A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP restored something of Claudia’s sense of proportion. Her fury against Daphne and Miss Fergusson was not so much dimmed as focused more precisely, directed into more rational channels. Last night, it had been the blind, instinctive response to a shattering blow. Maurice’s calm announcement that Daphne and Miss Fergusson, as well as Claudia, were inviting him to their homes, had seemed at the moment like a slap in the face so stinging, so utterly unexpected, that for a while Claudia couldn’t reason about it at all. She had even felt for a few minutes that it was Maurice himself who had delivered the blow, purposefully, with the intention of hurting and making a fool of her.
But now, lying here in the curtained darkness, waiting for the alarm to go, Claudia realised that she had been less than reasonable, and she was only thankful that, in the moment of shock, her natural self-command had not deserted her. She had, she was sure, shown no hint of how deeply she had been wounded, but had simply, pleasantly, fixed an alternative time for Maurice to come and visit them.
Claudia turned restlessly on her pillow, and tried to clarify her feelings. Why was she so angry with Daphne and Miss Fergusson for doing exactly what she was doing herself—offering friendship generously—and, yes, courageously—to an odd and possibly dangerous young man?
The answer flashed, clear as a bell, into her quick, capable brain. The thing that made it all right for her to behave in this quixotic way, but all wrong for them, was that, for them, it was out of character. It was phony—unreal; and there was nothing that Claudia deplored and despised as much as phoniness. Good, honest prejudice and narrow-mindedness, openly expressed, Claudia could, she told herself, understand and almost respect (though how far this new-found respect would extend into her next row with Mother would remain to be seen); but this hypocritical pretence of being tolerant and broad-minded; this sham benevolence, this play-acting of a rôle that did not belong to them—this, Claudia told herself, was what she could not stand about Daphne and Miss Fergusson. It was this that had made her so angry. To be tolerant, wise, understanding; to see the weakness behind the wickedness—this was Claudia’s rôle. To her, it was second nature, it was the way she was made. With these special gifts of hers she could do untold good to Maurice, just as she had to Mavis, and to the many others before her. She could restore to him his self-respect, his integrity; she could rehabilitate him, give him the confidence to face the world once more with head held high. What Daphne and Miss Fergusson were offering him was counterfeit coin—curiosity masquerading as sympathy—exhibitionism masquerading as courage. Maurice should be protected from such women.
But the maddening thing was, there was no way of protecting him. After a few minutes’ agonised and fruitless scheming, Claudia had to face this sad fact. There was no way of preventing him going to lunch with these women, no way of undoing the fact that they had invited him. They had spoiled everything with their meddling! Yesterday was robbed of half its glory, and there was no way of restoring it. No point, now, in ringing Daphne up and saying: “Guess who I had round for coffee last night … turned out to be such an interesting young man … stayed till all hours …” No point, even, in ringing up her other friends, they would only say, now, “Oh, is that the same man that Daphne…?”
Claudia turned once again in her bed, and lay face downwards, fists dug deep into the pillow. The infuriatingness of it all! The maddening, unnecessary ruination of everything! There must be some way of getting even with the pair of them!
Swiftly, she corrected the childish thought, before it had properly lodged in her brain, before it had to be accepted as irrevocably hers. There must, she reformulated the idea, be some way of helping Maurice more effectively, more immediately; these vague invitations to meals weren’t going to get him anywhere. Did he need a job, for instance? Did he need somewhere to live?
Ah, that was it! That was the solution! Neither Daphne nor Miss Fergusson would be able to go one up on that! What, you had him to lunch, did you? How nice. He’s staying with us now, you know, we’ve plenty of room, especially now, while Derek’s away. I’ve fixed him up a bed in Derek’s study—poor boy, he was so grateful, he could hardly believe it. He’d been getting desperate, you know; he had nowhere to go …
Or had he? That, of course, might be the snag. Suppose he was already comfortably fixed up in digs found for him by the prison welfare people, with a motherly landlady who knew nothing of his past …?
But Claudia was not one to be disheartened by hypothetical disasters. By the time her alarm clock went off, her mind was already awhirl with schemes; and by the time she was dressed and ready to go downstairs, she had not only worked out how and when to broach the subject with Maurice, but had composed such a letter to Derek as would entirely reconcile him to the prospect of finding an ex-criminal installed in his home on his return. Not that Derek was usually difficult about these things; but Claudia had discovered that it was important that he should have them presented to him in the correct light at the very beginning, before Mother had had a chance to get at him. This congress in Oslo was a blessing from that point of view; if Derek’s acquiescence by letter could be obtained before Mother had had a chance to make a fuss, the battle would be as good as over. As she went downstairs, Claudia began mentally adding to the letter a PS. which should ensure Derek’s reply by airmail, by return, and yet should not throw him into any flurry of anxiety, as urgency of any sort was liable to do. It was important that Derek should be kept very, very calm.
Meantime, while she would, of course, keep in touch with Maurice herself, it would be best if he didn’t come to the house again until after Derek’s letter had arrived. It would be a pity if the show-down with Mother had to take place before Claudia had all her weapons sharpened, all her troops at battle stations.