The Comforters Read online

  As Louisa asked Laurence, ‘Did you have a nice outing, dear?’ Andrew winked at him.

  Laurence resented this, an injustice to his grandmother. He felt averse to entering a patronizing conspiracy with Andrew against the old lady; he was on holiday for a special reason connected with a love affair, he wanted a change from the complications of belonging to a sophisticated social group. The grandmother refreshed him, she was not to be winked about. And so Laurence smiled at Andrew, as if to say, ‘I acknowledge your wink. I cannot make it out at all. I take it you mean something pleasant.’

  Andrew started looking round the room; he seemed to have missed something that should be there. At last he fixed on the box of Bulgarian cigarettes on Louisa’s sideboard; reaching out he opened the box and helped himself to one. Mr Webster tried to exchange a glance with Louisa disapproving of her guest’s manners, but she would not be drawn in to it. She rose and passed the open box to Laurence.

  Andrew told him, ‘They are Bulgarian.’ ‘Yes, I know. Rather odd, aren’t they?’ ‘They grow on one,’ Andrew remarked.

  ‘Bulgarian!’ his father exclaimed. ‘I must try one!’

  Louisa silently passed the cigarettes. She inclined her head demurely towards Laurence, acknowledging an unavoidable truth: the fact that three stubbed-out fat Bulgarian ends already lay in the ash-tray beside Mervyn Hogarth’s chair.

  Louisa sat passively witnessing Hogarth’s performance as he affected to savour a hitherto untried brand of cigarette.

  ‘My dear Louisa, how exotic! I don’t think I could cope with many of these. So strong and so … what shall I say?’

  ‘Pungent,’ said Louisa patiently, as one who has heard the same word said before by the same man in the same place.

  ‘Pungent,’ Mervyn repeated, as if she had hit on the one only precise word.

  He continued, ‘A flavour of — the Balkans, a tang as of — of—’

  Louisa obliged him again, ‘Goats’ milk.’

  ‘That’s it! Goats’ milk.’

  Louisa’s black shiny buttons of eyes turned openly on Laurence. He was watching the man’s face; he glanced towards the ash-tray with its evidence of the pose, then looked at Mervyn again. Louisa began to giggle inaudibly as if she were gently shaking a bottle of cough-mixture within herself. Mr Webster caught her movement with the corner of his eye. From where he was seated, and his neck being stiff, he had to swivel round from the waist to get a better view of Louisa. At this sign, her face puckered slightly, but presently she composed herself like a schoolgirl.

  Laurence said to Andrew, ‘Do you live round here?’

  Father and son replied simultaneously. Mervyn said, ‘Oh, no’; Andrew said, ‘Oh, yes.’

  Louisa’s mirth got the better of her, and though her lips were shut tight she whinnied through her nose like a pony. Mr Webster clicked his cup into his saucer as if the walls had spoken.

  The Hogarths immediately attempted to rectify their blunder.

  Both started together again — Mervyn: ‘Well, we live in London mostly—’ Andrew: ‘I mean, we’re here most of the time—’ The father decided to let Andrew take over.

  ‘And we sometimes go abroad,’ he concluded limply.

  Laurence looked at his watch, and said hastily to Andrew, ‘Coming for a drink? There’s about fifteen minutes to closing.’ Then he saw his blunder. For the moment the boy had looked quite normal, not a cripple at all.

  ‘Not tonight thanks. Another time, if you’re staying,’ Andrew said, unsurprised.

  ‘Laurence is stopping till the end of the week,’ said Louisa. Laurence hurried out. They could hear his footsteps crossing the quiet road and down the village street towards the Rose and Crown.

  Mr Webster spoke. ‘Charming boy.’ Louisa said, ‘Yes, and so clever.’ ‘Interesting lad,’ Mervyn said. ‘I was wondering…’ said Andrew. ‘What, dear?’ Louisa asked him. ‘Hadn’t we better clear off till next week?’

  Mr Webster twisted round to face the old lady. ‘Mrs Jepp,’ he said, ‘I did not think you would permit your grandson meeting us. I understood he was to be out this evening. I trust he will not be upset in any way.

  ‘My!’ said Louisa graciously. ‘He won’t be upset, Mr Webster. Young people are very democratic these days.’

  That was not what had been meant. Mervyn spoke next.

  ‘I think he will ask questions. It’s only natural, Louisa, after all, what do you expect?’ He lit one of the Bulgarian cigarettes.

  ‘Whatever questions should he ask?’

  ‘He is bound to wonder… .’ said Andrew.

  ‘He’s bound to ask who we are, what we’re doing here,’ said Mervyn.

  Mr Webster looked sadly at Mervyn, pained by some crudity in the other’s words.

  ‘My!’ said Louisa. ‘Laurence will certainly ask all about you. Would you care for another game, gentlemen?’

  Mervyn looked at the clock.

  Andrew said, ‘He’ll be back after the pub closes, won’t he?’

  Mr Webster smiled paternally at Louisa. ‘The matter is not urgent,’ he said, ‘we can leave our business till the end of the week, if you know of an evening when your grandson will be out.’

  ‘It can be discussed in front of Laurence,’ she said. ‘Laurence is a dear boy.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mervyn.

  ‘That’s just what we mean,’ said Andrew. ‘The dear boy shouldn’t be made to wonder —’

  Louisa looked a little impatient. Something was defeating her. ‘I did hope,’ she said, ‘that we could avoid making any difference between Laurence and ourselves. I assure you, with discretion we could say all we want to say in Laurence’s presence. He has not got a suspicious nature.’

  ‘Ah, discretion,’ Mr Webster said, ‘my dear Mrs Jepp, discretion is always desirable.’

  Louisa beamed warmly at him, as at one who had come nearest to understanding her.

  Mervyn spoke. ‘I understand you, Louisa. You can’t bear to participate in separated worlds. You have the instinct for unity, for coordinating the inconsistent elements of experience; you have the passion for picking up the idle phenomena of life and piecing them together. That is your ideal, it used to be mine. Reality, however, refuses to accommodate the idealist. It is difficult at your age to grasp a fact which you have never had occasion to recognize, but —’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Louisa said, ‘not at any age I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Of course.

  ‘You are too far away,’ she said, but then she perked up, ‘Now Mervyn, if you feel I’m too old-fashioned in my ways I will quite understand. You may always withdraw from our arrangements.’

  Mervyn, who had stood up, sat down again. Andrew gave an unsmiling laugh which caused Louisa to look at him with surprise.

  Andrew responded: ‘He spoke about doing detective work. He seems to be quite smart in the head.’

  ‘Laurence is doing nicely on the wireless. He would never make a detective, nothing so low.’

  ‘He would make a good informer,’ Andrew said, and from the privilege of his invalid chair looked squarely at her.

  ‘My, you need not continue with us, Andrew dear, if anything troubles you. In which case, of course, we shouldn’t continue, should we?’ She looked at Mervyn and Mr Webster, but they did not answer. They rose then, to leave. As he took her hand Mr Webster said, ‘You see, Mrs Jepp, your dear grandson is exceedingly observant. That was the only reason I had for questioning the wisdom.’

  Louisa laughed, ‘Oh, he never misses anything. I’ve never met anyone like him for getting the details. But, you know, the dear boy can’t put two and two together.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Mervyn, ‘that he lacks the faculty of reflection?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Laurence’s grandmother, ‘that he could be more intelligent in some ways than he is. But he’s clever enough to get on in the world, and he has a sweet nature, that’s what matters.’

  ‘And if he asks any questions …�
�� said Andrew.

  ‘Oh, he will ask questions,’ Louisa answered him.

  There was no doing anything with her.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Jepp, you will be discreet won’t you? I’m sure you will,’ said Mr Webster.

  ‘My grandson can’t put two and two together — not so’s to make four.’ She looked rather amused so as to make them rather uncomfortable.

  ‘He’s leaving on Friday?’ Mervyn asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Friday evening then?’ said Mervyn.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered with melancholy.

  ‘See you Friday,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Jepp, for a most pleasant evening.’ said Mr Webster.

  Because Laurence had started writing a letter, resting the paper on a book on his knee, Louisa was clearing part of the table for him, saying, ‘Come, love, sit up at the table, it’s more comfortable.’

  ‘No, I always write like this.’

  Louisa spread a white cloth over the corner reserved for Laurence. ‘Always put a white cloth under your papers when you write a letter. It’s good for your eyes because it reflects back the light. Come, dear, sit up at the table.’

  Laurence shifted to the table and continued writing. After a few minutes he said, ‘The white cloth does make a difference. Much pleasanter.’

  Louisa, lying full-length on the sofa by the little back window where she rested till tea-time in the afternoons, replied dozily, ‘When I told Mervyn Hogarth of that little trick, he started working out in his head whether it could be effective or not, all about light-rays and optics. “Try it, Mervyn,” I said, “just try it, then you’ll know for certain that I’m right.”‘

  ‘Of course,’ Laurence reflected absently, ‘it may be due to something psychological.’

  ‘Oh, it’s something psychological all right,’ said Louisa surprisingly and imponderably. Then she closed her eyes.

  She opened them again a few seconds later to say, ‘If it’s your mother you’re writing to give her my love.’

  ‘I’m writing to Caroline, actually.’

  ‘Then give her my love and say I hope she feels better than she was at Easter. How has she been lately?’

  ‘Miserable. She’s gone away to some religious place in the north for a rest.’

  ‘She won’t get much of a rest in a religious place.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But this is one of Mother’s ideas. She gets together with her priests and builds these buildings. Then they dedicate them to a saint. Then Mother sends her friends to stay in them.’

  ‘But Caroline isn’t a Catholic.’

  ‘She’s just become one.

  ‘I thought she was looking thin. How does that affect you, dear?’

  ‘Well, of course Caroline’s left me, in a way. At least, she’s gone to live somewhere else.’

  ‘Well!’ said the old woman, ‘that’s a nice thing!’

  ‘We might get married some day.’

  ‘Ah, and if not?’ She looked at him with a reserved wonder as she added, ‘Does Caroline know what she’s doing? The one certain way for a woman to hold a man is to leave him for religion. I’ve known it happen. The man might get another girl, but he never can be happy with anyone else after a girl has left him for religious reasons. She secures him for good.’

  ‘Is that really true?’ Laurence said. ‘How very jolly. I must tell Caroline.’

  ‘Oh well, my love, it’s all for the best. I hope you can marry her, soon. They wouldn’t make you become a Catholic, you only have to promise to bring up the children Catholics. And after all, children these days make up their own minds when they grow up. And there’s nothing wrong in being a Catholic if you want to be one.’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated,’ Laurence said. ‘Poor Caroline isn’t well.’

  ‘Poor Caroline. That’s religion for you. Give her my love and tell her to come down here. I’ll feed her up, I daresay everything will come out all right.’

  ‘Grandmother has just dozed off again,’ Laurence wrote, ‘after looking up to inquire after you. The news of your conversion caused a serious expression, on her face. Made her look like one of Rembrandt’s old women, but she rapidly regained her Louisa face. She wants you here, to give you things to eat.’

  ‘I hated seeing your train out at Euston and mooned off afterwards with thoughts of following you on the evening train. Met the Baron in Piccadilly Underground and walking back with him to the bookshop fell under his influence and decided against. He argued, “The presence of a non-believer in a Catholic establishment upsets them if the unbeliever is not interested in acquiring their faith. Those places always advertise their welcome to the faithless. However, if you go merely looking for Caroline, it will upset them, you will not be welcome. Moreover, they will have it in for Caroline, for being manifestly more desirable to you than their faith.” On the whole, I decided it would be cloddish to barge in, just as well as it has turned out.

  ‘I couldn’t face the flat so went over to Hampstead. Father was in, Mother out. He let fall something that rather worries me. Apparently there’s a woman by name of Hogg at the outfit you are staying at. She’s a sort of manageress. Mother got her the job. God knows why. We all loathe her. That’s why we’ve always gone out of our way for her really. She’s that Georgina Hogg I think I’ve mentioned, the one who used to be a kind of nursery-governess before we went to school. She got married but her husband left her. Poor bastard, no wonder. We used to feel sorry for him. She suffers from chronic righteousness, exerts a sort of moral blackmail. Mother has a conscience about her — about hating her so much I mean, is terrified of her but won’t admit it. Father calls her Manders’ Mortification. Of course she’s harmless really if you don’t let her get under your skin. I think I could handle the woman, at least I used to. But best to avoid her, darling. I hope you won’t come across her. I confronted mother with her damned silliness in sending you to a place where Georgina is, at a time when you’re feeling limp. She looked a bit guilty but said, “Oh, Caroline will put Georgina in her place.” I do hope you will. If she upsets you, leave immediately and come down here to be plumped up. Such things are happening down here!’

  ‘Arrived on Sunday night. My little grandmother is a mighty woman, as I always knew. I’ve discovered such things! She runs a gang. I’m completely in the dark as to what sort of gang, but I should probably think they are Communist spies. Three men. A father and son. The son’s a cripple, poor chap. The father has a decided air of one manqué. The third gangster is rather a love, like a retired merchant sailor, fairly old. He’s sweet on Grandmother. He owns the local bakery and delivers the bread himself.

  ‘I don’t know how far Grandmother is implicated in their activities, but she’s certainly the boss. She’s handsomely well-off. I think she only draws her pension to avoid suspicion. Do you know where she keeps her capital? In the bread. She sticks diamonds in the bread. Without a word of exaggeration, I came across a loaf weirdly cut at both ends, and in one end diamonds, real ones. I wondered what the hell they were at first, and picked out one of the stones ever so carefully. Diamonds look so different when they aren’t set in jewellery. When I saw what it was, I put the stone back in its place. Grandmother has no idea that I’m on to this, of course. Isn’t she a wonder? I wonder what her racket is. I don’t think seriously of course that they are spies, but criminals of some sort. The thing is, Grandmother isn’t being used, she’s running the show. The main thing is, Mother mustn’t find out, so be most careful, my love, what you say.

  ‘I intend to find everything out, even if it means taking an extra week and mucking up Christmas. I’ve started compiling a dossier.

  ‘Any ideas on the subject, let me know. Personally, I think Grandmother is having the time of her life, but it might be serious for her if the men are caught. I can’t begin to guess what they’d be caught at. They may be jewel thieves, but that doesn’t fit in with the sweet naval old fellow’s character. Anything fits
G’mother’s.

  ‘Grandmother openly refers to them as “my gang”, airy as a Soho slender. Says they come to play cards. I met them here the other night, since when I’ve been snooping. I wish you would come for a few days and help me “put two & two together” as G’mother says. I hope you don’t get the jitters at St Philumena’s. Take it from me, you have to pick and choose amongst Catholic society in England, the wrong sort can drive you nuts. Mother knows she’s done the wrong thing in sending you there. It’s her passion for founding “Centres” and peopling them, gets the better of her. Father swears she’ll start a schism.

  ‘I expect a letter from you tomorrow. Longing to hear that you have got Mrs Hogg under control. It would be rather fun in a way if you had a set-to with her. I’d like to be there if you did. There, but concealed.’

  Louisa opened her eyes and said, ‘Put the kettle on, dear.’

  Laurence laid down his pen. He asked her, ‘Who d’you think is in charge of that religious place Caroline’s gone to?’

  ‘Who, dear?’

  ‘Mrs Hogg.’

  ‘In charge! I thought it was a convent.’

  ‘No, only a Centre. Georgina is housekeeper or something.’

  ‘Does your mother know that?’

  ‘Yes, she gave her the job.’

  ‘I think something is happening to Helena’s mind,’ said Louisa.

  ‘Mrs Hogg! Just think of her, Grandmother, worming in on Caroline.’

  ‘Mrs Hogg,’ said Louisa, as if she’d never heard the like. ‘Mrs Hogg. Well, Caroline will fix her.’

  Laurence went into the scullery to fill the kettle, and shouted from there, ‘You haven’t seen her lately?’

  His grandmother was silent. But as he returned and placed the kettle on the black coal stove, Louisa told him, ‘I haven’t seen her for years. A few months ago your Mother wrote to suggest that Georgina Hogg should come and live here as a companion for me.