The Fashion In Shrouds (13 page)

Lady Papendeik did not look at him. She sat up, her small shoulders compact and severe.

‘That is the end of that little girl,' she remarked briefly. ‘Tell me about your engagement. It is so entirely unexpected.'

‘It is, rather, isn't it?' he agreed. ‘Still, Amanda's an unexpected young person.'

‘She's sweet.' Tante Marthe glanced across the tables to the dance-floor. ‘She looks so lovely. Her figure is completely natural. How does she keep her stockings up?'

Mr Campion gave the matter his serious consideration.

‘I tremble to think. Two magnets and a dry-battery, if I know her, or perhaps something complicated on the grid system.'

The old woman leant back in her chair.

‘Delightful,' she murmured. ‘You love her so comfortably. There is no unhappy excitement. I am so glad, my dear boy. I hope the brother is reasonable. What is his objection?'

‘Age,' supplied Mr Campion promptly. He made the first excuse that came into his head and was amused to find that he was irritated when she accepted it without incredulity.

‘You are old for your years,' she said. ‘You'll grow out of it. My God, I nearly died of old age when I was thirty-three, yet look at me now. There they are.'

Campion glanced round and saw that Dell and Amanda had paused at Georgia's table. Ramillies was still absent and Miss Adamson seemed to have disappeared altogether, since there was no sign of her on the dance-floor. He watched the little scene round Georgia with interest. It was not possible to hear any remark save from Solly, but his were enlightening.

‘When I was married you know what my Mama said? She said: “Have your photograph taken, Solly; you'll never look the same again.” Such a pretty little flower! It is a pity to pick her so soon.'

He almost chucked Amanda under the chin, and Lady Papendeik laughed softly at Campion's side as he changed
his mind and the plump hand, fluttering uncertainly, accomplished the chucking an inch or so above the red head.

Amanda appeared to be enjoying herself. She smiled at Solly, whom she seemed to like, and was gracefully deferential to Georgia. The brief gathering broke up with Lady Ramillies embracing the younger girl with a sort of fine, generous spirituality which made Mr Campion think of Britannia in the cartoons of Sir Bernard Partridge, and Solly trotting off across the dance-floor waving and nodding like a Bacchus in a triumphal car.

Dell and Georgia settled down again and Amanda came back to her seat. Lady Papendeik rose.

‘Good night, my dears,' she said. ‘This is only a secret, isn't it? I mean, I can tell it in confidence? Felicitations, Albert. You are a very clever young man.'

Amanda watched her depart before she spoke.

‘He
is
in a mess, isn't he?' she said gloomily. ‘It wasn't too good over there. He was hoping I wouldn't notice anything and she was trying to tell me all about it. I concentrated on the hearty old party with the chins and talked about my own engagement. I'm afraid that Georgia woman's a sweep.'

‘I think she's genuinely very much in love at the moment.' Campion put forward the excuse in all fairness.

‘She's not,' said Amanda. ‘If you're in love with a man the one thing you're frightened of is doing him any harm. That's the whole principle of the thing. She's not thinking of A.D. at all. She's using him to make herself feel emotional and that means that there are at least two or three hundred other men who would do just as well. I don't mind her going on in her natural way if she's that sort of person, but she's a sweep to pick on A.D., who has work to do.'

Mr Campion regarded her with amusement.

‘Taking up philosophy in your old age?'

‘That's not philosophy; that's elementary common sense,' said Amanda. ‘Have you got enough money on you to pay for the champagne? If you haven't, that's going to be the next problem. I thought I had thirty bob with me, but I see it's only ten.'

‘No, it's all right. They know me,' he assured her,
reflecting that Hal and his colleagues must find her a relief to entertain. ‘That was inspirational.'

‘It was, wasn't it?' Amanda was never modest in her self-appreciation. ‘There's nothing to take your mind off an embarrassing situation of your own like being asked to celebrate someone else's engagement. It's partly the champagne and partly the feeling that you're not responsible in any way for the set-out. Poor chap, I thought he was going to be sick when he saw me. I felt like the blue-eyed toddler who had staggered in when Daddy was making a beast of himself. Look here, we've got to go. I excused you from that crowd by saying that you had to be in bed early after your illness.'

‘What illness?' demanded Mr Campion, startled into bald inquiry.

Amanda sat looking at him, her round brown eyes curious.

‘You have been rather ill, haven't you?' she inquired seriously. ‘You're quieter than you used to be and you look a bit bleached. I took it you'd had tonsillitis or something on the chest.'

‘I'm perfectly healthy and always have been,' declared Mr Campion with an outraged dignity that was at least half genuine, ‘and I'll thank you, miss, to keep your dispiriting remarks to yourself. I'm damned if I want to be rejuvenated, either,' he added, a note of genuine resentment which he had not quite intended creeping into his tone.

‘Perhaps you're sickening for something,' she murmured with intent to comfort. ‘Come on. We shall have to stay engaged for a week or two. It was a nuisance in a way, but it seemed the best thing to do. I couldn't let A.D. feel we'd been spying on him. I thought he was simply being rooked, you see. I didn't dream it was anything like this. I knew you'd back me up, so I got out of the situation as neatly as possible. We can let the betrothal excitement die down gradually. I've got a ring of Aunt Flo's somewhere, so you needn't bother about that.'

‘Splendid,' Mr Campion seemed relieved. ‘Then it's just my wife to square and we're all set.'

‘Yes, well, you can do that,' said Amanda. ‘I've done all the dirty work so far. Put me in a cab and I'll go down to Boot's Hotel on my own. It's right out of your way. You do look rather tired, you know.'

Mr Campion prepared to depart.

‘You're stewing up for a thick ear,' he remarked. ‘I never raise my hand against a woman save in anger.'

Amanda sighed and he had the uncomfortable impression that it was with relief. Her smile vanished immediately, however, and he caught her looking a trifle older herself.

‘I'm behaving like a goat mainly because I feel so miserable, you know,' she remarked presently. ‘Can you see the sort of blazing shame this all is?'

‘Yes,' he said gravely, catching her mood. ‘It's not good. Rotten for Sid and all of you. The death of a hero but not a hero's death, so to speak.'

‘Oh, you're still all right.' She was grinning at him with a warmth that no Georgia could ever counterfeit. ‘Up here, away from it all, I can understand some people feeling that this angle of ours is all a bit “footy” and small, but down there . . . ! We all
live
from him, Albert. He's the spark that lights the fires. That woman's not so much a sweep, you know, as an enemy. Ramillies is a bit of a tick, too, isn't he? That incident might have been most indelicate. It was rather miraculous how it all cleared up in a moment.'

‘“Rather miraculous”? My poor young woman . . .' Mr Campion regarded her with affection. ‘That was not merely a miracle; that was fishy. I've never actually believed in a guardian angel, but when I observe such a veritable cloud of feathers I do suspect something of the sort. You don't seem to realize I've been sitting here watching a conjuring trick that leaves Caligari cold. There's someone around here to whom I take off my hat – all my hats.'

He was still pondering over the phenomenon as they went out and as they crossed into the wide aisle behind the pillars someone nodded to him from a table not too well placed in a corner. He returned the nod and comprehension came to him with recognition.

Ferdie Paul lay back idly in his chair looking more like a bored gilt Byron than ever. There was an air of great weariness and disinterest about him, but his smile was friendly and he raised a pale hand in salute. There were two women at his table and a deserted chair. Campion recognized one of his companions as the very well-dressed but ill-at-ease little person whom Rex had been so anxious to placate at
Papendeik's dress-show, while the other, a big-boned good-tempered blonde, was unmistakably Mrs Solly Batemann. At the moment she was talking to Gaiogi, who was standing at her side.

Campion glanced round him. As he thought, Tante Marthe was seated not so very far away.

WHEN THE SEVENTH
Earl Hurrell rebuilt Caesar's Court in the late eighteenth century he incorporated a great many of the brighter ideas of the day into the construction of the house and grounds. The Pinery, the ice-house, the Vine Palace and the useful gazebo were all much admired at the time, and the sloping lawn, which not only ran down to the Thames but presumably continued underneath it, since it reappeared on the opposite bank and went on and on for the best part of a mile like a strip of gigantic stair-carpet, had been commented on by George the Fourth (‘Impressive, Hurrell, ain't it? What? What?').

Since that time the succeeding Hurrells had been fully occupied keeping the monstrous property a going concern, let alone improving it, so that when Gaiogi Laminoff took charge the place was, as the estate agent said, delightfully unspoilt.

At eleven o'clock on the Sunday morning following the farewell party given for Sir Raymond Ramillies, Mr Campion sat on a little footbridge over the river and considered Gaiogi's alterations with sober admiration.

The rosy building itself had retained the dignity of a great private palace but had miraculously lost its pomposity. Even at this distance it exuded a party atmosphere and it occurred to Mr Campion that it looked like some millionaire child's play-pen magnified up to an impossible scale. There were expensive toys everywhere. Little silver aeroplanes taxied off the green turf on the other side of the river. Glossy hacks and shiny motor-cars paraded on the gravel drives and everywhere there were flowers and casually
elegant clothes, with a suggestion of music in the background. The general effect was expensive, exclusive and very pleasant; the Royal Enclosure at Home sort of atmosphere.

There was much activity on the flying field, especially round the hangar where the new plane had been housed the night before, and Campion did not notice the two who came striding towards him until Amanda spoke. She looked very like herself in a brown suit, better cut than her working-clothes of old but the same in general effect, and her heart-shaped face was alive and interested with all the freshness of a sixteen-year-old.

‘Hallo,' she said. ‘Has the old cad turned up yet?'

‘Ramillies? No, I'm afraid not.'

‘Where on earth is he? Oh, Albert, I quite forgot. This is Sid.'

They had reached the middle of the bridge by this time and Mr. Campion found himself confronted by a tall, bull-necked young man with very black hair, which he wore practically shaved save for a solid thatch on the very top of his head. He shook hands with deep resentment and said with patent insincerity that he was pleased to meet Mr Campion.

‘Well, I'll get back,' he said immediately with an assumption of ease which was ridiculous or heroic according to the way one's mind worked. ‘If you can find out when Sir Raymond returns, Lady Amanda, send a message over to us. The broadcasting blokes are twittering away like spadgers over there.'

‘I thought you were coming up to the bar?' Amanda was surprised. ‘He'll be there if he's back.'

‘No, I don't think I will, thanks awfully.' Sid had his hands in his pockets and the skirts of his brown jacket, which were a trifle too fluted, jutted out behind him like a cape. ‘I'll get back. So long. Take care of yourself.'

He seemed to mistrust the social tone of the final admonition as soon as he had made it, for he reddened and, nodding to Campion without looking at him, strode off with his broad shoulders hunched and his trousers flapping. Amanda looked after him, her eyebrows raised. She glanced at Campion appealingly.

‘He's all right, really,' she said. ‘Or don't you think so?'

‘Dear chap,' murmured Mr Campion. ‘Not quite sure of himself, that's all. That's nothing.'

‘Don't you believe it,' said Amanda gloomily. ‘Class is like sex or the electric light supply, not worth thinking about as long as yours is all right but embarrassingly inconvenient if there's anything wrong with it. Sid
will
feel he's lowish, and so he is, and nothing much can be done about it. It doesn't worry other people at all, of course, but it's lousy for him. What about Ramillies?'

‘He hasn't shown up yet, but I don't think there's much point in worrying. He'll appear when the time comes.'

She glanced at him sharply. ‘You think he's simply doing this to put everybody in a flap?'

‘It wouldn't be astounding, would it?'

‘No. Disgustingly likely. What a crowd they all are.' Amanda sounded tolerant. ‘It was a bad show clearing off in the middle of his own farewell do like that. He's too old to go roaring off into the night at two o'clock in the morning as if he were twenty. It's so old-fashioned.'

Mr Campion was inclined to agree, but he could not forget that there had been extenuating circumstances.

‘Georgia wasn't helping,' he ventured.

Amanda sniffed. She was wandering along beside him, her hands clasped behind her and her head bent.

‘D'you know, I can't believe it of A.D.,' she said suddenly. ‘When I actually see it I can't believe it. It's – well – it's shocking, isn't it? That's a spoilt word but you see what I mean.'