wanted to go very much, and by doing so now I would
avoid having to leave her alone later on, or seeming to put
any pressure on her.
'And the Pharisees and scribes murmured,' read Tony, 'saying,
"This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them." And
He spake this parable unto them, saying, "What man of you
having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not
leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after
that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found
it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing
Good stuff, I thought. 'Couldn't have put it better myself.
202
The familiar words, and Jack o' Newbury's beautiful, familiar
church, gave me a warm sense of triumphant home-coming,
like some merchant-captain returned from a voyage laden
with wealth. I remembered Kathe's happy cry in Florida, 'I
want to start my life!'
I got back to find her just coming out of the bathroom in
her white dressing-gown. She ran down the stairs, losing a
slipper on the way, flung her arms round me and kissed me as
though we had been parted for a month. A lock of her wet
hair got mixed up between our lips. She was warm, half-dry
and smelt of gardenia. I took her back to bed.
After breakfast - lunch - whatever it was - she said unexpectedly,
'Now, mem Lieber, you are going out of my way,
please.'
'Out of your way?'
'Ja. Haven't you any nice friends you can go and get drunk
with?'
'This is England. They close in the afternoon. Why, what
are you going to do?'
'I'm going right through the house like a Hausfrau. Don't
worry; I won't touch any of your mother's things - in fact, I
won't disturb anything. But I mean to learn my home all
through by myself, and when you come back I'll ask you a
hundred and twenty questions. Come home to tea.'
I rather welcomed this, for it had already occurred to me
that it would be nice to go for a good, long walk. It was
over a month since I had had one and it was a perfect June
day, sunny with a little breeze. I took a map and my fieldglasses
and set off for Burghclere and Ladle Hill.
It was fairly late in the afternoon - about half-past five,
I suppose - and I was returning, tired, contented and ready
for tea, along a field path not far from Bull Banks, when suddenly,
without sight or sound, I was overcome by an extraordinary
and quite unaccountable sense of menace. As
though a man with a club had stepped out of the hedgerow
in front of me I stopped in my tracks, actually rigid with fear.
So strong was this dread that in the moment when it came
upon me I thought in all earnest that I was about to be
attacked, and in panic set my back against a tree, trembling
203
and staring about me. The dead silence seemed unnatural.
Up and down the acres of the bright field there was not a
living creature to be seen or heard. It was like the approach
of a thunderstorm. Not a blackbird or lark was singing, not
a plover wheeling in the sky. Yet the sun shone, the breeze
rippled across the growing wheat. Nothing had changed,
save for this shivering sense of emptiness. I put up a hand
and shook the branch above my head. Not a caterpillar or
a beetle fell out.
As the minutes passed, my terror gave way to a sort of
sick uneasiness. I sat down on the bank and shut my eyes,
but almost at once opened them again. To see, disturbing
though it might be, was less frightening than to see nothing
and wait. My anxiety was like that of a dream - a feeling
without a specific object. Something was close to me - or
so I felt - something invisible; and it had stilled the land
like a pestilence.
At length I forced myself to walk on, and by the very act
began to weaken the fit. My mind grew clearer. I felt as
though I were returning to the surface out of deep water and
to help my ascent, as it were, took my binoculars and began
looking all round me. There must be something alive to be
seen somewhere. Yes, indeed; I spotted two or three woodpigeons
rising out of a copse about four hundred yards away.
Listening, I could just hear the clatter of their wings.
I turned the glasses on Bull Banks and, with a sense of
relief in the returned commonplace, took a good, steady
look at a broken gutter above the eaves of my bedroom,
which I had been meaning to have mended ever since the
spring. Then I came down a few feet and looked into the
bedroom itself. As I did so, I saw Kathe enter the room, walk
slowly across to the window and stand gazing out over the
fields. The sunshine was full on her face and through the
glasses I could see her very clearly. Her hands were raised,
the fingers resting on either side of her chin, and she was
So devoid was this grief of agitation or disturbance that
for some moments - partly, perhaps, because I could not
204
hear it and partly on account of my own half-distracted state
of mind - I did not react to it or take it in. She was not sobbing
and her face was not disturbed. Nevertheless, looking
at her, I felt intuitively that this sorrow came from something
deeper than any pain or discomposure of the moment.
She was weeping in what I can only describe as a settled way,
as though desolation had become her dwelling-place. She
stood still and unseeing at the long window while great, slow
tears fell and fell from her eyes. She did nothing to brush
them away. I saw one glisten along her cheek and fall to the
sill. She was like someone weeping before a crucifix, or for
some bitter loss past all mending.
All of a sudden, turning swiftly - almost as though she
had heard some noise behind her in the house - she hastened
across the room and out of the door.
The sight dispelled the last of my strange turn. Evidently
something had badly upset Kathe - something more than a
mere fit of loneliness or homesickness - and I knew where
my business lay. Jumping to my feet I set off again, fast,
along the path, over the stile, up the lane and through the
little gate leading into the shrubbery. (We had always called
it the shrubbery, but in fact it was nothing much more than
a half-acre of wilderness, embellished with some buddleia
and hazel-nut bushes, two big clumps of rhododendrons, the
swing that Flick had once pushed me out of and an old
watering-tap standing upright in the grass.)
I strode through the gap in the hornbeam hedge, crossed
the lawn and came through the garden-door calling 'Kathe!
Kathe! Wo hist du, Liebchen? I'm back!'
Except for the ticking of the grandfather clock there was
silence. I called again. Then I looked in the kitchen, the
dining-room, the drawing-room and upstairs. The house was
empty.
I ran to the front door and shouted, 'Kathe! Kathe!' There
was no reply a
nd, leaving the door open, I sat down on one
of the hall chairs and tried to think what I ought to do. The
best thing seemed to be to wait a minute or two and try not
to get in a state.
205
I was still sitting there three minutes later when I heard
footsteps on the gravel outside and Kathe walked in through
the open door looking as fresh as a linnet.
I stared up at her in a kind of daze. She stopped, obviously
surprised, and then, quickly crossing the hall, dropped on her
knees beside me.
'Whatever is the matter, darling?" she asked, putting her
hands on my waist and looking up into my face. 'You look
quite upset! Did you walk too far or something?'
'I - no -1 - that's to say - are you all right?' I asked.
'All right? Why ever shouldn't I be all right, you silly old
Billy? Are you all right? What's wrong?'
'I thought - I mean, I saw - didn't I? -'
I stopped. It suddenly crossed my mind that perhaps Kathe
might not care to learn that I had been spying on her
through a pair of binoculars. Of course it wasn't really spying,
but all the same, how would I feel if she were to tell me
the same thing? Unless it had been hallucination on my part
- and it hadn't - something certainly had upset her, but she
seemed all right now. Better let it go. Yet she had looked so
utterly grief-stricken - frightened, too, in that last moment
- that I couldn't make any sense of it at all.
'Well, I was just a bit worried when I found you weren't
in, darling, that's all. Where have you been?'
'But why ever should you have worried? "Where have I
been?" Am I going to run away?'
'No, of course not, but -'
'Well, I suddenly realized we hadn't a drop of milk in the
house, and I was a hundred metres up the road before I
remembered it was Sunday. And you could do with some
tea, poor Alan; anyone can see that. What are we going to
do?'
'Well, I think I'll have a whisky-and-soda instead, darling.
You're right, I am a bit done up.'
'Fine. I'll join you. Make it two.'
Til fix them in a moment. I'm just going to pop upstairs
and get a clean handkerchief.'
'In your boots?'
'They're not dirty, honestly.'
206
I went up to the bedroom. The window-sill seemed perfectly
dry, both to sight and touch. However, I didn't make
a very thorough examination, for the truth was that I was
going to ask her straight out - and I wasn't - then what sort
of a carry-on was it to be poking about?
Downstairs, I could hear her running over the opening bars
of a Scarlatti sonata which I recognized but hadn't heard
for years. I went down and set about getting the drinks. By
this time I was not at all sure what the dickens I had seen;
and still less what had come over me in the field.
Next day, as we were parking the car, Kathe said, 'Alan, lots
of shop-coats are among my best friends, but do you think
I could buy a nice, plain dress, suitable for a lady selling
ceramics? I know we've spent an awful lot since we were
married, but I would like to do you credit in the shop. I know
just the kind of thing I want, if they've got it; and it needn't
be expensive.'
'As long as it really isn't.'
'D'you think I ought to have an allowance, or what? Then
you can keep inside me and I can keep inside it - for the
inside of a month, anyway.'
Til arrange it. I know a man on the inside. Actually, I
thought we might try a joint account to begin with. Then
when we're ruined you can have an allowance. Will that do?'
'You're too good to me, Alan - really you are. You don't
know what it means to me to have money to spend on
clothes.'
'You looked all right to me in K0benhavn. But Kathe,
you've spent next to nothing so far - do you realize that?
I'm the one who's been doing all the spending.'
It was true. I couldn't remember that she had ever asked
me for more than a 'bus fare or money for housekeeping, or
that she had taken the initiative in any sizeable purchase for
herself.
'You don't know what that means to me, either. Where
should I go?'
207
'I should think Camp Hopson's would do you as well as
anywhere. There, look, just across the street. Come on round
when you're ready. Don't hurry,'
When I reached the shop I found two young men waiting
at the door.
'Mr Desland? We're from the Newbury News. I wonder
whether my colleague here could take one or two photographs
of your wife and yourself? If it's inconvenient now
we can always -'
'For publication, you mean?'
'Oh, yes, Mr Desland. I understand it's - er - well, quite
a romantic story, your marriage, isn't it? The lady's German,
I believe, isn't she, or Danish; and you were married recently
in Florida?"
'Did Miss Cripps tell you all this?'
'Yes, I've had a chat with her. But of course I'd rather
check it with you, and then we can make sure of printing it
as you'd like it to be. The photograph's important, too. From
all I've been told the lady's exceptionally attractive and
charming. We like to sell the paper, you know.'
'Well, I suppose you'd better come in and have a cup of
coffee. She'll be along in a minute.'
She was actually along in about half an hour (by which
time I had told my own version of our meeting in Copenhagen
and the urgent business trip to Florida during which
we had got married). As usual, the dress looked exactly right
and as though it had been made for her. It was of darkblue
jersey, with a close-fitting bodice, tight, three-quarterlength
sleeves and a lot of movement in the rather full skirt;
entirely plain, but while she was about it she had gone the
length of a thin gold chain from neck to waist, which offset
still more beautifully her Florida tan. The journalist she took
in her stride, saying not a word, either to him or to me,
about having just been shopping, and displaying a hint of
mild, shoulder-shrugging surprise as he again explained his
errand; as though, while hardly feeling herself dressed for
the business, she had no objection if he had none.
Inwardly, I had been wondering how Kathe would handle
the questions she was bound to be asked about her life be208
fore our marriage, but the compelling mixture of authority
and charm that she was always able to exert had never been
more successful. When she said firmly that she did not really
want to add anything to what I had already told him and
that, having become British, she hoped he wouldn't lay too
much stress on her having formerly been German, the young
journalist at once assured her that he - and, he was sure, his
editor - would be happy to play it as she wished.
'Though to be honest, Mrs Des
land,' he added, smiling
round at the photographer for corroboration, 'I don't think
you've much to worry about, as far as the English are concerned.
You've got what one might call a universal image, if
There was an unusual number of customers for a Monday,
and I couldn't help feeling that several had motives
that were not entirely ceramic. I had little doubt that Deirdre
had been gossiping over the week-end, but from the look of
some of them it rather seemed to me as though Lady Alice
might have been too. I helped to serve in the shop for an
hour and then retired to the pavilion and put Mrs Taswell in
while I made a few telephone calls (including one to the
bank manager for an appointment next day) and looked
through the post.
One item caught my interest strongly. It was a catalogue
for a sale of the contents of a country house near Faringdon,
to be held in a fortnight's time. I had already heard, in early
May, that this sale was going to take place, and had thought
then that it would probably be well worth attending. The
catalogue confirmed my view. The porcelain and pottery section
fairly bristled with exciting things, many of them English
- Bow, Chelsea, Staffordshire, Miles Mason and a good
deal more. I made a note in my diary both of the viewing
day and the day of the sale.
Flick arrived, with Angela, just after twelve. As I saw her
come up the passage to the office, affection and pleasure
fairly surged in me, and I jumped up and embraced her
warmly. Everything, I felt sure, would soon be all right now
she was on the job.
' 'Morning, dearest Flick. 'Morning, Angela. 'Morning, Blue
209
Teddy,' I added, kissing Angela and shaking that animal by
the paw. 'How was the train journey?'
'There was a lady with a necklace, Uncle Alan. Sort of
yellow beads, with a real fly inside. She said it came out of
the sea.'
'Oh, that must have been exciting.'
'Was she teasing or did it really?'
'Amber? Oh, yes. All sorts of things come out of the
sea, you know.'
'Can I go and play with the china animals?'
'Yes, you can come down with me in a minute and see
Deirdre, but just hang on while I talk to Mummy a moment
first. How's everything, Flick?'
'Oh, fine! Bill sends his best wishes. I say, Alan, is that
Kathe - that fantastically pretty girl in a blue dress that we
passed on the way in?'
'As a matter of fact, yes.'
'Cor! But you never said!'
'Never said what?'
'That she was such a stunner.'
'I said it repeatedly, but apparently everyone took it for
uxorious vapouring.'
'Well, I shall report to Mummy that it looks as though
you've got yourself something to be uxorious about, my lad.'
'So tell her, with th' occurrents more and less which have
solicited.'
'Well, it's the occurrents which upset her, of course. I
must say, I think you played it like a complete idiot, Alan.
What on earth were you -'
'Uncle Alan, can we go and play with the animals now?'
'Yes, come on. I'll carry you if you like. Oh, my goodness,
what a lump! Let go of my ear! Flick, how does Mummy
feel now? I couldn't help half-hoping she might come up with
you to-day.'
'Well, she did think about it, but she's gone to the Agricultural
Show with Colonel Kingsford. He farms, you know
- nice old boy. He actually got Mum helping with the hay
on Friday - well, into the hayfield, anyway. It gets her out a
bit, to use her own expression.'
210
'Kathe, darling, this is Flick - and Angela. Now, young
Angela - oh, puff, I'll have to put you down now, I think we'll
go and find Deirdre and she'll show you the animals.'
It was a good fifteen minutes - I was selling a Longton
Hall cup and saucer to a man with a Yorkshire accent and
Deirdre, with repeated injunctions to 'Mind, now!', was
helping Angela to arrange some Beswick horses in a row before
Kathe and Flick rejoined us, chattering away together
like a couple of Women's Instituters at a social.
'And was that nice?' Flick was saying.
'Well, it was,' answered Kathe, 'but I wish I'd known
Alan then. I'd have got so much more out of it. I've already
come to feel quite helpless without him, you know - particularly
now I'm in a strange country. I really was a terrible
cry-baby - or do you say "funk"? - to begin with, I'm afraid
- I just couldn't face anyone; have you ever felt like that? I