The Antique Dealer’s Daughter

I knew it sounded feeble. It made me finish on a lame note of excuse, ‘The truth is I can’t even see my mother’s cat with a mouse without wishing to intervene.’

I turned my head. He saw my defiance – I knew this would be seen as a challenge to a man who made war his business. He also saw that I was ready to be humbled. He didn’t do it. Perhaps it was the mark of a soldier that he didn’t make a stand on a point that was already won.

Instead he took that same note of practical calm as he remarked, ‘Forgive me, but haven’t you got something the wrong way round there? I had understood that the basic principle of avoiding conflict meant that you didn’t intervene. Unless your philosophy is based solely on the premise that you possess sufficiently superior strength to render all opposition futile. What would you do if the cat were the size of a tiger and you couldn’t just pick him up?’

It was a fair point. He would naturally think along the lines of irrepressible nature, both within the cat and its victim, and of solutions being dependent on superior force so that all sides might be cowed into perfect peace. And perhaps he was right and I wasn’t a true pacifist. Something certainly cut too close to a nerve that had already been set on edge by the bizarre contradiction of wishing this man would go away, changing my mind and then reverting again just as soon as he began to talk about his career, only to find myself at the same time really, really treasuring the experience of talking seriously like this.

It made me say with a better attempt at honesty than before, ‘Tell me that peace means days and nights spent hiding in holes while the danger that is raging outside switches between the fury of a foreign power trying to reduce an entire city to embers and our own people who are cheerfully picking through the smouldering rubble.’

‘You mean looters?’ My slur had startled him. His manner had suddenly grown harder to match. Perhaps he felt I’d meant the point as a personal barb. I supposed people like him tended to be kept safely anaesthetised from that particularly commendable of aspect of our resilience to the Blitz. It wouldn’t do for a soldier to realise that the people for whom he was laying down his life were utterly, entirely, ordinary and flawed, and therefore potentially undeserving of the sacrifice.

It cooled my readiness to be defensive. It curbed whatever I had intended to say next. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was simply trying to explain the rest. I added with a wry smile, ‘It really is quite unfortunate, don’t you think, that I’ve come here to establish a little calm, to shake the dust of a ruined city from my boots, so to speak, and within the first twenty-four hours I’ve received absolute proof that the war might end and the world might change, but absolutely nothing alters human nature.’

After a moment, the Captain observed mildly, ‘Bertie’s attack and the little invasion at the Manor really have frightened you, haven’t they?’

The sudden steadiness in the Captain’s voice after its momentary roughness made me jump. Now I realised with a peculiar little shock that his protectiveness was there again in a faint whisper, and sympathy without ridicule.

‘Actually, no,’ I told him with an odd little shiver. It had jolted my mind more than it ought to hear the attack on Mr Winstone grouped with the loss of my bag. It’s shameful to admit but I’d almost forgotten about yesterday in the effort of tiptoeing around talking about today. ‘Or, at least, the truth is I’m not really upset about them. It isn’t really about those people and what they’ve done. It’s about me and the fact that I’m desperately hoping everything will be different now – now the war is over, I mean – only I’m afraid nothing is going to be very different at all. Days like yesterday prove it. At least, I think they do.’ A hapless smile. ‘I know this feeling begins with the knowledge that war made people like you give up something profoundly personal for the sake of a mass of people you’d never even met and—’

‘And now you’re afraid it’s your turn? Because you know we fought for ourselves too.’

His interjection rather derailed what I had been meaning to say. Probably for the best. So instead I agreed and conceded an easier truth, ‘Perhaps. But yesterday, Mr Winstone was a stranger to me. When I found him on his path and the fellow who’d dropped him there slid away, I don’t know what I’d have done if that man had come back.’

‘Screamed the place down, probably,’ the Captain remarked in the same lighter tone, ‘until someone came to help. Or else discovered just how much physical force you’re truly capable of exerting under extreme pressure. And I should say that it fully explains why you should have been left feeling quite so unsettled, since neither of them are remotely appealing prospects. Not when the one implies unbeatable odds, and the other is an introduction to a part of oneself that doesn’t bear contemplation on a quiet summer’s day in the country.’

He’d surprised me. I’d expected him to either assure me that there had been no danger at all or to smile and contradict my attempt to measure the assistance I had given to an old man against his own experience as a soldier. I hadn’t expected understanding like this.

‘Quite,’ I agreed. I found myself smiling suddenly. ‘I know I have my limitations, but I honestly don’t know how capable I am of rising to the defence of a stranger in the way that has been routinely demanded of people like you. I’ve never even had to learn how far I would go to save someone I truly cared about, and quite honestly, my hope for a different kind of life ahead really, really depends on never being required to find out. So there you have the truth of my pacifism. The cowardly confession of a woman who managed to get all the way through a war without being called on to do anything useful and who is desperate to keep it that way now that she’s an adult and she’s got no more excuses.’

An uncomfortable pause while my gaze returned to its steady examination of the contents of my cousin’s garden and then, abruptly, I lurched into answering the question he’d really been asking all along. ‘And that is in part why I didn’t tell PC Rathbone everything about my lost suitcase just now – it wasn’t purely because I can appreciate your wish to protect your father. At least not fully. It’s because I can’t bear to feel indebted for something I won’t ever repay, not even when it’s the person’s job. If I’d told the policeman about all this, he’d have been obliged to take steps for my safety and fuss and worry and then I’d have to admit this was more serious than I want it to be. I’d never be able to get things onto a normal track.’

This time when he spoke, it was in a very odd voice. ‘You really do mean that, don’t you?’

‘Probably,’ I replied. I shook it all away with a decisive little squaring of my shoulders. I had my hands clasped about my knees now. I turned my head over my shoulder to look up at him. ‘And,’ I added with a wry grin and an easier slide into truthfulness, ‘I’ve unexpectedly explained my motives far better to you than I ever managed for my parents, so if I still haven’t managed to explain myself coherently I’m afraid you’ll just have to make up the rest for yourself.’

‘I understand you.’ The confirmation was given in a manner that suited the sudden shift in mine, but there was something in his steadiness that told me I’d revealed more about myself in those last few lines than all our past words together. His expression wasn’t really betraying any of the reactions I might have expected, but I thought I’d suddenly crossed over from the girl he couldn’t comprehend into the woman he understood only too well.

Then he straightened from his lean against the wall. His manner was suddenly decisive. I saw his glance at his watch. He was about to go and suddenly I didn’t like it at all. I didn’t want to be left alone with the worry about deciding between keeping watch from behind a locked front door or making a dash through quiet lanes for the shop where I might telephone for a car to carry me down to Gloucester. And, of course, I knew I would never be able to escape the one real worry, which was that I was destined now to spend the rest of the day re-running what I’d just laid bare to this man, and finding far too many reasons to feel ashamed.

The Captain was asking me crisply, ‘What do you plan to do now since you can’t stay here? Will you catch a train home?’

‘Go home? No.’ My initial surprise and then the twist of amusement that formed my negative made my cheeks burn. I thought that had given away rather too much of my feelings too. I always had felt that I’d never been particularly hard to read. This was proof of it.

‘Well then, Emily, this is going to sound more than a little ridiculous after all but turning you out of the house earlier, but actually I’d like your help. And don’t look at me like that. It’s true.’ There was a brief hint of a reassuring smile. ‘Have you eaten, by the way?’

My mood lifted to match his. ‘I have. I took the remaining two eggs for my lunch.’

‘Good. Well, my proposal is this: Tomorrow I have to go into Gloucester for a meeting and I thought you might like to come along and call in at the hospital to see your cousin. From what I know of hospital stays, I imagine she’d appreciate the sight of a friendly face. That’s the bribe. The fee is that today, after all I’ve said about refusing to play my brother’s part here, it just so happens that I’ve committed myself to acting out the role of the squire’s son to the extent of running my father’s errands. Today that involves making contact with various people who by virtue of being either staff or tenant or both are deemed the Manor’s responsibility. I’ve spent an hour already speaking to all the people who could be reached by telephone. Now I’ve got to go and see the next person on the list and I’d be very glad if you would come with me. Don’t ask me why because I think I’d better not say. Let’s just allow that, amongst other reasons, I’ve been made aware through an intensive run of correspondence in recent months that some of our tenants possess a certain habit for tying people up with little chores and although I hope I’m not susceptible, I really haven’t got the time to find out I’m wrong. Will you come? Please? We can add your fee to the account. Otherwise, you can cut your losses on your trip here and I’ll drive you now to meet the next London train …’

There was something bewildering about the frankness of his offer. It was like he really was hoping I would choose to go with him. It made it easier to do what I wanted, somehow.

And in making that choice, it was with a lighter feeling than I might have expected that I belatedly went to pay the visit to Eddington that Mrs Abbey had briefly been determined to get me to make late last night.

Chapter 9

‘Were you Blitzed, Emily?’

The question came out of a companionable silence. I turned my head from the scene arcing away beyond the glass in the passenger window to the driver beside me. In the main, experience had taught me that when a person wondered if someone was ‘Blitzed’, they were meaning that this person had lately taken to acting irrationally, hysterically and excessively sensitively. The term was only ever applied to excitable females, usually out of their hearing and more often than not accompanied by a discussion of their emotional state that would end with a condescending variation of ‘never mind her. She was Blitzed, poor dear’

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