Beginning, Previous Section, Section III
Jump to new as of January 25, 1999
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Part 19
No tongue to its beauty could well attest,
Or figure it forth in fitting phrase,
Such perfect purity it possessed,
That precious pearl so set in its place.
~~Anon.
Francie stopped on the stairs in sheer horror. A confession?
"What is it?" she said and without invitation he moved towards her until their faces were almost touching.
"The pearls," he replied, "I bought them for you and gave them to Mary in a temper when you said you did not like me... and she decided to give them to you anyway. I knew and I did not prevent her. I thought you realized - I did not mean to deceive you."
There was no sensation of shock or surprise or even of alarm, she merely undid the necklace and dropped it in his top pocket.
"And there is nothing to forgive," she said coolly, "You knew I would not accept any gift from you, especially something so expensive. What sort of message would I be sending to my friends and family if I had? Deceit seems to be at the core of your being, I want nothing to do with you and I certainly will not bear the responsibility of forgiving you for anything!"
Shock sank in then; she had never been so cruel to anyone in her entire life but he did deserve it. He paled, started and was silent. She ran upstairs and when she looked down again the expression on his face was not of sorrow, repentance or even resentment: it was anger.
The remainder of the night passed in fitful weeping. She had never had such a night since her first one at Mansfield, never known such loneliness, guilt or fear. Term could not start again quite soon enough and release her from the nightmare.
As she could not sleep she fancied she would be the first down to breakfast but Sir Thomas had preceded her. Her joy even in that was to be unbearably brief. She had no sooner wished him a good morning and helped herself to some cereal when he, very deliberately, requested her full attention for what he was about to say.
"Francie, my dear, I have heard something which I believe to be much to your advantage...."
Francie smiled; she liked her Uncle's old-fashioned way of expressing himself.
"Yesterday evening Julie gave me reason to be concerned that.... well, never mind what it was but it gave me occasion to speak to Commander Crawford and in the course of our conversation he confided in me his fondness for you."
He paused and smiled; Francie wanted to die. "Now, do not get carried away with the idea for he is much older than you and definitely a man of the world whereas you are but just out of school, however, do not dismiss it either. Consider him kindly, my dear, in a few years when you have your degree and have traveled a little the age difference will not be so important and if he is still in love with you then I would welcome him into the family with my whole heart. Henry Crawford will be a great thing for you."
"How so?" asked Francie, feeling really sick.
"He loves you," replied Sir Thomas simply, "and, dear Francie, he is well off. He has a good situation now and when..." he stopped to chuckle, "when, as he says, the Navy requires him to fly a desk, he will leave and enter the Foreign Office. He has the background and the connections to do very well there and his wife will never need to work."
Francie was dumbfounded. "Uncle, when I leave Cambridge with a degree I fully intend to work, I won't need a husband to support me."
Her uncle smiled gently and took her both her hands in his, "Francie, I have the highest respect for your intellectual abilities but you are not a careerwoman, you will never cope in the world of commerce or industry. I am not saying you have to marry Crawford, you never know who you might meet in the future, but I am asking you not to discourage him. His next tour of duty will last until Easter and after that he asked if he might spend time with you in Cambridge and I gave my consent gladly."
"Asked you? He might have asked me !"
Sir Thomas laughed, "He is rather old-fashioned, my dear, but I confess that I like that."
Oh, Uncle, how can you be so easily deceived?
"No, I will not encourage Henry Crawford. Please do not force me, Uncle, for I cannot and will not do it!"
"I only want your happiness, my dear."
"I could never be happy with a man like that!"
Sir Thomas wrinkled his brow, "A man like what?"
She dissolved into tears at the uncomprehending expression on his face. It was impossible to explain her objection to Henry without implicating Ria and that she could not do. He would never believe her.
"What is so unattractive about Commander Crawford's attentions?" he asked after the first surprise had passed, "You seemed pleased enough last night."
Francie shrugged her shoulders, "I cannot explain last night, but please, please do not expect me to even like him. Uncle, I cannot!"
What had she to expect from the romantic sensibilities of a man who had been pleased to marry a daughter to Charles Rushworth?
"Very well," he said slowly, "I will let you resolve your differences yourselves and there will be no more said on the matter. Now, calm down and do not weep for I hear your Aunt's voice."
With a huge effort Francie restrained her tears and concentrated unwillingly on her cereal. Lady Bertram entered the breakfast room rather brightly with Mary in tow and a further sight from the depressed creature of the previous few days could not be imagined. Mary was all lightness and brightness and sparkle. Francie's stomach which was already in a knot turned over alarmingly: had Edmund gone as far as to propose?
It seemed not but she was hard pressed to account for Mary's change in temperament otherwise.
Edmund was down next and for a while at least there was a semblance of a happy family breakfast rendered happier for Francie by the almost certain knowledge that Edmund and Mary were not engaged - yet.
Edmund drove her back to Mansfield but it was a depressing, silent journey. She could not bring herself to tell him of the conversation with his father and he was still worrying about his status with Mary.
Sir Thomas had reached Mansfield before them and was pacing about his study in an unapproachable mood. Francie knew herself to be the cause of it and tried to hide as much as possible from everyone. There was no happy reflection to be had on the events of the ball at least not for Francie; she heard Julie, Mary and Ria discussing it with laughter and enthusiasm when they came to return Lady Bertram's borrowed crystal but she was not invited to join them. By Mary she might be welcomed but by the other two she must now be regarded as an enemy, Henry Crawford had seen to that.
He kept out of her sight all day and seemed largely taken up with collecting his sister from Sotherton and then going for an extremely long walk around the park with her. It was as well for Francie she did not know the subject of their discussion.
"Well," she said when they were far away from the house, "I am surprised at you letting the cat out of the bag and telling Francie the truth about the pearls."
"I am surprised myself," he replied dully, "but it had to be done, I could not go ahead with anything while deceiving her in any way whatever."
Mary was quiet while she assimilated the possibilities contained in that speech.
"Go ahead? Go ahead with what? You've already amazed everyone by dancing the first dance with her and then several more. Why half the county thinks you have lost your head and some even suspect you of losing your heart!"
"Yes, Mary," he replied drawing her arm into his and walking as if did not know where he was. "I could not be happy dancing with anyone else; she looked so lovely. I am determined, Mary, my mind is made up. Will it astonish you? No, it cannot, you know me too well..."
"Stop! Stop!" she cried, "You're driving me crazy!"
He stopped, "Mary, I want to marry her."
The surprise was now complete; for in spite of what some of his recent behaviour might suggest, the suspicion of him having such intense feelings had never entered his sister's head. Her expression of astonishment was so great that he was forced to repeat his desires and repeat them several times before she would give him any credence.
"But she is only eighteen, you cannot marry a girl of eighteen!"
"I do not intend to marry her this Saturday, Mary, I can wait until she graduates. It will give me a few more years in the Navy."
"You would leave the Navy for her? Oh, Henry, be sure of this, please."
"I am sure," he insisted, half-laughingly, "I want to make that girl happy and I will. I will make her my world, my life - everything, Mary, everything."
"Lucky, lucky girl!" she exclaimed at last.
"I am only sorry I began with such idle intentions," he said tracing a pattern in the snow with his foot, "because now she neither likes nor trusts me."
Mary laughed aloud, "You deserve that! However, you have lost the bet, remember?"
"And you have already taken your winnings," he snapped.
"Well, I overheard your conversation with her on the stairs last night... those were not the words of a woman in love! However, I am sure she will come round in the end, they always do, don't they?"
"This woman is different, I promise you."
Mary only laughed and shook her head. "Far be it from me to disparage my own sex," she said, "but you always triumph over women's hearts and I do not see why Francine Price should be so very different. Oh, Henry, it is a pity you must leave so soon!"
By dinner time Sir Thomas had come to a decision and Francie was summoned into the study to hear it. She left the drawing room and the cozy party assembled there with something approaching real fear. She had never before angered her Uncle but she knew that this morning in refusing to take his advice concerning Henry she had overstepped the mark.
"Sit down, Francie," he said in kindly tones, "I have an idea I wish to share with you."
It had occurred to Sir Thomas, in his dignified musings on the subject of his niece and Commander Crawford, that the atmosphere of her mother's house might enable her to look at him (and other men of his class) in a clearer light.
"I have telephoned your mother and arranged with her for you to spend Christmas in Southsea* with your brothers and sister."
He smiled and attempted to gauge her reaction. To own the truth had she been addicted to raptures she certainly would have had a strong attack of them; she had never given up hope of being reunited with her mother and if she had ever needed a mother's advice it was now. However, the thought of leaving Mansfield Park and Edmund at Christmas was heartbreaking and she sincerely did not know how to respond to her Uncle's news. In the end she did not want to go, at least not until after the festival but, having crossed her Uncle already that day she did not have the nerve to attempt it again. The next day saw Lady Bertram depositing her at Northampton station to begin her journey.
"Do you think Henry is so wonderful, Auntie?" she asked as they sat together on the platform. It must be clear to Lady Bertram why she was being sent away.
Her Aunt frowned and wrinkled her nose, "He is not as handsome as he ought to be but, there again he is decidedly attractive. You should be flattered, my dear, men like Commander Crawford do not grow on trees in any orchard I have ever seen."
Francie stood up to better see the signals, "I think this must be my train now," she said. It was useless looking to her Aunt for support. Lady Bertram would only think that someone quiet and awkward like herself gaining the love of Henry Crawford was a wonderful basis for a romantic novel.
Of course, Henry Crawford was not in love with her. At least she hoped he was not for she was too tender-hearted to bear the thought of making anyone else as miserable as she was herself. Even him.
*Southsea is an area of Portsmouth near the docks
Part 20
I'll be home for Christmas,
You can count on me...
I'll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.
~~Kent & Gannon
Francie spent most of the journey from Northampton to London Euston in tears. Everyone else, it seemed, was going home for the holidays and the atmosphere in the carriage was unbearably festive. She made sure her purse and her jewelry box were safely in her handbag and that her ticket had been checked before locking herself in the w.c for most of the trip to cry in peace. Edmund had not even driven her to the station; he had wished her a happy Christmas in advance, given her some money for the children and after kissing her very chastely returned to Mary with all possible speed.
She emerged from the washroom in time to have a cup of coffee before reaching London. London had its own nightmare, she would be forced to negotiate the tube as the trains for Portsmouth departed from Waterloo and she had never been alone in London before. The underground at Euston proved an ordeal from the start; the stair-well she found was very deep and eerie despite being brightly lit and although she could hear trains and people she could never find them. It was like the descent into hell and by the time she emerged tear-stained and panicky from the pit she was convinced she must have missed her connexion. A long hard look at the map on the wall, however, improved her chances of actually finding the trains and in five minutes she had located the Northern Line and was on her way. It seemed a long journey but at last she counted Charing Cross... Embankment... and finally, Waterloo. She boarded her train having had the presence of mind to buy a coffee from a stall in the station itself as the stuff served aboard the trains had proved to be disgusting.
The next stage of the journey was not so bad. She had persuaded herself that she must not arrive in Portsmouth as she had left it and practised her brave face for when it should be needed. Her only real problem was not knowing what her mother looked like, she remembered a woman in her twenties with wild hair and big earrings but surely she had changed? She got off the train at Portsmouth & Southsea station and for a moment she thought they had left her to get a cab to the house best she could but finally her mother arrived.
"I had to collect the boys from football practice," she explained breathlessly, "how are you, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," replied Francie. It wasn't much of a reunion after eight years but she could hardly expect her mother who had three more children and a new husband to be very ecstatic over her now.
Fran Price, for her new husband was not official, was much younger than Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris. Tall and slender with a carefully hennaed mane and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a more pronounced contrast to her sisters' middle-aged chic could not be imagined. She was bright and friendly, not half as common as Mrs. Norris had implied and had her own car. Unfortunately, it was full of children's sports gear and smelt slightly of cigarettes and trainers.
To begin with she made no attempt to explain away or apologize for her apparent neglect of her eldest daughter over the years and, in a way, it was a relief. Francie could guess that she felt inferior to the Bertrams and almost did not blame her for her lack of interest and concern. However, it did seem that Mrs. Price was proud of her daughter for getting a place at university, oddly it seemed any university would have done and she was not especially interested in it being Cambridge.
"I wanted go to university," she volunteered after a while, "but I got married instead. Do you have lots of friends?"
"Yes," she lied.
"I'm glad. I'm glad letting your aunt and uncle have you turned out for the best. I was scared that if I kept you you would turn out like me so when your Uncle Norris wanted to take you for a holiday I agreed, I thought you should see how the other half lives," she giggled nervously, "long holiday, wasn't it?"
"Holiday?" repeated Francie slowly. "Aunt Norris didn't tell me it was a holiday, she said I would never see you again."
Fran was silent for a moment. "Want a coffee?" she asked, indicating a McDonald's across the road.
They settled in a window seat with their polystyrene cups of tasteless coffee. Francie supposed this was the kind of place her mother usually frequented and hoped she would not have to stay there long enough to get into the habit of it herself.
"Your dad and I were going through a bad patch," she began, "and George Norris thought we might cope better if it was just us and the baby and you had a holiday, but somehow all that summer the social services kept turning up at all the wrong times and in the end they said I wasn't a fit mother. It was all I could do to hold on to Bill, there was no way you were going to be allowed back from Mansfield."
Francie couldn't find an answer. She knew, if Fran did not, that it must have been Ruth who tipped off the social workers at the most inappropriate moments. However, Fran did know.
"I found out years later that it was Ruth, she was phoning me and then phoning them... my friend Rebecca got a typing job at the Social Work Centre and she sneaked a look in my file for me. It was Ruth all the time."
"She's done a similar thing to Aunt Maria."
"What do you mean, love?"
"Well, she more or less took over bringing up Ria and Julie and it shows in every aspect of their characters."
Fran screwed up her mouth, "I can believe that. I saw Ria on television not so long ago and I thought to myself that although she looked like Maria she certainly sounded like Ruth."
They picked up their handbags and headed back to the car as Fran had to get home to make Kev's tea. The car stopped at last in a respectable council estate.
Francie got out and looked about her apprehensively. Aunt Norris had taught her to believe her mother lived in a slum so she noted the well-repaired house with new double-glazing and neatly mowed lawn with a good deal of relief.
"Kev's mate put the windows in," announced Fran with some pride. "Kev's an electrician and his friends are plumbers and glaziers and the like and they all do each other favours from time to time."
Francie had never met Kev, her mother's common-law partner, but again she had been schooled by her Aunt Norris to think of him as a drunken layabout. The prospect of meeting a fairly industrious tradesman had never occurred to her and she followed her mother into the house with much less trepidation than she had felt she would.
The house, which had obviously been tidied for her benefit, was not large but well laid out nevertheless. It had a proper hallway and boasted a washroom downstairs as well as a bathroom on the upper level; the sitting room was a good size although she thought the black leather suite rather tasteless the row of Barbie dolls dressed in their best frocks cheered her up and she immediately wished she had brought something for the little half-sister she had never met.
"Kev... Betsey... boys! Come and meet Francine!" Fran was outside shouting over the fence.
Little Betsey appeared first anxious to meet her mysterious big sister. Francie, for her part, was relieved to discover the child clean and well-dressed. She had just begun to admire the dolls, none of whom had proper names but were all Barbie and Sindy when two boys appeared straight from a game of football.
Well, Aunt Norris did say they would be dirty little tykes, she thought as she smiled at them, but this is natural not neglect.
Bill was her own brother but she had not seen him since the day Mrs. Norris had arrived at the base with Edmund and taken her for what she thought was a holiday that had lasted eight years. He was, therefore, at least as strange as little Sam. However, they were both good-natured and cheerful although incredibly noisy and Francie, used to the tranquillity of Mansfield Park doubted she would get through the evening without a headache. The television was immediately turned on for Betsey while Bill played computer games in the corner and Sam volunteered to show her how to use a Gameboy. If she had hoped for a quieter time in the kitchen she was disappointed; Fran was listening to Radio One and it was louder than the television.
"I like music while I work!" she yelled cheerfully above the din, "Do you like macaroni cheese? Kev doesn't eat meat and I've had to change my ways!"
Francie nodded, she wasn't even going to try to make herself heard above the music. She remembered her mother's cooking as being steak and kidney pie or sausage and chips.
Thank God, he's a vegetarian, I never would have expected it but at least it's something.
Kev arrived home, presumably from the pub although he did not seem the worse for drink, certainly not like her own father. He wore tracksuit trousers, cheap trainers and had an earring. Francie sighed inwardly; fellow veggie he might be but she could never walk down the street with him. The company was complete when her mother's best friend, Rebecca, arrived. It seemed that Fran had only told her acquaintances that her sister was a famous novelist and her brother-in-law a former MP when she realized Francie was coming to stay and it was clear that Rebecca had not got over the novelty of the idea yet.
After a couple of hours of being stared at by Rebecca and some of the other neighbours who had popped in to see Fran's posh daughter she said she was tired and was allowed the refuge of a sugary pink bedroom that had only to be shared with Betsey. The beds were covered entirely in fluffy animals of various sizes and types; Francie smiled to herself, she had forgotten her mother's penchant for soft toys and, as she looked through them, she recognized several of her own that Aunt Norris had not allowed her to pack.
"I didn't know which was yours and which was mine," explained Betsey, "so I just shared them out equally."
"That was very kind of you," replied Francie, wondering how she was ever going to get into the bed and what she should do with them when she did. She was pretty sure, however, that the family of teletubbies was not hers!
Chapter Twenty-One
The first thing I remember when you came
into my life, I said I'm gonna get that girl
no matter what I do.
Well, I guess I'd been in love before
and once or twice I've been on the floor
but I never loved no-one the way I loved you.~ Paul Simon
The next day was Christmas Eve and for Francie that involved an unbelievable amount of last minute shopping. She bought velvet trousers and a sequined top for Fran; computer games for the boys and an assortment of Disney toys for Betsey. Kev was another matter. Fran had advised cigarettes and a cheap brand at that. Francie smiled to herself, had she expected him to smoke Sobranie Black Russian like Henry Crawford? Eventually, because she did not want to hasten his end. she bought him an Oasis cd. She also remembered to bank the £1000 that Sir Thomas gave her every Christmas; she could not recall ever having spent this much before but had the feeling that more would be expected here than at Mansfield Park. There everything was elegant and understated: here it was gaudy and ostentatious.
She arrived home from her shopping just after lunch and the house had disintegrated into chaos. They were having a party and Rebecca had arrived to help Fran with the finishing touches or that was how she put it: Francie saw only turmoil and confusion. Six-packs of lager sat everywhere and every bowl seemed to be full of crisps and peanuts while the television was still on and Fran shouted at the kids to get going to their friend's house. Francie felt sick at the thought of having to join in and fervently wished herself back at Mansfield Park or even alone in her rooms at Cambridge. The music was deafening and she could not make out a single chord: was she supposed to?
"Put on something decent!" screamed Fran from the kitchen, "I'm not listening to that trash all bloody night!"
"What d'yah want?" yelled Kev above the racket that was already playing.
"Simon and Garfunkel," Fran put her head round the kitchen door, "to put me in a good mood."
When the music started she recognized it as the music Henry played in the car when he drove her to Sotherton. The dance seemed like a lifetime ago. She went slowly upstairs, she could still hear the music for although Kev had changed the tape he had not changed the volume, and took as long as possible over dressing. She swapped her Dr Martens for pumps and her Newnham sweatshirt for a black silk top; the black cords remained, they would have been unacceptable for a party at Mansfield Park, of course, but this was not a genteel affair with champagne and canapés.
She was introduced to Rebecca's daughter, Susan, and her boyfriend, Wayne. Wayne seemed to be a leading light in the local Pentecostal Church and did his best to persuade her to come to their service.
"Francie'll come to the parish with us, won't you?" said Kev offering her yet another can of lager.
"You go to Midnight Mass?" she asked incredulously.
"Course I do," he grinned, "it's a tradition!"
Several other people fell about laughing and Francie began to wonder if he was making a fool of her when Fran broke in crossly.
"Kevin MacGregor, you are not going anywhere near the church tonight. I remember you last year nissed as a pewt and scaring the living daylights out the poor vicar!"
This was greeted with much raucous laughter and Kev was thumped on the back a few times by people for whom the idea of getting drunk and insulting the clergy seemed to be great fun. Francie shut her eyes and gave up on the idea of going to the midnight service. She gently dropped the unopened can on the floor behind the sofa and got up to mix herself a gin and tonic; she didn't know if she could do it as well as Henry but she was sure she wasn't going to put up with much more of this without an anaesthetic.
She eventually got to bed sometime after midnight with a headache and the promise of the worst Christmas of her life ahead of her. A few hours passed and Betsey was bouncing on her bed yelling for presents and demanding to know if Santa had been yet. Francie sat up feeling sick, she pulled on her jeans and a jumper and went out for a very long walk.
On returning to the house she was elated to discover that Fran had changed sufficiently from the ill-judging slattern of eight years ago to have had the dinner mostly in the freezer and there wasn't much actual cooking to do. Of course, the table was a long way from Mansfield with its expanses of white linen, heavy silver, sparkling crystal and Noritake china but it was cheerful and there was no shortage of anything. They started with prawn cocktail and Kev's apologies.
"Round here if you tell them you're a veggie you're as likely to get fish and chips as anything," he said by way of explanation.
"Shut up and eat!" ordered Rebecca whose contribution it was, "you can't call prawns meat, you daft hap'worth."
Francie ate. Fortunately there was a vegetarian alternative to the turkey and although Rebecca spent a good while attempting to persuade Kev to try it she was still sufficiently in awe of Francie and left her alone. The afternoon which, at Mansfield would have been spent in jovial conversation and, perhaps, some games was wholly given over to the television: first an assortment of game shows and then some Disney videos brought to placate the children but which the adults seemed to enjoy just as much. By half past five Francie had almost given up on hearing from Edmund and even Fran had commented that she normally heard from Mansfield before this on Christmas Day. At six o'clock, however, the phone rang, it was Lady Bertram.
Fran spoke to her for their annual ten minutes and then handed the receiver to Francie.
"How are you, darling?" Lady Bertram's sweet voice made her positively homesick.
"I'm fine." It was amazing how she had learned to lie so well since the Crawfords came into her life. Always making untrue excuses about something.
"I've missed you..."
You've missed me fetching and carrying, you mean. She was immediately ashamed of the bitter thought but it was too late.
"I kept all your presents aside but I let the others open the ones you bought them, is that all right?"
"Of course, Auntie."
"Edmund will phone you tomorrow, they've all driven over to the Maddox place - goodness knows why but they have."
"Have they?" She wanted to cry.
"I think Mary was missing her brother and they're trying to cheer her up."
Mary, Mary, Mary - how on earth does she manage always to be the centre of attention?
"Tell Edmund I'll look forward to hearing from him," she said and with a few more pleasantries managed to hang up.
He couldn't even phone her on Christmas Day! Poor, sweet, serious Edmund, he was completely infatuated. She began to acknowledge to herself the necessity of keeping a distance between them; unassailed by his looks or his kindness and safe from the constant misery of his confidence she might begin to strengthen herself against him. What would be unendurable at Mansfield must become tolerable in Portsmouth.
A week went by in which Francie tried to accustom herself to the good-tempered chaos of her mother's house. She could not regard it as home; Mansfield Park with its tranquillity and order must ever be her ideal home but she was sensible enough to realize that for one reason or another she would be spending time with Fran in the future. She did not want to lose her mother again whatever her circumstances at Mansfield Park.
New Year's Eve though turned out to be a worse ordeal than Christmas. Fran informed her with a good deal of merriment that as Kev was Scottish they would have a really good fling at Hogmanay. And they did. The party started about seven o'clock and by midnight everyone was legless except Francie. She watched the biggest street party in the world being broadcast from Edinburgh, it looked more like the biggest sardine can in the world but the Pretenders concert was good; she made a mental note to visit Edinburgh one day. Sometime after two she escaped to her bed after being kissed by innumerable people she had never met before and did not like; at Mansfield Park such indignities would be unthinkable. She wanted to cry but sharing a room with Betsey made that impossible so she lay awake listening to the sounds of revelry from below and trying desperately to imagine what they would be doing at home. They would have gone to bed about one, there were no prolonged festivities there and what there was would have been conducted with quiet good-humour and no drunkenness. She turned her face to the wall and tried not to think about what 1998 might bring; weddings, doubtless. Edmund's and Mary's, Julie's and John's. A divorce, perhaps.
She stayed in the bedroom until eleven in the morning when she was forced downstairs by a most unexpected event. Rebecca had answered the door and the voice that Francie heard from the landing was distinctly cultured - it was Henry Crawford! She almost ran downstairs not from any great anxiety to see him but from a mad desire to keep him away from Rebecca's prying eyes.
She almost pushed Rebecca out of the way to her very great amusement. He stood on the doorstep looking strangely casual in black jeans and a barbour jacket. If anyone had the legs to look really good in jeans it was Henry and clearly Rebecca rather fancied him.
"For your father," he said holding out a bottle of Glenmorangie.
"Stepfather," she corrected. What else can I call him?
She glanced at the label. Sir Thomas would really appreciate this. Kev will simply put lemonade in it.
"Thank you, he cannot thank you himself as he is not up yet." What an admission!
"Can I come in?" Henry looked intense and vulnerable but Francie had fallen for that look before and she wasn't about to do it again.
"I would rather you didn't," she said.
"I would rather not provide a show for your neighbours," he said softly, "but I want to talk to you and if you make me do it on the doorstep remember you have only yourself to blame for their continued interest."
Francie reddened at the thought of what the rest of the house must look like but he was right about the neighbours. Several were watching with some interest: Fran's posh daughter's posh friend had turned up in his posh car... better than Eastenders.
Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon. She took a deep breath and realizing there was no alternative admitted him civilly to the chaos. He stepped over a beer can first of all and then an abandoned My Little Pony house or stable or whatever the creature lived in. She opened the door to the sitting-room and he followed her.
It was pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion for no sooner than she had got him out of Rebecca's sight but she had to reveal to him the sight of the house's only reception room in the aftermath of the party. She blushed miserably recalling the cleanliness and sparkle of the main rooms at Mansfield Park. Empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays jostled for space with lager cans and takeaway containers; half eaten plates of food balanced on the arms of chairs and a row of bottles decorated the mantlepiece.
"Looks like they had a good time," grinned Henry looking at the disintegrated Christmas tree.
"I'm sure they did," she replied sourly and picked up a bowl of trifle that had several cigarette ends in it.
"But you hid in your room?"
She did not answer and let him open the door to the kitchen for her. It was even worse if that was possible. Melted tubs of butter and ice-cream stood about, crackers crunched into the floor underfoot and the cat had vomited on the worktop. She flung open the windows and started matter of factly to clean up.
"Stop it," he took the rubber gloves away from her, "I need to talk to you."
"And I need cleanliness," she grabbed them back again and dealt with the cat sick.
"Want a coffee?" she dared him. Surely he would find an excuse to leave. Surely the fastidious Henry Crawford would not drink instant coffee in that hovel of a kitchen? Surely he must be disgusted with what was before him, she could not doubt that he was, he must now give up wanting to make her like him; and yet, although she had so much been wanting his affection to be cured, this cure would be worse than the complaint. She quickly decided it would be less distressing to accept the attentions of an attractive and intelligent man than to have him alienated by the vulgarity of her nearest relations.
"Thank you," he said, "I'll even wash two cups."
"Don't bother, they're our cups so I'll do it." She spoke grudgingly but in the depth of her heart there was a small sensation of relief: he did not find her as repulsive as he ought to under the circumstances. Thank God!
She made two mugs of Nescafe. He sat gingerly on the edge of a stool (the cat had the rest) and, for the umpteenth time, asked her to forgive his previous behaviour.
"We have been here before," she said but not unkindly. "You must look to your own conscience."
He paused, "All right, I will. I will look to my conscience if you will be my friend. Please, Francie, can we start again here in Portsmouth and pretend Mansfield never happened?"
"There is nothing to start again," she pointed out wearily.
In truth, however, after all the loneliness and embarrassment of the past week Henry Crawford was beginning to take on something of the nature of a friend. She did not so much want his company as his kind of company; the society of the refined and the educated.
Before she could find a way of explaining this to him, of consenting perhaps, to meet him for a drink one night, Kev appeared and she was forced to introduce them. He was genuinely friendly and even seemed a little more polished than usual and her embarrassment had just begun to decline when with a thrill of horror she heard him invite Henry to their New Year dinner. To have him join their family dinner party and see all their deficiencies of sense and manner would have been dreadful! She winced and blushed and searched desperately for an excuse but it was too late; he was smiling, accepting... No, thank God, he had said "perhaps."
She handed Kev a cup of coffee and practically shoved him out of the room.
"You're not very happy, are you?" he said noticing the look on her face. "Have dinner with me. I've booked a table in a good restaurant."
She heard Rebecca's voice in the hall and it became imperative to get him out of the house.
"Yes, I'll have dinner with you," she put his car keys in his hand, "when will you be back?"
"Seven?"
"Perfect."
He left immediately much to Rebecca's disappointment. "Quite dishy," she remarked with a broad grin, "Where did you pick him up?"
"I didn't pick him up," replied Francie huffily, "he's a friend of a friend."
Rebecca winked at Kev, "And what does he do?"
"He's in the Navy," said Francie quietly.
"Oooh," Rebecca's grin became broader, "an officer, I bet."
"Could tell that the minute I laid eyes on him," added Kev, "I can always tell the officer type."
Francie blushed furiously much to Rebecca's delight. "What ship is he on?"
"The Invincible," muttered Francie wishing that her mother would get up and rescue her from them.
"A pilot?" she screeched, "Oh, Kev, she's got herself a pilot!"
"When I was in the Navy all the girls wanted to date pilots," Kev lit a cigarette, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, "Fran will be dead proud of you, love."
"I'm not dating him," said Francie weakly but her protest fell on deaf ears.
"Shut up, Kev," Rebecca giggled, "can't you see you're embarrassing her? As for all the girls wanting to date a pilot I think you've been watching An Officer and A Gentleman again 'cos no-one I knew ever wanted one."
Francie found it hard to care. Her main concern now was getting out of the house before the commencement of the next round of festivities. She helped her Fran and Rebecca tidy up with a good-will and was saved from impertinent observations by the presence of Susan who kept telling her mother to mind her own business.
At about five o'clock she went upstairs to change and Fran followed her.
"Tell me about the guy, the one Kev and Becky are going on about, the officer."
"He's Edmund's girlfriend's brother," said Francie hoping but not believing that would suffice. It was the first time she had described Mary that way and she was saddened at how natural it sounded.
"Edmund's girlfriend? He's dating then, of course, he is! He's what - twenty-six or twenty-seven?"
Francie nodded.
"He was just a little kid the last time I saw him. Now go on, tell me about him."
"He's not my boyfriend, mum."
"Okay, so he's not your boyfriend. What's his name? How old is he? What rank is he?"
"His name is Henry Crawford, he's thirtyish, and he's a Commander, whatever that means."
Fran sighed and nodded. "Like a major or something in the army, well, that's better than me. Your dad wasn't an officer."
"Henry Crawford is not my boyfriend," replied Francie with great determination, "he is just someone nice enough to have dinner with, that is all."
Fran smiled. "Good. I don't want you getting all involved with a bloke with a snazzy uniform and regretting it ten years down the line."
"Is that what happened to you?"
"Yes. You know it was. Please, please, Francine, don't repeat my mistakes!"
Francie had by now managed to choose the black shift over the green taffeta, "Zip me up, will you?"
She deliberately left Edmund's necklace to the last, if she was forced by loneliness and circumstance to have dinner with Henry Crawford she would at least do it wearing her precious pendant. It would be a kind of talisman against falling under his spell.
"Do I look all right?"
Before Fran could reply there was a barrage of shouting and Sam appeared at the bedroom door.
"He's here, Francie, and he's got an Alfa Gtv!"
"Very nice," remarked Fran, "Car of the Year, wasn't it?."
Francie looked askance at her mother. What a thing to know!
She grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs hoping to pre-empt Kev at the front door but it was too late. He had dragged Henry down the path and was loudly admiring the car while talking about his own days aboard a frigate. She dived into the car uncomfortably aware of the knowing smirk on Rebecca's face and the fact that Fran's eyes were boring into her back.
"Your mother gave me a rather odd look," remarked Henry as they turned the corner and left the house behind.
"Did she? I only told her nice things about you," said Francie innocently. As little as possible.
Part 22
Dinner with Henry after the disorder and vulgarity of her mother's house seemed like the very thing for her frazzled nerves. Here there was no noise, no intrusive music and no raised voices, just the low buzz of conversation from the other diners. Henry, all polish and refinement, was not going to mention football or soap operas or force her to participate in anything she wasn't interested in; she glanced at her watch wondering how long she could reasonably be away for. She couldn't be away for too long, of course, not without giving Rebecca's sordid imagination too much to work on but she hoped she could rely on being away until the party had finished.
"You look good," he said.
"So do you," she replied quickly. She didn't know if it was polite or not to play ping-pong with compliments but any man who would turn up to dinner in a cashmere blazer deserved something of a compliment. Yes, Henry Crawford was always elegant. She wondered at herself for being so shallow but the sheer pleasure of sitting over the table from a man in a real Irish leine shirt and hand-made silver cufflinks was really too good when she considered what Kev and Wayne and their mates would be wearing.
To begin with their conversation was a little stilted but at least they had Cambridge in common. She told him about her visits to the Fitzwilliam and he told her about his favourite paintings; they discovered art and artists in common, too. Francie was a little surprised at this for she had not expected such a similarity of tastes but casting her mind back to the previous summer at Mansfield Park she recalled a shared liking for John Masefield and William Morris that had quite shocked her at the time.
"I think," he began after a short silence in which Francie tried to eat something but her nerves prevented her, "I shall drive up to Norfolk after visiting Mary this time and look at my house. My tenants have left and I have to decide what to do with the place."
"You have a house?" she asked. I thought you spent your leaves with your sister and... and... no, I don't want to think about it.
He laughed disarmingly, "Yes, the old rectory at Everingham. Of course, it's far too big for me and too far away from London but I bought it on impulse a few years ago after a rather lucky stretch on the stock market."
"What happened to the Rector?" she asked. Country parishes, their parsonages and incumbents were issues close to her heart for Edmund's sake.
"I don't know... I think the vicar drives out from Swaffham or somewhere. As you know, I am not a churchgoer."
Yes, I know.
The conversation tailed off again but this time she found she could eat. And drink. The wine was terribly good but then it would be, Henry had chosen it.
"Can I mention one thing that will offend you and then promise never to mention it again?"
She laid down her glass in surprise, "I suppose so..."
"Those pearls... I intended to give them to you quite openly on Christmas day but when you were cool to me during our walk I was so angry that I told Mary to keep them," he laughed awkwardly, "I had given them to her to wrap."
"It was wrong of her to give them to me under those circumstances," said Francie patiently, "but just as wrong of me to accept them."
"I thought you would know, when I asked you to dance... the music was A String of Pearls ... "
Realization dawned. She sighed, "Henry, how would I know one Glenn Miller tune from another? And what were you thinking of, buying me such an expensive gift, what would my family have thought?"
"I thought I was in love with you," he pushed his food around idly, "and I didn't know you would have preferred Woolworth's pearls."
Francie couldn't find words. In love with her? He thought he was in love with her two weeks ago and now?
"Well, you have explained it all," she said with false brightness, "now, will you keep your word and not mention it again?" And please do not mention love again!
"On one condition," he smiled and slid the box over the table, "that you keep them. I don't know what to do with them."
She closed her eyes for a moment debating the best course of action. She did not want a scene here, she did not want to offend him too much as he had hitherto been very pleasant but she did not want to be the possessor of something a man should only buy for his wife or fiancée. He took advantage of the moment by looking at her face minutely without fear of detection; she was still pretty but there was evidence of strain he did not like. Fran, et al, had seemed harmless to him for a few moments on the doorstep but he was sensible enough to realize that it must be a difficult and uncomfortable residence for her. She was nice through natural delicacy and that was something to be prized, he began immediately to formulate a plan. If he could not take her home, he would at least take her to Cambridge or London and his sister.
When all other avenues had been exhausted, and for a man like Henry Crawford everything made an interesting story, he could still hold her attention by speaking of Mansfield. Although she had been away from it for only a short while it was still an indulgence to hear it talked of. She missed her uncle and his grave gentleness; she missed her sweet easy-going aunt; she missed the beauty of the gardens, the freedom of the Park, the little country church, she even longed to see her cousins again. Of Edmund she could not speak without some considerable pain but Henry, although he remarked enthusiastically on his fondness for Mansfield Park, did not mention either Edmund or his sister and so she was safe from the worst excesses of grief and loneliness which would undoubtedly have been brought on by his mentioning them.
"I am glad you like Mansfield," she said without any realization of how he would interpret such an innocent comment.
"I like very much," he said smiling, "I can honestly say that I have never passed a happier summer and never wanted to return to the same place with such a longing. I only wish we had both been there for Christmas, perhaps next year?"
It was not a question, however casually put, that Francie felt equal to answering. Whether he wanted encouragement to think he might be there next Christmas as her boyfriend or as Edmund's brother-in-law she could not fathom and did not want to know. Either scene separated her from Edmund unbearably. However, she steeled herself and persuaded him to speak of his sister and Edmund, it was a subject she could not continue to avoid. She must learn to deal with it.
"I have only three days shore-leave," he said after a few minutes, apparently unable or unwilling to tell her anything of Mary and Edmund, "I called in innumerable favours to obtain them, I had to, I couldn't get through the entire holiday without seeing you."
She was sorry, really sorry to hear him say this, she had hoped he had been merely passing time with her; and yet in spite of this, she did feel the force of the compliment. She knew him to be very popular with women and was slightly flattered at him going to such lengths for her sake but told herself firmly that she wished he had but one day's leave. In such a way did she argue with herself for the rest of the evening. Yes, he was attractive, well-dressed and had excellent manners. Yes, he was a good conversationalist, intelligent, well-informed and as good at listening as at talking. No, he was not who she wanted to be with. She forced herself to become cooler as the evening wore on although it was going against the effects of the wine, she was less voluble in her praise of Mansfield, less enthusiastic about her studies and she resisted altogether the multitude of questions she might have had for anyone else who had read Art History. To Henry, however, this simply made her more attractive. He had been captivated in the first instance by her quietness; tantalized and teased unbearably by her modesty and rectitude and so the marked return of the manner which had first attracted him only attracted him more. A little difficulty to be overcome was no evil, rather, he derived spirits from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too easily, the situation in which he found himself was new and animating.
Francie, however, had known too much opposition all her life to find any charm in it. It was even less charming when it came from within.
"We had better go," he said looking at his watch, "your mother will worry."
Once outside they discovered there were very few taxis to be got at that time on New Year's Day and began walking slowly in the direction of Southsea. It was cold, colder than Mansfield because of the sea and Francie who had not come prepared for a winter on the coast having forgotten what they were like, was tempted by that and her own weariness to take his arm after a while. They walked in complete silence; he content with her company and she unwilling to say anything that might make the event either better or worse than it had been. However, it was nice to be close to someone, she had forgotten, or never known, how nice that could be. She thought of her Aunt Maria and laughed aloud.
"Why are you laughing?"
"I... I..." she did not want to tell him but it seemed bad manners not to. "I was thinking how nice this is and thinking of it being nice reminded me of Lady Bertram, it is her favourite adjective."
"So an evening with me is not as bad as you might have expected?"
"No," she said and blushed into her collar, it seemed like a confession of so much more!
He slipped his arm out of hers and took her hand instead. Naturally she resisted but not for long, this, she resolved, was the first step on the road to forgetting Edmund. It was quite possible that Edmund and Mary were wandering around the gardens at Mansfield hand-in-hand, looking at the stars and sharing thoughts and more. A brief consideration of quite how romantic that was caused her to shiver with envy; Southsea street lamps with their harsh sodium yellow glare were a bad exchange for Mansfield where all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright. * Her companion, perhaps aware that he was not the first man she wanted to be alone in the dark with, stopped walking and tilting her chin gently under his hand began to kiss her. A thousand prudent reasons for slapping him, or even just for stopping, leapt to mind and were ignored and Francine Elinor Price who knew a good deal better was kissing Henry Crawford as passionately as he could possibly wish for.
* On the Morning of Christ's Nativity
John Milton
Part 23
Look up the right words the ones for today
Use them correctly and mean what I say
Answer the questions
Crossword confession
Interrogation.~Debbie Harry
She slunk into No. 14 Moat Street and stealthily made her way upstairs to an empty room for Betsey must be sharing with her parents. However, the relief at finding the little girl absent was short-lived for she could not sleep. How would she ever sleep again? She who had so willfully and willing sacrificed all her principles as far as actually kissing Henry Crawford! Unable to restore the quiet of a good conscience she got up to make herself some tea and reflect upon the sordidness of her situation all the better in the squalor of her mother's kitchen. It was not to be borne. She made the tea and took it upstairs again to torment herself more effectively in the solitude of Betsey's room but it was no longer a solitary cell for Fran sat on the end of the bed with the most serious expression Francie could ever remember seeing on her.
"Well, Miss," she began in a tone that reminded Francie that she and Aunt Norris were sisters, "you didn't tell me the whole story about Edmund's girlfriend's brother, did you?"
Francie's heart plummeted. How could Fran possibly know about Henry and Ria? If she didn't know, what on earth was she talking about and did she have to do it at half past midnight?
"Don't stare at me like that, I wasn't born yesterday!"
"Mum, I don't know what you mean and I'm tired."
Fran shook her head in an expression of utter, wordless disbelief.
"I don't know where to begin," she said, "I can't belief you forgot to tell me how sophisticated he is, how cool, collected and self-aware he is, in short how worldly he is! To say nothing of being so gorgeous!"
Francie was speechless. She had never been going to produce a brilliant defense whatever her mother said but this was worlds beyond anything she had imagined. A scolding for being late, perhaps, or even an embarrassing word of advice about sex but to be confronted with a brief character sketch of Henry was ridiculous.
"He is not gorgeous," she said finally choosing the one thing she could contradict with confidence.
"My daughter the alien," said Fran lighting a cigarette. "That is one attractive man."
"Did you want him to be a geek?" asked Francie in exasperation. All right, Henry did have a certain something, a certain something about the eyes, the mouth... in his way of kissing... She got a grip of herself in time to hear her mother exhort her to remember what she already knew.
"That type of man is dangerous," she said firmly, "if I had an inkling he was going to be that type I would have insisted you make a foursome with Susan and Wayne down the Sailor & Siren."
Francie strangled her protest and did away with the vision of Henry in his lovely clothes in that dive of a pub chatting to the locals in his lovely Cambridge educated accent.
"Don't get involved with him," Fran was getting carried away with being motherly, "he's a bad deal. Guys like that are next-door to irresistible, I should know, I married one. Okay your dad didn't have the gear or the voice but he had that indescribable something and he made me feel like a million dollars but as far as constancy, commitment and responsibility were concerned he was a dead loss. I would have been better off if I had met Kev when I was eighteen, guys like Kev are the salt of the earth. I'll admit I've never had the passion and the romance with him that I had with your dad but I've never had the misery either. The ups aren't very up but the downs don't break my heart and I wouldn't change him now for all the charm in the world even thought I'm the world's worst sucker for a charming man. Fall in love with a guy like Kev, Francine, and you'll always know where he is and what he's doing, he'll never two-time you, lie to you or ride his motorbike out of town and leave you with a couple of kids. Understand me?"
"Yes, Mum, I understand."
Fran finished her cigarette and stubbed it out violently in Francie's saucer, "I'd be a happy woman if I believed you. Don't you meet any nice, steady blokes at university? A nice medical student, perhaps?"
Francie groaned and put her head under her pillow. Fran, however, remained where she was until Francie emerged and she extorted a promise that her daughter would not throw herself away on Commander Crawford or any of his ilk. This comforted Francie somewhat, she could not confide in her mother her suspicions about Henry and Ria but she felt somehow secure in her mother's disapproval, it was a further protection against her own weakness.
She got up early in the morning and although still feeling somewhat ashamed of the previous night she could not help thinking about it. It was to remind herself how weak and pathetic she had been, she was not sitting with her head in her hands smiling dreamily and recalling with perfectly electrifying sensations every last detail of 'The Kiss' for pleasure. No, indeed. She was just extricating herself from the pressure of Susan and Wayne to accompany them to the Pentecostal Church when Henry appeared again. He had come to persuade Francie to go for a drive with him but was invited by Fran to stay awhile and join them for lunch, presumably so that she might determine for herself exactly how dangerous he might be. Francie was uncomfortably convinced that this was exactly what he had intended. She contented herself, however, that the house was cleaner than it had been a few hours ago and that Susan and Wayne of all her mother's friends were the most respectable. Susan was really quite, well, nice. Henry, too, was being nice and by the time lunch had ended and Susan quite given up on enticing Francie to church, he was well on his way to being liked as much in Portsmouth as he was at Mansfield.
Francie was rather depressed by her mother's lack of constancy. She had, indeed, described herself as "a sucker for charm," but did it have to be quite so obvious, quite so immediate? She reflected miserably on the total lack of discernment among her relations for every single one of them seemed now to dote on Henry. Only Edmund had come close to seeing the man for what he actually was.
They wandered aimlessly around Portsmouth, this time with Francie's hands firmly in her pockets. It didn't seem to matter, wandering the streets didn't matter given the company. It was sheer madness. Finally they discovered the art gallery and resumed their discussion on art from the evening before. They often stopped before the same paintings with the same sentiment and taste; they admired the same things and considering he was not Edmund, she had to allow he was very well able to express his feelings.
Of course, silly girl, this is his subject! You must stop thinking of Edmund as an authority on everything.
She sighed inwardly and continued around the gallery in self-inflicted silence. Edmund, now thought of, would not leave her mind and she allowed herself what she knew to be wrong, a few tender reveries on happier times with him.
"How long will you stay in Portsmouth?" asked Henry cruelly destroying her daydream.
"Until my Uncle sends for me or until the beginning of term. Another ten days at the most, I suppose."
"Until your Uncle sends for you? What a Victorian sounding phrase, can't you just do what you want?"
"I have no wish to offend my Uncle of whom I am very fond. If gratitude is a Victorian value then I am a Victorian and not ashamed of it."
He was silent but only for a second. "This place does not agree with you. It oppresses you, I know it does, do not tell me otherwise."
Francie was embarrassed by his concern and insight, yes, her mother's house did oppress her. Why did her Uncle or Edmund not realize that?
"Mansfield, those at Mansfield, have not been entirely fair to you," he said angrily, "you should not have been packed off here with no consideration. Mary told me you did not expect it and were given only one night to adjust to the idea after having been away from your mother for nearly nine years. What did your Uncle think he was doing, separating you from your friends at Christmas to be with a family you barely know? I knew I would get leave and see you, I had to, I could not bear the separation but before she knew that my sister was so worried about you that she begged me even to get a few hours to see you. Your own family? Your Uncle, your Aunt, your cousins... from them there was not one word!"
They were out of the gallery now and heading down the High Street in the direction of the shops. Francie was affected and distressed by his outburst to such a degree that she could not speak. There was too much truth in it all, he was saying what she had thought, what she had feared. She did not think once that it was his fault that she had been sent away and that if he had not shared his feelings with her Uncle she would still be at Mansfield, she merely felt a confused and painful gratitude to him for valuing her when no-one else seemed to.
"You are offended now," he said at last.
She shook her head and tried to laugh it off. She did not know what to say, she could not be certain that anything was appropriate to say, she only knew she wanted privacy in which to sob her heart out but this was Portsmouth and solitude was somewhere else. From the shops they wandered slowly down to the mostly shingle beach and ever encroaching tide.
"I like the sea," she murmured, "there is something comforting about the vastness of it and, perhaps, the sound."
"Stay here with me, then," he said, "I could pretend to have an appointment elsewhere and release you but I don't want to. I have nothing to do until midnight and want nothing more than to be with you even if it means Portsmouth beach in the cold."
"I couldn't bear to go inside anywhere," she replied with the sudden terror that he would suggest a bar or somewhere when she knew she was going to cry.
"I'm happy here," he smiled, "let's sit on those rocks and for once, just once, forget Mansfield."
And for once she wanted to forget Mansfield. They found a reasonably comfortable place near the breakwater and snuggled up to him, hearing his heartbeat and feeling the gentle caress of his lips on her hair she began to feel a very little better. Perhaps there was more to life and being loved than Mansfield Park. Perhaps in Henry Crawford she had found someone who loved her for herself and not out of any familial obligation or because she first loved him. This time when they kissed it was she who kissed him and without even remembering how she had counseled herself earlier not to want to do it again but even amazement at her own inconstancy melted away under the feeling of his cold hands on her throat and the delicious, delicate sensations of his tongue gently exploring her ears and working its way round to the nape of her neck. She even allowed herself to think, rather sinfully, of being somewhere other than Portsmouth beach in arctic temperatures; it was useless not to picture how much better this would be if they just happened to be on a... well, a bed. Bed! That was enough to break the enchantment, what was she thinking of! She pushed him away and jumped up muttering something about her mother being worried, he simply laughed and didn't say a word when she insisted he remember where he had parked his car and drive her home.
"I've got a ticket," he grinned as they reached the car-park, "if this was London I'd have been towed away by now."
Francie didn't care. She cared about being out of temptation's way.
"I'm seeing Mary tomorrow," he said, "I would have sooner seen you again but she is my only sister... have you anything to send to her or Edmund besides the love that no-one remembers?"
"Edmund?" repeated Francie stupidly.
"Yes, he is spending some time with her in London before the beginning of term. Why don't you drive up with me? They'd be glad to see you and I'd be glad to see you out of Portsmouth."
"I told you, I'll wait to hear from my Uncle and if I don't I'll make my own way back to Cambridge. So only give my regards to your sister," she said kindly, "but you may ask Edmund to 'phone or write me about the arrangements for going back to Cambridge."
He laughed, "I will make him write to you and if he does not, I will do it myself."
Edmund's letter arrived two days later.
Dearest FrancieCrawford has harangued me for the past few hours telling me I must write to you and I start with an apology for not writing before he told me to! I am afraid, however, I have nothing happy to convey, the last few days in London with Mary have been less than encouraging. She is so often with her friends, Lucy Stornaway and Janet Fraser, and they are not a good influence on her. Francie, she could be such a lovely girl, no, she is a lovely girl, but those two have been leading her astray for years and I wonder if I will ever been able to counterbalance them.
She is such a contradiction, do you understand her? On the one hand so sweet, sensible and affectionate (particularly as a sister) and yet, on the other, so capricious, so unreliable and sometimes even quite heartless. I do not understand her and yet she is the only woman in the world I can ever think of as a wife! If I didn't believe she loved me I would not say that, but I do believe it, I am convinced she loves me and yet she behaves as if she does not.
He continued in this manner for quite some time before moving on to some more mundane subjects.
I shall certainly never wish for a letter again! She folded the letter and placed it in her writing case, this one has brought nothing but disappointment and sorrow.
Part 24
Know that love is a careless chylld
And forgets promyse paste:
He is blynd he is deaff when he lyste
And in faythe never faste.
~ Walter Ralegh
Cambridge promised, at least, to restore her sanity. Poor Francie, her life had gone from perfect tranquillity to a never-ending search for peace of mind in a remarkably short while. She heard often from Fran and while she liked getting letters she often found them difficult to reply to, there were few women with whom she could have less in common than her own mother.
Mary spent much of that term too in London. Francie was furious at the inconsistency of the girl, she had used Edmund for Christmas and was now discarding him like old wrapping paper and he didn't even care! She gave him crumbs and he was grateful, she made excuses and he believed her, she told him obvious lies and he pretended not to notice and he even went on telling Francie how he hoped they would come to an "understanding." Term, however, passed quickly and she did get more time with Edmund than she would have if Mary's "research" did not take her so often to the capital. Her brother, to Francie's infinite relief, was out of the country. She had not given him her Cambridge address and, if the absence of letters was proof, he had not got it from Mary. She decided that he must have given up on her, the kisses had been enough, he had proved his point and could move on to tampering with more important and exciting things. The threat of another war in the Gulf, though, did frighten her and she followed the news with more real interest than ever before.
On the last day before they were due to set off for Mansfield and the Easter break Francie decided it was time to return some books to Mary. She cycled as far as the railway station and, deciding Hill Road was rather far, chained up her bike and waited on the bus. Might well Mary say Hill Road is almost in Letchworth, she thought and waited a full half hour because she could not remember whether the Cherry Hinton bus went to Hill Road or not and would not ask the driver. Finally the bus for Addenbrookes Hospital arrived and she caught that with confidence.
She stood outside the glass door that separated Mary's flat from the internal hall. She heard voices, laughter, the clinking of glass and playing somewhere in the background was Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21, Edmund's favourite. She sighed. Edmund had not been able to see her because of last minute work but he had put it aside for Mary. What else did she expect?
Francine Elinor Price - grow up! He loves her, he loves her, he loves her... try to understand!
Laying the books on the mat she ran out of the block and a considerable way along the road before she could bear to stop and wait for a bus back into Cambridge. On reaching her flat she went into the kitchen for strong cup of coffee. A note lay on the worktop:
Dear Francie & CathyPlease accept the bottle of wine in the fridge as an end of term gift - I can't stuff another thing in my bag!
Love, Libby.
She picked it up and taking the corkscrew from the drawer returned with it to her room. Cathy was teetotal and wouldn't miss it. She had drunk two glasses when she heard the sound of a car outside, not that the sound of a car on Bridge Street at eight o'clock was particularly unusual but this one sounded familiar. A moment or two later there was a tap at her door and Cathy's head appeared.
"Francie, I'm staying with my friend in Foxton, okay? And there's a rather all right guy here looking for you."
It was Henry. "I'm supposed to collect Mary," he explained rather awkwardly, "but she isn't in."
Must have gone out to celebrate, thought Francie jealously.
"Well, you had better come in," she said, "there's a pay-phone on the landing if you want to try her again in half an hour."
"Nice flat," he said, "I spent three years in college. I'm impressed with you living out in your first year."
"I don't much like the idea of college life," she said, "coffee or wine?"
"Wine, thank you," he took off his blazer and flung himself down on the chair, "this is nice."
"My flatmate bought it," she said, "and left it for me." Or her boyfriend bought it, if you like it then it's out of Libby's price range.
She perched on the edge of the sofa opposite him. It began to occur to her that it might not have been particularly wise to let him in but then why should she be alone and unhappy? Mary was obviously neither if they had gone out to celebrate the end of term.
"Do you want to go for something to eat?" he asked. "Mary keeps telling me there is a rather good Greek restaurant in Rose Crescent, I can't remember what it's called."
"The Gardenia," she replied with a shake of the head, "I'm not hungry. More wine?"
He held out his glass. So far, so good, she thought, this is quite civilized.
He moved on to the sofa beside her, "I like your earrings, what are they?"
She was about to answer, something about a craft fair and a silversmith... but he had actually removed one of them and was kissing her ear!
"Henry, this is not a good idea!"
"No, I suppose not... not with such a pretty mouth..." This time it was much more difficult to resist and she did try, very bravely, but Henry was so persistent and with his tongue teasing her lips apart it was impossible to tell him to stop... however, with great presence of mind she pushed him backwards to the end of the sofa. He laughed. She was mortified, he was not meant to laugh, he was meant to take the hint and go . For a moment, she comforted herself, he did seem to realize she did not want kissed even if he was not going to go away. He remained on the arm of the sofa but looked at her with such ardent affection that she began to feel herself in a very dangerous situation.
"This is definitely not a good idea," she trembled, "you had better leave."
He looked a little disconcerted, guilty even, but to her immense relief he agreed with her.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he slid back down on to the sofa, "so I'll go..."
She looked at him for a moment, remembering Mr. Rushworth's contemptuous remark, he is not five foot nine... well, he probably was - just. And whoever said he was beautifully put together had not been wrong (it was probably Ria or Julie and hadn't they been around enough to know?) She sighed a little and looking at the line of his shoulders beneath his white shirt wondered, just briefly, what he would look like without it. Not that she wanted him to take it off, of course.
He caught her sigh and smiled again, "Are you all right, are you tired?"
"Yes, tired," she answered quickly. "Please go."
"Okay, definitely going but just one thing..."
"What?"
"A goodnight kiss. If you're going to throw me out on to a dismal Cambridge street at this time of night, you owe me a kiss. A real kiss with no resistance."
"I thought you enjoyed resistance," she responded with at least as much insight into his character as she would ever have.
"Well, resist then," he teased, "make it difficult."
And she did. However, there seemed to be a problem with that: the harder she tried to prevent him kissing her properly, the longer it seemed to take him to do it.
"Very well, if that's your attitude I'll have to find something else to kiss. Now, what else do I like about you?"
"That wasn't the deal, Commander," But he had got her hand and was kissing and nibbling her fingers. That made her laugh and laughing made her feel secure, the next thing she knew she was pushing up her sleeves because he said he wanted to kiss her arms. It's not as if I'm actually taking anything off...
Another glass of wine later she was beginning to feel the effects of leaving the central heating on so late in the year. She took her jumper off. I am wearing a tee shirt...
By the time he said he simply had to undo a few of the buttons on the front of her tee shirt she should have realized it was time to show him the door... she knew she should be showing him the door... however, she would undo two or three buttons herself on a summer day so what difference could it make? Even if he undoes all the buttons it's still okay, I have my camisole, thank goodness for layer dressing!
He gently slid her tee-shirt over her shoulders. Now was the time to be really thankful for the camisole. I see girls walking down the street in less... I'm perfectly respectable and I'm going to stop in a moment. It's time he tried to phone Mary again, anyway.
"Now are you going to kiss me properly or do I have to do this all night?" he demanded laughingly.
"Isn't it time you phoned Mary now?" The words would barely come out - what if he did go and phone Mary?
He glanced at his watch, "No, I'll give her another five minutes..."
Oh, God, no Henry - that's the belt for my jeans! Stop!
She grabbed his hand, "No! I'll kiss you and then you can go..."
"At last! Give me a second to loosen my tie - it's too warm in here."
She leaned back on the sofa and watched as he flung his tie on the floor, Just one kiss, Henry Crawford, then you phone your sister and then you go...
If she didn't resist this time it wouldn't last long... strangely it didn't work that way... it was Portsmouth beach again but better for all she had been able to think about then was how good it would be to be kissing him somewhere soft and warm rather than in the freezing outdoors and the sofa was certainly soft and warm. She tilted her face up and moved a little further back, no point in making it difficult, just one kiss he had said. Just one kiss. Well, she had only kissed him once - if for rather a long time - at the beach. There was no reason this time should be different, was there?
You're mad, Francie... he cupped her face in his hands and began to kiss her with an intensity she could never have imagined and, if she had planned to resist she forgot herself. Everything about him was fascinating and there were no restraints, it was not cold or uncomfortable, there was no Fran watching the clock... nothing but warmth and comfort and... passion… and a situation there would soon be no going back on, consequences that could never be undone, something that no amount of crying or praying would ever make better. She began to ease herself out of his embrace until she could stand up.
"You had definitely better go," she murmured with more courage than she felt.
"Go?" he repeated opening his eyes wide in feigned disbelief.
"Yes. Go."
He laughed and she began to feel incredibly foolish: this was not a sophisticated womanly way to behave. She bit her lip as hot tears began to bite at her eyes and tried to blot out the frankly entertained expression on his face. Oh, God, how stupid! She took a deep breath and grabbing her handbag fumbled about for a few moments in its cluttered interior.
"Here," she handed him a plastic card.
"True Love Waits?" he read the lettering and looked expectantly at her.
She snatched it back, "It's a society* I belong to," she blurted, "it's what I believe in. I'm sorry, now please, please go…"
"I'm going," he said softly but still with a hint of amusement and wishing her a most cordial adieu he let himself out.
Francie picked up the cold bundle of fur that Henry had civilly held the door open for, "Oh, Mr. Whiskers," she murmured, "how could I ever have lived with myself?"
*This is real. I saw it on the Esther Rantzen Show.