His decision to visit Southampton twice a week turned out to be far more taxing than he had thought it would be. To begin with, it forced him to recognise that times had indeed changed. His father had bought the site just before the war. It had been cheap, as the company that had owned it had gone bankrupt. He had built the sawmill, and it had thrived, until Southampton was badly bombed during the war, and a great many of the businesses round the mill had been razed to the ground. The docks were a sea of rubble, of broken glass, of burned-out buildings, of boarded-up shops and houses. Very little of the port remained intact, but the main hotel, the Polygon, had survived and so, miraculously, had the Cazalets’ wharf and sawmill. They had taken the precaution of putting the most valuable hardwoods into the river, and so, apart from one or two minor fires, the wharf had been able to continue trading. It had fared better than London, in fact, where the business had been badly damaged by the Blitz. Then – timber being regarded as an essential commodity – the War Damage Commission had coughed up, and they were able to rebuild. So, over the years, everyone had been preoccupied with London and had not paid much attention to Southampton. Much had changed there. Rebuilding the docks had gone ahead, and the Cazalets’ monopoly had dwindled. In particular, their arch rival, Penton and Ward, had started up after the war and taken a good deal of business off them. Added to that, it had proved disastrous putting Teddy in charge. He simply didn’t have the experience, although he had inherited Edward’s talent for selling.
When Hugh first started going down, he had found much more of a mess than he had expected. The order book was chaotic, morale was low, and orders constantly went astray. Several firms had written saying that in view of the delays in delivery and ‘other matters’ they were moving their custom. This appalled him. There seemed to be no loyalty, no sense of tradition left.
He discovered that there was a split between the sawmill and the office: an atmosphere of non-cooperation and blame prevailed. ‘The manager just doesn’t like me,’ Teddy said. ‘I’m no good at figures.’
A little later, he saw McIver, who admitted to him, ‘With respect, he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time. The men don’t trust him, Mr Hugh, and that’s a fact.’
He got back home to Jemima at half past eight.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed down one night and did two days running?’
In the old days he would have stuck to his guns and argued, but that evening he felt he had no guns left and agreed. While she got him a whisky, a horrible fear assaulted him: that it was all no good, that he had made a mess of everything, let his father down, the whole family. He feared, too, that Edward had been right, that they should have sold out years ago. Now, when there was a serious crisis and a need for bold, energetic leadership, he felt drained of all ideas and energy to do anything.
‘I’m making scallops and bacon for us. You just sit and have your drink in peace. You’ll feel much better when you’ve got some food inside you.’
Like most women, he thought, Jemima was a firm believer in food as the answer to almost anything. As he sipped his drink, he had a sudden vivid memory of lying in the hospital in France, just after his hand had been amputated, and Edward appearing in the ward like magic – the only person in the world whom he wanted to be with. Edward had made a joke about how he’d got into the ward, and he’d wanted to laugh, but he’d cried instead. Edward had sat with him and mopped his brow with one of his wonderful silk handkerchiefs, and when he’d got up to go he’d actually kissed him, and told him to look after himself. ‘You too,’ he had muttered, and Edward had winked and said, ‘You bet.’
Matron had arrived, and now stood implacably by. ‘Look after him especially well, won’t you?’ Edward had said. ‘Because he’s my brother.’ She had actually smiled and replied that of course she would, Major.
Then he had stood up and strode away down the ward, and Hugh had watched the doors gently swinging after he had gone. He remembered being afraid that he would never see him again.
Of course this feud must stop. He must tell Edward that he had been wrong, and the only way to put things right was for them to work together in perfect agreement. He had not been good about Edward’s marriage, either. He had felt very much for poor Villy, but it had helped no one to take sides about it. Perhaps he could beg more time from the bank. Perhaps they should sell Southampton. That should produce enough money to keep the bank quiet about the rest of the loan.
These random thoughts circulated at increasing speed until he could feel one of his really bad heads coming on. He got out his pills and took two.
Jemima called him from the kitchen, and he hoisted himself up to walk through.
She knew at once about his head, helped him off with his jacket, loosened his tie and massaged his neck with her wonderful cool, searching fingers. As always on these occasions he took one of her hands and kissed it.
‘Better?’
‘Much better. Thank you, darling.’
So at supper he felt able to tell her some of his worries, and about his plan to talk to Edward about selling Southampton. When he came to admit that he hadn’t been nice about Diana, she agreed. ‘One way and another, we have none of us been nice about her. I should think she must feel fairly prickly about the family. It will take time for her to trust us. Supposing I ask her to lunch with me and go shopping afterwards. I have a feeling that she likes shopping …’
‘But you hate it!’
‘Well, it’s not a very serious thing to hate. And I don’t hate it all that much. Actually, I think I only say that to sound high-minded. Do you think I should have a go?’
‘Yes. And now are you too high-minded to come to bed?’
‘Well, I am, actually, but I’m prepared to make an exception just for you.’
As they went upstairs hand in hand, she said, ‘Hugh! I’ve just thought. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to have your accountant there when you and Edward have your talk? He’ll know all the figures and that could be helpful.’
‘It would. You’re a genius. I can’t think why I didn’t think that myself.’
You wouldn’t, my darling, she thought, and smiled. Because it’s the kind of practical thing you never do think.