But there was something reckless about it too.HowcouldKick have told Billy’s mother about meeting the pope in that way?As though saying she had tried pear tart or seen a seal.Brigid, tucked away in a shady swing-seat Chips had placed at a clever angle so that it was easy to see the house, the gardens, but not so easy to be seen, felt herself smiling.
Kick had no idea – none at all, Brigid thought, watching her stroll around with Billy – of how deep the feeling against her ran.She thought people like Billy’s father ‘didn’t much like’ Catholics, as though that was the same as ‘not much liking’ Americans – something a bit silly that could be got over easily simply by knowing a few nice Americans.She couldn’t see – even Brigid could only barely see – how deep it ran; the almost violent disgust they felt.
American Catholics were different to Irish ones, she decided, thinking back to summers at Glenmaroon, Maureen’s parents’ estate outside Dublin.Or maybe just rich Catholics; Kennedy Catholics, with their exquisite rosary beads – yes, she had seen Kick’s gold-and-pearl beads beside her bed – their private audiences with the pope and friendships with cardinals.There was less obvious blessing and muttering every time a church was passed or a saint’s name invoked.Smarter, more restrained.But they were still Catholic.As alien as if they had been African.
Leaning back in her chair and pushing off from the ground with one foot so that the swing moved farther back, higher up, she wondered at the sympathy that seemed to exist between Duff and Rose.If they had been younger, Brigid would have said that Rose found him attractive.Obviously that was silly – she was too old; why, she must be nearly fifty!– but she was keen for his good opinion, that much was obvious.She liked talking to him, sitting near him.Lucky shewasold, Brigid thought with a grin.Too old for Maureen to bother with.
But all the same, liking Duff seemed an interesting thing for Rose, because otherwise, from what Brigid could see, she mostly talked about how she managed things, organised things.
She saw Honor coming out of the walled garden then with Paul.His mouth was stained with some dark fruit he had been eating, and he was crying.
‘I told you not to eat so many,’ Honor said.‘No wonder you have the stomach ache.’She looked around rather desperately, and Brigid wondered whether to go to her, but she was too lazy.
‘Give me your hand, Paul, and we will go back to Nanny.’Honor reached for the boy’s hand but he snatched it away from her.
‘No Nanny,’ he said.He sat down on the gravel path and cried more loudly.
‘Paul!’Honor sounded shocked.‘You cannot sit here crying.Get up at once.If you have a pain, we must go and find Nanny.’
‘No Nanny,’ the child said again.‘Not Nanny!’
Honor grabbed at his hand and tried to pull him to standing but he resisted her, hauling himself the other way so that he was heavy and unwieldy.Each time she pulled him up enough to set him on his feet, he simply collapsed his body onto the ground again.
‘Stand straight, Paul,’ Honor snapped at him.‘You are behaving most awfully badly.’
‘Papa!’the boy called.‘Papa!’
‘Papa isn’t here, and I cannot allow you to behave like this.I am positively ashamed of you,’ Honor said.‘Get up, now.’
But the boy only cried more and then, as Honor stood dithering beside him, began to shout, ‘Go away, Mamma.Go away.’The croquet players were watching now.Brigid saw Honor’s hand twitch as though she would slap him, and she got up quickly.
‘Paul, darling, what is it?’she asked, moving quickly to where they were.
‘Oh, Brigid, thank goodness,’ Honor said.‘He is being simply impossible.’She sounded as though she might cry too.
‘Let me,’ Brigid said and she bent down and scooped the boy into her arms.‘Shall we go and see if Cook has anything to make your tummy better?’she said, kissing Paul’s hot little face.‘I think a cup of milky tea with sugar, don’t you?’
He nodded and Honor looked gratefully at her over Paul’s shoulder.‘Thank you, darling,’ she said.She turned then and walked towards the front of the house, in a hurry to get away from her crying son.
Brigid sighed and hoisted the boy higher on her hip.‘Poor little poppet,’ she said, ‘is your tummy terribly sore?’She kissed him again.
She was still carrying him when she rounded the side of the house and came upon Chips, Bundi loping along by his side.‘Is that my darling boy?’Chips called when he saw them.
Paul took his head from Brigid’s shoulder.‘Papa!’
‘Yes, it is Papa, come here my dearest lamb,’ and Chips held his arms out.
Brigid passed Paul to him.‘He has the stomach ache,’ she said, ‘too many berries.We were going to see would Cook give him a cup of milky tea.’
‘Poor little mite,’ Chips said.‘I shall take him.Sweet milky tea is just the thing.Brigid, would you go and tell the Devonshires that I will be with them directly, just as soon as this little fellow is on his feet again?’
Brigid watched him carry Paul the last bit to the house, chatting to him, telling him something funny Bundi had done.Paul laughed, stomach ache clearly forgotten.
Her feeling of charity for Chips lasted all the way to tea time and beyond, until she walked out with him to say goodbye to Billy’s parents, who insisted they ‘must get back’.
‘What do you make of our American friends?’Chips asked as they waited for the motorcar to be brought around.
‘Interesting,’ Moucher said politely.
