by Martin Boyd
This was the first time that Diana had come since the afternoon that Wolfie had kissed Anthea. Arthur, although he chiefly wanted to see his old friends, also liked a sprinkling of quite young people to give a sense of life and to provide decoration, especially girls with pink-apple cheeks. At the Radcliffes’ party he had been charmed by Josie, and invited her to come whenever she liked. It was she who, with the indifference of young people to the quarrels of their elders, an indifference that could save the world if it became international, persuaded Diana to ignore the two years’ breach, and come to Arthur’s on this afternoon. Sophie’s presence at Elsie’s party had already been a sort of reconciliation.
Wolfie did not come as it was felt, though not stated, that it would be wiser for him not to meet the twins on the actual scene of the crime. His strong sense of propriety did not allow him to visit Mrs Montaubyn on Sundays, so he went out to have tea and supper with a German friend at Kew.
I went with Mildy, who as usual insisted on starting early. Miss Bath appeared a few minutes later, and Arthur, who that morning had said the most frightful things about her on the telephone, comparing her to a brown sow, received her with every sign of affection and pleasure. Her conversation consisted of such remarks as: “When your mother was alive, that table was by the window.”
She was soon eclipsed by the arrival of Lady Pringle and Mr Hemstock, who was really one of Sophie’s protégés. He had arrived in Melbourne ten years earlier to take up an English lectureship at the University. He was of medium height and looked heavy, but not solid. His eyes were tiny behind very thick gold-rimmed glasses, and a few reddish hairs stood up on his bald head, giving it the appearance of a bladder of lard dusted with cinnamon. His clothes were not very clean as his sight was so poor that he could not see when he spilt his food. His voice, which had a throaty quality, boomed into the room, drenching every corner, and waking a vibrant echo of protest from the piano.
He repeatedly addressed Arthur as “sir”, beginning his sentences: “I perceive sir …” He liked referring to “My Lord so-and-so” but unfortunately in Australia, except for one or two at Government House, there was a shortage of lords, and he had to content himself with lord mayors and colonial bishops. He ignored Mildy and myself, and stood booming at Lady Pringle and Arthur in a way that compelled them also to ignore us. He hoped to be regarded as Melbourne’s Dr Johnson.
Cousin Sophie arrived with the twins and Russell Lockwood. They had met frequently in Tasmania, and she had invited him to luncheon on this, his first Sunday back in Melbourne. They brought a burst of life into the room. The twins kissed Arthur and exclaimed “It’s lovely to be back! We’ve had a marvellous time!” They looked somehow larger and more expensive than before they went away. Sophie gave a gleam of satisfaction at seeing Mr Hemstock, but tinged with annoyance that he had been brought by Lady Pringle. She greeted Mildy with rather less cordiality than she had shown to the servant who opened the door, and Mildy sat with the dejected air of a snubbed kitchen maid.
“Why d’you let them treat you like that?” I muttered angrily. She only smiled in a meek and infuriating manner, as she enjoyed my rebuke, thinking it created the tension of a lovers’ quarrel. Cousin Sophie brusquely detached Mr Hemstock from Lady Pringle and sat with him in a corner, from which came blasts of erudition. Lady Pringle consoled herself with Russell, and the twins turned to me. They had been dancing a great deal with naval officers, and their manner, never very gentle, seemed to have acquired a new rather brutal heartiness.
“How’s your social life getting on?” asked Anthea. When they were not pretending that I had a passion for old ladies, they gave me the role of a suburban struggler into Society.
“I haven’t had any,” I said, but added with the awkwardness of young people who try to reveal with nonchalance a fact of which they are proud, “but I’m going to the Government House ball.”
“Are you taking your aunt?”
“I expect she’ll come.”
“And will you dance with Miss Rockingham?”
“I don’t really know her.”
“We must make Mother introduce you. You like horses and rocking-horses are safer,” said Anthea.
In their corner Cousin Sophie and Mr Hemstock were discussing the pronunciation of the Greek letter rho. Cousin Sophie suggesting that it was like the “r” in the French word rue. Lady Pringle who loved this kind of conversation and who was annoyed at Cousin Sophie’s possessive attitude to Mr Hemstock, turned abruptly and said:
“I was at a meeting of an Anglo-French society in London, addressed by a Frenchman. All the French people were laughing, and the English didn’t know why. Afterwards I asked a Frenchman and he told me that it was because the lecturer was speaking like an Englishman who is supposed to have a perfect French accent.” She then turned back to Russell.
Cousin Sophie looked stunned by the cruelty of this, far more insidious than her own brusque assaults. She flinched away from its implications and began to talk about Swinburne, but in the sudden silence, caused by the cessation both of Mr Hemstock’s booming and her own high-powered English voice, Anthea’s reference to Miss Rockingham rang out clearly. Russell gave her a swift glance of concentrated dislike.
Fortunately at that moment Diana arrived with Josie, and unaware of the situation they had saved, they were surprised by the extreme cordiality of their welcome. To Russell, scorched since one o’clock by culture and wit, culminating in Anthea’s outrageous remark, they breathed of soothing and gentle humanity. Their eyes met immediately she entered the room, and his delight was obvious at this unexpected meeting.
Cousin Sophie recovered herself sufficiently to say to Diana: “We so enjoyed the party at Mrs Radcliffe’s. The house is charming.” Any praise given by the Enemy was to something beside the mark, to avoid encouraging conceit. To a painter they would say: “I did enjoy your exhibition. I met so many old friends there,” or to a novelist: “I thought the wrapper of your last book excellent.”
Diana thanked her for admiring Elsie’s house and turned to Russell.
“I didn’t know that you were back,” she said.
“I only arrived on Thursday. I was going to ring you up this evening.”
This gave Diana a comfortable feeling.
“I have a great deal I want to talk to you about,” she told him. “I have been up at Westhill for a month. There was nothing to do, and I’ve been thinking about the things you said.”
“Which things?”
“About avoiding dull living, for one thing. But I’ll tell you.”
The tea was brought in just then, and they had to move.
After tea I went with Josie and the twins into the garden, which was supposed by the ladies who came to Arthur’s parties to be very English, as it had a sundial, a birds’ bath, an oak tree with a wooden seat round the trunk, and lavender hedges. But many of its shrubs and flowers, guavas, hibiscus and passion-flowers are not usually seen in English gardens, while even those which are seemed to be penetrated by the dry brightness of the air, so that the garden had a unique, more aromatic quality, just as the twins themselves, though brought up so carefully to be English gentlewomen, had caught a slight savagery from the hot sun, which combined with their erudition, made them I think a good deal more entertaining than the girls on whom Cousin Sophie had intended to model them. Of the three, Josie had more the air of being used to English lawns.
Russell and Diana followed us into the garden. Cynthia offered to show him round.
“Mrs von Flugel and I both knew this garden before you were born,” said Russell, smiling but firm, and he went with Diana through an archway on to the far lawn.
“Squashed flat,” said Anthea cheerfully.
Cynthia looked pained and went indoors to talk to Mr Hemstock.
“You’ll be drowned in alexandrines,” Anthea warned her. The twins were beginning to separate on the different currents of culture and social ambition. Cynthia was becoming more conscious that her il
luminated route led to Cité Université while Anthea hoped that hers would land her somewhere near the Faubourg St Germain. When her sister had gone in through the glass doors a change came over Anthea. She turned to Josie with simple friendliness, asking her questions about herself, not from impertinence but with genuine interest, and suggesting that they should meet more frequently. Anyone meeting her now for the first time would have thought it impossible to imagine a more charming rosy-cheeked, good-hearted girl, and this was doubtless the side she showed to Freddie Thorpe. But the twins, instructed from the cradle to believe in salvation by wit, had formed a team to annihilate their more slow-witted friends, and when they were together they were galvanized by loyalty to their purpose. They did not realize that although salt is a weed-killer it can also destroy the flowers, and that one cannot create a garden with its exclusive use, especially the garden of friendship. We began to amuse ourselves by arranging arabesques of petals on Arthur’s bird-bath.
On the other lawn Diana and Russell were remembering the garden as it used to be when they came to Lady Langton’s children’s parties. They had a slight disagreement and Russell claimed that his memory was the better, as he had left Australia while it was still clearly defined, whereas Diana had seen the garden at every stage of its development, and was less likely to remember accurately which of these stages it had reached at a given date.
On their way back into the house they stopped to look at our arabesques.
“You want to put some yellow petals amongst them,” said Diana. “Every arrangement of flowers needs a little yellow.” We followed her advice and the birds’ bath looked much prettier.
“You touch everything with genius,” said Russell.
We were all a little surprised that Russell said this, but we looked at Diana with slight wonder, and a new kind of respect. There was a moment of peaceful happiness as we stood round the little stone pool.
We followed them into the house, where there was a very different atmosphere. Mr Hemstock was relating an anecdote.
“I met my lord Bishop of Yackandandah in Collins Street yesterday,” he boomed. “I said to him, ‘My lord bishop, you are reported as having, on the second Sunday after Epiphany, split an infinitive in your pro-cathedral.’ To which my lord replied, ‘Mr Hemstock sir, it’s preferable to splitting hairs,’ which I thought considerably prompt. In fact I laughed at my own discomfiture.”
As no one followed his example, Mildy, wishing to be kind, said: “How very amusing.” Unfortunately her voice was rather whining and plaintive, owing to her feeling subdued in the presence of Sophie, so that her comment far from sounding appreciative, gave an effect of acid sarcasm.
Mr Hemstock bellowed at her: “I’m glad you find it so. I’m glad you have the capacity for amusement. I did not imagine that you would recognize an infinitive sufficiently clearly to be able to split one.”
Mildy was so humble in manner because she thought that in this way she would placate and gain the friendship of people whom she believed superior to herself. When she was quite convinced that someone was not superior, she could spread the dragonfly wings of her native wit. Looking at the top of Mr Hemstock’s head, where the sparse cinnamon growth stood erect, she said brightly:
“No, I couldn’t split an infinitive, but I could split a few hairs.”
Everyone pretended not to understand the reference, but this broke up the party. Cousin Sophie collected the twins and went home, taking Mr Hemstock with them. Arthur realizing that he would have no one with whom to talk over the ghastly incidents of the afternoon, invited me to stay on to supper.
“Oh that is disappointing,” wailed Mildy. “You must come home. I’ve got meringues for you.”
Arthur had walked to the gate with Lady Pringle, and I was able to make a pleasure appear an inescapable duty.
“I must stay,” I protested, “I said I would.”
“Never mind dear,” said Miss Bath, “I’ll come and eat your meringues.”
“You couldn’t eat them all,” said Mildy. “You’d be sick.”
Miss Bath merely stared at her with the impassivity of those wooden dolls, weighted with lead, which, whatever knocks they receive, recover their upright position.
“Perhaps Josie would like to come?” suggested Mildy. There was some discussion as to how she would get home. Miss Bath who also lived at Brighton, promised to escort her.
Diana and Russell were the last to leave. He had come in his car, having brought Cousin Sophie and the twins on after luncheon. He now offered to drive Diana home.
“Isn’t it very much out of your way?” she asked.
“Not a bit,” he said. “I’ve plenty of time, and if I hadn’t I’d make it.”
On the way he was interested in driving along roads where he had not been since he was a boy. “All the proportions are different,” he said. “I used to think this a short road and it’s very long, and I remember that house. I used to think it huge, and it’s quite a moderate size.”
They drove along the beach road at Brighton.
“This is it,” she said as they approached her gate. “The one with the pine tree.”
He stopped the car, and looked about him. Then he laughed.
“Are you laughing at my house?” asked Diana, a little piqued.
“No. I’m laughing with pleasure. It’s pure Australia— the Australia I remember. The wide veranda, the pine tree, the ti-tree and the bay. It’s entirely delightful.”
“Would you like to come in and look at the house? It’s dreadfully shabby.”
“I’d love to.”
They went indoors, and he continued to express his half-amused admiration. “It’s exactly like our old house in Alma Road,” he exclaimed. “This is my Australia. I’ve plunged back into my school-days.”
He seemed reluctant to leave. Diana thought a moment and said: “Are you dining anywhere? Would you like to stay to a picnic supper? The servants are out. It’ll be cold, but I could make an omelette.”
“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he declared.
They were in the drawing-room and she asked him: “Shall we have supper in here? We often do on Sunday night. The dining-room is so large and gloomy for two people. But it means carrying the trays all the way up the passage.”
“I’ll carry them,” he said.
She gave him some papers and books, showed him the way to the bathroom, and went to take off her hat. When she came back he was not reading but looking at an old Italian painting.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Mama bought it in Italy. She was always buying old pictures.”
“It might easily be a Parmigiano. Did you know?”
“No. I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“You’re extraordinary,” he said, “you’re full of surprises. You ask me to a picnic supper in a shabby house and there’s a Parmigiano in the drawing-room. You’re like that yourself. You’re full of all kinds of qualities but you just put them away in a dark corner.”
Diana laughed. “Shall we have a fire?” she said. “It would be more cheerful, and it gets chilly here by the sea after sunset, even as soon as this.”
“I’ll light it.” He knelt on the hearthrug, put a match to the paper and blew at it gently. Diana pulled out a low wide tea-table and opened it. She went out and returned in a few minutes with glasses, knives and forks, a bottle of hock and a bowl of passion-fruit and oranges. She put the things on the table with the candles from the writing table.
“You take elemental things and make them elegant,” he said, looking appreciatively at the table. “That is civilization.”
“We haven’t the food yet,” said Diana. “That’s rather elemental.”
“Wine and fruit are the essentials.”
He followed her to the kitchen, where he admired the huge range and the flagstones, which she had always intended to have removed. She told him what was in the larder, but he said that he would rather have an omelette and gruyère che
ese.
“Fines herbes or plain or cheese?”
“Not cheese as we’re having the gruyère afterwards. Fines herbes would be best.”
They went into the garden and Diana picked some parsley and chives.
“I’m enjoying this enormously,” said Russell.
“I think the elemental things are the most enjoyable,” said Diana, “even cooking, if you don’t have too much of it, and if you do it with somebody, not just for them. Will you take up that tray, and a corkscrew you’ll find in the right-hand drawer of the dresser, and open the wine bottle and draw two arm-chairs up to the table, and I’ll bring up the omelette when its ready and we’ll eat it while it’s hot.”
He did all these things without further questioning, and Diana standing watching the omelette, thought how very pleasant it was to be appreciated. If Wolfie had been here instead of Russell he would have waited in his music room until she called him to supper, and then probably have dawdled till the omelette was spoiled, while if she had asked him to carry a tray or open a bottle he would have affected a complete bewilderment at her request, and found the simple tasks impossibly difficult. The contrast was emphasized when she came to the drawing-room to find Russell standing ready, having on his own initiative lighted the candles on the table.
“It’s a perfect omelette,” he said, “I knew it would be.”
“Did you have a nice lunch?” asked Diana.
“Oh yes!” He smiled. “Brilliant. Sparks flying everywhere. It was fun, but scarifying. A sort of electric massage to the brain. Do they keep that up all the time?”
“I think so. But we haven’t seen much of them lately.” She paused and then said: “Wolfie kissed Anthea.”