There was, of course, a sufficiency of simpler motives. The philosopher had been well aware of Tom’s developing existence not only through ancestral memories and regular perusal of the Gazette, but also through his very occasional ‘secret’ visits to Ennistone, when he stayed briefly at the Royal Hotel to arrange the letting or repair of 16 Hare Lane. People talked about Tom, he was popular, he was happy. John Robert had already made his great decision when he had been struck by Father Bernard’s remarks that Tom McCaffrey was ‘innocent and happy, happy because innocent, innocent because happy’. Could such a condition perhaps last? And was not this exactly what he wanted for Hattie?
Yet, when he paused, what strange strange fancies crowded inside his mind! Tom fled or dead, John Robert comforting a Hattie now safe in secluded widowhood. Could he bear to see her in her husband’s house? What sort of old clown’s part would there be his? Could he conceive himself welcome ever? If he were capable of being jealous of Pearl, would he not go mad with jealousy of Tom? Did it come to this, that he had finally given up any hope of a relationship between himself and Hattie? Why was he in such a hurry to give her away? Surely he had not imagined the details? From what horror in himself was he so precipitately fleeing? His giddy and affrightened thought, shying away from this dark question, even at certain moments wildly imagined that having failed with Amy and Hattie he might be able at last to establish some perfect love relation with Hattie’s daughter! Prone as he was to melancholia, there were times when John Robert Rozanov forgot that he was old.
John Robert blinked in the soft dim rainy light of the room where no lamps had been put on and where the pink gas fire quietly purred and fluttered. He was aware at once that Hattie had grown. It was nearly a year since he had seen her. He thought, so she can still grow? He glowered at her from under his hairy eyebrows. He thought, my God, she is like Linda, she is more and more like Linda, how is it possible? Hattie was taller, older, with her hair done in such a sophisticated way.
‘Do sit down,’ said Hattie. She had never before felt like a lady in a house receiving a guest, and such a special guest. It had never been like this in Denver.
John Robert sat in one of the low-slung bamboo chairs which uttered a warning crack. He moved to the window seat. Hattie found an upright chair and sat down.
‘How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you,’ said Hattie. They never managed names or titles.
‘You like the house?’
‘Oh it’s lovely, lovely!’ said Hattie with a fervour which warmed the conversation a little. ‘It’s the nicest, sweetest house I’ve ever been in!’
‘I wish I could buy it for you, I mean I wish I could buy it, only I know Mrs McCaffrey would never sell it. You have met her?’
‘Yes, we met, she’s very nice.’
‘Is she?’ said John Robert absently. Hattie was facing the window and with his eyes now accustomed to the greenish light he scanned her milky-blue eyes, her palest-gold interwoven hair, and the unblemished smoothness of her face and neck. She wore no make-up and her nose shone a little pinkly. Her lips were pale as if simply drawn in with a light pencil outline. These were not Linda’s colours, but the structure of her face was very like Linda’s.
‘Yes,’ said Hattie, continuing by an answer to his question.
‘Well, well. Are you glad to have left school?’
‘Yes — ’
‘You’re quite - almost - grown-up now.’
‘Yes, what am I to do next, please?’
This blunt question rather hustled the philosopher who was prepared to come to this, but not immediately. ‘We’ll have to think about an English university. You’ve got those A level exams, haven’t you? They sent me your marks. How did you get on with Father Bernard?’
Hattie smiled. Her smile was more of a grin than a young lady’s smile, and expressed the amusement she felt at the thought of Father Bernard whom she found rather droll. ‘Very well.’
‘What did he tell you to do?’
‘To do?’
‘To study, to work at.’
‘Oh, nothing. He just told me to read.’
‘To read what?’
‘Anything.’
‘And what are you reading?’
‘Les Liaisons Dangereuses.’ Hattie had, of course, investigated the lines of faded books which had been in the Slipper House since before the war. This copy of Laclos’s masterpiece still showed the shadowy inky schoolgirl signature of Alexandra Stillowen.
‘Oh yes.’ John Robert, who had not read a novel since he left school, had not heard of this one, which sounded rather improper, but he did not pursue the matter. He thought, what does she know? He hated to imagine. ‘What do you want to study at the university?’
‘Oh, languages I guess, that’s all I know. I like reading poetry - and stories - and things — ’
There was a silence.
Then Hattie said, ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘A drink?’ John Robert now noticed on a glass-topped bamboo table toward which Hattie waved her hand, a bottle of gin, a bottle of vermouth, a bottle of tonic water, a container for ice and a glass.
John Robert was a habitual abstainer, having never felt the need to reject the sober habits of his family. However, he was not a fanatic and occasionally at parties, to please his host, took a glass of tonic or soda with a tinge of vermouth in it. John Robert looked with displeasure at this worldly little scenario. ‘You don’t drink, do you?’
‘Good heavens no!’ said Hattie with a laugh. ‘I’ve never had an alcoholic drink in my life!’
Rozanov thought, she’s never had one. But she will. And I won’t be there. Then he thought, but I could be there. Why not now? I can witness her first alcoholic drink, even if I can’t witness … He said, ‘Tell Pearl to bring another glass.’
Hattie darted up. In the hall she cannoned into Pearl who was continuing her opera-maid act by listening outside the door and even stopping to peer through the keyhole. ‘He wants another glass,’ said Hattie breathlessly. Pearl fled to the kitchen and returned. Nothing in the nature of a wink or a nod or a smile or a glance passed between the two girls. It had always been a rule between them, equally willed by both, that they never made jokes about John Robert or spoke of him other than with the most solemn respect.
Hattie returned with the glass and stood beside the bottles holding it in her hand. She said, ‘Shall I mix you a Martini? I know how it’s done!’
‘How do you know?’
‘Margot showed me once. She thought it might be useful.’
John Robert did not like the idea of Margot teaching Hattie things, yet he found himself smiling. There was something so infinitely touching and moving in the spectacle of Hattie so eagerly holding the glass, and for once, for a moment, his feeling for her expressed itself simply as pleasure. He heaved himself off the window seat. ‘I’ll mix the drinks.’ He went to the table and took the glass from Hattie. He put ice into the glass, then a very small measure of vermouth and a lot of tonic water. It was the mildest drink which could possibly be called a drink, but it was a drink. He handed it to Hattie and made a similar mixture for himself. They continued to stand, and this was significant.