Part 15 (1/2)

”That's my bedroom!”

”I said it was that bedroom, silly. And this is Nanny's room, and that's Mummy's room, but you can't see the rooms at the back because they're round at the back. And this is an aerial view . . .”

”A man took it in an aeroplane ...”

”And that's all the park and the river. And that's the walled garden.”

”And that's Mr. McGregor on his tractor, and that's Bob and that's Fergie.”

Eustace was beginning to lose the thread . . . ”Hold on now, who are Bob and Fergie?”

”Well, Bob helps Mr. McGregor and Fergie helps the gardener. Fergie plays the bagpipes and do you know who taught him? His uncle. And do you know what his uncle is called? Muncle.” Nicholas triumphantly produced the answer.

Eustace said, ”Uncle Muncle.”

”And this is Daddy skiing at St. Moritz, and that's all of us at a grouse shoot-at least, we went to the picnic bit, we didn't go up the hill. And that's the bit of the river where we sometimes swim, but it's not always very safe, and the stones hurt your feet. But Mummy says we can have a swimming pool, she says when we go back to Kirkton, we can have a swimming pool, just like Aunt Alice Lingard's . . .”

”And that's Daddy's car, it's a great big Jaguar. It's a . . .”Nicholas faltered. ”It was a great big Jaguar.” He finished bravely, ”Green.”

Virginia said, ”Here's your cocoa.”

”Oh Mummy, we were showing Eustace all the photographs of Kirkton . . .”

”Yes, I heard.”

”That was very nice,” said Eustace. ”Now I know all about Scotland.”

He stood up, as though to get out of Virginia's way, and went to put the photograph frame back on to the chest of drawers.

The children climbed into bed. ”You'll have to come and see us. You'll have to come and stay. Won't he, Mummy? He can sleep in the spare room, can't he?”

”Maybe,” said Virginia. ”But Eustace is a busy man.”

”That's it,” said Eustace. ”Busy. Always got plenty to do. Well . . .”He moved towards the open door. ”I'll say good night.”

”Oh, good night, Eustace. And thank you for taking us to that lovely place.”

”Don't dream about Jack Carley.”

”Even if I do I shan't be frightened.”

”That's the way. Good night, Nicholas.”

”Good night. I'll see you in the morning.”

Virginia said to him, ”Don't go. I'll be down in a moment.”

He said, ”I'll wait downstairs.”

The cocoa was duly consumed, between yawns. Their eyes drooped. At last they lay down and Virginia kissed them good night. But when she kissed Nicholas he did a surprising thing. Most undemonstrative of children, he put his arms around her neck and held her cheek down against his own.

She said, gently, ”What is it?”

”It was a nice place, wasn't it?”

”You mean the little beach?”

”No. The house where Eustace lives.”

”Penfolda.”

”Will we go back?”

”Sure to.”

”I loved that little kitten.”

”I know you did.”

”Eustace is downstairs.”

”Yes.”

”I shall hear you talking.” His voice was filled with satisfaction. ”I shall hear you go talk, talk, talk.”

”Will that be cosy?”

”I think so,” said Nicholas.

They were near to sleep, but still she stayed with them, moving quickly about the room, picking up stray clothes and folding them and putting them, neat as Nanny, across the seats of the two rickety cane chairs. This done, she went to close the window a little, for the night air was growing chill, to draw the skimpy curtains. The room, by the meagre light of the bedside lamp was all at once enclosed, safe, soft with shadows, the only sound the ticking of Cara's clock and the breathing of the children.

She was filled, in that moment, with love. For her children; for this strange little house; for the man, downstairs, who waited for her. And aware, too, of a marvellous sense of completion, of Tightness. It will be the first time, she thought, that Eustace and I have been alone, with all the time in the world. Just the two of us. She would light the fire for company and draw the curtains and make him a jug of coffee. If they wished, they could talk all night. They could be together.

Cara and Nicholas were sleeping. She turned off the light and went downstairs to unexpected and surprising darkness. For an incredulous moment she thought that Eustace had changed his mind and already gone, but then she saw that he stood by the window, smoking, watching the very last of the light fade from the sky. A little of this light was reflected upon his face, but when he heard her footstep he turned, and she could see no expression on his face, only shadows.

She said, ”I thought you'd gone.”

”No. I'm still here.”

The darkness disturbed her. She reached for the lamp on the table and switched it on. Yellow light was thrown, like a pool, between them. She waited for him to speak, but when he said nothing, simply stood there, smoking, she began to fill the silence with words.

”I ... I don't know about supper. Do you want something to eat? I don't even know what time it is.”

”I'm all right.”

”I could make you some coffee ...”

”You haven't got a can of beer?”

She made a helpless gesture. ”I haven't, Eustace. I'm sorry. I never bought any. I never drink it.” That sounded priggish, as though she disapproved of beer. ”I mean, I just don't like the taste.” She smiled, trying to turn it into a joke.