A Man Called Darius Page 7

  The funeral was arranged for the following Friday, but the death had occurred nine days before and it had only been delayed awaiting my arrival from the Middle East because the telegram came to me on the ship telling me of the accident on the actual day they had both died, within hours of each other. Aunt Martha debated as to whether they should be buried together, since they weren’t officially married, in the eyes of God, she maintained and she turned to the Vicar for his advice, but he was eating his fourth chocolate éclair and was unable to assist until he had drunk his third cup of tea and meditated long and hard on the situation. His lock of hair which usually lay horizontally across his bald pate, fell down over his ear during the course of his mental deliberations and Marigold blew a raspberry in her own inimitable throaty way.

  “I think he should be buried with his first wife... don’t you think?” Aunt Martha went on, looking around for someone to agree with her, “after all, what’s going to happen in heaven when they get up there, as... I suppose they will do …eventually, and it’s discovered that he had two wives... Oh God, the very thought of it makes me tremble,” she whimpered and dabbed her long nose with her silk handkerchief, the one that had her initials embroidered in pink ...and stunk of lavender water.

  “What will he do when he’s confronted with two of them and he’s asked which one he’ll chose as his loyal companion in the final judgement at the resurrection? That’s what I want to know Vicar... VICAR...” she screamed and the Reverend Dick smiled meekly and straightened his hair as he put his second cream doughnut down on his plate and rubbed his fingers on his serviette.

  “I shouldn’t worry, Martha dear. God is all understanding and He will put everything right, if only we trust Him... you’ll see.”

  He answered as though God would stop the buck whatever or however we conducted our lives on earth as he studied the third doughnut as if debating on the quantity of cream it had in its centre. I wondered if Garry would agree with that....

  The matter was finally resolved by having the two bodies cremated and I imagined my dear mother must have had the last laugh as she would be the only one of the three who would be able to present her body, whole at Aunt Martha’s final judgement parade at the resurrection when the other two would be no more than a flicker of a flame...

  ***

  Yes, man proposes... The government decided to revoke my instructions to report for duty in the army of occupation on the Rhine. It was decided, I think, because of the Will, where I was the chief benefactor and would be required to look after the property in Banbury, which had loved so much. It was quite a large house and I loved it too, for many reasons, but mainly I suppose because of its name, Rowan Trees.... I could either sell it , convert it into a Nursing Home... or something... it was as simple as that... or so it seemed at the time, but Aunt Martha was furious. It was only three months since the demise of her younger sister and the Will left her nothing. Suddenly her beloved sister, the dear sweet jewel of a girl, became the heartless bitch who hadn’t left her a penny with which to help bring up her dear son Jeremy

  ***

  It was when I was wandering around the gardens of Rowan Trees, trying to get my thoughts straight as to what I should do with the place, that I thought it might be a good idea to get in touch with Garry. I felt he would be the right person to give me some advice on that matter and on my life, in general, now that the scene and background of my existence had changed so drastically. I raked through my bag to find my address book, which I did eventually, but with great difficulty. I was beginning to get very untidy and I didn’t like that, but I made the excuse for my lack of discipline as having too much on my mind.

  I phoned Garry at his Unit but I was told that he had returned to the U.S. of A... and was currently in Retreat, - a practice that Priests had from time to time of going into seclusion to recollect their thoughts and their way of life, for the benefits of their ‘flock’ when they returned to the hustle and bustle of their active ministry. I felt lost, but had to admit to a certain value of the devotional practice that the Corporal batman at Garry’s Unit had described to me with so much detail. Yes, I felt lost... Everything I ever had and wanted seemed to be slipping through my fingers and I was thrown back on the mercy of Aunt Martha and Jeremy, as the only ‘friends’ and contacts I had and the latter had already found his ‘soul-mate’ in the young companion he took with him to the cemetery on the day of the funeral and so I didn’t expect much attention from him. In fact, I hadn’t seen Jeremy in months. I thought again of that dreadful, dull day of the cremations and of Jeremy with his friend Sebastian, who upheld him through most of the dreary service and I was very glad he was there, especially when Jeremy fainted as the departed were being covered with the last floral tributes and the cremation curtain drew slowly to a close, to the solemn sound of Verdi’s Requiem. The coffins moved out of sight, so slowly and dramatically and I wondered if this was not a ploy to induce more sorrow. I felt sorry for Jeremy. He was who he was and there was no more to be said on the matter. After all, I had often seen big muscular men faint at the very sight of blood, so I could understand how Jeremy felt. He was so tender hearted under his nonchalant and carefree mannerisms and very emotional when it came to any kind of suffering or pain. I was quite the opposite. I knew daddy had chosen to live his life as he wanted, even before his divorce from mummy and I also knew that nothing or nobody could or would have persuaded him to do otherwise, but I couldn’t show my feelings, as perhaps, upon reflection, I should have done. I never did carry my heart on my sleeve and although I loved daddy and knew I would miss him, I couldn’t even cry when the cremation took place. I did later, when I was in the privacy of my own room and had time to think, but even then, I would prefer to go for long walks and do my crying in the rain.

  ***

  I tried so hard to get along with Aunt Martha, but whether I spoke or kept my mouth shut, I could never be right. I was always wrong. There was no satisfying her, as far as I was concerned and she blamed me indirectly, but very conclusively for the death of Emily, simply because it was my father who was driving the car that crashed and killed them both. I could have argued until I was blue in the face that if Emily had been content with the Cotswold visit instead of swanning up to the Lake District and had stayed at Rowan Trees for Christmas, this might never have happened, but there was no arguing with Martha Greenwood. Once she got an idea in her head, that was it... and wild horses would not remove it. You could go red in the face with fury, contesting the logic of her thoughts and ways... but she would be right. I think the Reverend Dick had the best idea... just say, “Yes Dear,” and eat your cream buns... regardless that they were synthetic. God, in His omnipotence would tell us all what to do, in His own good time, when we were in times of need, EXCEPT AUNT MARTHA …She would tell God.

  Chapter Ten

  It was round about the time in the late summer of 1946, when the shrubbery was at its greenest and the flowers had just past their prime, that I met Montague Blythe-Summers. He was a merchant banker in the City and had visited Aunt Martha on some business connected with her War bonds and City shares, of which she had many. Apparently he was quite a frequent visitor to the Manse, but I had never met him, or even heard of him before. He was a man of mature years, looking if anything, younger than forty-three, with black hair, heavily streaked with grey and with almost snow-white sideburns, which contrasted against his deeply, tanned face. I thought he might be of Spanish or Italian origin when I first saw him, but his name suggested nothing but pure English aristocracy... or so it seemed. I’d never heard the name before and I hated double-barrel names anyway. His dress was conservative and very, very elegant, with his silk tie and hankie to match, in the upper pocket of his immaculate pin stripe suit. His shirt cuffs were two inches below his sleeve at the wrist and I imagined he had planned it just that way. He spoke with an impeccable command of the English language as he shifted, with contrived swaying moveme
nts on the carpet, emphasizing his footwear, which shone in two colours of leather. In short, Aunt Martha obviously regarded this gentleman as the bee’s knees the perfect English gentleman... and she was disappointed that he should show any interest in me, but she need not have worried... for I was not in the least interested in her friend at all. Oh, he was nice enough, but equally old enough to be my father and he made it quite clear that he would have liked to get to know me better. I wondered why he hadn’t got married earlier in his life.

  I came into the library at the Manse one afternoon to transfer some books there from Rowan Trees. Daddy and Emily had a similar taste in literature and we had so many duplicate books at the old house in the country. It was on one of those occasions when Blythe-Summers was making his visit to advise Aunt Martha on her financial affairs and I found him standing by the fireplace in the library reading Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights’. (I found it open on the mantelpiece after he had gone) He turned round with a start, to face me as I came into the room, laden with my burden of literary ‘knowledge’ and came forward immediately to help me carry the load to the centre table.

  “You must be Miss Greenwood’s niece … am I right?” he said with a broad smile. I hadn’t noticed his moustache before and I wasn’t going to explain that my relationship to Aunt Martha was simply through the marriage of her sister to my father. I nodded... thinking that if he had known Aunt Martha for such a long time, he must have realized that she had no niece, but it didn’t seem to mean much anyway and I think he was trying to make small talk and any introduction would have sufficed.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before... Miss … er... Miss “

  “Barrington-Smythe,” I answered and immediately thought how unnecessary it was to use the double barrel name, especially now that daddy had gone and as I said, I never really like it. I decided in that instant to change it as soon as I could.

  “How nice to see you at last, Miss Barrington-Smythe. Your aunt has told me a lot about you.”

  I smiled... thinking was it good or bad, but he made no further comment on that score.

  “My name is Blythe-Summers... please call me Monty....” he stopped and a smile played around his lips. “My name is Montague, but my friends call me Monty.”

  I moved towards the ladder with some books in my hands, but he got there first.

  “Please allow me,” he said and rolled the ladder in the direction in which I was walking. We settled the books in catalogue order and I made the entries in the file near the latticed window at the far end of the library. When I had done that, I thanked him for his kindness and made towards the library door, as his over powering attention was beginning to embarrass me, but he moved in front of me and stood there where I was unable to pass.

  . “Would you consider it impulsive of me if I should ask you to have dinner with me this evening?” he said, but I made an excuse and told him that I wouldn’t be free for at least two weeks, due to the pressure of work at Rowan Trees, but I didn’t give him my address.

  “Perhaps I could telephone you sometime... to make arrangements... Miss....”

  I sighed and knew he would not desist.

  “My name is Francesca... and my friends …” I stopped speaking at that point, but he reached out to touch my hand.

  “What a beautiful name,” he remarked... as I expected he would... It was common chat-up in the army and not in the least original. “And friends …they call you …”

  I was sorry I had spoken as I had done and his dark eyes appeared dull for a second in comparison to the way he looked when we first met. I glanced down at his hand,which was by now touching my arm and I pulled it away.

  “Frannie,” I said with reluctance and looked to the floor.

  “It has been a pleasure meeting you Francesca. May I be your friend and call you Frannie?”

  I raised my eyebrows and manoeuvred past him to leave the room.

  “Sunday... next Sunday perhaps,” he called after me, “ Nobody ever works on a Sunday.”

  I wondered how I could get out of that one as I turned to face him again. There was a simple, trusting, little-boy-lost look in his eyes as he stood there and against my better judgement, because I wasn’t sure if I liked this man, or not... I agreed... after all, it was only a dinner. He smiled broadly.

  “I shall call for you then... around 6.30 pm on Sunday, if that is agreeable?”

  I said that would be fine and left him still standing with some books in his hand and made my way back to Rowan Trees, resolving that I would be at the Manse on that Sunday for 6.30 so that he could pick me up there. I didn’t want my life at Rowan Trees interrupted by anything or anyone. Besides, there were more places for dining out to choose from in London than there were in Banbury.

  ***

  I didn’t have any plans for that date anyway, but I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the proposed meeting with Montague Blythe-Summers. I think... in fact, I am sure that I still had Darius on my mind and he ruined any other thought I had of romance, if there was any. Aunt Martha wasn’t at all pleased when she heard my news but Jeremy was delighted and called it a ‘hoot’ to my disgust. I felt as though I was being escorted to dinner by a circus clown or some other prize nut.

  “Such an old fuddy-duddy Frannie, dahling, “Jeremy said cynically, “but he’s loaded with the old spondulux an’ he’ll give you a whale of a time.”

  I began to worry even more about what I was letting myself in for. There was something about Mr. Blythe-Summers that I couldn’t quite fathom... but then, I told myself again and again... it was only a dinner date and I had plenty of time before that meeting to find out all I wanted to know about the... dear Monty. Time would tell and I had an abundance of that on my hands.

  Chapter Eleven

  Montague Blythe-Summers wined and dined me as I had never been wined or dined before and I thought myself to be fairly well accustomed to good food and drink. He was the perfect host and his manners were impeccable, to match his Saville Row suit which fitted as though he had been poured into it... that very afternoon... I have to admit that I found him interesting after the first flamboyant ten minutes. He had travelled extensively and was well versed in the customs and mannerisms of many countries, but he had never been to Iraq... which gave me the opportunity to contribute in a mild fashion to the conversation as we dined. I noticed he wore a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand and that his nails were beautifully manicured. Aren’t I observant for an old nurse?

  He was also an excellent listener and looked directly into your eyes as you spoke, giving you his undivided attention, or so it seemed, but that pleased me, as I hate to talk to someone who studies his hands as you speak... or dusts the dandruff from his collar.

  When he brought me ‘home’ to the Manse, he stayed for a while in his chauffeur driven Bentley to ask me why they named Aunt Martha’s residence, The Manse, adding that he thought it was only ministers of religion who resided in such places and I explained that it had been an old presbytery in past times and that the name stuck. Nobody thought it necessary to change it. He accepted my explanation, studying my lips most carefully as I spoke but I felt sure he already knew the answer to his question. This was a novel way of stalling for time, I thought but I had to admit that he had eyes that could mesmerize, even if they didn’t have the quality or the intensity of Darius Crane. I still could not get Darius out of my mind, no matter how much I tried, but I left the car thinking that Monty was quite a character. He didn’t ‘try his luck’ as we would say in the Forces and I was glad of that. It was refreshing to have a date with someone without having to have a tumble afterwards and I put that down to the fact that he was much older than I and probably more mature in his dealings with women. He certainly had charm and his personality was most arresting. He could compel you to listen to what he had to say and make you believ
e it was just what you wanted to hear. That was my summing up of Monty...

  Two days later he telephoned to ask if I would have dinner with him again, but Aunt Martha took the call and I never got the message. It was only when Jeremy came home in the evening and Monica told him of the call that I got to hear of it. Monica, (bless her soul) was never averse to listing in to telephone conversations...but only on occasions, she would have you understand.

  The following day, Wednesday, Monty called at Aunt Martha’s to consult her about some new business he thought might interest her, share wise... but she didn’t show a great deal of enthusiasm. Far less so when he made enquiries as to where I might be, but she wouldn’t give him any information. It was great to have Monica there, for she told me everything and was as excited about her spy-role as if she had been employed by MI5, however, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, depending upon how you might see it, silly Jeremy met Monty in the hall as he was leaving and tipped him off, with a wink, about Rowan Trees... The next day, Monty arrived on my doorstep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Monty pursued me relentlessly for over eighteen months and visited Rowan Trees more than he did the Manse; telephoning when he couldn’t see me and plaguing me to spend nearly every weekend at his country home in the South of France. I was confused and bewildered with all the attention and I shall never understand why I didn’t accept his offers, since he appeared to be a most intelligent, sober and handsome man and I was beginning to like his company. I suppose in hindsight, he came under the same category as Jeremy... I LIKED him... I liked him a lot because I was lonely and he could entertain... but I did not LOVE him and my heart still journeyed off on her very own to the desert underground Theatre, where very serious surgery was being performed and where two beautiful eyes haunted me... without seeing.