Friends and Lovers (51 page)

Fairbairn, the economist … most important mission … such a lucky girl, isn’t she?” (This was a most successful letter, and quite spoiled Mattie Fane’s holiday. In addition, her guest, George Fentonstevens, received a wire from David, and immediately said that he must leave for London, ‘to see old David through this.” Even the fact that it was such a hole-and-corner wedding gave Mattie Fane little comfort. ) But to Moira, on the nervously gloomy journey to London, Mrs. Lorrimer voiced her forbodings.

Imagine travelling to America, not having a settled home or anything; Penelope must be quite mad. However, at the proper moment in London she was sentimentally upset, and called Penelope

“My dear daughter,” and wept with grace and even affection.

Margaret Bosworth made her dutiful appearance too. She said very little, but watched every one acutely. The Lorrimers were a silly family, she told herself, noting the new hats, remembering their new circumstances.

“David seems so ridiculously young to be married,” she said to a tall American called Burns, who had come back from Paris especially for the wedding. Ridiculous too, she thought, that people had travelled so far just to be here to-day: it made her own journey from Sussex, a frightful nuisance, seem so very small and not half the sacrifice it really was.

Burns looked at David’s sister in frank surprise.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied; “I’m all for it. Why, some of my friends get married when they are still at college.” “That’s America, of course,” Margaret said coldly. She thought for a moment, and added,

“Besides, how can they afford it? Or are they all millionaires?”

Burns decided to ignore that crack. He smiled down at her and said evenly, “Oh, they get along. If they can’t, their families chip in.

Say, don’t you like people getting married?” His tone was so easy and friendly that Margaret, feeling she must prove that she did like weddings, went on listening to him talking about America, although her first impulse had been to walk away. Later, after the third glass of champagne, she even became talkative herself. Burns listened politely, agreed heartily at the right moments, until he felt sure that the thaw had set in. He managed to draw Halsey and McLllwain adroitly into the conversation, and eased away leaving the three of them discussing Scriabin. Then he set out to do what he had wanted to do ever since he had first seen Lillian Marston.

Lillian, slender (too thin, Moira decided), smartly dressed (too dramatic, Mrs. Lorrimer thought), had arrived that morning from Paris.

“Simply had to be here,” she said to Penny.

“Good Lord, haven’t I nursed you through all the other stages?” As for the holiday at Barbizon, she shrugged her shoulders.

“Thank Heaven I didn’t marry Chris. I really don’t approve of divorce, you know. Find me another David, that’s a good girl.” She had been very quiet and thoughtful all through the marriage ceremony, but she recovered her old sparkle as the party left for the Savoy, and devoted herself not to the men from Oxford (“I adored them when I was sixteen’), but to Dr. MacLntyre and Edward Fairbairn. They found her charm not un delightful “Perhaps,” she said to Penny, “I am just an old man’s darling.” There was a slight edge in her voice, so that Penny looked quickly at her friend. But Lillian was smiling.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” she said.

“I’m going back to Barbizon tomorrow. Chris is leaving this week, and I’ll devote the rest of the summer to My Art.” She laughed then, and suddenly kissed Penny lightly on the cheek.

“Have a wonderful life, darling,” she said.

“I’ll bring all my funny friends to visit you and David, to show them I do know some really original people.”

After that Penny had not much time to talk to Lillian again, but she did notice that Bunny Eastman, who had chased Fairbairn away, was in turn ousted by Bill Burns. She remembered that Bill was also returning to France tomorrow. What had he called David when he first met Penny? A fast worker?

Bill Burns wasn’t a slow one, either. Then Mr. Fairbairn came over to talk to her, and she stopped thinking about Lillian.

Edward Fairbairn had been delighted by the wedding. Like all bachelors, he was a great romantic at heart. As an economist he approved of early marriage and young men who were men. He glanced bitterly at that fellow Eastman, now talking so engagingly to Mrs. Lorrimer about Jacobean embroidery.

That, Edward Fairbairn thought angrily, does not solve the problem of the falling British birth-rate. He looked at the bride’s charming face, nodded approvingly to what she was saying, decided to double that cheque which he would give them as a wedding present.

George Fenton-Stevens was enjoying himself as one should at a wedding.

Besides, accepting that invitation to Salzburg had been a grave mistake. ) He was taking all the credit for having arranged the meeting on Inchnamurren.

And he had just managed to do some unobtrusive bribing, with results that were most pleasant to contemplate as he stood so innocently here. At this moment confetti and rice were being liberally disposed in all the pockets of David’s and Penny’s travelling coats. An obliging chauffeur was tying an assortment of cans, a boot, and a placard to the rear of the car which David had hired to drive them so quietly to the station. One of the chambermaids had sewn up all the pyjama legs with large, strong stitches and frequent giggles. Every one was cooperating beautifully. Nothing like a wedding to bring out the gay conspirator.

All in the day’s sport.

George restrained a smile of triumph as he looked across the room at an unsuspecting David, who thought he had hidden everything damned well from practical jokers, and made easy conversation with Moira Lorrimer. Not such a peach as Penny, and not such fun, but pretty enough and a good listener. But as he talked to Moira Lorrimer he glanced over from time to time at Lillian Marston and Bill Burns.

And, as if to prove something to Lillian, he made not one move towards her and was as charming as possible to Moira.

Moira had never imagined she could possibly enjoy herself so much at her younger sister’s wedding. Still, she did have the very considerable consolation of the diamond solitaire on her own left hand. (That was Peter’s—the son of the shipping Barries, not the brewing Barries. He was nice: really very sweet. ) She would be married in a year’s time, and she would not have to teach after all.

She was really very happy. As she talked to George Fenton-Stevens she would glance down at the ring, for after all it was only four days old. It was a perfect stone, sparkling beautifully, set in platinum.

How strange Penny was: she never had liked platinum, said it was cold and ugly, and people were silly to spend money on it just because it was fashionable. Just as she hated chinchilla, and said that if it were called rabbit no one would want to wear it. Yet Penny liked sables quite frankly, and said they would be worth wearing even if they were called rabbit and sold for five guineas.

How strange she was! Moira looked round the small party, thought it didn’t look like a real wedding at all, and began to enjoy herself thoroughly.

Betty, sitting beside her grandfather and her mother, looked round at the smiling faces and listened to the talking voices. She was waiting impatiently for the end of the luncheon: that was when the strawberries and cream were to be served. Penny had promised her that. Penny was smiling across to her now. Golly, Penny did look pretty to-day in that blue dress.

When I’m grown up, Betty thought, I’ll wear a little flowered hat and pearl earrings too. And lipstick. She looked at her mother. Yes, I will. She looked once more at Penny. She let her eyes slide to David. He has married my sister, she thought. Golly! For a minute she sat very still, hardly breathing.

David looked up suddenly to find his new sister-in-law staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled. Betty felt her cheeks turn scarlet, and she turned her head quickly away, but not before she saw him glance down at his watch again and give a little nod to Penny. Then they both rose very quietly.

Grandfather had a laughing look on his face at something David was saying to him. And every one was pushing chairs aside and rising and going into the busy hotel lobby. Betty followed them. We’ll miss the ice-cream, she thought miserably. All this fuss—why, you didn’t say goodbye to people going away for a week on Inchnamurren!

When they returned again to the room the waiters were already standing beside the serving table. I knew it, Betty told herself. The ice-cream was almost all melted.

She looked round the table, but no one else seemed to notice. They were all talking twice as loudly as before, and laughing about things that didn’t seem funny at all. Her grandfather was being very amused as he told Mr. Fairbairn something that David had said to him. She listened. Silly, she decided. No joke at all. She concentrated on spooning up the liquid ice-cream.

David, alone with Penny in the locked compartment of the express to Scotland (ticket-collectors were quick to spot a newly married man and the tip he so unobtrusively offered), was remembering the incident too.

“You know,” he said, “I had the feeling that your grandfather was highly amused at the end. I spoke to him as we were coming away; thanked him and all that. And I said,” Well, that’s all over, thank God. We’ve got married, and there’s nothing left to worry about.” He looked at me very quickly—you know that quick side-glance he gives—and his eyes were twinkling, and I really had the feeling that he was trying very hard not to laugh at me.” David paused, tightening his grip on Penny’s waist, holding her left hand in his, looking down at the wedding ring.

“He must have been thinking about something else,” Penny said, and kissed David’s cheek happily. She glanced up at the neat labels on the suitcases in the rack. Mrs. David Bosworth. Mr. and Mrs. David Bosworth.

“There is nothing left to worry about now, is there?”

“Nothing,” David agreed. The last ten days had been a nightmare of arrangements, of things to be remembered, of things to be done. Yes, everything was settled. Even Margaret. At that last moment in the Savoy, amid the exciting warmth of friendly good wishes, she had even said,

“Have a marvelous time in America, David,” as if she had really meant it.

She had laughed when he had kissed her and knocked her hat all sideways—it was one of those large black affairs, difficult to negotiate—and suddenly she had looked ten years younger.

“Nothing left to worry about,” he said firmly, and bent to kiss Penny’s lips.

She threw a nervous glance towards the carriage door.

“Locked,” David said.

“Half a crown and a kind heart did it. No escape, my proud beauty. I have you in my power.”

“At last. You forgot to say “At last!” I was waiting for it, frankly, the very moment the ticket-collector locked the door and pretended to be looking down the platform at something more important.”

David laughed.

“I did think of saying it,” he admitted.

“And then.

Penny, I couldn’t make a joke of it. I really felt that way too damned badly.”

“Well, say it now. I think I’d like the way you’d say it. I expect every husband, even if cliches embarrass him, finds there is one time in his life when he can turn to his wife’— she paused, smiled, repeated firmly *. wife, when he can turn to his wife, and all he can say is, “At last!” Isn’t there?”

David watched her vivid, laughing face. Under his serious eyes it became serious too, desirable in its promise.

“At last,” he said very quietly, and they kissed each other.