Myra was sitting at her piano when Flossie was announced. She told the maid to bring cocktails.
“Tra la la, how nice to see you. How are rehearsals going? L.L. told me you’d started.” Flossie sat and lit a cigarette, Myra took the tray of drinks from her maid. “Hey nonny nonny, you like it sweet, don’t you?” Flossie nodded. “‘Musing, the ballet sounds. Clever bastard, Ambrose. L.L. says it’s a brilliant scrap he’s found to dance ‘Martelle,’ only thirteen, he wants it put about she’s fifteen.” She passed over a cocktail. “Tell me if that’s sweet enough.”
“Lovely. You are doing the spreading for him, I suppose?”
Myra took a drink of her cocktail. So that was why she was being honoured with a visit. Jealous, was she? Silly to waste her time being that.
“Me, me, me, me, me! I can’t help there, she really is a kid with a dragon of an old nurse, she’ll just do her stuff and go home.” She nodded at Flossie over her glass so that her ear-rings jangled. “Silly girl. Tra la la. Been worried she was going to steal your illuminations? Put it out of your mind.” She crossed to the piano and put her cocktail down on the top of it, and sat on the stool and ran her fingers up and down the keys. “All the same, you ought to work a little stunt before the first night. People aren’t talking about you as much as they did.”
Flossie came over to her and leant on the piano.
“What sort of stunt?”
Myra went on playing, but her eyes raked Flossie.
“What about marriage? Hey nonny nonny nonny nonny! About time you became a peeress.”
She jumped up to get the cocktail-shaker. She filled both glasses. Flossie watched her out of the corner of her eye. A peeress! Extraordinary to hear your secret dream spoken of so casually. She wondered if Myra was sufficiently her friend to trust her with the truth. She, so successful in all else, was a failure at getting proposals of marriage. Of course there were penniless idiots like Derwent, but the titled were either married already or the proposals were for sleeping only.
“There’s nobody very suitable for that,” she said frankly.
“Me, me, me, me, me, pity; you might have had twins, nice publicity in twins. You’d better do the other thing then, get your name connected with somebody that matters, something young and good-looking, for preference an actor so you can go into the same show. The public will eat that sort of romance if it’s handled properly. Me, me, me, me, me.” She looked shrewdly at Flossie. “Do you good, must use what you’ve got some day or you’ll have moss sprouting.”
Flossie threw up her head.
“Really, Myra!”
Myra played a scale.
“Sorry, only trying to be helpful. You might be dying for a day or two. Or stage an accident. An aeroplane one would be good, but they’re apt to be fatal. Think about it, and talk it over with your publicity man, and let me know what you arrange, and I’ll chatter to help on the good work.” She played some bars of ‘Little Girl Loves Little Boy’ from ‘Looby,’ and allowed the present gleaming, glossy Virginia to fade into the gauche Flossie Elk who had stood by this same piano nearly six years ago. Funny, common, silly little thing, but what beauty! She re-focused the present Flossie, she had never been able to dislike her as most women did, she was too proud of her, no one could deny her perfection as an objet d’art. “I mean it, my dear. See that you are news before the curtain goes up on that revue.”
Out in the street Flossie got into Ossie’s car which was taking her to join him for an early meal before the show. She lay back against the cushions relaxed. A stunt! Make herself news! Myra had a nasty mind, as if a girl like her would let herself get talked about in the way she meant. All the same, Myra always talked sense, and if she said people weren’t talking about her as much as they did, it was the truth. Of course marriage would be one way, but the sort of marriages open to her weren’t the sort Myra meant. A peeress! If only she could, she had taken enough trouble with all the unmarried peers she had met, but not one had come anywhere near a proposal except that Tilman boy, and his family had meanly taken him all the way to Japan. She sheered her mind off the efforts she had made, they were humiliating memories. Of course she ought to be a peeress, Myra was right there. Where she was wrong was in thinking that if she brought a good marriage off she would use it for publicity. She had long thought it ridiculous that one of her gifts should work for her living, in a confused way she saw her métier as châtelaine of a large house, being kind to the tenants and perhaps opening a bazaar or two. Catch her bothering with the stage then. A stunt! An accident! Her eyes narrowed and she ran over the various possibilities. Suddenly her face lit up, that was an idea, and just the right sort of publicity. ‘It’s a comfort,’ she said to herself, ‘that I’ve got brains.’
CHAPTER XVIII
Ossie smacked at his ball and mentally cursed. He didn’t mind a week-end by the sea, and he liked staying with the Mentons, but he did object to playing golf with a sulky young man in the hottest hours of the afternoon to fit in with some doubtless nefarious scheme of Virginia’s. But what a clever baggage! He had to give her that, hot, cross, and feeling the weight of far too large a luncheon though he was. She wanted both him and Derwent out of the way apparently; why only she knew. He wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason she had cadged an invitation for him was so that he should take Derwent off her hands this one afternoon. How neatly she’d arranged it. Promising the wretched young man that he should give her a golf lesson. He had wondered why she had said: ‘Would kind Ossie take her to lunch in Deal?’ She had said it was shopping, but that was a blatant lie; she never moved without enough luggage to withstand a fairly lengthy siege. How sweet she had been during the drive and over lunch; it was only when they turned golf-wards that he had seen where the day was leading. ‘Would dear, kind Ossie play with Derwent, she wasn’t feeling very well, she thought she would have a quiet afternoon on the beach, Derwent would be so disappointed to miss his game.’ He had protested, but not nearly strongly enough, and somehow, he had been dropped at the gates of the club-house, his chauffeur mysteriously producing his clubs; his car had driven away with Virginia waving kindly and telling him to enjoy himself. Enjoy himself! It was too hot for golf anyway, and the reception he got from Derwent would have dried up any powers of enjoyment. He was a fool really ever to have started the round. Derwent had his car, they could have gone home. From the moment he had delivered his message and heard the boy mutter: ‘Double-crossing little beast,’ he should have known that golf, or indeed any occupation which entailed his presence, was better avoided. It was the caddie-master’s fault really; he had produced caddies so promptly that they were on the first tee before he had time to consider. He mopped his forehead—seemed a very steep course.
“It’s your smack, Derwent.”
Derwent turned a red, angry face to him.
“Right. I can take my own time, I suppose?”
Ossie had an inspiration.
“I say, this is the seventh, how about going to the ninth and calling it a day?”
Derwent felt distinct pleasure at the suggestion, but he was not going to appear better-tempered, he was wallowing in rage and felt he had every right to.
“Very well, if you’re sick of it.”
He lammed at his ball, and hooked it dismally. Ossie looked commiseratingly at the caddie who was certainly in for a long hot search. He felt silence was indicated, so he took up his stance, addressed the ball, and hit a beauty straight down the fairway. Derwent looked after it and said grudgingly:
“Shouldn’t have that back.” He turned to go and search for his own ball, and added casually, “If we finish, what shall we do?”
Ossie collected his wooden tee.
“I shall go on my bed, and if you’d any sense you’d do the same. As you haven’t, I think from something that was let fall you’ll find what you want on the beach.”
Mouse having watched
Jim and the three children go off to the beach, turned to Jasmine.
“Us chaps for a nice lie down?”
Jasmine nodded.
“Want to be called?”
“No; sure to wake about tea-time, but if you should open your eyes round about four and hear no movement in my room, you might, with the utmost care, give me a gentle stir.” There was the sound of a car; she looked out of the window. “There’s Virginia. Wonder what she’s done with Ossie. I thought she was playing golf.”
“She was to have had a lesson from Derwent.” Jasmine stammered with indignation. “I could murder that girl. She’s let him down as usual.”
Mouse looked at her with an amused twinkle.
“You never will listen to your Auntie Mouse. I did say no good would come having her here.”
Jasmine gave an exasperated shrug.
“I tried to be too clever. It sounds awful, Mouse, but confession’s good for the soul. When Nephew Derwent said this week-end mattered more than I’d ever understand, I thought I knew what he meant. Obviously she’s not marrying him, thank goodness, so I suppose she promised something else. Knowing the lady, I knew she wouldn’t fulfil a promise like that, but I thought a showdown might clear his vision a little, so I put her in the room next to him and took away her key.”
Mouse giggled.
“Really, Lady Menton, what goings on. That was not at all our dear Flossie’s situation. I wonder what she did?”
“With Nephew Derwent sulking the entire morning, we know what she didn’t do.”
“The dear old feminine gag, I suppose.”
“I suppose so. I’ve made a nasty muddle, the air’s thicker than ever, and Derwent suicidal. Come on, let’s nip up to our beds.”
Flossie, a picture in blue linen with a large white hat in one hand, stood in the doorway.
“Hullo. I’m going on the beach.”
Jasmine’s tone was chilly.
“I thought Derwent was giving you a golf lesson.”
“He was,” Flossie wandered out into the hall, “but I wasn’t feeling too good, and Ossie was crazy to have a game, it seemed selfish to break in. Bye-bye, I’m going to have a long, lazy afternoon on the beach.”
Jasmine waited till the front door had shut, then she turned furiously to Mouse.
“She’s so plausible. God! How I hate the little B.”
Jim lay patiently on his back with a large stone on his chest which Meriel, Lucia, and Avis used as a target for smaller stones. Flossie, on arriving at the beach, paused by the group for a minute.
“Hullo,” said Jim, “thought you were having a golf lesson.”
“I was,” she agreed, “but Ossie wanted a game and playing with me isn’t any fun for Derwent, so I’m going to have a lovely rest on the beach.” She moved away.
“Thank goodness,” said Meriel, “she isn’t having her lovely rest here.”
Jim looked at her with amusement.
“Changed your mind since you’ve become a finished lady from Paris. I seem to remember a Christmas when you told me you thought her the loveliest person in the world.”
Meriel threw a neat shot and knocked the stone off his chest.
“That makes me four up.” She replaced the stone. “Your turn, Lucia. I was only a child then, and I still think she’s very pretty.”
Avis turned round to look at Flossie’s retreating back.
“I think she’s got a silly face, but she always gives us chocolates.”
Lucia dug like a dog among the pebbles looking for suitable ammunition.
“She doesn’t buy those, men give them her because she’s an actress.”
Avis threw a stone and missed.
“Your turn, Meriel. Burnsie says that an actress’s life is one of great temptation. Is it?”
Jim laughed so much that the stone jogged up and down on his chest.
“You must ask Virginia.”
“All the same,” Avis went on, “it must be nice being an actress. Is she clever, Daddy?”
“She can dance and sing, you know, and of course she looks lovely.”
Meriel shook her shoulders.
“I don’t think she’s nearly as lovely as Mouse.” Jim looked at her sharply. Could this nearly grown-up daughter have said that for him? Could she have noticed anything? But one glance dispelled the idea. All the children adored Mouse and truculence in defence of an idol was a little hangover from the schoolroom to prove she was still something of a child. “Mouse,” she went on, “looks not only nice on the outside, but as if she’d be nice inside as well.”
“She ought to be,” said Avis, “she’s had her tonsils and her appendix out.”
Lucia lay down flat on her back.
“Don’t let’s play any more. Goodness, I’m hot. Can’t we bathe, Daddy?”
“Certainly not. On top of all that duck and green peas, not to mention several peaches and a greengage or two. What a suggestion!”
Avis rolled over to him and rested her elbows on his stomach.
“How soon can we bathe?”
Jim groaned.
“Take your elbows off my lunch. You can go in just before tea if you like. I shall wait till afterwards for Mouse and Mummie.”
Lucia wriggled her shoulders into the stones for more comfort, she shaded her eyes to watch a seagull.
“I wish we had measles every year. It’s been lovely living here.”
Nobody answered, the torpor of the hot afternoon held them all in drowsy contentment. Jim closed his eyes. It certainly had been a grand summer. Living under one roof, he and Mouse had found something they had not had before, something uncommonly like contentment of soul.
Flossie scrambled up the groin. It was covered in barnacles, and slippery with seaweed and the sun was hot on her back, and she loathed climbing, but it was necessary; in about an hour, her waiting publicity man should have a story over the telephone which he could blazon on to the front pages of the Sunday papers, and in two or three hours after that, the camera men should be arriving. She looked over her shoulder at the group on the beach. Pity those three wretched flappers were there, she did hope none of them would spoil everything by trying to save her. Her publicity man had said that nothing could be better than her rescue by Jim Menton, he was just the kind of peer and family man that the public would like to have do a deed like that. She reached the top of the groin and sat down at the extreme end dangling her legs over the edge. It looked a nasty drop into the sea from here, and she knew the water was deep, and that there was a bit of a current. She looked back at the beach and measured the distance from her to Jim with her eye. No, it couldn’t take long, not long enough for her to drown, he knew she couldn’t swim and was bound to hurry. Oh dear, she wished it was over and she safely on the beach being revived with brandy. Better get on with it. She sat on a slippery patch of seaweed, and gave herself a push. As she fell, she screamed.
Jim leapt up.
“Stop where you are, all of you, she can’t swim a stroke, so she’ll probably struggle. I’ll get her.” He snatched off his shoes and took a header. It was no distance to Flossie, but almost immediately he was in great distress with stabbing pains round his heart; it was an appalling struggle to breathe. Somehow he got to her and gave her a push which landed her against the groin. “Hold on. Don’t struggle, you little fool, I’m nearly done. Meriel. Help!” he gasped and sank.
Like a lot of fishes the three girls shot through the water.
Derwent drove home very fast, he chose the coast road because it was quickest. He would just drop old Bone, and change his things. The car turned a corner and they came in sight of the beach where they bathed. Ossie put his hand on his arm.
“I say, what’s happening?”
Derwent looked, and slammed down the accelerator. At the top of the cliff path, another car was
standing. They could see Jim lying on his back, and somebody, obviously a doctor, attending to him. The three girls were huddled together, and some way off, Flossie. All the party except the doctor were soaked. Derwent parked behind the other car, and raced down the path with Ossie panting behind him. At the bottom they came on a chauffeur. Derwent ran on, but Ossie paused to ask what had happened.
The chauffeur touched his cap.
“It was a bathing accident I gathered from the young lady, sir, but they were all out of the water time we came along. The young lady was in the road, and she stopped us and asked us to go for a doctor, but my gentleman is a doctor so he runs down and he tells me to rig up something that would do for a stretcher. I brought this,” he held out a motor rug, “it’s strong, it’s the best I could do. I believe a gate’s the right thing, but there don’t seem to be no gate.”
Jim’s face was greenish yellow, he had endured agonies of pain and violent attacks of sickness followed by retching, from which he had sunk into unconsciousness. The doctor had given him an injection, he was still holding the syringe, the fingers of the other hand were on his pulse.
Derwent knelt down by his uncle. He exclaimed: “Jim!” under his breath. The doctor looked up.
“You a relative?”
“Nephew. What happened?”
“That girl,” he nodded at Flossie, “fell into the water, I gather. He went in to pull her out, and it’s got his heart.”
“But he’s always bathing.”
“Must have been too soon after a meal. Who is he?”
“Lord Menton.”
“Oh. Are those the daughters?” He glanced over at the three girls who were staring in silence at their father. Derwent nodded. “Is Lady Menton about?”
“Up at the house.”
The doctor turned and smiled at Meriel.
“Will you take my chauffeur and go with your sisters and tell your mother your father isn’t very well. My car can bring her back here.”
“Is Daddy bad?” asked Lucia.
It Pays to Be Good Page 17