The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(320)

When he reached ‘The Shelter’ in a station fly, with a bag full of night things and papers, it was getting on for six o’clock. He was met in the hall by that young man, Mr Michael Mont, whom he remembered as making jokes about serious things – it was to be hoped he wouldn’t do it now!

‘Ah! Mr Gradman; so good of you to come! No! They hardly expect him to recover consciousness; it was a terrible knock. But if he does, he’s sure to want to see you, even if he can’t speak. We’ve got your room ready. Will you have some tea?’

Yes, he could relish a cup of tea – he could indeed! ‘Miss Fleur?’

The young man shook his head, his eyes looked distressed.

‘He saved her life.’

Gradman nodded. ‘So they say. It, tt! To think that he –! His father lived to be ninety, and Mr Soames was always careful. Dear, dear!’

He had drunk a nice hot cup of tea when he saw a figure in the doorway – Miss Fleur herself. Why! What a face! She came forward and took his hand. And, almost unconsciously, old Gradman lifted her other hand and imprisoned hers between his two.

‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I feel for you. I remember you as a little girl.’

She only answered: ‘Yes, Mr Gradman.’ and it seemed to him funny. She took him to his room, and left him there. He had never been in such a pleasant bedroom, with flowers and a nice smell, and a bathroom all to himself – really quite unnecessary. And to think that two doors off, Mr Soames was lying as good as gone!

‘Just breathing,’ she had said, passing the door. ‘They daren’t operate. My mother’s there.’

What a face she had on her – so white, so hurt-looking – poor young thing! He stood at the open window, gazing out. It was warm – very warm for the end of September. A pleasant air – a smell of grass. It must be the river down there! Peaceful – and to think –! Moisture blurred the river out; he winked it away. Only the other day they’d been talking about something happening, and now it hadn’t happened to him, but to Mr Soames himself. The ways of Providence! For Jesus Christ’s sake – Our Lord! Dear, dear! To think of it! He would cut up a very warm man. Richer than his father. There were some birds out there on the water – geese or swans or something – ye-ce! Swans! What a lot! In a row, floating along. He hadn’t seen a swan since he took Mrs G. to Golder’s Hill Park the year after the war. And they said – hopeless! A dreadful thing – sudden like that, with no time to say your prayers. Lucky the will was quite straightforward. Annuity to Mrs F., and the rest to his daughter for life, the remainder to her children in equal shares. Only one child at present, but there’d be others, no doubt, with all that money. Dear! What a sight of money there was in the family altogether, and yet, of the present generation, Mr Soames was the only warm man. It was all divided up now, and none of the young ones seemed to make any. He would have to keep a tight hand on the estates, or they’d be wanting their capital out, and Mr Soames wouldn’t approve of that! To think of outliving Mr Soames! And something incorruptibly faithful within that puggy face and thick figure, something that for two generations had served and never expected more than it had got, so moved old Gradman that he subsided on the window-seat with the words: ‘I’m quite upset!’

He was still sitting there with his head on his hand, and darkness thickening outside, when, with a knock on the door, that young man said:

‘Mr Gradman, will you come down for dinner, or would you like it up here?’

‘Up here, if it’s all the same to you. Cold beef and pickles or anything there is, and a glass of stout, if it’s quite convenient.’

The young man drew nearer.

‘You must feel it awfully, Mr Gradman, having known him so long. Not an easy man to know, but one felt –’

Something gave way in Gradman and he spoke:

‘Ah! I knew him from a little boy – took him to his first school – taught him how to draw a lease – never knew him to do a shady thing; very reserved man, Mr Soames, but no better judge of an investment, except his uncle Nicholas. He had his troubles, but he never said anything of them; good son to his father – good brother to his sisters – good father to his child, as you know, young man.’

‘Yes, indeed! And very good to me.’

‘Not much of a church-goer, I’m afraid, but straight as a die. Never one to wear his ’eart on his sleeve; a little uncomfortable sometimes, maybe, but you could depend on him. I’m sorry for your young wife, young man – I am that! ‘Ow did it ‘appen?’