldfield has asked me to marry him.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, only today.’

  ‘And you’re going to?’

  ‘I think so … Why do I say that? Of course I am.’

  ‘Quick work, Ann!’

  ‘You mean I haven’t known him long enough? Oh, but we’re both quite sure.’

  ‘And you do know a good deal about him – through Colonel Grant. I’m very glad for you, my dear. You look very happy.’

  ‘I suppose it sounds very silly to you, Laura, but I do love him very much.’

  ‘Why should it sound silly? Yes, one can see that you love him.’

  ‘And he loves me.’

  ‘That also is apparent. Never have I seen a man look so exactly like a sheep!’

  ‘Richard doesn’t look like a sheep!’

  ‘A man in love always looks like a sheep. It seems to be some law of nature.’

  ‘But you do like him, Laura?’ Ann persisted.

  This time Laura Whitstable did not answer so quickly. She said slowly:

  ‘He’s a very simple type of man, you know, Ann.’

  ‘Simple? Perhaps. But isn’t that rather nice?’

  ‘Well, it may have its difficulties. And he’s sensitive, ultra-sensitive.’

  ‘It’s clever of you to see that, Laura. Some people wouldn’t.’

  ‘I’m not “some people”.’ She hesitated a moment and then said: ‘Have you told Sarah yet?’

  ‘No, of course not. I told you. It only happened today.’

  ‘What I really meant was have you mentioned him in your letters – paved the way, so to speak?’

  ‘No – no, not really.’ She paused before adding: ‘I shall have to write and tell her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Again Ann hesitated before saying: ‘I don’t think Sarah will mind very much, do you?’

  ‘Difficult to say.’

  ‘She’s always so very sweet to me. Nobody knows how sweet Sarah can be – without, I mean, ever saying anything. Of course – I suppose –’ Ann looked pleadingly at her friend. ‘She may think it funny.’

  ‘Quite likely. Do you mind?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind. But Richard will.’

  ‘Yes – yes. Well, Richard will have to lump it, won’t he? But I should certainly let Sarah know about it all before she comes back. It will give her a little time to get used to the idea. When are you thinking of getting married, by the way?’

  ‘Richard wants us to get married as soon as possible. And there really isn’t anything to wait for, is there?’

  ‘Nothing at all. The sooner you get married the better, I should say.’

  ‘It’s really rather fortunate – Richard’s just got a job – with Hellner Bros. He knew one of the junior partners in Burma during the war. It’s lucky, isn’t it?’

  ‘My dear, everything seems to be turning out very well.’ She said again gently: ‘I’m very glad for you.’

  Getting up, Laura Whitstable went over to Ann and kissed her.

  ‘Now then – why the puckered brow?’

  ‘It’s just Sarah – hoping she won’t mind.’

  ‘My dear Ann, whose life are you living, yours or Sarah’s?’

  ‘Mine, of course, but –’

  ‘If Sarah minds, she minds! She’ll get over it. She loves you, Ann.’

  ‘Oh, I know.’

  ‘It’s very inconvenient to be loved. Nearly everyone has found that out, sooner or later. The fewer people who love you the less you will have to suffer. How fortunate it is for me that most people dislike me heartily, and the rest only feel a cheerful indifference.’

  ‘Laura, that’s not true. I –’

  ‘Good-bye, Ann. And don’t force your Richard to say that he likes me. Actually he took a violent dislike to me. It’s not of the least consequence.’

  That night, at a public dinner, the learned man sitting next to Dame Laura was chagrined at the end of his exposition of a revolutionary innovation in shock therapy to find her fixing him with a blank stare.

  ‘You’ve not been listening,’ he exclaimed reproachfully.

  ‘Sorry, David. I was thinking of a mother and daughter.’

  ‘Ah, a case.’ He looked expectant.

  ‘No, not a case. Friends.’

  ‘One of these possessive mothers, I suppose?’

  ‘No,’ said Dame Laura. ‘In this case it’s a possessive daughter.’

  Chapter Five

  1

  ‘Well, Ann, my dear,’ said Geo
ffrey Fane. ‘I’m sure I congratulate you – or whatever one says on these occasions. Er – h’m. He’s, if I may say so, a very lucky fellow – yes, a very lucky fellow. I’ve never met him, have I? I don’t seem to recall the name.’

  ‘No, I only met him a few weeks ago.’

  Professor Fane peered at her mildly over the top of his glasses as was his habit.

  ‘Dear me,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘Isn’t this all rather sudden? Rather impetuous?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Among the Matawayala, there is a courtship period of a year and a half at least –’

  ‘They must be a very cautious people. I thought savages obeyed primitive impulses.’

  ‘The Matawayala are very far from being savages,’ said Geoffrey Fane in a shocked voice. ‘Theirs is a very distinctive culture. Their marriage rites are curiously complicated. On the eve of the ceremony the bride’s friends – er hum – well, perhaps better not to go into that. But it’s really very interesting and seems to suggest that at one time the sacred ritual marriage of the Chief Priestess – no, I really must not run on. A wedding present now. What would you like as a wedding present, Ann?’

  ‘You really don’t need to give me a wedding present, Geoffrey.’

  ‘A piece of silver, usually, is it not? I seem to remember purchasing a silver mug – no, no, that was for a christening – spoons, perhaps? Or a toast-rack? Ah, I have it, a rose-bowl. But, Ann, my dear, you do know something about the fellow? I mean, he’s vouched for – mutual friends, all that? Because one does read of such extraordinary things.’

  ‘He didn’t pick me up on the pier, and I haven’t insured my life in his favour.’

  Geoffrey Fane peered at her again anxiously and was relieved to find that she was laughing.

  ‘That’s all right, that’s all right. Afraid you were annoyed with me. But one has to be careful. And how does the little girl take it?’

  Ann’s face clouded over for a moment.

  ‘I wrote to Sarah – she’s in Switzerland, you know – but I haven’t had any answer. Of course, there’s really been only just time for her to write, but I rather expected –’ She broke off.

  ‘Difficult to remember to answer letters. I find it increasingly so. Was asked to give a series of lectures in Oslo in March. Meant to answer it. Forgot all about it. Only found the letter yesterday – pocket of an old coat.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of time still,’ said Ann consolingly.

  Geoffrey Fane turned his mild blue eyes on her sadly.

  ‘But the invitation was for last March, my dear Ann.’

  ‘Oh dear – but, Geoffrey, how could a letter stay all that time in a coat pocket?’

  ‘It was my very old coat. One sleeve had become almost detached. That made it uncomfortable to wear. I – er – h’m – laid it aside.’

  ‘Somebody really ought to look after you, Geoffrey.’

  ‘I much prefer not to be looked after. I once had a very officious housekeeper, an excellent cook, but one of those inveterate tidiers-up. She actually threw away my notes on the Bulyano rain makers. An irreparable loss. Her excuse was that they were in the coal scuttle – but as I said to her: “a coal scuttle is not a waste-paper basket, Mrs – Mrs –” whatever her name was. Women, I fear, have no sense of proportion. They attach an absurd importance to cleaning, which they perform as though it was a ritual act.’

  ‘Some people say it is, don’t they? Laura Whitstable – you know her, of course – she quite horrified me by the sinister meaning she seemed to impute to people who wash their necks twice a day. Apparently the dirtier you are, the purer your heart!’

  ‘In – deed? Well, I must be going.’ He sighed. ‘I shall miss you, Ann, I shall miss you more than I can say.’

  ‘But you’re not losing me, Geoffrey. I’m not going away. Richard has a job in London. I’m sure you’ll like him.’

  Geoffrey Fane sighed again.

  ‘It will not be the same. No, no, when a pretty woman marries another man –’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You have meant a great deal to me, Ann. I almost ventured to hope – but no, no, that could not have been. An old fogy such as I am. No, you would have been bored. But I am very devoted to you, Ann, and I wish you happiness with all my heart. Do you know what you have always reminded me of? Those lines in Homer.’

  He quoted with relish and at some length in Greek.

  ‘There,’ he said, beaming.

  ‘Thank you, Geoffrey,’ said Ann. ‘I don’t know what it means –’

  ‘It means that –’

  ‘No, don’t tell me. It couldn’t possibly be as nice as it sounds. What a lovely language Greek is. Good-bye, dear Geoffrey, and thank you … Don’t forget your hat – that’s not your umbrella, it’s Sarah’s sunshade – and – wait a minute – here’s your brief-case.’

  She closed the front door after him.

  Edith put her head out of the kitchen door.

  ‘Helpless as a baby, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘And yet it’s not that he’s gaga, either. Clever in his own line, so I should think. Though I’d say as those native tribes as he’s so keen about have downright nasty minds. That wooden figure he brought you along I put in the back of the linen cupboard. Needs a brasyair as well as a fig leaf. And yet the old professor himself hasn’t got a nasty thought in his head. Not so old either.’

  ‘He’s forty-five.’

  ‘There you are. It’s all this learning as has made him lose his hair the way he has. My nephew’s hair all came off in a fever. Bald as an egg he was. Still, it grew again after a bit. There’s two letters there.’

  Ann picked them up.

  ‘Returned postal packet?’ Her face changed. ‘Oh, Edith, it’s my letter to Sarah. What a fool I am. I addressed it to the hotel and no place name. I don’t know what’s the matter with me just lately.’

  ‘I do,’ said Edith significantly.

  ‘I do the stupidest things … This other one is from Dame Laura … oh, how sweet of her … I must ring her up.’

  She went into the sitting-room and dialled.

  ‘Laura? I just got your letter. It’s really too kind of you. There’s nothing I’d like better than a Picasso. I’ve always wanted to have a Picasso of my own. I shall put it over the desk. You are kind to me. Oh, Laura, I’ve been such an idiot! I wrote to Sarah telling her about everything – and now my letter has come back. I just put Hotel des Alpes, Switzerland. Can you conceive of my being so foolish?’

  Dame Laura’s deep voice said:

  ‘H’m, interesting.’

  ‘What do you mean by interesting?’

  ‘Just what I said.’

  ‘I know that tone of voice. You’re getting at something. You’re hinting that I didn’t really want Sarah to get my letter or something. It’s that irritating theory of yours that all mistakes are really deliberate.’

  ‘It isn’t my theory specially.’

  ‘Well, anyway, it isn’t true! Here I am with Sarah coming home the day after tomorrow, and she won’t know anything at all and I shall have to tell her in so many words, which really will be far more embarrassing. I simply shan’t know how to begin.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what you have let yourself in for by not wanting Sarah to get that letter.’

  ‘But I did want her to get it. Don’t be so annoying.’

  There was a chuckle at the other end of the wire.

  Ann said crossly:

  ‘Anyway, it’s a ridiculous theory! Why, Geoffrey Fane has just been here. He’s just found an invitation to lecture in Oslo last March which he mislaid a year ago. I suppose you’d say he mislaid that on purpose?’

  ‘Did he want to lecture in Oslo?’ inquired Dame Laura.

  ‘I suppose – well, I don’t know.’

  Dame Laura said ‘Interesting,’ in a malicious voice and rang off.

  2

  Richard Cauldfield bought a bunch of daffodils at the florist’s on the corner.

  He was in a ha
ppy frame of mind. After his first doubts he was settling into the routine of his new job. Merrick Hellner, his boss, he found sympathetic – and their friendship, begun in Burma, proved itself a stable thing in England. The work was not technical. It was a routine administrative job in which a knowledge of Burma and the East came in handy. Richard was not a brilliant man, but he was conscientious, hard-working, and had plenty of common sense.

  The first discouragements of his return to England were forgotten. It was like beginning a new life with everything in his favour. Congenial work, a friendly and sympathetic employer and the near prospect of marrying the woman he loved.

  Every day he marvelled afresh that Ann should care for him. How sweet she was, so gentle and so appealing! And yet, sometimes, when he had been led to lay down the law somewhat dogmatically, he would look up to see her regarding him with a mischievous smile. He had not often been laughed at, and at first he was not sure that he liked it – but he had to admit in the end that from Ann he could take it and rather enjoy it.

  When Ann said: ‘Aren’t we pompous, darling?’ he would first frown and then join in the laugh and say: ‘Suppose I was laying down the law a bit.’ And once he had said to her: ‘You’re very good for me, Ann. You make me much more human.’

  She had said quickly: ‘We’re both good for each other.’

  ‘There’s not much I can do for you – except look after you and take care of you.’

  ‘Don’t look after me too much. Don’t encourage my weaknesses.’

  ‘Your weaknesses? You haven’t any.’

  ‘Oh yes, I have, Richard. I like people to be pleased with me. I don’t like rubbing people up the wrong way. I don’t like rows – or fusses.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! I’d hate to have a quarrelsome wife always scrapping. I’ve seen some, I can tell you! It’s the thing I admire about you most, Ann, your being always gentle and sweet-tempered. Dearest, how happy we are going to be.’

  She said softly:

  ‘Yes, I think we are.’

  Richard, she thought, had changed a good deal since the night she had first met him. He had no longer that rather aggressive manner of a man who is on the defensive. He was, as he had said himself, much more human. More sure of himself, and therefore more tolerant and friendly.