‘Well, Jon,’ said Val hastily, ‘if you’ve finished, we’ll go and have coffee.’
‘Who were those?’ Jon asked, on the stairs. ‘I didn’t quite –’
‘Old George Forsyte is a first cousin of your father’s and of my Uncle Soames. He’s always been here. The other chap, Profond, is a queer fish. I think he’s hanging round Soames’s wife, if you ask me!’
Jon looked at him, startled. ‘But that’s awful,’ he said: ‘I mean – for Fleur.’
‘Don’t suppose Fleur cares very much; she’s very up to date.’
‘Her mother!’
‘You’re very green, Jon.’
Jon grew red. ‘Mothers,’ he stammered angrily, ‘are different.’
‘You’re right,’ said Val suddenly; ‘but things aren’t what they were when I was your age. There’s a “Tomorrow we die” feeling. That’s what old George means about my Uncle Soames. He doesn’t mean to die tomorrow.’
Jon said, quickly: ‘What’s the matter between him and my father?’
‘Stable secret, Jon. Take my advice, and bottle up. You’ll do no good by knowing. Have a liqueur?’
Jon shook his head.
‘I hate the way people keep things from one,’ he muttered. ‘and then sneer at one for being green.’
‘Well, you can ask Holly. If she won’t tell you, you’ll believe it’s for your own good, I suppose.’
Jon got up. ‘I must go now; thanks awfully for the lunch.’
Val smiled up at him half-sorry, and yet amused. The boy looked so upset.
‘All right! See you on Friday.’
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Jon.
And he did not. This conspiracy of silence made him desperate. It was humiliating to be treated like a child! He retraced his moody steps to Stratton Street. But he would go to her club now, and find out the worst! To his inquiry the reply was that Miss Forsyte was not in the Club. She might be in perhaps later. She was often in on Monday – they could not say. Jon said he would call again, and, crossing into the Green Park, flung himself down under a tree. The sun was bright and a breeze fluttered the leaves of the young lime tree beneath which he lay; but his heart ached. Such darkness seemed gathered round his happiness. He heard Big Ben chime three above the traffic. The sound moved something in him, and, taking out a piece of paper, he began to scribble on it with a pencil. He had jotted a stanza, and was searching the grass for another verse, when something hard touched his shoulder – a green parasol. There above him stood Fleur!
‘They told me you’d been, and were coming back. So I thought you might be out here, and you are – it’s rather wonderful!’
‘Oh, Fleur! I thought you’d have forgotten me.’
‘When I told you I shouldn’t!’
Jon seized her arm.
‘It’s too much luck! Let’s get away from this side.’ He almost dragged her on through that too thoughtfully regulated Park, to find some cover where they could sit and hold each other’s hands.
‘Hasn’t anybody cut in?’ he said, gazing round at her lashes, in suspense above her cheeks.
‘There is a young idiot, but he doesn’t count.’
Jon felt a twitch of compassion for the – young idiot.
‘You know I’ve had sunstroke; I didn’t tell you.’
‘Really! Was it interesting?’
‘No. Mother was an angel. Has anything happened to you?’
‘Nothing. Except that I think I’ve found out what’s wrong between our families, Jon.’
His heart began beating very fast.
‘I believe my father wanted to marry your mother, and your father got her instead.’
‘Oh!’
‘I came on a photo of her; it was in a frame behind a photo of me. Of course, if he was very fond of her, that would have made him pretty mad, wouldn’t it?’
Jon thought for a minute. ‘Not if she loved my father best.’
‘But suppose they were engaged?’
‘If we were engaged, and you found you loved somebody better, I might go cracked, but I shouldn’t grudge it you.’
‘I should. You mustn’t ever do that with me, Jon.’
‘My God! Not much!’
‘I don’t really believe that he’s ever really cared for my mother.’
Jon was silent. Val’s words, the two past masters in the club!
‘You see, we don’t know,’ went on Fleur; ‘it may have been a great shock. She may have behaved badly to him. People do.’
‘My mother wouldn’t.’
Fleur shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t think we know much about our fathers and mothers. We just see them in the light of the way they treat us; but they’ve treated other people, you know, before we were born – plenty, I expect. You see, they’re both old. Look at your father, with three separate families!’