The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘Darling, I hate to think of you making such a sacrifice.’

  ‘There’s no sacrifice I wouldn’t make for you, darling. Besides, the moment we’re married I shall bring it out and show the world that I’m a serious writer of the front rank.’

  ‘Paul, I do love you.’

  ‘Darling, darling Philadelphia. How do you manage to be so heavenly with a mother like that?’

  ‘I believe Daddy was rather sweet.’

  ‘That accounts for it then, no doubt.’

  As soon as Bobby got back from his shoot he went round to see Amabelle.

  ‘What’s all this nonsense about Paul and Delphie?’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Oh, so you know about it by now, do you? Who told you?’

  ‘Nobody told me, but I should have to be as dense as my mother seems to be if I couldn’t see with half an eye what’s happening. They sit holding hands on the drawing-room sofa all day, and Delphie keeps on throwing out dark hints about how wonderful it is to be in love and all that sort of thing. It can only be a matter of moments now before Mummy tumbles to it, I should think, and then there’ll be the devil to pay.’

  ‘Didn’t I know those silly children would never be able to keep it quiet? And what view do you take of the whole thing, Bobby? You needn’t tell me, darling. I can guess.’

  ‘Well, naturally, I think it’s quite crazy. I only hope and pray that Delphie won’t ruin her chances of marrying Michael by her idiocy, that’s all. Thank heaven he’s out of the way for the present. As for Paul, I really do think it’s a bit hard he should behave like this after all the trouble I’ve taken for him.’

  ‘I must say I agree with you for once,’ said Amabelle. ‘They came over yesterday to confess it all and ask my advice, and I’m afraid I was rather unkind to them. I’ve seen Paul wildly in love with too many people to take that very seriously, and as for Philadelphia, why at her age one is in love every other week. I gather that Michael made a mess of everything as usual. He had only to go about it with a little ordinary sense and she’d have been crazy about him by now. Really that young man, I’ve no patience at all with him; he behaves like a very unconvincing character in a book, not like a human being at all.’

  ‘Yes, doesn’t he. The sort of book of which the reviewers would say “the characterization is weak; the central figure, Lord Lewes, never really coming to life at all; but there are some fine descriptive passages of Berkshire scenery.” What did you say to Delphie?’

  ‘I told her she was mad not to marry Michael, and then she began to cry, and I really hadn’t the heart to go on. I finally told them that if they intend to marry in spite of everything they must keep this affair a deadly secret until Paul has some satisfactory job. Of course they’ll do neither the one thing nor the other. They are evidently not capable of keeping a secret, and I can no more imagine Paul in a job than a fly.’

  ‘Good gracious, no; he’d never stick to it for a day.’

  ‘I suppose, in point of fact, that if they did marry your mother would have to give them some sort of allowance, but it’s much better that they shouldn’t think so, because Paul, who must, after all, have a good idea of what poverty means, isn’t likely to elope with her unless he can be fairly certain that there will be some money eventually.’

  ‘Paul’s not mercenary, you know,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Not in the least, but he’s not an absolute fool either. I doubt if he’d risk such a thing, for her sake as well as his own. The worst of it is that I don’t believe, apart from the money side of it, that they would be particularly happy together. They are really most unsuited. Paul needs somebody who is very strong-minded and who will manage him. Why, even that repellent girl, Marcella, would be a better wife for him. As for Philadelphia, the darling, she is obviously cut out to have money and position.’

  ‘And I shall do my very best to see that she gets both,’ said Bobby with one of his self-conscious smiles. ‘What a fund of common sense you are, darling. You’ve cheered me up enormously. What is my line for the moment, then?’

  ‘You must do all you can to keep this nonsense a secret from your mother. If she finds out it will be fatal. She’ll probably say a lot of bitter and unkind things to both of them and as likely as not drive them straight into an elopement. If it can be kept from her I give the whole thing three months at the most before it fizzles out.’

  ‘That ought to be easy. Paul goes away in less than a week now, when I trail back to the old col., and Mother is still out hunting most of the time. Besides, several people are coming to stay here over the week-end for this bogus dance she will insist on having. I dare say she won’t notice anything much; she’s been as blind as a bat so far.’

  ‘We can only hope for the best,’ said Amabelle, who was looking out of the window. ‘Hullo, here comes my fiancé – whatever is he carrying? Oh, I say, isn’t that rather sweet, d’you see; he’s bringing two dead hens for the kitchen; he always has some exquisite present for me, the angel.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be off,’ said Bobby, rather sourly; ‘and I don’t suppose, if you’re really going to London, that I shall see you again until after you’re married, which is too awful. Look here, darling, will you promise to go and choose yourself a present at Cartier? I’ve got an account there, so get something really nice, won’t you, not a diamond hen, though, if you don’t mind.’

  20

  The dance at Compton Bobbin was in no way a riot of joyous and abandoned merriment; it was, in fact, even more dreary an entertainment than might have been anticipated, and was long afterwards remembered by Cotswold beaux and belles as ‘that frightful party at the Bobbins’. When the guests arrived, cold and dazzled after a long motor drive, they found neither the cheering strains of Terpsichore nor the sustaining draught of Bacchus awaiting them. The young man from Woodford who had been engaged to provide the former came very late indeed, so that for quite half an hour the guests stood about in uncertain groups while Paul and Squibby struggled to make the wireless work. When finally he did arrive, breathless and apologetic, having left his car upside down in a ditch, his playing proved to be of that sort which induces sleep rather than revelry by night. Lady Bobbin had remained true to her resolution that in her house there should be no champagne during the national crisis, and on every hand could soon be heard the groans and curses with which British youth greets the absence of any alcohol more fortifying than beer at its parties. The rare and somewhat tipsy appearances downstairs of Bobby, the duchess, and such of their intimates as were secretly invited to the cocktail bar provided by Bobby in his bedroom, merely accentuated the wretched sobriety of the other guests.

  The duchess and Héloïse were staying with Bunch for this occasion, as also were Squibby, Biggy and Maydew. The two latter, however, had most ungallantly refused to attend the dance, giving as their excuse that they always felt sick in motor cars. Everybody else was quite well aware that they really wished to stay at home in order to play Brahms on two pianos. As a result of this monstrous behaviour the girls who had been invited by Bunch solely on their behalf spent the greater part of the evening sitting drearily together in the hall. This fact appeared to weigh rather on the duchess, who, as their chaperone, felt that she ought to feel some responsibility for their amusement.

  ‘Those wretched girls,’ she kept saying, in the intervals of helping Bobby to mix the cocktails, ‘oughtn’t I to do something about them? Shall we have them up here, darling?’

  ‘Oh, don’t let’s. They look so gloomy, and there’s hardly enough drink to go round as it is. Anyways, I expect they enjoy being together down there.’

  ‘Of course they don’t; they look furious, and I don’t blame them either. I think it’s simply odious of Biggy and Maydew to get them asked down and then stay behind like that. If I were Lady Tarradale I should be quite furious, especially as they’re certain to keep her awake all night with their awful music, and she’s been so wretchedly i
ll lately. Those poor charming girls, looking so sweet in their pink and green, too. I do feel badly about them. Do go and see if they’re all right, Bobby, won’t you?’

  ‘Darling, you know they’re not all right, so why bother? Besides, they’re Bunch’s guests, not mine. Let him look after them.’

  ‘Bunch has got his own girl here, Sonia Beckett. You can’t expect him to do more than dance about once with each of the others. Hullo, Héloïse darling. Come here, sweetest, I want to whisper. Angel, is it quite necessary for you to wander about with four young men when poor Rosemary and Laetitia have no one at all to talk to them?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone wants to talk to them,’ said Héloïse; ‘they’re such cracking bores, aren’t they? Give me a cocktail, darling, quickly. This party is quite the bloodiest I’ve ever been to, personally. How right Biggy and Maydew were to stay behind. I do envy them, don’t you?’

  ‘Squibby dear,’ said the duchess, waving an empty glass at Bobby as she spoke, ‘just tell me something. Have you seen Rosemary and Laetitia latishly? Are they all right, the sweet poppets?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the heartless Squibby, ‘I expect so. Sure to be. I saw them having a very jolly little chat with Lady Prague just now.’

  ‘You don’t think it would be rather nice if you went and saw how they were getting on?’

  ‘Well, Aunt Loudie, I don’t think I need. I’d much rather stay and talk to you. In any case, I’ve danced with both of them and they are nothing to do with me. It was Biggy and Maydew who insisted on having them asked down.’

  Paul and Philadelphia spent most of the evening shut up together in the linen cupboard, bemoaning the fact that tomorrow they must be parted, and reiterating that they intended to be faithful to each other during the months to come.

  ‘Darling, when I think,’ said Philadelphia, her voice shaking, ‘of all those lovely girls you go out with in London I do feel so terrified that you’ll soon forget all about me.’

  ‘I shan’t do that. I tell you that you have quite a special place in my heart, and you always will have. Wherever I am I shall be thinking about you the whole time. I expect I shall go about with other girls, because it would be a mistake not to, but they won’t mean anything to me really. You are, and always will be, the only woman in my life. I shall never feel about anybody as I do about you. You’re perfect, to me.’

  The fact that Paul had repeated this sentence, word for word, to at least three other women, did not prevent him, as he said it, from sincerely believing it to be the truth.

  ‘But I feel terrified too,’ he went on, ‘that you’ll decide to give me up after all and marry Michael instead. Remember, I shall never blame you in the least if you do. It would probably be much more sensible. But to me you are the only woman –’

  At this juncture the duchess opened the linen cupboard door and popped her head round the corner.

  ‘Oh, you darlings,’ she said delightedly, ‘I’m so glad somebody’s having a lovely time. It does me good to see you. You’ve no idea what it’s been like everywhere else, too gloomy and awful for words. Now, when you’ve quite finished being happy together in there we’ve got some cocktails in Bobby’s room, so mind you come along and join us.’

  She shut the door carefully and went, bursting with her news, back to Bobby.

  ‘There they were, locked in each other’s arms. I can’t tell you how sweet they looked – the lambs. Quite frankly, I never should have thought Philadelphia had so much sense. I must ask her to stay as soon as ever we get back from Switzerland.’

  ‘Now don’t you start encouraging her,’ said Bobby crossly. ‘Amabelle and I are working like niggers to stop all this nonsense and make her get engaged to Michael.’

  ‘Oh, no, you awful child, you can’t behave like a matchmaking mamma at your age; it’s not natural. For heaven’s sake let the poor girl have her fun, besides, it’s so good for her. Just think how pretty she’s looking now. She is a different being from what she was a month ago.’

  ‘I’m all in favour of her having as much fun as she likes,’ said Bobby, ‘so long as she’ll be sensible and not go on with all this ridiculous talk about marriage – just think, if Michael heard about it, he might quite easily be put off for good.’

  ‘You don’t seriously want her to marry Michael, do you? He’s such a fearful bore. I wouldn’t allow a daughter of mine to marry him, however much she wanted to.’

  ‘That’s just very silly and naughty of you, darling Auntie Loudie, because a girl’s first husband must be eligible, otherwise she will very soon go downhill altogether. Amabelle agrees with me.’

  ‘Amabelle is so frightfully pompous in these days,’ said the duchess with a hiccough. ‘I can remember the time when she was just an ordinary tart (a very successful one and all that, of course) and then she really was the greatest fun. We used to go secretly to her parties and think we were being absolute daredevils, but ever since she married old James Fortescue she’s been twice as much of a duchess as I am. It’s a great pity, because in those days she used to be too heavenly.’

  ‘I think she is still,’ said Bobby stoutly. ‘She’s one of the sweetest people in the world. Look how divine she has been to the Monteaths ever since that baby was born.’

  ‘Yes, I agree she is very sweet and kind, she always has been. I’m only saying that she’s no longer such absolutely rollicking fun. In any case, I think it’s absurd for her to take that line about Delphie. Why surely the child is rich enough to marry anybody she likes.’

  ‘She’s only rich so long as my mother chooses to make her an allowance.’

  ‘Clearly. But I suppose that even darling Gloria could hardly see her own daughter starve. I don’t understand what there is against Paul myself. He seems an exceptionally nice young man, good-looking, polite, everything one could want for a son-in-law.’

  ‘Well, to begin with, if you’d really like to know, his name isn’t Fisher at all.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s Fotheringay, Paul Fotheringay.’

  ‘My dear, that’s a much nicer name than Fisher. Most romantic, too. One of Henry VIII’s wives was executed at a place called that. I remember all about it in English history.’

  ‘Darling, I don’t think you quite understand. His real name, as I said before, is Paul Fotheringay, and he is masquerading here under the alias of Fisher.’

  ‘How divinely thrilling. Wait a moment, though, wasn’t there somebody called Paul Fotheringay who wrote that screamingly funny book about pawnbrokers trying to commit suicide?’

  ‘Yes, that’s his book, Crazy Capers.’

  ‘Oh, but I’ve never laughed so much at anything before in my life. Wait a minute while I rush to the linen cupboard – it’s too bad, I haven’t my copy here for him to autograph. It was a heavenly book. Bobby, you little monster, why ever didn’t you tell me this before?’

  ‘You see he’s here in disguise really,’ said Bobby, unbending a little, ‘because he wants to write the life of Lady Maria. He asked Mother in a letter whether he could borrow the journal, and she wrote back awfully rudely, so then he got taken on as my tutor and ever since then he has been studying it for his book.’

  ‘Well I should think that will be a scream,’ said the duchess. ‘Delphie will be mad if she doesn’t marry him, but if she doesn’t I shall, that’s all. What I do adore is a really good sense of humour. The funny thing is that though I’ve liked Paul from the very beginning he never struck me as being so particularly amusing, but of course that must have been entirely my own fault. Shake up one more cocktail, won’t you, Bobby, my sweet – here’s Héloïse back again. Dear, what a pudding-faced young man she has got with her this time. Where can she have picked him up? Héloïse, what do you think, Philadelphia and Paul have been sitting out for more than two hours in the linen cupboard.’

  ‘Oh, where – can I see?’

  ‘No, certainly you can’t.
It’s nothing whatever to do with you. I may say I’m surprised you’ve not been in there yourself.’

  ‘If Maydew had come I don’t doubt I should have been,’ said Héloïse, ‘but all the young men here seem to be so sexless. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been to such an awful party as this in my life. Can I introduce Mr Wainscote to you, by the way. He has been to a lot of jolly shows lately in London, and I expect he’d like a cocktail, Bobby.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Mr Wainscote, blushing, ‘the rest of my party is very anxious to go home – I mean,’ he added hurriedly, looking at Bobby, ‘ready to leave. We have all enjoyed ourselves immensely, but we have a long cold drive before us, so I think that perhaps I should say good-bye,’ and he edged out of the room sideways like a crab.

  ‘My darling Héloïse, what an extraordinary young man,’ said the duchess.

  ‘He’s not at all extraordinary,’ said Héloïse, ‘unless you mean extraordinarily attractive. I’m rather in love with him myself,’ and she looked under long blue eyelashes at Bobby.

  ‘No cop, old girl, you can’t lead me on like that. I know you’re in a temper because I haven’t spoken to you the whole evening, but there’s no point in making a fool of yourself just the same. Have another cegocktegail?’

  ‘I degon’t megind egif egI dego,’ said Héloïse, happily settling herself on the edge of the bed. ‘Now run along downstairs, Mother, if you don’t mind, because I want to kiss Bobby.’

  ‘All right, I’ll go and see how Rosemary and Laetitia are getting on. Have a lovely time, and don’t be too long.’

  Shortly after this, Bobby himself came downstairs, and revolted by the sights and sounds of cheerlessness which greeted his eyes, thoughtfully turned out the electric light at the main, thus breaking up the party. By the flickering rays of the only candle that Compton Bobbin possessed, coats were found, adieux were said, and, grumbling to the last, the flower of Gloucestershire man and maidenhood climbed into their Morris Cowleys and drove away.