“It’s not easy to assess a house when people are living in it. As soon as the Stennings leave you must come over.”
“Which pieces of furniture belong to your family?” I asked.
“Some rather heavy stuff. There is a fine old four poster bed which my parents would have liked to move, but it is rather ancient and they were not sure how it would stand up to the journey, so they left it. There are one or two heavy cabinets. Not a great deal. You must come over and see it. When they have gone we’ll make an appointment;”
“That will be wonderful.”
When our guests had gone we were still discussing the house. It had been agreed that the grandparents would buy it between them and it should be a joint present from the four of them.
I said: “We are so lucky.”
“Nothing but what you deserve, my dear,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Mind you … it’s got to be right. I’m still suspicious of these old places. There are some who think that a ghost or two make up for a leaking roof and crumbling walls. That’s not my idea.”
“There may be some repairs needed,” said my grandfather.
“We’ll get someone down to look at it.”
“As soon as the Stennings have left we can give the place a real overhaul,” said my grandmother.
In the middle of the following week, I left the house in the afternoon to take a short ride. As I rode out of the stables I met Jean Pascal.
“Hello,” he said. “I know you often take a solitary ride at this time and I hoped I’d meet you.”
“Why … has something happened?” I asked in alarm.
“Only this pleasant encounter.”
“I thought perhaps you had come over with some news.”
“Actually I came over in the hope of seeing you.”
“Because …”
“Because it seemed a good idea. Look. You are going for a ride. Why don’t I accompany you? We could talk as we go.”
“Then there is something. Is it about the house?”
“There is a lot to talk about on the subject, is there not? But there are other things.”
“Such as …?”
“General conversation. I always think it is amusing to let that take its own course.”
“How do you mean?”
“Let it flow … let it come naturally.”
“Where shall we go?”
“Not to High Tor. I believe you go there frequently. I mean you ride close by. Mrs. Stenning says she sees you.”
I felt a little uncomfortable that my naïve excitement about the house had been noticed.
“I am hoping, of course, that everything will go through satisfactorily,” I said.
“I should feel the same myself. It will be your new home.”
“Mr. Pencarron wants to have a surveyor to look at it. I hope you won’t mind.”
“No … no. I admire him. It is a wise thing to do. Who knows: the old mansion might be ready to crumble about your ears?”
“Oh, I don’t think that.”
“Nor do I. But Mr. Pencarron is a business man. He does not go out and say, ‘This is a pretty house. I will buy it for my grandson and his wife-to-be.’ That I admire. He is a realist.”
“And that is a quality you admire very much.”
“It is wisdom. Romance, oh, that is beautiful, but the wise man, the realist, he says it is beautiful while it lasts … whereas a house must endure … it must not be blown away by the first strong wind.”
“I’m glad you don’t mind Mr. Pencarron taking advice. I thought you might be offended.”
“Certainly not. I understand. There is much I understand.”
“I am sure you are very wise.”
I spurred up my horse and we cantered across a field. We looked down at the sea.
“Do you ever feel nostalgic for France?” I asked.
He lifted his shoulders. “I visit now and then. It is enough. If we could go back to the Old France … perhaps I would be there. But not this time … the communards … Gambetta with his Republicans … they have destroyed the old France. But you do not want to hear of our politics … our mismanagements. I have made this my home now … and so have others. That is France for us. These matters are a bore. I will not speak of them.”
“I find them interesting … as I do our own politics. When I am in London …”
“Oh yes, you are at the heart of politics. In the house of your stepfather and my sister. But you will have to renounce all that. You are going to live the life of a lady of the manor. It is what you have chosen. I want to talk to you. Let us find a cosy inn. We can give the horses a rest and talk over a tankard of cider. How is that?”
“Yes, please let us do that. I am sure you have a lot to tell me about High Tor.”
The inn he chose was the one where, not so long ago, Pedrek and I had been. There was the King’s head with the dark sensuous face of the Merry Monarch depicted on the sign over the door.
“I believe the cider in here is of a particularly good vintage.”
We seated ourselves in the inn parlor with the horse brasses and the leaded windows and cider was brought to us by a buxom girl who claimed Jean Pascal’s attention for a few fleeting moments.
“Ha!” he said. “The old English inn … a feature of the countryside.”
“And a very pleasant one.”
“I agree!” He lifted his tankard. “Like so much in this country … its women for one thing and chief among them Miss Rebecca Mandeville.”
“Thank you,” I said coolly. “The Stennings are going at the end of the week, are they not?”
He smiled at me. “High Tor occupies your mind to the exclusion of everything else.”
“I admit it.”
“You see life at the moment in the glow of romance.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know what it is like to be young … and in love. And you are both young and in love with the fortunate Pedrek.”
“I think we are both fortunate.”
“I think he is.”
There was a warm glow in his eyes. I thought: He cannot resist flirting with any woman … even one who, he knows, is on the point of marriage. It is all part of the way in which he looks at women. I supposed I should be amused and I was, to a certain extent, because we were in an inn parlor with mine host and hostess bustling about in the next room. It would have been different had I been alone with him. I felt safe.
He put his tankard on the table and leaned towards me.
“Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever had a lover before the worthy Pedrek?”
I flushed hotly. “What do you mean?”
He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. Like most of his countrymen and women—I had noticed it in his sister Celeste—he used his hands a great deal in conversation.
“I mean … is this Pedrek the first?” He laughed suddenly. “And now you are going to say I am impertinent.”
“You read my thoughts,” I said. I had risen from my chair and he put out a hand and detained me.
“Do please sit down. You are very young, Mademoiselle Rebecca, and for that reason you close your eyes to much which goes on in the world. It is not a good thing to close one’s eyes. If one is going to live well and wisely … to have a good marriage and understand what it is all about … one must be wise in the ways of the world.”
“I thought we were going to talk about the house. Really, I don’t want to …”
“I know. You don’t want to look at reality. You want to make your pretty pictures and paste them over the truth … deluding yourself as you do so. There are people who delude themselves all through their lives. Are you going to be one of them?”
“Perhaps they are happy doing it.”
“Happiness? Can there be true happiness through shutting one’s eyes to reality?”
“I don’t know what you are trying to say but I don’t think it necessary to continue this conversation.”