B007TB5SP0 EBOK (32 page)

‘Athenaeus, you know, maintains a lettuce is calming to Love!’

‘Who ever mentioned love? I only said I liked him dreadfully.’

Miss O’Brookomore leaned her chin upon her hand: she rested.

‘Where
is
this Pastorelli?’ she asked. ‘I mean the town.’

‘It’s a little way outside of Orvieto. Not very far from Rome.’

‘Really? Rome …’

‘Avid thing! I believe you long to be there.’

‘I see no reason to complain.’

‘Think of the countless persons who’ve never come to Greece.’ Then finding Worcester Sauce –

‘It doesn’t seem fair!’

Miss Collins looked sage.

‘Such,’ she remarked, ‘is life!’

‘You haven’t told me, Mab, about Pastorelli yet … There’s
a cathedral with frescoes there, you say. Scuola di –
who
? A campo-santo. And what else?’

‘There’s the house, of course, where he was born. It stands beside such a wicked-looking lake, and the gardens sowed with statues. He showed me a photograph of his family seated in it. Oh, my gracious!’

‘His family?’

‘Just the natural blood ones …’

‘After
déjeuner
you should really write to your—’

‘What’s the good? … Mum’s away in Edinburgh. She says she must try to content herself with
Modern Athens
as she doesn’t suppose she shall ever see the other. So papa – poor old gentleman – is left all alone to look after my kiddy sister Daisy, who can neither read nor write. Mum won’t let her be educated, she says, as it hasn’t answered at all with me. And frequently, for a f-f-friend, she is asked to display her ignorance.’

‘Her what?’

‘How you said it: What! I love Napier
best
, dear, always when he says, “What.” W-h-a-t! What! Oh, Gerald, I can’t explain … You’ll never know—’

‘I do know. It’s like the crack of a cart-whip. Exactly.’

Miss Collins began eating crumbs at random.

‘A whip? Oh, Gerald—’

‘You seem to have entirely forgotten Napier since you’ve become interested in the Count.’

‘After all, what is he but a Yorkshire pudding?’

‘Still, he’s your fiancé!’

‘Do look at the man exactly opposite. Doesn’t he give you the impression rather of something torn up by the roots?’

‘He obviously has a little money, and she is spending it!’

Miss Collins whisked her eyes over the room.

Midway along Mrs Arbanel appeared to be absorbed in a vivacious and seemingly vital conversation with the
maitre d’hôtel
.

‘I should love to seem so thoughtful!’

‘I don’t see Mrs Cowsend, do you?’

‘Breakfast was laid for four covers in her room.’

‘For four!’

‘Or perhaps it was only three.’

‘Greece via the Renaissance would knock up most of us.’

‘Why, even the Tartary tirade—’

‘Remember you owe me that.’

‘The library at Bovon, you know, is full of that sort of thing … Although mum detests all serious books. She likes them frothy. Whenever she goes into York she’s sure to come back with something smart.’

‘Hasn’t the eccentricity of living near York ever occurred to your mother?’

‘Oh, Gerald, it’s dreadful for us all, dear, but what can we do if nobody takes the house?’

‘There must be some way of getting rid of it.’

‘Mum’s in Edinburgh now to see what can be done. She thinks some person perhaps pining for the South—’

‘One never knows!’

‘I’ll read you her letter, shall I? There’s a message too for you.’

Miss O’Brookomore sipped listlessly her Château Décélée.

‘ “My adored angel,” she says, “my darling child Mab … If you knew how wretched I am without you!” Oh! … “Couldn’t you have got a
quieter
violet? …” She’s interested too in Miss Arne! “As Juliet,” she says, “she was astonishing! Though one can’t help feeling she has danced at the Empire. Crossing Princes Street I let fall the Ethiopian skin that I got from Mrs Mattocks.” And she asks me to be photographed in your … something … “hat and Zouave jacket and a bunch of violets on one shoulder.” (Then she says, as I told you:) “I must try to content myself with Modern Athens,” she says, “as I don’t suppose I shall ever see the Other … Who should I come across at the Caledonian but Sukey and Booboo. They
were
so glad to find me here, and on Sunday we all went together to hear Father Brown. He spoke to us so simply, so eloquently, so touchingly that I quite … Never forget, my pet, that …

‘ “He reminds me just a little of St Anthony of Padua … What is all this about
an Italian
? Oh, Girlie. If ever we let the Chase we must persuade papa to travel …

‘ “Listening lately to the Y.M.C.A. singing ‘There is a Green
Hill’, I felt I wanted to take a taxi and drive straight to it. Mum’s picnic days are nearly over now … Soon it’s
she
who’ll be the ruin. Those that care enough for her will toil to her bedside, perhaps, with their baskets, as they would to some decayed, romantic tower – the Lermers, poor Nell Flint, dear Mrs Day – and they will sprawl upon her
causeuse
and trot out their ginger beer. Doctors will try to restore her, patch her up …

‘ “But mum won’t let them. She will just roll over on one side and show them …” ’

‘And the message?’

‘I’m coming.’

‘ “… and show them, as Dolce Naldi did, they arrive
too late
. The prospect of another damp winter—” ’

‘The message!’

‘ “Give my kind regards to Miss O’Brookomore.” ’

‘She writes curiously in the style of one of my unknown correspondents.’

‘She’s full of trivial sadness.’

‘Scotland should do her good.’

‘What would you do, Gerald, if you were to look round and there was somebody in a kilt?’

Miss O’Brookomore blinked.

‘I don’t suppose I should do anything,’ she said.

‘Oh wouldn’t you?’

‘I
might
…’

‘Try one … I don’t know what they are; at school we called them French Madonnas.’

‘They look fairly rich, anyway.’

‘Once I ate nineteen méringues …’

‘Pig!’

‘You’ve to eat a peck of dirt before you die, Gerald.’

‘Not if I know it.’

‘Give me a bit of the brown.’

‘What are your father’s initials, in case I should write to him?’

‘C. It’s for Charles! … Poor old gentleman.’

‘You should answer your mother yourself. Promise her a photograph.’

‘On the night they draw the lottery there’s to be a subscription ball at the opera.’

‘What has that to do with it?’

‘It’s to be in fancy dress.’

‘I understand.’

‘I thought we could be photographed in our dresses.’

‘I see.’

‘Oh, Gerald, you could be a silver-tasselled Portia almost with what you have, and I a Maid of Orleans.’

‘You!’

‘Don’t be tiresome, darling. It’s not as if we were going in
boys’
clothes!’

‘Really, Mabel—’

‘Of course, it’s as you like!’

‘So that’s settled.’

‘Oh, Gerald, for my sake subscribe.’

‘I subscribe? I subscribe! I subscribe nothing.’

‘When the Shire-Hall at home was blown away I helped to collect for the restorations …’

Miss O’Brookomore pinned up her veil.

‘After the siesta what do you propose to do?’

‘I’m going out to do some shopping. I should like to buy a small piece of old pottery for Mrs Elk, of York. You know she collects jars. And then our head housemaid asked me to lay out a few shillings on “some very Greek-looking thing”, she said. And I mustn’t forget the footman …’

‘What did he want?’

‘A knife.’

‘You seem to have commissions for all the servants.’

‘At home, you see, dear, I nearly always use the back stairs … They’re so much more interesting than the front ones … Once Daisy saw a soldier on them … He was going up! And another time—’

Miss O’Brookomore yawned.

‘Mercy,’ she said, ‘the siesta-hour’s upon us!’

‘No, there’s really no resisting him. I’m sure there isn’t. Who could? There’s no resisting him at all – none. No …’

Demurely she shed a shoe.

‘I shouldn’t care to be more in love than I am at present. No, indeed! Even if I could …’

She sank slowly into bed.

‘Oh, you silly creature!

‘Love! O Lord!

‘I shall never sleep. I don’t see how I can. The die is cast! There’s no telling, child, how it will end! …

‘… Via Tiber … Countess P-a-s-t-o-r-e-l-l-i. Via Tiber … “O Tiber, Father Tiber,
to whom the Romans pray
.” Impossible! … If they did, it was a perfect scandal.

‘And suppose he made me too? Oh, good gracious!’

By the bedside, mellowing among a number of vellum volumes, were the
Nine Prayers
of the Countess of Cochrane and Cray.

Who would do the burning?

That eighth one! What a clamour for a crown!

On the subject of jewels there wasn’t much she didn’t teach.

Two loose diamonds made a charming toc-toc sound
.

At a dinner-party, now, who would work in first? She or Lady Cray? One would push past her probably, in any case – ‘the
Italian
woman!’ … ‘
The Pasto
Countess thing!’

She played her eyes and flung out a hand towards a sugar-crystal-rose.

No; one couldn’t exactly tell how it would end. ‘My dear, I shouldn’t care to say! …’

There were those Beer-Hall voices … ‘Fal de rol di do do,
di do do
! Fal de rol—’

Miss Collins turned her pillow.

‘I suppose I’ve to lie and listen! … Oh, good gracious!’

‘ “I am sure I always found her to be most industrious, clever, natty, and honest.” That was Mrs Vernigan’s. This is Miss Miser. And here is the Ex-Princess Thleeanouhee.’

‘Why bother Miss Palmer any more about it? I always say it’s a lottery wherever one goes.’

‘Once,’ Mrs Arbanel’s maid declared, ‘I took a situation with a literary lady – the Scottish-Sappho. She wrote
Violet’s Virtue
, or it might have been
The Virtue of Violet
.’

‘Anyway!’

‘Oh, for the wings of a dove.’

‘Come along, Miss Clint, now. It’s not so far.’

Before them the Acropolis, half hidden by thin clouds, showed like a broken toy.

‘Naturally, one sees it has its old associations …’

‘I dare say. But to my mind it doesn’t look half the age of the Abbey church at home. Now, that does look worn if you like.’

‘Worn, my dear, don’t speak of being worn!’

Clint sighed.

‘Whenever I’m lonely or depressed,’ she said, ‘or valeting anyone who’s just a little wee bit … Well! I know there’s only one thing for me to do. I take a taxi and go and sit in the church of St Bartholomew the Great. It has a
je ne sais quoi
about it somehow that comforts me.’

‘It would give some people the dismals, dear.’

‘Well, I always leave when I’m annoyed!’

‘ “Quick with her needle, an early riser, I am sure—” ’

‘Give them back to me.’

‘ “I am sure no hours are too
long
for her.” ’

‘It’s what I should call the portrait of a slave.’

‘Where is Elizabeth?’

‘I’m here.’

‘And Mademoiselle?’

‘Lagging along behind.’

Miss Clint made a gesture towards the Erechtheum.

‘Come along, girls!’ she called.

‘Oh! I never knew Lot had six wives …’

‘Can’t you see she’s always the same?’

‘Our previous butler was a widower. He seemed inconsolable.’

‘Sooner or later, we each of us bear our cross! … Where I lived last you might gather one of those downy-puffy things and, blowing, say: “First footman, second footman, third footman, fourth footman …” And if there was any down over “Pantry-boy, page …” ’

‘With the Jamjanets, of course, it was hotel-life half the time. Eating, drinking and dressing made up
their
day.’

‘In Arcady, if you go, you’ll find the food is vile.’

‘What I look forward to most is the Cyclops Castle at Tiryns. We’ve a dwarf in our family, you see.’

‘There’s nothing more lucky, is there?’

‘Oh well, my dear, perhaps it may come, some day.’

Clint turned.

‘Come along, girls!’

‘I shouldn’t care to go with
them
on a walking tour …’

‘Mam’zelle Croizette,
chérie
, where ever have you been?’

‘Looking for the Arbanel’s bracelet.’

‘I’d forgotten it! “The true-love-knot bangle he gave me when we became engaged.” ’

Clint stood still.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I believe I smell a rat.’

‘Fresh from the East, one is used to indelicate scents.’

‘Of course it’s not for me to say …’

‘In a strange land, Miss Clint, we women should stand together.’

‘I noticed nothing until yesterday.’

‘And what did you notice then?’

‘There’s more than one trap set for Miss Collins.’

‘Lauk!’

‘My gentleman’s after her too.’

‘Oh, my poor strained nerves!’

‘I suppose the bride’s a bore.’

‘Of course she’s neurasthenic and excitable and highly tuned. This morning, for instance, she sat and stormed at me because her white tennis shoes weren’t white enough.’

‘Most young married women are ashamed of anything pale … The Honourable Hester Dish on her wedding tour wore black all the time.’

‘Well, were there twenty traps laid for Miss Mabel she has too much gumption ever to go in.’

‘You astonish me! I’d have said now she would be very easily
épris
.’

‘Oh, mind the step!’

They had reached the Belvedere.

‘I’d dearly like to carve my name on the leg of this seat.’

‘Without a fiancé’s entwined, Miss Palmer, it looks almost as if—’

‘
My
boy is in the Guards.’

‘Once I was engaged to a soldier.’

‘And you broke it off?’

‘How he did bore me with his battles!’

Croizette peered down.

‘Such a sunset,’ she remarked, ‘would have scared the ancients.’