School for Love Page 22

  The smile dwindled on her face but she did not seem annoyed, merely sorry for him in his folly.

  ‘My dear boy, that’s impossible, you know. You can’t take animals into England just like that. They have to be put in quarantine.’

  ‘I know. I’ve been to Cook’s about it. They say it costs about thirty pounds to quarantine a cat and I can pay that. And my uncle’s a vet. They think she may be allowed to stay with him. It’s all arranged. I only want your permission.’

  Miss Bohun turned back to her desk and began fidgeting with some papers; after a moment she said fretfully: ‘Really, I don’t know. She’s useful. She catches rats. She’s only been away a fortnight and already Maria says she’s heard rats in the kitchen.’

  As she spoke Miss Bohun glanced round at Faro without affection or humour, but with a sort of cold reflection. It seemed to Felix he could see Miss Bohun’s mind as clearly as the works of a skeleton clock. He could see her calculating Faro’s usefulness and subtracting the cost of her keep; calculating Faro’s value for breeding purposes and subtracting the loss of Felix’s goodwill.

  She repeated irritably: ‘I don’t know.’

  Felix lifted Faro from his shoulder and held her in the hollow of his arm. Her coat, in the brilliant afternoon light, had the sheened silver and gold of grebe feathers. She was drowsy and kept her eyes shut. Gently, he gathered her front paws into his hand.

  Miss Bohun, watching him, frowned slightly; her face gave an odd twitch, but Felix did not notice it.

  ‘All right,’ she said abruptly, and returned to her desk.

  He said ‘Thank you,’ and as he moved away, she called after him: ‘And don’t forget, Faro is a valuable cat.’

  ‘Let me pay for her,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, no, of course not.’ Miss Bohun sounded very irritable. ‘If you want the creature, have her.’

  Felix knew he ought to show more gratitude, but he could feel only a chill, almost, indeed, a sort of rectitude because he had carried out the formality of receiving Miss Bohun’s permission to take Faro away. No, he could show no ghost of gratitude; Miss Bohun had given him nothing. Faro, because he had always loved her, had always been his.

  As he moved off, he put his hand in his pocket and found the letter to ‘X’. He paused, wondering if he should return it; then she called him again. Turning, he saw she had taken from her desk a polished olive-wood box on which was stamped in Gothic script: ‘A Present from Jerusalem’.

  She said: ‘I might as well give this to you now. I bought it for you as a parting gift.’

  Felix looked at the box; he swallowed, and said miserably: ‘I don’t really want it.’

  ‘But . . .’ her surprise and hurt made it clear to him she had no suspicion of his feelings, ‘you can’t refuse a gift, a farewell gift. Perhaps you think it’s too much after my giving you the camel, and Faro . . . Now, don’t be silly. It’s just a little reminder of the days when we were a happy family here together. Perhaps you don’t realise it, but I feel quite sorry to see our little circle breaking up like this. Don’t you feel sorry?’

  After a pause, there seemed to be forced from him the reply she expected: ‘Yes,’ he said, but he could feel only that as Mrs Ellis would never return to the house, he was fortunate to be getting away from it. As for parting from Miss Bohun – it was as though he were parting from someone who had injured him. He felt numbed by a sense of injury, but what the injury was he did not really know.

  As he put out his hand to take the box, he noticed he was holding the letter to ‘X’. He said: ‘Here is the envelope on which you wrote Dr Klaus’s address.’ She took it from him and threw it back into the drawer without a glance.

  While Felix was packing the last of his possessions and closing his cases, he heard Miss Bohun and a pupil come out into the garden. He looked and saw she was with Mr Liftshitz. While he watched, she suddenly brought her hands together in a sharp little clap of excitement and her voice rang out gaily:

  ‘I know what we’ll do. We’ll pick the mulberries. I’m afraid the Bedu have been at them again. Dear me, naughty people! Now, Mr Liftshitz, if you’ll first get the ladder. . . . It’s over by the shed. The ladder . . . ladder – over there, over there – that’s right . . .’

  Felix watched Mr Liftshitz walking unsteadily under the ladder’s weight. He was wearing a dark suit, too thick for summer, and his face shone with sweat. Miss Bohun directed him: ‘Now, put it against the tree. The tree, the tree – the baum. Yes, that’s right. . . .’ They passed out of sight beneath the wide leaves, but Miss Bohun’s voice still encompassed the garden: ‘We have lost a lot of mulberries this year; dear me, yes. But, there! God will no doubt repay. He always does, Mr Liftshitz. He always does!’

  ‘Please?’ asked Mr Liftshitz.

  ‘Sometimes, you know, He works in the most mysterious way. Only recently I received a . . .’ she broke off and her voice, became peevish: ‘What are you doing here, Nikky? Who’s getting the tea to-day? It’s always Maria. Do go in. Here I have a Jewish pupil, what will he think of you lying on the seat asleep, just like an Arab!’

  Nikky appeared from under the tree, his hands in his pockets, and started to move away, then, suddenly, with a peculiar smile on his face, he said: ‘Oh, by the way, I have had no occasion to tell you. I am going to London.’

  There was no reply from under the tree, but in a moment Miss Bohun parted the branches, holding them like a curtain and stared at him with annoyance: ‘Did you say you are going to London? What do you mean?’

  ‘You are surprised? So? You think it is not possible. Well, I will tell you. I have been given a scholarship by the Cultural Mission and I leave next week.’

  She caught her breath: ‘This is a surprise,’ she said. ‘Of course I am very glad for your sake, very glad indeed. It is splendid – and you want to go?’

  ‘But, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ echoed Miss Bohun and her voice faltered, ‘then you are all going – the last of the happy family. But,’ her tone regained itself, ‘Mr Jewel is coming back.’

  ‘So?’ Nikky turned on his heel and with a sudden hoot of laughter, he went off round the side of the house. Miss Bohun let the branches drop. At once her voice, clear and controlled, came from inside them:

  ‘That’s my houseboy. He tells me he has won a scholarship. Now, there’s an example for you, Mr Liftshitz. Such a curious thing! One of my “Ever-Readies” tells me he’s really a Count. I can’t understand it. His father wasn’t a Count. I meant to ask him about it.’

  ‘Please?’ asked Mr Liftshitz.

  ‘Oh,’ Miss Bohun now became impatient. ‘Do get up the ladder, Mr Liftshitz, or your hour will be over and nothing done.’

  When his last bag was closed, Felix made a last trip to the hospital to say good-bye to Mr Jewel. He took Faro on her lead with him: she rode on his shoulder. He was determined not to let her out of his sight until he had got her safely away.

  Mr Jewel said ‘Hello’ to Felix and admired Faro’s new red collar and lead, but his mind was clearly on something else. Suddenly he started to giggle and he caught Felix’s wrist and shook it:

  ‘You won’t believe it,’ he said, ‘but she was in this morning, and what do you think she said? She said the room’s all ready for me, and she said: “Well, Mr Jewel, two old people under one roof, both lonely, both single – well, well, well!” and she gave me such a look. I could see just what she’d got in mind.’

  ‘What?’ asked Felix, vague and not very interested.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ said Mr Jewel. Felix could not guess, so at last Mr Jewel was forced to say coyly: ‘Marriage.’

  Felix was aghast: ‘But you couldn’t marry Miss Bohun!’

  ‘Why not? Marriage might be the making of her. She’s still got a bit of life in her, y’know. See her nip up them stairs! You think she’s odd, don’t you? but all she wants is a bit of loving. She wants someone that belongs to her.’

  Felix stared at him so blankl
y, Mr Jewel became disturbed and protested: ‘She’s not a bad sort. I’ve always told you that. After all, she gave you the cat.’

  ‘Yes,’ Felix agreed, ‘it was very kind of her; and she gave me an olive-wood box and a camel.’

  ‘There now!’ said Mr Jewel happily.

  Felix could not respond. He put Faro down on the ground and let her wander the length of her lead; he watched her intently as she sniffed the floor and chair legs. He did not know what to say and suddenly brought out:

  ‘What about Frau Wagner?’

  ‘Oh, her!’ said Mr Jewel in a mildly hurt tone, ‘haven’t seen much of her since I came here. Miss Bohun says she’s gallivanting no end. People have seen her at the King David – not that I’ve anything against a girl having a good time, mind you; but Frau Wagner, she needs a chap a bit younger; someone who can take her out and about. I don’t blame her. The girl needed a bit of fun, a bit of company. The last thing I heard she’s going to Tel Aviv with the Teitelbaums. Fine junketings down there.’

  Felix, reflecting on Mr Jewel’s faith in Miss Bohun, wondered if it could lead to any good. After all, Mr Jewel, if he did but know it, was a free man now: a man with money: one who could stay in expensive hotels if he liked. Suddenly Felix broke into Mr Jewel’s talk, to say with discomforted sharpness:

  ‘Did Miss Bohun tell you that your brother left you some money?’

  He could scarcely bear to look at Mr Jewel, expecting him to be so astounded, to be so painfully struck by the motive behind Miss Bohun’s advances – but Mr Jewel showed not even surprise. He shifted a little in his seat and turned his head to one side. After a pause, he cleared his throat once or twice and then said very casually:

  ‘She did drop a hint like about some money coming my way. Quite a tidy sum, she said. Apparently she’s been working on my behalf and somehow she got on to Samson’s solicitor. She’s a cute one, y’know, and no mistake. I could do worse for myself – a wife and a fortune, they go together.’

  Felix opened his lips to tell Mr Jewel how his money had come to him, but before he spoke he realised that Mr Jewel was no more deceived than he was. Whatever the truth might be, Mr Jewel did not want to hear it. He was willing to be deceived.

  Mr Jewel, glancing up uneasily, met the aware, critical stare of Felix’s young eyes. He looked away at once and said with a sort of grumbling self-pity that hid nothing: ‘I’m an old man, y’know, Felix. I might have a bit of cash now, but I’ve got no one of my own; no flesh and blood. That’s what you want when you’re old – flesh and blood. You don’t understand. You’re young. You’re strong and independent. You’ve got all your life before you. You young ones are a bit hard on us old ones – you don’t know what it’s like to be old. I’m a lonely old man; she’s a lonely old woman. All she’s ever wanted is for life to give her something, just to show she’s not out of it all, not neglected. We’re all human; it’s not for us to be too hard on one another. You’ll find that out some day.’

  Mr Jewel looked at Felix as though appealing for his support, but Felix would concede nothing. He lifted Faro on to his shoulder and stood up. Meeting Mr Jewel’s bleary old eyes, he did his best to smile. As he shook hands and said good-bye, it seemed to him that Mr Jewel was little better than a child, while he, knowing all he knew, would never be a child again.

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  Copyright © The Estate of Olivia Manning 1951

  The right of Olivia Manning to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

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  First published in the United Kingdom in 1951 by William Heinemann Ltd

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