A Daughter’s a Daughter

‘Fancy meeting you here like this. It really is a wonderful coincidence. I was just thinking about you as a matter of fact. You know, last night, I wanted to ask you where you lived and if I might, perhaps, come and see you? But then I thought that perhaps you would think it was rather an impertinence on my part. You must have so many friends, and—’

Ann interrupted him.

‘Of course you must come and see me. Actually I was thinking of asking Colonel Grant to dinner and suggesting that he might bring you with him.’

‘Were you? Were you really?’

His eagerness and pleasure were so evident that Ann felt a pang of sympathy. Poor man, he must be lonely. That happy smile of his was really quite boyish.

She said: ‘I’ve been ordering myself a new window-box. That’s the nearest we can get in a flat to having a garden.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve been looking at incubators—’

‘Still hankering after chickens.’

‘In a way. I’ve been looking at all the latest poultry equipment. I understand this electrical stunt is the latest thing.’

They moved together towards the exit. Richard Cauldfield said in a sudden rush:

‘I wonder—of course perhaps you’re engaged—whether you’d care to lunch with me—that is if you’re not doing anything else.’

‘Thank you. I’d like to very much. As a matter of fact Edith, my maid, is indulging in an orgy of spring cleaning and has told me very firmly not to come home to lunch.’

Richard Cauldfield looked rather shocked and not at all amused.

‘That’s very arbitrary, isn’t it?’

‘Edith is privileged.’

‘All the same, you know, it doesn’t do to spoil servants.’

He’s reproving me, thought Ann with amusement. She said gently:

‘There aren’t many servants about to spoil. And anyway Edith is more a friend than a servant. She has been with me a great many years.’

‘Oh, I see.’ He felt he had been gently rebuked, yet his impression remained. This gentle pretty woman was being bullied by some tyrannical domestic. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could stand up for herself. Too sweet and yielding a nature.

He said vaguely: ‘Spring cleaning? Is this the time of year one does it?’

‘Not really. It should be done in March. But my daughter is away for some weeks in Switzerland, so it makes an opportunity. When she’s at home there is too much going on.’

‘You miss her, I expect?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Girls don’t seem to like staying at home much nowadays. I suppose they’re keen on living their own lives.’

‘Not quite as much as they were, I think. The novelty has rather worn off.’

‘Oh. It’s a very nice day, isn’t it? Would you like to walk across the park, or would it tire you?’

‘No, of course it wouldn’t. I was just going to suggest it to you.’

They crossed Victoria Street and went down a narrow passage-way, coming out finally by St James’s Park station. Cauldfield looked up at the Epstein statues.

‘Can you see anything whatever in those? How can one call things like that Art?’

‘Oh, I think one can. Very definitely so.’

‘Surely you don’t like them?’

‘I don’t personally, no. I’m old-fashioned and continue to like classical sculpture and the things I was brought up to like. But that doesn’t mean that my taste is right. I think one has to be educated to appreciate new forms of art. The same with music.’

‘Music! You can’t call it music.’

‘Mr Cauldfield, don’t you think you’re being rather narrow-minded?’

He turned his head sharply to look at her. She was flushed, a trifle nervous, but her eyes met his squarely and did not flinch.

‘Am I? Perhaps I am. Yes, I suppose when you’ve been away a long time, you tend to come home and object to everything that isn’t strictly as you remember it.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You must take me in hand.’

Ann said quickly: ‘Oh, I’m terribly old-fashioned myself. Sarah often laughs at me. But what I do feel is that it is a terrible pity to—to—how shall I put it?—close one’s mind just as one is getting—well, getting old. For one thing, it’s going to make one so tiresome—and then, also, one may be missing something that matters.’

Richard walked in silence for some moments. Then he said:

‘It sounds so absurd to hear you talk of yourself as getting old. You’re the youngest person I’ve met for a long time. Much younger than some of these alarming girls. They really do frighten me.’

‘Yes, they frighten me a little. But I always find them very kind.’

They had reached St James’s Park. The sun was fully out now and the day was almost warm.

‘Where shall we go?’

‘Let’s go and look at the pelicans.’

They watched the birds with contentment, and talked about the various species of water fowl. Completely relaxed and at ease, Richard was boyish and natural, a charming companion. They chatted and laughed together and were astonishingly happy in each other’s company.

Presently Richard said: ‘Shall we sit down for a while in the sun? You won’t be cold, will you?’

‘No, I’m quite warm.’

They sat on two chairs and looked out over the water. The scene with its rarefied colouring was like a Japanese print.

Ann said softly: ‘How beautiful London can be. One doesn’t always realize it.’