There was danger in the air. I supposed that was inevitable with Dickon there. He seemed to generate trouble and had done so all his life. It might have been because he pursued his own way without caring very much what happened to those whom he encountered in achieving it.
I longed for him to go and yet I wanted him to stay. Every hour that he was in the house seemed fraught with danger and yet at the same time I felt I was living at twice the rate I normally did.
He went round the estate with Charles and me and made comments which I was sure were very much to the point. If he saw anything to praise—which was rare—he did so; mostly he gave veiled criticism and made comparisons between estate management in France and in England, implying the excellence of the latter. He was knowledgeable and more interested than Charles had ever been; and I realized that all the time he was showing his superiority in every possible way.
Charles was inclined to lose his temper whereas Dickon remained serenely good-natured, enjoying the situation enormously. He was maddening.
He went to the nurseries and admired the children. Both Chariot and Louis-Charles were delighted with him, and he hovered between ignoring them and treating them as grownup individuals, which often seemed to earn the admiration of the young. His size and his overwhelming personality won their respect and even Claudine regarded him soberly when he picked her up, and she tried to pull the buttons from his coat, which indicated that she liked them very much.
He charmed my parents-in-law and when Amélie and her husband called to spend the day he did the same with them. He was determined to please everyone in the house except Charles.
Lisette said: ‘I should beware of such a man. He is far too attractive in a wicked way … and they are always the worst.’
‘Never fear,’ I replied, ‘I am on my guard.’
She knew something of him because in the past I used to confide in her. She said: ‘I understand why your mother wanted to keep you away from him. I can also see why you did not want her to succeed.’
‘I never knew anyone quite like Dickon,’ I admitted. ‘And I doubt I ever shall’.
‘Life with him,’ suggested Lisette dreamily, ‘would be one long adventure. Is he very rich?’
‘Very … now, I should imagine. He owns Clavering and Eversleigh and his wife brought him a lot of money.’
‘And you think he is satisfied now … financially?’
‘I should hope so.’
‘He isn’t, I’d be ready to gamble. His sort never are. When he marries again it will be a rich woman.’
‘Is that a prophecy?’
‘As good as,’ said Lisette.
‘Do you realize, I said, ‘that since Dickon has come we talk of little else?’
‘What else could be so interesting?’
‘I shall be glad when he goes. He is causing trouble here. He does, wherever he goes, my mother used to say.’
‘But it is trouble which you can’t help wanting. Come, be honest. You know it will be somewhat dull when he has gone.’
‘He irritates Charles so. Sometimes I don’t know how to get through the evening.’
‘Dickon is enjoying himself, I don’t doubt.’
‘I am sure Charles isn’t.’
In the evenings they would sit up late playing a card game. They both enjoyed gambling, Charles recklessly, his face flushed, his eyes blazing; Dickon calmly, raising the stakes ridiculously high, never showing the least bit of emotion whether he lost or won; but then he always seemed to win.
I would go to bed and leave them and when Charles came up pretend to be asleep.
Charles would be angry. I would hear him banging things about before he came to bed. Sometimes he lay sleepless beside me; at others he would wake me and indulge in a kind of stormy passion which meant that he was thinking of Dickon. He knew of course of Dickon’s feelings for me and that there had been some arrangement between us in my extreme youth. It didn’t help.
Dickon must go soon.
There was a good deal of talk about the war.
I remember that evening well. We were at table with my parents-in-law, Charles, Dickon and I, and Dickon, as he often did, turned the conversation to the war. The attitude of the two of them towards the war was typical of their entire relationship. It was almost a personal war. Charles delighted in the Colonists’ successes, which Dickon dismissed as mere skirmishes. But mostly Dickon would attack the intervention of the French and would become very eloquent in his denunciation of the folly of those who did so.
That night he sat there, his eyes a brilliant blue as they were when he was excited, his cravat a dazzling white against the blue velvet of his jacket, his strong hands with the gold signet ring on the table before him—calm and still as though to call attention to Charles’s gesticulations.
He continued on the theme of the war and the folly of French intervention.
