Je me suis trompé[190], our conductor said, turning sharply on his heel, and he led us back towards the grave where the old woman stood, apparently in prayer.
How odd! There seems to be another mourner, Aunt Augusta said, and sure enough, on the slab of marble lay a wreath twice as large as mine made of flowers twice as expensive from the hothouses of the south. I laid my own beside it. The headlines were hidden: there was only part of my fathers name sticking out like an exclamation: chard Pulling, and a date, October 2, 1923.
Je me suis trompé[190], our conductor said, turning sharply on his heel, and he led us back towards the grave where the old woman stood, apparently in prayer.
How odd! There seems to be another mourner, Aunt Augusta said, and sure enough, on the slab of marble lay a wreath twice as large as mine made of flowers twice as expensive from the hothouses of the south. I laid my own beside it. The headlines were hidden: there was only part of my fathers name sticking out like an exclamation: chard Pulling, and a date, October 2, 1923.
The little woman looked at us with astonishment. Qui êtes-vous? [191] she asked us.
Her accent was not quite French and my aunt replied as bluntly in English, Who are you?
Miss Paterson, the little woman replied with a hint of frightened defiance.
And what has this grave to do with you? my aunt demanded.
I have come here on this day for more than forty years, and I have never seen either of you here before.
Have you any rights over this grave? my aunt asked. Something in the womans manner had riled her perhaps it was her air of timid belligerence, for my aunt had little patience with weakness even when it was concealed.
The woman was cornered and showed fight. Ive never heard there are rights in a grave, she said.
A grave like a house has been paid for by someone.
And if a house is left abandoned for forty years, hasnt even a stranger the right?
Who are you? my aunt repeated.
I told you. I am Miss Paterson.
Did you know my brother-in-law?
Your brother-in-law! the old lady exclaimed. She looked at my wreath, she looked at me, she looked at my aunt.
And this, my good woman, is Richard Pullings son.
She said with dismay, The family, as though the word meant, the enemy.
So you see, my aunt said, we at any rate do have certain rights.
I couldnt understand my aunts harshness and I intervened. I think it is very kind of you, I said, to lay flowers on my fathers grave. It may seem strange to you that I have never been here before
It is quite typical of you all, Miss Paterson said, of you all. Your mother never even came to the funeral. I was the only one. I and the concierge of the hotel. A kind man. She added with tears in her eyes, It was a wet wet day, and he brought his big umbrella
Then you knew my father You were here?
He died gently gently in my arms, Miss Paterson said. She had a way of repeating words as though she were used to reading childrens books aloud.
It is very cold, my aunt interrupted. Henry, you have laid your wreath, I shall go back to the hotel. This is not a place for prolonged conversation. She began to walk away: it was almost like an admission of defeat, and she tried to carry it off with disdain, like a Great Dane[192]which turns its back on some small defenceless dog defiant in a corner and pretends it unworthy of its teeth.
I said to Miss Paterson, I must see my aunt home[193].
Couldnt you come and take a cup of tea with us this evening? I was only a small boy when my father died. I hardly knew him. I should have come here before, but, you know, I thought nobody cared any more about such things
I know I am old-fashioned, Miss Paterson said, so very old-fashioned.
But you will at least have tea with us? At the Meurice?
I will come, Miss Paterson said with frightened dignity. You must tell your aunt, however she is your aunt? that she mustnt take offence at me. He has been dead a long time. It is unfair of her to be jealous of me because I care so much, so much still.
I repeated the message to my aunt exactly, and she was astonished. Did she really believe me to be jealous? The only time I can remember being jealous was over Curran, and that experience taught me better. You know how little jealous I was even of Monsieur Dambreuse
You dont have to defend yourself to me, Aunt Augusta, I said.
Defend myself? I certainly have not fallen as low as that. I am trying to explain my feelings, that is all. The woman seemed to me totally inadequate to her grief. You cant pour a glass of wine into an after-dinner cup of coffee. She irritated me. To think that she was with your father when he died.
Presumably there was a doctor too.
He wouldnt have died if she had not been so feeble. I am convinced of that. Your father had to be shaken into action. The trouble with Richard was his appearance. He was strikingly good-looking. He never had to make an effort with a woman. And finally he was too lazy to struggle. If I had been with him I would have seen that he was alive today.
Today?
He would not have been much older than Mr. Visconti.
Be kind to her all the same, Aunt Augusta.
I shall be as sweet as sugar, my aunt promised.
And that afternoon I could tell that she was really trying to hide her irritation at Miss Patersons mannerisms, of which there were many besides her habit of repeating words. She had, for example, a twitch in her right foot (the first time it happened I really thought that Aunt Augusta had kicked her), and, when she had been silent a little while and her mind wandered, her teeth began to click as though she were manipulating a pair of false dentures. We had tea in my aunts room, for there was no proper lounge in the square miniature skyscraper which sat between two identical others on the quay.
You must forgive us, my aunt said, they have only Liptons Indian.
Oh, but I like Liptons, Miss Paterson said, with one little little lump.
Did you come via[194] Calais? my aunt asked, making polite conversation. We came that way yesterday. Or by the ferry?
Oh no, Miss Paterson said, you see, I live here. I have always lived here, that is to say since Richard died.
She gave a scared glance at me and said, Mr. Pulling, I mean.
Even during the war? my aunt asked with a touch of suspicion. She would have been glad, I think, to have found a chink in Miss Patersons integrity, if only a small error of fact.
It was a time of some privation, Miss Paterson said.
Perhaps the bombardments seemed less terrible to me because I had my children to think of.
Your children? my aunt exclaimed. Surely Richard
Oh no, no, no, Miss Paterson said, I refer only to the children whom I taught. I taught English in the ycée.
Didnt the Germans intern you?
The people here were very good to me. I was protected. The mayor provided me with an identity card. Miss Patersons leg jumped. After the war they even gave me a medal.
A medal for teaching English? my aunt asked incredulously.
And other things, Miss Paterson said. She leant back in her chair and her teeth began to click. Her thoughts were far away.
Tell me about my father, I told her. What brought him to Boulogne?
He wanted to give me a holiday, Miss Paterson said. He was worried about my health. He said I needed sea air. My aunt rattled her spoon and I feared for her patience. Just a day trip you know. We took the boat like you to Calais, for he wanted to show me where the burghers came from, and then we took a bus here to see the Napoleon column he had just read his biography by Sir Walter Scott and we found there was no boat back from Boulogne.
That came as a surprise to him, I suppose? my aunt asked with an irony which was obvious to me but not to Miss Paterson.
Yes, Miss Paterson said. He was very apologetic for his lack of forethought[195]. However, we found two clean rooms in a little little inn up in the high town in the square by the mairie[196].
Adjoining rooms, I assume, my aunt said. I couldnt understand why she was so severe.
Yes, Miss Paterson said, because I was frightened.
Of what?
I had never been abroad before, nor had Mr. Pulling. I had to translate for both of us.
You knew French?
I had taken a course at the Berlitz.
You mustnt mind our interest[197], Miss Paterson, I said. You see, I have never heard any details of my fathers death my mother never spoke of it. She always shut me up when I asked questions. She told me he had died on a business trip, and somehow I always assumed that he had died at Wolverhampton he often went to Wolverhampton.
When did you meet my brother-in-law? Aunt Augusta asked. May I pour you another cup of tea?
Yes, please. A little bit weaker if it would not be a trouble to you. We met on the top of a forty-nine bus.
My aunt paused with a lump of sugar in mid-air. A forty-nine bus? she repeated.
Yes, you see, I had heard him ask for his ticket, and when his destination came he was fast asleep, so I woke him up, but it was too late. It was a request stop[198]. He was very grateful and came all the way to Chelsea Town Hall with me. I had a basement room then in Oakley Street and he walked back to the house with me. I remember it all so clearly, so clearly, Miss Paterson said, as though it were only yesterday. We found many things in common. Her foot gave a kick again.
That surprises me, my aunt said.
Oh, how we talked that day!
What about?
Mainly I think about Sir Walter Scott. I knew Marmion and little else, but he knew everything that Sir Walter had ever written. He could quote He had a wonderful memory for poetry. She whispered as though to herself:
Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver,
Who could win maidens breast,
Ruin and leave her?
In the last battle
And so it all began, my aunt interrupted in a tone of impatience. And the traitor rests in Boulogne.
Miss Paterson coiled up in her chair and kicked her foot vigorously.
Nothing began in the way you mean, she said. In the night I heard him knock on the door and call Dolly!
Dolly! my aunt repeated with distaste as though Dolly were an unmentionable word.
Yes. That was what he called me. My name is Dorothy.