A Quiet Life(29)

5


Looking back on that summer, Laura sometimes let herself think that the inertia which gripped both her and Winifred was down to the fact that, along with the whole country, they were holding their breath for the great shift in September. But really, she knew it was not that. Despite their frustration with their lives, neither of them was ready to take flight from Highgate.

Winifred’s life changed after the party. Lunch with Alistair and his publisher, tea with Alistair and his mother, theatre with Alistair and his friends; she would come in from each excursion with her energy high and the colour glowing in her face. As soon as she had spent some time with her mother, however, her energy would fade and she would recede into irritation and argument. If she wasn’t set on taking up her university place in September, she told Laura, she would move out right away. But for now, she said, she would stay.

Laura’s inertia was less explicable. She resisted all the attempts of her aunt and her mother to persuade her to book the passage home, and yet she could not take wing and leave her aunt’s house. She saw Florence as infrequently as ever, and each time she saw her she felt it like a loss rather than a gain: Florence had been the only person who had ever recognised her, who had ever shown her anything about herself and her own desires. But since they had arrived in London, Laura felt that she was losing sight of Florence, watching her drift away down a road of new struggle and activity. She was always waiting for the moment when Florence would turn to her again, as she had on the boat, and paint for her the new world. But somehow each meeting always ended with the right words unsaid, with intimacy avoided.

And so the long, slow months faded away through the turgid heat of summer. Even though Laura had been told so often by Florence and Elsa that war was inevitable and desirable, when the announcement came through on the wireless on the third day of September, the concrete fact fell like an unexpected blow.

The scream of the air raid siren that rent the air sent them all, with Mrs Venn, out to the little shelter in the garden. Sitting there, Laura became aware that she was sweating: she could smell an acrid scent from under her arms. She had started her period the day before and in the enclosed space she was also sure that she smelt of blood. When you think of war, she thought, you think of action, but this is where it is beginning for us, stuck in this closed, bad-smelling space with four females.

Aunt Dee was talking to her about the need to book a passage back as soon as possible. She could not, she said, be responsible for Laura any longer. Laura put her head in her hands, feeling unwell. ‘I was thinking of moving out …’ she said in a small voice. Winifred pushed her hard in the ribs, and Laura realised that she was trying to silence her.

When the all-clear sounded and they could emerge, they realised that the telephone was ringing and ringing in the hall. Winifred ran ahead to answer it, while Aunt Dee stayed in the garden talking to Mrs Venn. Laura hung back, listening to their conversation. Mrs Venn wanted to go down to her sister’s house, she was saying, as her own son, who lived with her sister, would now be evacuated and she needed to say goodbye.

Laura was startled. In all this time she had not imagined Mrs Venn’s own life; she was guilty – as Florence said all the rich were guilty – of seeing servants purely as instruments. She had only seen Mrs Venn as an anonymous presence in the house, and now she looked at her properly for the first time. She was standing next to the straggling bush of late white roses, and as she spoke to Aunt Dee she reached out a hand and shook one of the flowers, which spattered its petals onto the lawn. It seemed to be an angry gesture, even though her voice was soft as she explained the urgency of her situation. She was a widow, Laura knew that, but she had never heard about the son who lived with her sister before. ‘Well, I don’t know, Vennie – must you go right now?’ Aunt Dee was dithering. ‘I suppose the girls can help get the lunch and there will be enough over for tomorrow.’

Winifred came back out of the house. ‘It was Giles on the telephone,’ she said in a high voice. ‘He won’t come to lunch today; they’ve been called into work. I might go and meet him later – will you come with me, Laura?’

‘No rushing about today, Winifred.’ In Aunt Dee’s mind, it was clearly the first crisis of the war, the desire on the part of her housekeeper to take a few days off. As Mrs Venn stood waiting for her decision, Laura tried to persuade her aunt that they could easily manage without help for a few days. Mrs Venn did not express gratitude when Aunt Dee finally agreed that she could leave for a while. Instead, she frowned and then nodded at Laura in a way that Laura found puzzling.

Laura was soon in the kitchen, doing these now unfamiliar tasks that she had done so often at home: putting plates and glasses on a tray, making the gravy, draining the potatoes.

Winifred might have noticed and commented on her competence, but Winifred’s mind was elsewhere. She was pouring herself a glass of water and drinking it down as if she had been running all morning. ‘I haven’t yet told Mother, but I’m not going to the university after all.’

‘I thought …’ Laura was disappointed by Winifred’s declaration. Why would she give up her dream now? But as Winifred went on talking, Laura realised that another plan had taken shape in her mind. Although Winifred had never, as far as Laura remembered, talked to her about what she would do when the war started, it was clear that she had been thinking about it for a long time and was determined to be useful rather than following her dream of studying. What was even more surprising was her next statement. ‘Cissie is looking for someone to share her flat. There would be room for you too – it would be easier to convince Mummy if we went together.’