‘I’m going to umpire,’ said Colin, when they suddenly discovered that he was left out, ‘and talk to you all and put you off your strokes. Everyone should know that the third hoop isn’t straight. It never has been since Lydia balanced on one foot on it in 1936 and drove it right into the ground. The blue mallet has a large chip out of it, which happened when the Rector nailed up a branch of the wistaria against the wall last summer, using the mallet as a hammer. There is a hump between hoops three and four attributed locally to moles, and a depression round the first stick where the Rectory dog dug for a rabbit. Otherwise the court is in perfect condition.’
‘What does it feel like not to be a schoolmaster?’ asked Philip, who was yellow, while the others drove off.
‘Very nice,’ said Colin. ‘No, Lydia, that ball does not count as through. How are you all going to get on without me, and who will smoke my meerschaum pipe when I am far away?’
‘The Head is in despair,’ said Philip, ‘but I may tell you in confidence —’
‘Here, your turn,’ interrupted Colin. ‘Knock blue sharply on the left, and watch her lose her temper.’
Philip neatly hit Lydia’s ball as he was told and Lydia accused Colin of favouritism. Swan, who was using his mallet as a crutch, and speeding, in the character of Long John Silver, across the lawn in pursuit of seaman Tom, a character ably sustained by Morland, A., hurled his mallet at the unfortunate sailor, who fell dead on the ground with a blood-curdling yell.
‘That’s just like the noise Rose was making yesterday before dinner,’ said Geraldine from the neighbouring clock golf course.
‘Why did she make that noise?’ said Morland, getting up.
‘I don’t know,’ said Geraldine. ‘One of her usual tempers. She’s always having rows with —’
‘Here, Eric, your turn,’ called Philip sharply.
Geraldine returned to her game.
‘What were you about to remark in confidence?’ asked Colin when he caught Philip up, just beyond the third hoop, where the hump was.
‘Blast,’ said Philip, as the hump deflected his ball, which ran away sideways. ‘Confidentially, as you have no further interest in the school, the Head thinks I might make a do of the Mixed Fifth.’
‘Oh, good!’ said Colin. ‘I always felt I owed you a kind of apology about that, though I was but an instrument in the hands of Mr Birkett. Tony! Up the middle now!’
‘Rubbish,’ said Philip, ‘I ought to apologise if anyone ought. Watch me hit Tony to blazes.’
He carefully eyed his ball, swung his mallet backwards, and hit hard. A piece of turf flew up and landed a few feet away, and Morland’s ball remained where it was. With a yell of joy Swan seized Morland’s mallet and whirled it and his own mallet round his head like Indian clubs. Lydia at once mounted her mallet as if it were a hobby horse and galloped at him in a threatening way. Morland, forgetting the sacred character of games, said ‘Bang!’ in a very loud voice, and bowled a red cannon ball at them. Swan shouted the Valkyrie theme at the top of his voice as an accompaniment to Lydia’s ride and the whole game came to confusion. The younger members lost interest and strolled over to interfere with the clock golf.
‘I haven’t laughed so much,’ said Philip to Colin, ‘since Rose and I —’ he checked for a moment, then continued in a level tone, ‘since we went to the cinema the day we got engaged. How we laughed.’
He became so silent that Colin, guessing not inaccurately that Rose had been up to some of her tricks again, looked at him sympathetically and strolled off to the tennis-court, where he found Robert and Mr Birkett sitting together while the others played.
‘How are you enjoying your freedom?’ said Mr Birkett.
‘That’s almost exactly what Philip has just said to me, sir. With all due respect to you, I’m enjoying it excessively.’
‘Merton tells me he is going to Austria and thought you might join him,’ said Robert.
‘I’d love to,’ said Colin, ‘but I think I ought to work. You see, I’ve wasted —’
He stopped, confused.
‘A whole term,’ Mr Birkett placidly finished his sentence for him. ‘Not so much waste as you think, though.’
‘No waste at all,’ said Robert. ‘A very good bit of experience. You’d much better go with Merton, Colin. It’s only for a fortnight, and then you can start reading in good earnest.’
Robert enjoyed being the Good Elder Brother so much that Colin sometimes wondered what he would have done as the junior member of a large family. From an early age he had taken Colin under his protection, proudly guided his first tottering footsteps across the lawn, held him on the garden pony, kept an aloof but vigilant eye on him at prep and public school, during the brief periods that their careers had overlapped, tipped him in a lordly way out of his own pocket money, and always given him good advice. Though Colin had outgrown the stage at which an older brother is a divine being, when not a diabolical one, he still respected Robert’s solid common sense and was very fond of him, and would not have been in the least surprised if Robert had still tipped him half a crown from time to time. Robert, who had a great belief in Colin’s ability, had always been strongly in favour of his reading law, and though he found the term schoolmastering a suitable way for his brother to fill in time, was thoroughly satisfied that Colin should now turn seriously towards Merton’s chambers.
Colin was very glad that Robert approved of his going to Austria, and then he fell into school shop with Mr Birkett. Presently the tea-bell rang.
‘I can see that your time has not been wasted,’ said Mr Birkett, getting up. ‘You will be able to talk masters’ common-room for the rest of your life, and take it from me, though you mayn’t believe it now, that will make you free of the company of some men worth knowing. Come along, they are just finishing their set.’
The three men moved towards the house, Robert privately thinking that though Birkett and Carter were excellent fellows, Colin would hear better talk and meet men more worth knowing in the Inner Temple, where Merton’s chambers were. A conversation on that subject between Mr Birkett and Robert Keith would be interesting, but we shall never hear it.
Tea was at a large round table in the hall. Simnet, who was putting the finishing touches to the table, waylaid Colin near the door.
‘We are very glad to see you here, sir, in your unofficial capacity,’ he said. ‘I understand from very good quarters, sir, that your departure will be felt as a Distinct Loss.’
Colin thanked him.
‘I dare say you will be interested in a small item of news, sir. I heard from the Honourable Mr Norris’s man, with whom I occasionally correspond, that Mr Norris may be shortly to appear in the Court Circular under the heading of Forthcoming Marriages.’
‘Well done, Norris,’ said Colin. ‘Who is it?’
‘I fear you would not know her, sir,’ said Simnet pityingly. ‘It is the Honourable Eleanor Purvis.’
‘Of course I know her,’ said Colin; ‘she is one of my mother’s half-great-nieces or something of the sort.’
‘Indeed, sir, I was not aware,’ said Simnet, almost cringing.
‘That’s all right,’ said Colin.
Just as they had settled themselves for tea Everard Carter walked in. He begged Mrs Birkett to excuse his unceremonious arrival. He said he had just come from the station, and hearing at the Manor that his host and hostess were out and the rest of the party at the Rectory, had walked over. Everyone was delighted to see him and a place was found for him by Mrs Birkett, from which he could feast his eyes upon Kate and Noel opposite.
‘Well, Colin,’ he said, ‘is it fun being loose again?’
‘All right,’ said Colin. ‘That’s the third time this afternoon and if anyone asks me that question again I’ll shoot him. I am enjoying it very much indeed, thank you, and don’t do it again, that’s all.’
‘I heard from Lorimer yesterday,’ said Everard to Mrs Birkett. ‘He seemed very glad to be back in Scotland. I think he has
been feeling the heat and the strain of exams a good deal this term, and he isn’t having any boys to stay with him till later. He asked me to tell you, Philip, that he had heard unofficially that the Oxbridge Press thought very highly of your manuscript.’
Philip looked almost happy as he thanked Everard for the message.
‘The Press are delightful people to deal with,’ said Mr Birkett. ‘You have to sell entirely on your own merits, which is so flattering.’
‘What he means,’ said Mrs Birkett, ‘is that the books he does for them are so dull that no one would buy them unless they have to.’
‘I thought Mr Birkett’s Determination of Logical Causality was very interesting,’ said Morland. ‘I read it in the school library, and I used a bit in an essay for Mr Winter, but he spotted it, and told me to remember that there were some very useful little signs called notes of quotation.’
‘I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of thing, Philip,’ said Mr Birkett kindly.
Philip was just going to answer when a loud roaring noise was heard outside, drowning all conversation. This was the Fairweathers and their racing car, bringing Rose back from the cinema. Their arrival caused considerable disturbance, as an atmosphere of everyone talking at once and paying no attention to what anyone else is saying is very catching. Rose, partly from absent-mindedness, partly from a wish to exhibit her devotion to Philip to the Fairweathers, and thus inflame their jealousy, sat down affectionately near Philip and insisted on drinking the rest of his cold tea till such time as fresh supplies arrived.
‘It was a good thing you didn’t come, darling,’ she said. ‘It was only a silly film. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it a bit, but we laughed till we were nearly sick, didn’t we, darlings?’
The Fairweathers said they had, and laughed again a great deal in support of the statement. Colin remembered how Philip had said that he and Rose laughed at a film when they were first engaged, and how suddenly he had fallen silent. He was silent enough now.
Lydia, having eaten as much as she felt necessary for the moment, cast a challenging eye on the younger Fairweather, and asked him if he could punt. He said he could.
‘All right,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ll tell you what. We can each have a punt pole and stand one at each end of the Rectory punt, and see who can make the other go in the other direction from the other one.’
Fairweather Junior saw what she meant almost at once, and was enthusiastic over this form of sport. Rose, not approving of Lydia’s attitude to one of her admirers, interrupted to say to Fairweather Junior:
‘Oh John, darling, do tell them what we saw at Barchester. It was too marvellously funny.’
‘The film?’ said Fairweather Junior. ‘I don’t remember the name. Something about pyjamas or something like it, but it was awfully funny, all about a girl and she gets married after a bit of a binge and the fellow doesn’t know who either of them are, and there are some awfully good wisecracks, and an awfully good bit where they do a foxtrot up and down a fire escape. Do you remember that bit, Geoff?’
‘No, I don’t mean that,’ said Rose. ‘Don’t be so sickening, John. I mean what we saw outside the cinema, you know, that man.’
‘Oh yes, that was awfully funny,’ said Fairweather Junior. ‘It was a man selling little books. One of those blackshirt fellows, you know, like Puss in Boots in a polo jersey. I don’t know why, but it was awfully funny. Lord! It was funny!’ he added, breaking into laughter again.
‘I’ll tell you another funny thing about those blackshirts,’ said Lydia. ‘No one knows who they are, or where they go. I mean, have you ever seen one, except standing on the pavement in waders, looking a bit seedy? You meet quite a lot of Communists and things in people’s houses, like Philip,’ she said, pointing at him, but quite kindly. ‘He’s a Communist. But you never go to tea with someone and find them sitting there in their boots.’
‘I expect they have a secret cupboard in the hall of their houses,’ said Swan, ‘and the minute they come in they take off their boots in a jiffy and chuck them into a sliding panel and they go down to a hiding-place in the cellar, and then they take off their detachable polo collars and look just like us, only nastier.’
‘That’s a jolly good idea,’ said Fairweather Senior, ‘but you don’t get long boots off in a jiffy like that. It needs a batman, or anyway a strong bootjack.’
‘The Black Batman would be a good name for a film,’ said Morland. ‘Or else they have boots that zip all the way up. I think if you must sow wild oats, red ones are better than black ones, but I’m an individualist, so I shall sow mine by myself, not in gangs.’
‘Are you really a Communist, sir?’ said Fairweather Senior respectfully to Philip.
‘Oh, don’t be sickening, Geoff,’ said Rose, ‘I want to play tennis.’
‘All right, Rose, hang on a moment. We discuss it a bit in the regiment, sir, but we don’t see much sense in it. The government is doing every blessed thing they can for the lower classes, and nationalising one thing after another, and taking most of our money to do it with, and what more do you want?’
‘Freedom,’ said Philip.
‘Excuse me, sir, but all this nationalising doesn’t seem to make one very free, does it?’ said Fairweather Senior.
Philip, which shows how misfortune had improved his character, instead of making a contemptuous noise and walking out of the room, tried to explain quite carefully to Fairweather Senior what he meant. Noel and Everard, both rather middle, both interested intellectually in any discussion, joined in the talk, and Fairweather Senior, to his everlasting surprise, found himself talking away to three very brainy chaps, quite as an equal. In this intoxication he quite forgot Rose. She turned for help to Fairweather Junior, but he was so happy with her mother, talking over his early days at the prep school, under Mr Birkett, that he took no notice of her at all. Robert Keith and Mr Birkett were discussing the Dean of Barchester from various aspects, and Rose was reduced to reading a book, by which, in common with many of her contemporaries, she meant an illustrated weekly.
Swan and Morland had been standing by, ready to encourage Mr Winter’s progress by throwing in bits of anti-red propaganda, but to their surprise and pleasure he was arguing away like anything, just like before Rose came bothering. At last Lydia, who without listening had rapidly formed her own conclusions, broke in.
‘You’re all right and all wrong,’ she announced in a ringing voice. ‘Noel and Everard are the rightest, because they don’t exaggerate so much. Royalty is good enough for anyone, and whenever I think of the Royal Family it makes me cry, because that is real loyalty. If everyone was English there wouldn’t be half so much bother. The minute you encourage foreigners they go uppish, like Mademoiselle Duval at school. She kept Geraldine in two days running, just because she hadn’t done her prep, and the Pettinger encouraged her. The Pettinger is coming to tea tomorrow because Mother asked her, but I think it’s to meet you, Everard —’
‘Oh, Lord!’ said Everard.
‘And I think it’s jolly unfair of Mother, as if we didn’t see enough of her in term time. Come on,’ she said, addressing Fairweather Junior, ‘and we’ll have our punting race.’
The punting race, if a stationary event may be so called, took place before a large and enthusiastic audience, neither opponent gaining a foot over the other till Lydia fell into the river. As Mrs Keith was not there, and the river at that point was only four feet deep, no one minded. Lydia, after shaking herself all over everyone like a large dog, went off to Geraldine’s room to dry herself and borrow some clothes.
‘I say,’ said Lydia, when she was dry, forcing herself into one of Geraldine’s frocks, ‘what was Rose making the noise about that you were saying about when Tony pretended he was the murdered seaman?’
‘About Philip as usual,’ said Geraldine. ‘I wish you’d split that frock for me. I loathe it.’
‘All right, I’ll do my best,’ said Lydia. ‘What about Philip?’
‘
I don’t know,’ said Geraldine. ‘She just enjoys having rows. She used to have awful rows at Miss Pettinger’s. Philip used to argue back at her, but now he never does. I think she’s broken his spirit.’
‘I think it’s gone a bit round the armhole,’ said Lydia, twisting herself, and inspecting with satisfaction her back view in Geraldine’s looking-glass. ‘I’m awfully sorry for Philip. He’s a bit young, but a lot better than I thought. Why doesn’t he chuck Rose?’
‘I expect he’d like to,’ said Geraldine, ‘but when you’re a man you can’t. That’s a splendid tear across the shoulder, Lydia. Thanks awfully.’
‘I dare say I can manage a bit more,’ said Lydia. ‘Come and help us to clean the pond tomorrow before breakfast.’
Summer Half: A Virago Modern Classic (VMC) Page 20