Something Light

by Margery Sharp

  “Who’s that poor old feller?” asked Freddy.

  “Admiral Colley,” said Louisa.—“Admiral, this is Mr. Pennon.”

  “Have a glass of champagne,” said Freddy gloomily.

  4

  Two hours later, what a change!

  What a party!

  It was an evening such as Broydon Court had never known before and never would again. Freddy’s carte blanche for champagne all round released every inhibition.—What extraordinary experiences Miss Wilbraham related, of the siege of Lucknow!—No doubt her grandmother’s experiences; to Miss Wilbraham nonetheless so vivid, she absolutely cowered behind a sofa, out of the way of sepoy bullets. No one thought this in the least surprising; Mr. Wright was extinguishing fire bombs on the dome of St. Paul’s, Mr. Wray fighting bulls at Malaga. As for the lesser fry of residents, returning one by one to find practically an orgy going on, it was remarkable how quickly they forgot their surprise and entered into the spirit. Only Mr. McAndrew held slightly aloof: the two typists actually nipped upstairs and changed into evening dress—this after Mrs. Brent began to play the piano.

  Who let in Ivor and Ivan Cracarovitch? There they were too, getting between people’s legs, nosing into the champagne buckets. Mrs. Brent played the piano, old Albert was run off his feet, jest and jollity burgeoned; while at the calm center of this happy whirlwind F. Pennon and the Admiral were swearing an eternal friendship based on the Admiral’s luckless devotion to a dear little woman at Malta.

  “She’d the most charmin’ profile—” mourned the Admiral.

  “You don’t say so!” exclaimed Freddy. “My dear chap, this is amazin’!—So’s Enid’s.”

  “Not Enid; Marion—and a way of peeping up at one that made one feel about eight feet high.”

  “Protective?”

  “Exactly. A chap felt he wanted to lay down his life in her defense.”

  With happy astonishment, Louisa heard Freddy reply that this described Enid to a T.—It might be the champagne in him speaking, but couldn’t he always afford champagne?

  Who turned the lights out in the middle of a Paul Jones? The lid was off Broydon Court with a vengeance! From the amount of giggling that ensued Louisa guessed that the typists were being kissed; and the next moment was kissed herself. The lights went up again, she encountered on one side an extremely dour look from Mr. McAndrew, on the other the over-innocent gaze of Mr. Wray. “He must have stood on his toes!” thought Louisa kindly, and allowed him to lead her into a tango. (That Mrs. Brent was playing a waltz was neither here nor there; Mr. Wray had learned to tango in Spain, and tango he would.) Mr. Wright cut in, stately exponent of the slow fox trot; one of the young men took over from Mrs. Brent and launched a cha-cha. (No one had any thought of dinner—indeed there was no dinner, that night, at Broydon Court; Freddy’s bounty overflowed, via Albert, to the cook.) More than once it crossed Louisa’s mind to telephone and summon Jimmy, it seemed a shame he was missing such a good party; but the thought of his aching tooth restrained her; he was probably in bed. Actually the hour was no more than about nine, but Louisa, like everyone else, had lost count of time …

  Freddy and the Admiral at least, however, followed the classic rhythm of party time. About halfway, they began to get sad. Admiral Colley was the sadder—as he had reason to be: not for him, as for Freddy, reunion at last with his little woman!

  “Don’t think I grudge it you,” said the Admiral earnestly, “but by God, it’s hard!”

  “It’s leaving the old Mansions I’m going to feel,” mourned Freddy. (Not on champagne now; brandy.)

  “I’m in the sunset of my days,” stated the Admiral, “and what’s it look like?—You’ve heard of a D.B.S.?”

  “Distressed British Seaman,” supplied Louisa, who had paused beside them in sympathy.

  “That’s right. Consuls have to send ’em home. Well, I’m a Distressed British Admiral,” stated Admiral Colley, “and no consul will ever send me home, because I haven’t got one. I lie rotting in this unspeakable crab-infested dock—”

  “Morgue,” corrected Freddy. “Run in and out on slabs.”

  “—waiting to die in my damned uncomfortable bed. How’s that for a bloody sunset?”

  “Horrible.”

  “But what else can I do? Isn’t one damned lodginghouse just like another damned lodginghouse? A wife—don’t think I grudge you, old chap, I don’t. Let the best man go in and win!” exclaimed Admiral Colley, a trifle obscurely—“a wife sees to things. Goes to the butcher and gets a nice cut. Whereas here I lie rotting—”

  It was at this moment that Louisa had the inspiration destined to be so valuable all round.

  5

  The air outside struck fresh and cool; bright moonlight lent Freddy’s Rolls an almost supernatural beauty. Behind its wheel sat Hallam the chauffeur.

  —Louisa spared a moment to admire him. A custom-built, Rolls chauffeur, after three hours waiting he had but removed his cap and permitted himself a cigarette—and was obviously ready to don the one and extinguish the other at a moment’s notice. Even at Louisa’s (not his boss’s) approach, he performed both these actions simultaneously. It was a real pleasure to be recognized by him.

  “Nice to see you again, madam,” he said kindly.

  Louisa hesitated. She was feeling extraordinarily clearheaded, only the moonlight on the bonnet slightly dazzled her.

  “Look,” said Louisa, “are you really driving straight back to Bournemouth?”

  “If Mr. Pennon so decides, madam. The roads will be nice and clear.”

  “Look,” said Louisa again, “it’s just possible Mr. Pennon may have someone with him.”

  “There are plenty of rugs, madam.”

  “The difficulty may be the pagoda. Would it go in the boot?”

  “How large a pagoda, madam?”

  “About five foot.”

  “In sections?”

  “I don’t know,” confessed Louisa. “Maybe you could lash it to the roof?”

  “In any case, just leave it to me, madam.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Louisa warmly; and hastened back into the lounge.

  6

  Most fortunately, the Admiral had just been called upon to steady Miss Wilbraham with news from Delhi. (Though not Army, he was eminently Service.) Louisa dropped into the vacant chair beside Freddy’s, and refused a brandy.

  “Honestly, isn’t he tragic?” sighed Louisa.—Freddy had no doubt of whom she spoke; they were both of them gazing in the same direction, the eyes of Freddy at least practically filled with tears.

  “You know what, Louisa?” said Freddy solemnly. “My heart bleeds for him. He tells me he ain’t had a decent glass of claret in years.”

  “And how he’d appreciate one!” sighed Louisa.

  “Not a doubt of it.—You weren’t here, Louisa, but on claret he’s sound as a bell. We could have gone on talking, just about claret—we never even touched on hock—for hours and hours … What I’d give,” exclaimed Freddy pathetically, “to have a chap like him at Bournemouth!”

  There it was, in solution, the whole beautiful answer to Freddy’s need for a buffer, the Admiral’s need for a home, Louisa’s need to see them both happy. She stopped sighing and precipitated it.

  “Well, why not?” said Louisa. “Why don’t you take him,” asked Louisa explicitly, “back with you?”

  7

  From which moment things moved so fast that even she, their instigator, was slightly astonished. (“What about Enid?” suggested Freddy. “Won’t Enid love an Admiral?” countered Louisa. “By George, you’re right!” agreed Freddy; and that settled Enid.) Admiral Colley received the proposition with enthusiasm, also sailor-like readiness.—As Louisa had foreseen, his one anxiety was for his pagoda. “Either in the boot or lashed on top,” Louisa reassured him. A dozen willing hands helped him pack, while Freddy settled the bill. (It was so enormous, the slight sum due from Admiral Colley Mrs. Brent just slipped in. Louisa genuinely admired
her, she had never liked Mrs. Brent so well, as the latter downed a hasty cup of coffee and proved she could still add. She might regret the loss of a resident later, but at the moment twelve five-pound notes rejoiced her heart.) Then the whole party went out to see Freddy and the Admiral off.

  Of course they had all had a great deal of champagne.

  The pagoda had to be lashed onto the roof after all; but Hallam swathed it carefully in a rug. An unexpected detritus of Oriental bric-a-brac cumbered the floor space; there was still ample room, in a Rolls, for Freddy and the Admiral. Hallam imperturbably lapped them too in rugs, as Freddy stuck his head out of the window for a last farewell.

  “Sure you won’t come with us, Louisa?” called Freddy.

  But Louisa, thinking of Jimmy Brown, was quite sure.

  Chapter Fifteen

  1

  Breakfast next day was a rather subdued meal, at Broydon Court. Mr. McAndrew, who had left the party early, was the only guest who showed any appetite, except of course Louisa. Like the two survivors of a rough Atlantic crossing they ate in competitive silence—as Mr. McAndrew took a second slice of ham (there was no cooked breakfast, that morning, at Broydon Court), so did Louisa; as Louisa took a third, so did Mr. McAndrew. On toast and marmalade Louisa won hands down, if only because Mr. McAndrew’s client came to pick him up; but she would probably have done so in any case, since nothing gave her such an appetite as having done good.

  For once, a morning after brought no regrets, no misgivings. The more Louisa considered it, the more the shanghaiing of Admiral Colley rejoiced her. A villa at Bournemouth was the very place for him, a setting as appropriate and congenial—good quarters, first-rate messing, Air-Sea Rescue base at Poole—as could well be imagined; while as for his pagoda, Louisa already visualized it in position looking like a million dollars at the head of the Pines’ broad stair …

  And for old Freddy too, what a break! He wouldn’t even have to make a settlement. As the third in a ménage à trois (which Louisa felt confident was what would result), almost any Admiral would have filled the bill—flattering to Enid’s snobbishness yet no rival to her, sending up Freddy’s local stock while still acting as Prisoner’s Friend. Admiral Colley was in addition a man after Freddy’s own heart. What sessions they’d have together, thought Louisa gladly, over the claret! With what sympathetic enthusiasm—and with what alacrity—would they embark upon the lighter topic of hock!—While after dinner Enid, in pretty profile, listened to the tale of the little woman at Malta, agreeably conscious of a transferred devotion …

  It was a measure of Louisa’s altruism that she foresaw this development too with pleasure. She could have had the Admiral in her pocket herself, and she was fond of him; her opinion of Mrs. Anstruther was low; but her recognition of how easily Enid would get her birdlike claws into him was coupled with the recognition that nothing would make Freddy more comfortable. “They’ll be snug as bugs in a rug,” thought Louisa—a bit vulgarly, but nonetheless altruistically …

  “I shouldn’t wonder if he gives her away,” thought Louisa. “I wonder what’s become of his full-dress uniform?—Anyway he can hire one,” thought Louisa cheerfully; and finished up with a banana off Mr. Wray’s empty table.

  2

  Quiet and still lay Broydon Court, nursing its hangover. Louisa had a fine time with Ivor and Ivan Cracarovitch.

  For the first time in her career, after a morning of cautious stalking, she believed she’d got it—the shot she’d promised Mrs. Brent, the one shot every photographer of dogs dreams of: of two animals romping together.—Louisa at the crucial moment, almost flat in the grass; at the very best angle of all. If they’d been ballerinas, Ivan and Ivor, they’d have appeared to be leaping into the flies; through the lens of Louisa’s camera, they leaped to the firmament … Louisa was so excited, she almost nipped back to Soho to develop at once; but instead—what a day it was to be!—spent the afternoon washing and setting her hair.

  —The thought had been there, at the back of her mind, all day: behind her happy musings on old Freddy and the Admiral, behind her professional concentration on Ivor and Ivan; only for a split second, as she caught the dogs’ leap to the skies, had Louisa, at the back of her mind, stopped thinking about Jimmy Brown.

  Waiting for her hair to dry, she now thought of him deliberately.

  It was time to plan the evening’s campaign. Or safari.

  With special reference to trap and bait: the enticing morsel in the pit, the treacherous, yielding branches spread above …

  Pushing a hairpin back under the net, Louisa tried to recall all she’d learned from Mrs. Anstruther. How would Enid Anstruther set about it?

  “Well, of course she’d flutter down like a moth,” thought Louisa.

  The image was slightly surrealistic; moths didn’t dig pits, they flew into candles. To Louisa, however, it was clear enough—but also unhelpful. She doubted whether she could pull off a butterfly-on-buddleia either; even at bird-weight would be unconvincing. Mrs. Anstruther’s entrenching tool was fragile helplessness; but if there was one thing Jimmy knew about herself, it was that she wasn’t helpless. Also he’d seen her eat like a horse.

  Louisa sighed, for she hated waste. She hated, now, having to jettison all those useful tips picked up under the Bournemouth pines. But as far as she could see, they were about as useful to her present aim as so much old rope.

  She was relieved.

  Sitting with her head bent towards the electric fire, seventeen hairpins under the net, Louisa recognized with relief that Mrs. Anstruther’s tuition wasn’t going to be the slightest damn use. She was justified in jettisoning them, all those useful, slightly distasteful tips …

  Her honesty hadn’t been entirely corrupted—in the shade, under the pines; it had only been nibbled at. Eager as she was to get married, and fully confident that Jimmy was the ideal husband for her, when it came to the point Louisa didn’t want him trapped.

  The electric fire abruptly died. Searching for another shilling—

  “He can take as long as he likes,” thought Louisa. “We’ll still see each other, after I go back!” It would be running a risk; on her native Paddingtonian heath she would undoubtedly lose glamour; but wasn’t that only fair to Jimmy too, to let him see her as she really was?

  Mentally Louisa dismantled the trap altogether. She wasn’t a natural trapper …

  As things turned out, it seemed that she had no need to be. Lucky Louisa, to find honesty so undetrimental to her prospects! From the very first moment of that evening, it was apparent that the occasion meant as much to Jimmy as it did to herself.

  3

  The flowers in the vases were tiger lilies. Arranged in saucers on the bamboo coffee table were, besides olives, three kinds of nuts. (Almond, pecan and plain monkey.) There were cocktails ready in a shaker—thus a trifle watery, but properly cold. The table was already laid, with two candles on it. And all these preparations were evidence of something more striking still: that Jimmy for once in his life had come home early.

  This wasn’t a guess; he told her.

  “Miss Lamb got the shock of her life,” he added. “However, she’s perfectly capable of making an appointment. Perhaps I should do it more often, Louisa?”

  “Perhaps you should,” said Louisa.

  Despite every resolve, it was impossible to help feeling anticipatory. The candles alone—!

  Actually the candles were a bit of a failure; they simply didn’t give half enough light to eat by, and Jimmy had to switch a lamp on after the soup. (Cold vichyssoise, from a tin; but with chives chopped into it.) The main course was cold salmon, with mayonnaise not out of a bottle; Camembert cheese preceded the sweet: glace pralinée. (“Because he had the nuts,” thought Louisa affectionately; the little touch of economy-combinded-with-chichi went straight to a heart already, despite every resolve, wifely.)—As though to pull her up, a moth chose that same moment to fly into one of the candles: Louisa somersaulted several images together—Enid n
ot moth but flame, F. Pennon not buddleia but moth—and felt that not for worlds would she see Jimmy fall so singed …

  “How’s the tooth?” asked Louisa.

  “Not bad at all,” said Jimmy. He’d been eating on one side of his mouth—without complaint.

  “Did you have penicillin?”

  “I believe so,” said Jimmy, vaguely.

  It was by his motion, not hers, that for coffee they returned to the sofa by the low bamboo table. As he put out the lamp again, and produced a bottle of brandy, Louisa had even a moment of delightful nervousness, as of one in danger of seduction. “Just a spot,” begged Louisa nervously—who with F. Pennon had knocked back glass for glass. However, a spot was all Jimmy poured.

  He sat down beside her. Louisa didn’t even let her hand lie where his would fall into it. She actually moved a little away.

  “What a week it’s been!” sighed Jimmy. “I can’t tell you, Louisa, how I’ve enjoyed it!”

  “So have I,” breathed Louisa. It would have been sheer bad manners not to say so.

  “I believe you have,” said Jimmy affectionately. “That’s because you’ve such a sweet nature. It must still have seemed a bit like slumming. Whereas for me—”

  He broke off, searching for words; also regarding her with so exactly the old mixture of diffidence and earnestness, Louisa felt her heart beat.—It had never been used to beat, before that look, in the Free Library, or on the Common; but now she was ten years older.

  “I don’t know how to put it,” continued Jimmy, “but somehow you’ve … pepped everything up for me. I mean, a chap may know he’s doing pretty well, isn’t exactly an oaf, but he’d like an outside opinion, so to speak; from someone with broader experience. Take the shop, for instance: I suppose if you needed glasses you’d go to Wimpole Street—”