TOBY WAS PROMPT, anxious that Louise should not have broken her promise and moved the old woman on. Before he let himself in at the front door he put down the packages on the doorstep and went quietly down to the caravan in the orchard.
The old woman was sitting in her doorway, face turned upwards to the weak morning sunshine. She smiled at him when she saw him but she did not move. The dog raised his head and lifted his ears and gave a soft warning growl.
Hush, the old woman said gruffly.
At once the dog dropped down to watch Toby in silence.
Ill come and talk to you later, Toby said. If I may. He smiled his most charming smile. Im longing to hear about your childhood. Could you spare me some time this morning?
The old woman looked thoughtful. I promised her Id leave, she said regretfully. She doesnt want me in her orchard. I should be moving on today. Im about ready to get packed.
Toby let himself through the gate, the words spilling out in haste. Oh, dont go, dont go. Theres no need for you to go. Ill talk to Louise. She doesnt really want you to go. You neednt leave for a week or so. I promise.
The old woman smiled at him. As you wish, she said gently. Id rather stay. Ive some problem with the van that needs sorting. Mr Milesll do it for me. I could get it fixed here and then move on later.
Toby nodded. You do that. Ill be out later. In about an hour.
The old woman graciously assented. All right, then. Ill be here.
Louise, watching the two of them from her bedroom window, wondered what Toby wanted with the old woman. If it had been Miriam seeking her out then Louise would have known that she had found her a settlement place, a bed in a refuge, a council site. But Toby Toby never did anything for anyone but himself.
Louise slipped into bed and arranged herself attractively on the pillows as the front door opened and Tobys footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Darling, he said as he came into the room and laid the Guardian on her white counterpane. Darling.
The old womans van has got some mechanical problem, Toby said after he had made efficient but perfunctory love to Louise, unpacked the croissants and drank coffee, all in a rather bohemian mess in Louises wide white bed.
Louise watched him, her eyes hazy with post-coital content.
She told me Mr Miles would fix it for her if she could stay a few more days. I said I was sure youd let her. Toby put on his little-boy-pleasing face. I was sure you wouldnt really mind.
I do mind, Louise said abruptly. I dont want her here. I didnt ask her to come here. And I particularly dislike the way she interferes. She talks to you, she watches my front door and knows when youre here. God knows what arrangements she has in there for hygiene. Mr Miles has a thousand empty fields. If shes on such good terms with him, why doesnt she go up there?
Toby reconsidered rapidly. As long as he knew where the old woman was, it would actually be more convenient if she were not on Louises doorstep. A casual remark from her about Sylvia Pankhurst, and Tobys research would have to be shared with Louise, and the rewards shared too. But if she were safely housed away from Louise then he could develop the interviews at a leisurely, appropriate pace, and Louise would not find out about it until he had a contract from a publisher and an exclusive agreement with the old lady.
That makes sense, he said. Why dont you ask Mr Miles? He owes you a favour for breaking the fence.
Ill phone him, Louise decided. Ill phone him this morning.
Toby got dressed slowly while Louise showered for the second time that morning and then emerged from the bathroom rubbing her hair dry with a towel. He cleared the breakfast things away while she dressed and when she came downstairs he was washing up.
Thank you, she said, slightly surprised.
Toby shrugged off her thanks. Youve got enough to do. I want to see this problem with the old lady solved before I go to work. Call Mr Miles now, I can help him move her.
Louise gave Toby a long level scrutinising look. Thank you, she said again. She dialled the number on the kitchen telephone. It rang for a long time and when Andrew Miles picked it up he was breathless from running from the yard.
Its Louise Case. Im sorry to trouble you but I have a problem here.
Oh aye, Mr Miles said cautiously. Louise had telephoned him when her septic tank overflowed, when her rainwater drains had blocked and flooded her study, when her water-pipes froze, and when the coal merchant had failed to deliver her coal. To all these minor crises Mr Miles had responded as a good neighbour, and graciously received Louises envelopes containing excessive amounts of cash. But he had learned that Louises charm to which he was deeply susceptible generally indicated work which needed doing at once, often in the middle of lambing.
I have this old woman camping in my orchard, Louise said.
Well, you would, Mr Miles replied. Its May.
Is that her name?
The month. She always camps in your orchard in May. June she goes on to Cothering Farm. Every year.
Louise exhaled her rising irritation. I didnt know that.
Oh, yes.
Mr Miles seemed to think the call had ended. He was about to put down the telephone.
Wait! Louise said urgently. I want her moved.
There was a shocked silence.
She cant stay here, there are nofacilities. She has a dog, and she needs wood for her stove. Shes right at the bottom of my garden!
Mr Miles sighed.
Surely you have a corner of a field or somewhere she could go? Louise asked plaintively. All those fields of yours are empty.
Hay, Andrew Miles said succinctly. Those empty fields are hay meadows. They are not empty. They are growing hay. You cant put a van on a hay crop.
Somewhere there must be a corner for her?
She can come if she likes. But shes always stayed in your orchard before. She was born there.
Will you come down and tell her?
Ill come down just before dinner, Andrew Miles said grudgingly. But I doubt shell listen to me.
Not until tonight?
Dinner midday.
Thank you, Louise said. But he had already hung up.
Andrew Miless Land-Rover pulled up behind Tobys clean white Ford Escort and coughed to a standstill. Louise came out of the front door, Toby behind her. Louise introduced the two men. Andrew looked over Toby with one brief, encompassing glance. Toby in his turn saw a man in his middle forties, weathered into a broken-veined tan. A tall man, all bone and muscle with beaky hard features and a pair of hard blue eyes. His thinning fair hair was crushed down by a flat cloth cap with the shine of age on the peak. He was wearing working trousers very unlike Tobys well-cut chinos, and a brushed cotton coloured shirt with the nap worn away at the collar.
Well, then, he said.
Louise led the way down the garden to the orchard gate. Hello! she called.
The old woman poked her head out of the van door and looked at the three of them. She nodded to Andrew Miles with a small knowing smile, but she said nothing.
Mr Miles here has a field where you could park your van, Louise began. Unconsciously she had raised her voice to the determinedly bright tone that is appropriate for the disabled and old and those too weak to protest. A lovely big field where youd be more comfortable.
Mr Miles here has a field where you could park your van, Louise began. Unconsciously she had raised her voice to the determinedly bright tone that is appropriate for the disabled and old and those too weak to protest. A lovely big field where youd be more comfortable.
The old woman looked at Andrew. The bottom field where your dad kept the pigs? she asked. I told your grandad and I told your dad Id not stop there.
Any field you like. Youre in the way for Miss Case, here, he said gruffly.
The old woman looked quickly at Louise. How am I in your way?
Youre not! Louise said quickly. But it is my orchard, and you are trespassing, actually. She felt her voice weaken. It is my land, you know, and there isnt really room for you here.
He said I could stay. The old woman jerked a dirty thumb at Toby. Your fancy-man. He said I could stay.
Toby flushed under Andrew Miless look of interested inquiry. Well, I was just thinking
I cant move anyway, the old woman said. The gears are gone. I couldnt get up that hill. Ive got no first or second gear. I was going to ask you to fix it for me.
Andrew nodded. Not today I cant, he cautioned. Later I will.
The old lady nodded as if the problem were solved. When the engines fixed Ill move on, she said. Not to the pig field. I go on to Cothering next. Ill go when the engine is fixed.
Louise would have been happier with an undertaking as to when the engine would be fixed but both men had nodded and turned away. The old woman spoke to Louise in a conspiratorial undertone. Hes a handsome man. Any woman would be proud to have him in her bed. I can see why you like him.
Toby?
Andrew Miles, the woman said, her voice loving every syllable of his name. And such a pretty farm, and owned freehold, you know. Youve been wasting your time with that girls blouse Toby. If I were your age Id be tucked up in the big feather bed in the farmhouse bnow and a couple of babies in the cot, too.
Louise turned away and followed the men back to the house. They were standing in the drive beside Andrews Land-Rover. Louise felt extraordinarily uncomfortable.
Ill need to look round, Mr Miles said. Ill have to find a reconditioned gear box. Its a big job. I can come down and do it later in the week.
Thatll be great, Toby agreed eagerly. He was heavier than Andrew Miles, better dressed, rounder-faced, richer all over with the smooth glossiness of a well-serviced urban man. But beside the beaky farmer he looked strangely insubstantial. Louise cant really work with the van there.
I thought she worked in the dining room?
It overlooks the orchard.
Andrew Miles looked at Louise as if he would ask her what work took place in the dining room but needed a clear view of the orchard. Landscape painting?
No, Im trying to write an essay on Lawrence, Louise said. But I cant concentrate on anything when I keep seeing the van.
Oh, writing. I thought you were a teacher.
I teach at the university and I write as well.
He opened the door of the Land-Rover. It creaked loudly and a few flakes of paint fell like dark green snow. Got to get home, he said. Pigs want feeding.
Thank you for coming, Louise said. I really do appreciate it. Youre such a good neighbour!
Andrew Miles nodded without smiling. Louise, feeling that she had been gushing, retreated to the front door. Toby stood by his car, to ensure that Mr Miles crashed his Land-Rover into reverse gear and backed safely away from its shiny whiteness.
They went back into the house. Coffee? Louise offered. Or do you have to go?
Actually, I think Ill pop down and have another word with your old lady. She was talking to me last night about her childhood. I was thinking, I might do a bit of oral history research on her. Its something Ive always wanted to do. If shes going to be here for a few days I could take the opportunity.
You hate oral history, Louise pointed out. You said it was worse than local history in encouraging people to be egotistical about their boring past, trying to pass tedious personal gossip off as interesting facts.
Oh, yes, Toby said with an easy laugh. But if she really was born here and adopted in London then she does have a story. Quite different from all the people who worked in newspapers before computers, or served in shops before supermarkets. She might be really quite interesting.
Louise shrugged. Her dream of the flood-tide carrying books, the old womans admiration of Andrew Miles, and Tobys sudden attentiveness all conspired to make her feel off-balance. She felt as if the calm certainties of her life as a career academic and adulterous lover were all being questioned at once. Talk to her if you want to, she said. But if Miriam rings me, are you supposed to be here?
Im in the library at university, Toby said. He knew that the naming of Miriam was a warning of Louises displeasure, but his inner joy that he had successfully laid claim to the old ladys story without challenge from Louise was too great.
You do some work, he urged. Dont worry about the old lady. Shell be no trouble to you now. He smiled at her and went down the garden path to the gate to the orchard. Louise turned and went back into the house.
The Virgin and the Gypsy, a patriarchal myth of rape and female growth, Louise typed into the keyboard. The words came up on the screen, each letter trotting out behind the cursor like a reliable friend. Louise paused. She had the start of an idea that Lawrence portrayed the young women as waiting for an event in their lives, that Yvette in particular was shown as a girl awaiting transition into womanhood. There was some concealed pun, Louise thought, in the girls having attended finishing school and the sense that their travels ended at the start of the book. Lawrence affected to know better that the two women were not finished, they were not even started until they were sexually active.
So far so good (tick tick in the margin) but then Lawrence went further and implied that sexual development was the only future open to them. Their conversation was mainly about adornment and husband-catching. Their social life was all courtship. And their inner life was the progress from unknowing virginity to maturity which could only be achieved through sexual intercourse with a knowing man. All this was very bad indeed (cross cross cross in the margin, and often!).
Louise thought she could write a convincing essay dividing Lawrence the rebel against the bourgeois society, which was good (tick tick) from Lawrence the sexist against women except as sexual objects, which was bad (cross cross cross). But when she came to write the first paragraph she found that between her and the screen came an entrapping maze of images. The snowdrop-flower of the mothers face, the gypsy lashing his horse to reach the house before the thundering flood of the river, Andrew Miless gentle smile at the old woman, and her own dream of rising water and the man in her bed. A man to whom she had cried Im sorry! Im sorry! A wronged man, the wronged man. The wrong man.
Louise had never screamed at any man, least of all Toby whose control over his own temperament inspired a calm, almost balletic response from her. Toby was so charming, so consciously sexily charming that he inspired Louise to be charming too. She could never have flung herself at him screaming Im sorry.