“Thanks, but we’ll walk. It’s not far, and rather nice at this time of night. And I think we’ll make our farewells to Paddy now. To-morrow,” said George quite gently, “had better be left to the family. Don’t you think so?”
The question that was to determine the ending of the Trethuan case was asked later that same night. And the person who had to answer it was Paddy Rossall.
They were all together round the fire before bed, Paddy’s packing done, the last pot of tea circulating, when Simon said in a careful and unemphatic voice, so that the shock came only gradually, like the late breaking of a wave:
“I hadn’t intended to do this, and if the truth hadn’t come out without any act of mine, I never would. But now we all know where we are. Paddy, you’re fifteen, for all present purposes you’re a man. You know I’m your father, as well as I know it. Now I want to talk to you, here, now, with Tim and Phil present, the only honest way.”
The silence that fell was extreme. There might never have been sound or movement in the world.
“Simon,” began Tim quietly, when he had his voice again, “do you think this is fair?”
“Yes, I think it’s fair. I think it’s absolutely necessary. We’ve been stalling it since yesterday morning, since we all knew where we stood. It’s necessary for us all, if only to clear the air. I am who I am, and Paddy knows it now, why not say it? Paddy, you do know. Say it!”
“Simon, you’ve no right—”
Phil laid her hand restrainingly on her husband’s arm. He had expected her to blaze into indignation, and she was silent; it confused and calmed him at the same time, effectively silencing him.
“Yes, I know,” said Paddy in a small, tight voice. He had a cup of tea in his hand; he laid it down carefully on the tiled hearth, and wiped his palms slowly on his thighs. His face was taut and expressionless.
“Then listen to me. This once listen to me, and be sure I respect you and trust you to be honest. We all want you to be happy, to have a full life and a satisfying life. I’m going to speak up for myself now. It’s the first time I’ve been able to do that, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t take advantage of it. I know I’m very late in making my bid, Paddy, but I’ve got a lot to offer. I’ve got an assignment that’s going to take me practically round the world for a series of articles and broadcasts. If you choose, you can come with me. It’s entirely up to you. Everything I can give you, I’ll give. Everything I can do for you, I’ll do. I want you, Paddy, I want you very much. I’ll do everything possible to try and deserve you, if you’ll come with me.”
“Now, look!” growled Tim.
“No, Tim, let him talk.” Phil drew him down again to his chair and held him there, charmed into quiescence by her bewildering serenity. It was too late, in any case, to deflect the encounter. The matter had been taken out of their hands, but for all that it was not yet in Simon’s. Paddy was a person, too. They must place as much reliance in him as Simon did, they had better reason. Nobody must argue back. Their arguments were already on record, fifteen years of them, without any world-tours, without any glamour, inexpert, imperfect, intimate arguments. But Phil knew their weight, and had already bet her life and Tim’s on their validity.
So Simon was the only one who talked; and Simon was an unmatched talker when his heart was in it. He was ruthless, too, now that he was in pursuit of something he really wanted. Miss Rachel had been a shrewd prophet.
“That’s all, Paddy. You know what you’ve got here, and now you know what I’m promising you. It’s up to you. If you decide to come with me, I don’t believe Tim and Phil will stand in your way.” It was a fighting case he’d made, he felt drained with all that had gone out of him. And Paddy sat there with his hands clenched on his thighs, and his face white with tension, staring into the fire.
“Paddy, look at me!”
Paddy raised his head obediently, and met Simon’s eyes full. His mouth and chin were set like stone, as if he felt the threat of tears not far away.
“Will you come?”
Paddy’s lips parted slowly and painfully. He moistened them, and tried for a voice that creaked and failed him; tried again, and achieved a remarkably steady, loud and controlled utterance.
“I’m sorry, but this is where I belong. With my parents. I like you very much, and of course you’re my father’s best friend. But I’m not going anywhere, except back to school tomorrow. But thank you,” he ended with punctilious politeness, “for asking me.”
He uncurled his closed fingers with a wrench, and got to his feet abruptly, all his movements slightly stiff and pareful.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to bed now. Good-night, Mummy!” The quick, current touch of his lips on her cheek forbade her to manifest either surprise or concern. “Good-night, Dad!” His hand patted Tim’s shoulder lightly in passing. He was half-way to the door, magnificent and precarious, passing close to where Simon stood stricken mute and rigid with shock. And then he spoiled the whole gallant show.
It was not a deliberate blow; he had hesitated and cast about him frantically for a second to find some formula he could use, but there was none, and the instant of silence grew enormous in his own ears, and had to be broken. You can’t just excise a human being from your life, and pretend he doesn’t exist, you can’t call him “Uncle Simon” when he’s just reminded you that he isn’t anything of the kind, you can’t say “Father” when you have a father already, and have just been at pains to point out that you have no intention whatever of swopping him for anybody else on earth. There wasn’t anything left but that inalienable possession, a name, and only the respectful form was even half-way appropriate.
He said: “Good-night, Mr. Towne!”, fighting off the silence in sheer panic, and instantly and horribly aware that even the silence had been preferable.
Simon jerked back his head and drew in breath painfully, as if he had been struck in the face. He reached out a hand in incredulous protest, and caught the boy by the arm.
“My dear child—!”
Paddy turned upon him a pale face suddenly and briefly convulsed by a bright blaze of anger and desperation, and struck as hard as he could, frantic to end this and escape.
“That’s just the point! I’m not a child any longer, I’m not all that dear to you, and above all, I’m not yours. You gave me away, remember?”
For one electrifying instant Phil saw the two fierce, strained faces braced close to each other, staring in mutual anguish, more alike than they had ever been before. Then Paddy tugged his arm free and stalked out of the room; but in a moment they heard him climbing the stairs at a wild run, head-down for the privacy of his own room.
Simon hung still for a long, incredulous moment, his hand still extended, unable to grasp what had happened to him. Its finality there was no mistaking, but it took him what seemed an age to comprehend and accept it. He turned from them in a blind man’s walk, and went and groped out a cigarette from the box on the table, to find his shaking hands something challenging and normal to do.
Phil had risen instinctively and taken a couple of hasty steps towards the door to follow Paddy, but then she checked after all, and sat down again slowly. She felt for Tim’s hand, and closed her fingers on it gratefully. Simon’s fair crest, pale against the dark curtains, Simon’s rigid shoulders and patient, obstinate hands at work with matches, seemed to her suddenly close kin to Paddy’s beloved person, and infinitely more in need of pity.
“I ought to take you apart,” said Tim roused and scowling.
“Think you could do a better job than Paddy just did?” asked the taut voice.
“You asked for it.”