My Son, My Son by Howard Spring

Author:Howard Spring [Spring, Howard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784970765
Publisher: Head of Zeus

21

We started early from Heronwater, and Martin was able to make better time than on the journey out. We were at home by four, and I at once rang up Livia. She asked me to call for her and to take her out to dinner. When I reached her flat she was dressed, all ready, and was sitting down at an open grand piano. She went on playing, and nodded to me to take a chair. Her face wore a deeply concentrated expression. Now and then she tried a phrase over again, and then again and again. Presently her hands dropped to her lap. “Composing,” she said with a smile.

“Another of your accomplishments.”

“Yes, but please don’t say it like that: as though it were something like the water-colour drawing that Victorian misses were taught. Polite accomplishments they were called, weren’t they?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, this isn’t at all polite. It’s a song. I just thought of the phrase ‘When it’s with you, it’s wonderful.’ And now the tune’s coming. Don’t you think that’s a good phrase for a sentimental song?”

And she began to play again, singing in a low, crooning voice:

With anyone else it’s just comme-ci, comme-ça,

I can take it or leave it, but when you are there

It’s wonderful!

When it’s with you it’s wonderful

She got up brightly. “Well, that’s that! I’ll finish it some day. Perhaps I’ll sell it to Wertheim—let him make it the theme song of one of his big shows. And so the play is finished! Help yourself to a cigarette.”

She waved her hand towards a silver box on the mantelpiece. Resting alongside it was a letter, addressed in Oliver’s unmistakable handwriting. It rather jolted me, seeing it there.

“You’re still hearing from Oliver,” I said casually.

“I shall be glad when he knows we’re engaged,” she answered briefly.

I didn’t light the cigarette. I crossed the room and put my arm round her waist. She lifted her face to be kissed, as though she had just remembered it. I sat in a chair and pulled her down on to my knee.

“You told Maeve that we were not in a hurry to get married. You asked in your letter whether I agreed. I don’t.” I kissed her on the eyes. “My sweet, what is there to wait for? Let’s be married soon.”

She twisted the lapel of my coat in her fingers and shook her head slowly. “My dear, I’m so terribly afraid you’d be sorry.” She did not look into my face as she spoke.

“Is that really the reason?” I asked. “If it is, put it out of your head right away. But is it?”

“It’s one of the reasons.”

“And what is the other?”

“Oh, I want to be certain,” she cried, springing up. “I want to feel that there’s no doubt about it.” She had taken the letter from the mantelpiece, and on the emphatic word “doubt” she tore it across and threw the pieces into the fire. Then she came and sat on the arm of my chair and stroked my hair—very grey now, I thought, an ageing man’s hair.

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