Mme Pitt arrived at the house like a man-o’-war in full sail, billowing with chiffon and taffeta. Her clothes were scrupulously matched and were of that lovely shade of soft blue grey that one sees on the back of a wood pigeon. Her hat bore a brim splendidly wide, and its band was trimmed with a single dark red rose, very cunningly made. It was most effective, being the only red item against the field of smoky grey.
Her arrival, although fully expected, had the same effect as an unexpected visit from royalty. The driver of the hansom, having carried her boxes indoors, bowed so low upon being paid, that she quite thought he would topple forward onto his nose. ‘How perfectly charming you are,’ she said to him, patting his arm, and he blushed to the roots of his hair.
Mme Pitt ascended the steps and entered the house in a blaze of invincible French elegance. ‘Bonjour, tout le monde, bonjour, bonjour!’ she cried, and, ignoring protocol bent down first to hug Esther so tightly that the child stuck her tongue out in mock strangulation. ‘Une bise pour ta gran’mère,’ she cried, pointing to her cheek. ‘Encore une bise!’ she cried, pointing to the other. ‘Encore une bise! Encore une bise! Oh, but my! How you’ve grown! Mais comme tu es devenue belle! J’espère que tu es encore sage! Tu es sage? Mon ange! Ma petite champignonne!’
Mme Pitt seized the stupefied Mrs McCosh by the shoulders and planted four kisses upon her cheeks in rapid succession. Rosie received the same fusillade, as did Mr McCosh, who was so delighted by such a display of affection that the smile did not leave his face for several minutes. She held out her hand to Millicent, and Millicent curtsied. ‘Mademoiselle Millicent! How lovely that you are still here.’
‘Thank you, madam, you are very kind, madam,’ said Millicent, curtsying again.
‘Cookie’s in an awful flap,’ said Mr McCosh. ‘She says she’s prepared to cook for the Queen, but cooking for a Frenchwoman is altogether beyond her!’
‘Ça se comprend!’ exclaimed Mme Pitt. ‘I shall go down to the kitchen and help. But first, to business! En avant! I have come to say certain things, and when I have said them, we can all relax, and I can give Esther her little cadeau.’
‘A present?’ said Esther. ‘Cadeau’ had been almost the first French word she had learned.
‘No, I will change the plan! I will give it to you straight away, because life is short, non?
She reached into her capacious bag and brought out a large brown bear. She held it out to Esther and said, ‘This bear is made in France, and its name is French Bear.’
‘French Bear,’ repeated Esther, taking it and holding it to her cheek.
‘What do you say?’ asked Rosie.
‘Merci, Gran’mère,’ said Esther shyly.
‘De rien, de rien!’ said Mme Pitt, leaning down and patting her face.
‘Gran’mère smell nice,’ said Esther.
‘Is Daniel not here yet?’ asked Mme Pitt. ‘Bon!’
She turned to Mrs McCosh, saying, ‘To you I will speak first.’ To Millicent she said, ‘A cup of tea, my dear, but without milk or sugar, and very weak, à la française.’
‘Oh, just like Master Daniel,’ said Millicent, hurrying away.
Mrs McCosh, feeling for the first time in years that she had no control whatsoever over events, meekly followed her into the dining room. Mme Pitt took a seat at the head of the table, obliging Mrs McCosh to sit at one side. Mme Pitt said nothing at all until her tea arrived, by which time Mrs McCosh was in a state of considerable anxiety.
‘I hope you have not come here to hector me,’ said Mrs McCosh unconvincingly. ‘I will not be hectored.’
‘Well,’ said Mme Pitt, ‘I am very disappointed, I will not hide it. How can I hide it? My son is extremely unhappy, and you do nothing about it. In fact you make him more unhappy. You provoke him! He tells me that you provoke him beyond all possible endurance, and that your provocations are always about him being French, even though he is as English as you are, as well as French. His father was in the Royal Navy! The Royal Navy, not the French Navy. His father was an officer on the Royal Yacht. Is that French? Is that a French yacht? And furthermore, you provoke him so much that he can hardly bear to come here any more, and if it were not for Esther he would not come here at all. And furthermore again, he has won a job in Ceylon which is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Rosie is refusing to go, and you are supporting her in this, even though Mr McCosh has told her to go. Now, tell me, are you crazy? What kind of mama are you that you hold on to a full-grown woman and keep her tied to the apron, when she has a husband and a daughter, eh? Tell me, tell me.’
Mrs McCosh sat with her mouth open, quite unable to respond to such obvious truths.
Mme Pitt looked at her imperiously, and continued. ‘Well, I for one will not stand for it. You will cease your provocations, immediately. You will tell Rosie that she has to go to Ceylon! You will tell Rosie that she has to be a proper wife, not switching on and off like a lamp! You will tell Rosie to find some love in here,’ she said as she thumped her chest, ‘and give it to my son. Now you will go and tell Rosie that it is her turn for me to be speaking to her.’
Mme Pitt was considerably older than Mrs McCosh, and the latter felt quite unable and unentitled to argue with her. She rose to her feet and found that she was trembling too much to walk. Supporting herself by leaning partially on the dining table, she managed to reach the door. She turned to say something, but found herself, once again, utterly wordless. She went to the morning room to recover her composure. She resolved to write a letter to His Majesty, and then go out with the airgun and see if there were any pigeons in the garden.
When Rosie came in she felt like a schoolgirl who has been hauled before a headmistress.
‘You will sit down,’ said Mme Pitt, patting the chair beside her.
Rosie sat down and folded her hands together, looking at them as they lay in her lap. Mme Pitt chucked her under the chin very lovingly, and said, ‘Rosie, Rosie, Rosie.’
‘Gran’mère?’
‘You know this can’t go on, you know it, don’t you?’
Rosie nodded her head miserably.
‘I will be telling you exactly what cannot be going on,’ said Mme Pitt. ‘In the first place, now you have married a living man you cannot be married in your heart to a man who is dead. There is no good dead man who has ever wished for this! Think how much you are hurting this dead man if he looks down and he sees that you are making unhappiness! If he sees your husband so unhappy that he would not come home at all if he did not love his daughter! If he sees your mother provoking, provoking, all about being French, and you do nothing to stop it! That you never say, “Maman, this is enough! Leave my husband alone!” Do you think this dead man is happy on high, looking down and seeing that you make a grande pagaille all in his memory? Do you think this dead man is pleased about your husband who is alive and is not being with his daughter that he loves because you want to stay at home with maman and you won’t go where he works even to a beautiful place? What selfishness is this? You think this dead man is proud of a woman who is like this? Rosie, you are a saint, a veritable saint, everybody says it, but you also have the cruelty of saints. The cruelty that has no eyes. Have your eyes not seen that in this life there is one thing sacred? And this one thing sacred is the little children? And you have one of these sacred little things, and she is called Esther, and she must have a nest with a mother and a father in it? How does the bird fly with one wing only?
‘And another thing. You are a bad wife in another way. Daniel has admitted it and I believe him.’
Rosie was by now sobbing, quite unable to cope with this barrage that was forcing her to see herself from the outside.
‘Are you telling me to do my duty?’ she asked.
‘Duty! Paf! I am not talking about lying on your back and thinking of something else! I am talking about generosity, and plaisir! Are you a woman?
‘I will tell you a secret. This is a Frenchwoman’s secret, you understand, no? First of all, what did your mother tell you about, you know, making babies?’
Rosie wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and said, ‘Mama said I would have to go through great humiliation, but it’s worth it for the children. She says that relations with a husband are the price you pay for marriage, and marriage is the price that a man pays for relations.’
Mme Pitt was visibly shocked. She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu! Your poor father. This is terrible! Oh là là! I will tell you what my mother told to me. She said, “Chèrie, a good wife is a lady in the drawing room and a slut in the bedroom.” ’
‘A slut?’ repeated Rosie incredulously.
‘A slut, my dear. Une salope! She said, “God Himself does not see what those who are married do when they are alone He minds His own business when people love.” And this is the most important of all: “If a woman does not bother with her husband she gives up her right to his fidelity. And if a man does not concern himself with his wife, he gives up his right to her fidelity.” Ça, c’est entendu partout. Tu comprends?’
Rosie nodded her head.
‘I am talking about pratique,’ said Mme Pitt, ‘I am not talking about any theories or what it says in any Bibles.’
‘But women and men are so different, aren’t they?’ said Rosie.
‘It seems to me that this is the excuse only. I ask you a question, OK? What do you call a woman who only gives herself to a man when she wants something from him?’
Rosie thought for a second, and ventured, ‘A prostitute?’ The word tasted vile in her mouth; it was difficult even to say it.
‘Exactement. I believe that you have been interested only when you wanted the baby, and when you had the baby, paf! No more interest.’
Rosie flushed deeply and began to shake. She felt a most terrible shame and embarrassment, but also a rebellious sense of having been misjudged, and the sweat began to pearl on her head. She could hardly breathe. ‘Are you calling me a prostitute?’ she said at last.
‘I call you nothing. I was, you know, asking like Socrates. You know what a prostitute is. You told me yourself. You work it out. You use your brain.’
Rosie bridled. ‘Are you going to let me speak?’
‘Well, of course my dear. Speak.’
‘Isn’t a…prostitute…a woman who does things with people she has no feelings for? I do have feelings. I realise more and more that I do love Daniel, and it pains me that I’m no good for him. I cry about it sometimes, and I don’t know what to do. I was very fond of him when he was a little boy, and now I know him properly and I admire and respect him, and I do love him. When I accepted his proposal, I knew it was right. But I have always felt as if…as if I was being unfaithful.’
Mme Pitt leaned back and put her hands in her lap, looking at Rosie gravely. ‘Chérie, you are quite right, that is what a prostitute does, and I see after all that it was a mauvaise comparaison. Je te demande pardon. But, ma chère, you overcame your problem when you wanted to make Esther, non? And remember, you are talking about my son. He is not any man, he is my son, and I love him, and I am determined he should be happy.’
‘I’ve been sick with guilt. And worry. I think about it all the time.’
‘Chérie, I am certain that your dead man would not want you to be faithful to him. He would want you to be happy. He was a friend of Daniel, remember? And I remember him too. What a handsome and nice young boy! How we all loved him! To think he’s dead, ça me fait pleurer. But he would want you and Daniel to be happy because he loved you both, I am sure of it.’
‘What about…what about when we die?’
‘When we die?’
‘Afterwards. When I get to Heaven, who is my husband?’
‘Can’t you leave that to God? And I think the good Lord said that in Heaven there is no husband and no wife. I remember, because when I heard it I didn’t like it! When I die I will go straight away to find my husband, whatever it says in the big book!’
Mme Pitt dipped a hand into her reticule and brought out a tiny lace handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes.
‘Once I had four sons and now I have only two. They are the most precious things I have on this earth. If Daniel is going to be miserable…Rosie, I can’t bear it!’
‘You are telling me to do my duty, aren’t you?’
‘Non, non, non! That is what your mother would say. I am not at all like her. It is not a question of duty. It is a question of generosity, of savoir vivre, savoir aimer. So, Rosie, ma chère, you will go to Ceylon. You will be a proper wife. You will open your heart. You will please your dead man by making a living one happy! You will remember that your dead man was once a very good friend of the living one, and the dead one would not want you to make his friend unhappy. You will make little brothers and sisters for your daughter! And one day, a long time from now, you will look back, and you will say, “Mon Dieu, I have been happy for years and I didn’t know.” This is what happened to me, Rosie. This is what happened to Gran’mère Pitt.’
‘I can’t go to Ceylon.’
‘Mais pourquoi pas? You must go. C’est evident.’
‘I can’t go. Esther would be broken-hearted to leave the cat.’
‘What? Are you serious? Come on, Rosie, this is not believable! What is the reason? Tell me! J’insiste! Your father has already told me your excuses, and I don’t believe them!’
Rosie looked down at her hands. After some time she lifted her head and managed to say, ‘Daddy is going to die of a heart attack quite soon. I want to be here when it happens. I want to be with Daddy when he dies.’
‘Mon Dieu! Die of a heart attack! How can you possibly know this?’
‘He feels dizzy when he stands up. He gets pains in his chest and his left arm. Sometimes he’s very tired. He spent all last Sunday in bed. He said he was “having a browse” but he was feeling weak.’
‘What about the doctor? Surely you called in the doctor?’
‘Dr Scott says his blood pressure is very variable, too high or too low, and he has a heart murmur. He told Daddy not to run for trains, and not to play thirty-six holes in one day any more.’ ‘But does this doctor think there is danger?’
‘He says that we don’t have the proper skills yet, to know what is really happening, or what we should do. But I was a nurse. I know what I think, and I think that Daddy is going to have a heart attack. Ottilie isn’t as sure as I am, but she’s worried too.’
‘And does your father know what you think, chérie?’
‘No, Gran’mère.’
Mme Pitt said, ‘Well, now I understand a little bit more. Comprendre c’est pardoner, n’est-ce pas? But you know what your father would say, don’t you?’
‘He would tell me to go to Ceylon. He already has. Lots of times. He shouted at me, and he’s never done that before, even when we were little. It was horrible.’
‘Have you spoken to Daniel? What does he say?’
‘I’ve only told him I’m worried about Daddy.’
‘You said nothing about the heart?’
‘Only to Ottilie. I have a superstition.’
‘A superstition?’
‘If I talk about it, I’m afraid I’ll bring it about. It’s like worrying about falling in a ditch if you want to leap it. If you worry too much about it, you always fall in, don’t you?’
‘Je ne sais pais,’ replied Mme Pitt. ‘I have never in my life jumped over a ditch. But I know what you mean. Talking will often make things happen. But I do not think it will make heart attacks. Shall we agree something? Shall we say that if your papa falls ill, we will send a telegram, and you will come home immediately? I shall speak to my son, and he will not resist, je te jure.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Even so, it takes two weeks to get back from Ceylon.’
Mme Pitt reached down into her bag and brought out a book, wrapped in blue-grey tissue that matched her dress. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘for you. Un petit cadeau.’
Rosie took the book and clutched it to her chest. She stood up and faced the old lady, kissing her on each cheek. ‘I know I haven’t been the kind of wife that Daniel deserves.’
‘Hush, hush!’ said Mme Pitt, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I love you. It’s enough. One forgives if one loves. And now I know what has been going on in your heart, ma chère. And, Rosie, I know I am asking for what is not possible. It is my duty to my son to ask for what is not possible, tu comprends? Il faut que tu m’excuses.’
Rosie stood up and began to go, but then she turned and confessed, ‘I just want to say that I’ve been telling myself the same things as you have. For ages. All you’ve done is make me hear them out loud. I know you’re right. Daniel…how could I ever forget him vaulting over the wall?’ Rosie bit her lip, clutched her parcel to her chest, and looked at her mother-in-law. ‘The thing is, I’ve always loved him, without really knowing it. And now I have to make a new start. But leaving Daddy…it’ll be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I just don’t know how I’ll manage to do it.’
‘Chérie, I’m so happy to hear you say this. But there’s been so much damage. How will you mend it?’
‘I think he still loves me. It mightn’t be too late.’
Rosie went straight upstairs to her room and unwrapped her present. It was a book about Ceylon, and was mainly pictorial. Rosie looked at its religious monuments. There was a photograph of an elephant at the Temple of the Tooth, very smartly caparisoned. There were photographs of mountains curtained with mist, of water buffalo wallowing in paddy fields, of the elegant bungalows of the planters, of smiling tea-pickers who were plainly gleeful that anyone might want to take a picture of them. She read the opening lines, in which it said that Ceylon was originally known as Serendip, and that Muslims believed it was where Adam and Eve had reconvened after having been expelled from Paradise. She closed it and laid it on the bed, planning to read through all the text later.
She picked up the Bible by her bedside, intending to look for the passage about husbands and wives in the afterlife, but instead came across St Paul talking about celibacy and marriage. ‘Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband. The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife. Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again, that Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.’
Further down she found the solution to something that had troubled her for many months, which was the issue of Daniel’s frank unbelief. ‘If any brother hath a wife that believeth not, and she be pleased to dwell with him, let him not put her away. And the woman which hath an husband that believeth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave him. For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now they are holy.’
Excitedly, she leafed through the pages until she found the passage for which she had originally been looking.
She knelt by the side of her bed and tried to talk to Ash, but had no sense of a response apart from a growing feeling of optimism and serenity. There had been catharsis in talking to Mme Pitt. Sometimes one discovers what one really thinks because of having to say it aloud. Now that she had talked openly about her father’s health, the problem seemed to have got smaller. She found herself looking forward to Daniel’s return, and went to the window, just in time to see him come into the driveway in a cloud of aromatic blue smoke, and park next to the AC.
She watched him fiddling with the levers, and then ran downstairs and out into the drive to greet him, almost being beaten to it by Esther, who was desperate to introduce him to her new French bear.
‘Gracious me,’ said Daniel, ‘what a welcome! Shompi, what a lovely bear! Is Gran’mère here yet?’
Esther seemed to spring vertically in the air, landing neatly in the crook of his arm and puckering up her lips to kiss him on the mouth. Rosie put her arms around his neck and laid her face next to his. ‘My darling,’ said Daniel, astonished by her unwonted display of affection, ‘how nice it is to be back.’