The Morning Gift

‘I’m really beginning to believe we’ll get there,’ said Ruth.

‘Of course we’ll get there.’

They went on board. Even for the short Channel crossing he had secured a cabin. ‘You’ll need another sweater,’ he said, lifting her suitcase onto the rack. ‘It’ll be cold on deck and you’ll have to pay your respects to the White Cliffs of Dover.’

She nodded and opened the case. On top, carefully packed, was a framed photograph which she had taken from the flat, kept in the museum . . . even packed, wrapped in her nightdress, in the rucksack with which she proposed to swim into France. Deliberately, she took it out and placed it in Quin’s hands. Here was the chance to show him how committed she was to someone else; to make him see that she would never again forget herself as she had done the previous night.

‘That’s Heini.’

Quin did not doubt it. The photo, taken on the day of his graduation from the Conservatoire, was in colour and emphasized Heini’s dark curls, his light grey, long-lashed eyes. He stood beside a Bösendorfer grand, one hand resting on the lid, and he was smiling. Across the right-hand corner of the picture, in large, spiky Gothic script, were the words: To my little starling, with fondest love, Heini.

‘How do starlings come into it?’ Quin wanted to know, remembering the distress that mention of these robust birds had caused her in the flat.

Ruth explained. ‘Mozart had one. He bought it in the market for thirty-four kreutzers and he kept it in a cage in his room. It used to sing and sing but however loud it sang it never bothered him . . .’ She told the story, her face alight, for she never forgot that first time when Heini had claimed her.

Quin listened politely. ‘And what happened to it?’ he asked when she had finished.

‘It died,’ Ruth admitted.

‘It would,’ commented Quin.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, they’re not cage birds, are they? Perhaps Mozart didn’t know that?’

‘Mozart knew everything,’ she flashed.

Quin grinned and left her. She put on an extra sweater and made her way onto the deck. As she emerged from the First-Class Lounge, she saw two fur-clad and unmistakably upper-class ladies, settled for sea sickness in reclining steamer chairs.

‘Wasn’t that Quin Somerville?’ said one.

‘Was it? I didn’t see.’

‘I’m pretty sure it was. That crinkly face . . . so attractive. I thought I saw him on the platform with a girl. One of those little peasants in a loden cape.’

‘Goodness! Could he be serious?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so, she hardly seemed his style. Not nearly soignée enough.’

A steward passed and the ladies demanded rugs.

‘If he is serious, poor Lavinia will go into a decline. She still thinks she’s going to get him for Fenella.’

‘Well, you can’t blame her. All that money and –’

Ruth drew back and went out by a different door. Quin was standing in the bows, his hair blown by the wind, absorbed in the pattern of the water as the ship drew away. I knew he was rich, of course, she thought: I must have known, and that the world is full of Fenellas waiting to marry him. Well, good luck to them – a man who sneers at Mozart and runs from Strauss as though the devil is at his heels.

‘I suppose we won’t see each other again after we land,’ she said resolutely.

‘I’d like to see you safe to Belsize Park, but after that it would certainly be best if we went our separate ways. If you want anything you have only to contact my solicitor – not just about the annulment, but about anything with which you need help. He’s an old friend.’

Yes, she thought; your solicitor. Not you.

‘I owe you so much,’ she said. ‘Not just that you got me out, but money. A lot of money. I must pay you back.’

‘Yes, you must do that,’ he said – and she turned to him in surprise. His voice was harsh and forbidding and she had not expected that. All along he had been so open-handed, so generous. ‘And you know what that means?’

‘That I must find a job and –’

‘That’s exactly what it doesn’t mean! The most stupid thing you can do is to take some trumpery job for short-term gain. I can just see you being a shop assistant or some such nonsense. The only sensible thing to do is to get yourself back to university as soon as possible. If University College has offered you a place you couldn’t do better. Remember there are all sorts of grants now for people in your position; the world is waking up at last to what is happening in Europe. Then when you’ve got a degree you can get a decent job and pay me back in your own good time.’

She digested this, but he noticed that she made no promise and he frowned, fearing some quixotic nonsense on her part – and Ruth, seeing the frown, remembered something else he had bestowed.

‘What about the ring?’ she asked. ‘What shall I do with it?’

‘Anything you like,’ he said indifferently. ‘Sell it, pawn it, keep it.’

Quelled, she looked down at her hand. ‘Anyway I’d better take it off before my parents ask questions. Or Heini, if he’s there already.’