“If you aren’t engaged, Miss Fane,” said the woman diffidently.
“Definitely not,” declared Harriet.
“If you’ve time …”
“All the time in the world,” Harriet assured her.
Harriet went to try on the frock and Caroline was left with Marcus. She administered pink gin, gave him a cigarette out of Harriet’s tortoiseshell cigarette-box and did her best to soothe him.
“Harriet will put it all right,” declared Caroline, who had ample faith in her sister’s capabilities.
“Nobody can put it right,” said Marcus despairingly.
“Harriet will. You’ll see.”
He sipped his pink gin. “She’s wonderful, of course,” he admitted.
“Wonderful.” agreed her sister.
“She’s so full of vitality, isn’t she?”
“Full to the brim,” nodded Caroline as she refilled his glass.
“Full to the brim,” repeated Marcus, watching her. “Darling Harriet could make anything go if she were left alone and not badgered and bullied — if she were left to do things in her own way. Even this damned spineless play had a sort of sparkle about it until Pinkie got on the job. It’s dead now, of course. Isn’t it hell?” said Marcus wearily. “Isn’t it absolute hell?”
“It’s frightful for you,” Caroline agreed.
“You don’t know, of course,” he continued. “I mean you can’t know what it’s like, darling. How could you? I’d always wanted to act with Harriet — always — so of course I was in Heaven when Pinkie offered me the part — and now the whole thing has gone bad.”
“No,” said Caroline. “It will be all right —”
“It stinks,” declared Marcus. “It stinks to high Heaven. I could strangle that man. Perhaps I shall strangle him before we’re through.”
*
“What a crazy beginning to your visit!” said Harriet when at last they had got rid of their troublesome guests and shut the front-door. “Things are not always so hectic; it’s because we’re getting near the First Night and people’s nerves are on edge. Shall we go out and have dinner together — just you and me — somewhere quiet?”
They went out together and shut the door behind them and, as they did so, the lift appeared and the gates opened and a man stepped out. He was short and fat with curly black hair and a round, clean-shaven countenance.
“Harriet!” he exclaimed. “Thank heaven I’ve caught you! I must see you for a minute. Listen, darling, it’s all right. It’s absolutely all right … you aren’t cross, are you?” He looked at her anxiously as he spoke.
Harriet did not answer.
“You are cross,” he declared. “I knew you were when you suddenly cut off our conversation in the middle; so I rushed out and got a taxi and came straight here … Darling, you mustn’t be cross. If you want the rocking-horse, of course you can have it. Of course you can. You know that, don’t you? I only thought it made the second act a teeny bit top-heavy — that was all — but if you want it …”
“I was a little bit cross, Pinkie,” admitted Harriet, showing a slight inclination to relent.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “I was sure of it … but you aren’t cross now, are you?”
“I don’t like all this chopping and changing, Pinkie.”
“There won’t be any more. Everything is all right now, isn’t it?”
“Well,” said Harriet doubtfully. “There are one or two things … for instance I don’t like the way Daisy goes across in front of me in the last scene.”
“Fancy you mentioning that!” he cried. “I wasn’t happy about that, either. I was going to tell her about it to-morrow. You’re Eve, you see, so of course she mustn’t block you. You’re absolutely the only woman on the English stage who could play Eve —”
“We must go, Pinkie,” said Harriet, cutting short his flattering speeches somewhat heartlessly.
“Of course,” he agreed, following them into the lift. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to be quite, quite sure you weren’t cross …”
They got rid of him in the street and walked off together, arm-in-arm and, as they went, Harriet began to giggle feebly.
“Isn’t it silly?” she said.
The movement and bustle of London, the lights and the noise intoxicated Caroline. She felt excited and slightly dizzy and was glad to cling to Harriet’s arm. They did not speak; there was no need, for they understood one another without words. Presently they came to a small restaurant in Soho and Harriet opened the door and walked in.
“This is the place,” she said. “It’s quiet and pleasant and the food is good. I often come here.”
Caroline was no longer the anxious mother of Leda and Bobbie, she was herself. She felt “herself” stirring within her. I’m still me, she thought with surprise. The idea was so strange that she felt moved to communicate it to her companion. “Of course, you won’t understand,” she added. “You’re always you.”
“Oh, I understand all right,” declared Harriet. “I struggle all the time to hold on to myself. It’s difficult to be oneself and not to become what other people think you are. Harriet Fane has a reputation of sorts and if I’m not careful I find myself becoming other people’s idea of Harriet Fane … but never with you. That’s why you’re so good for me. If this play is a flop I shall come to Vittoria Cottage for a long holiday.”
“Oh, dear, I almost hope — I don’t know what I hope,” murmured Caroline.
“I’m so sick of all the intrigue,” continued Harriet as she took up the menu and studied it carefully. “It’s such a strain. I can’t afford to relax — I’m not good enough. The real out-and-out genius can relax but I’m not that by a long chalk so I’ve got to be up and doing all the time — acting on the stage and off it. Pinkie wears me down; he wears the others down even more because they’re softer. When Pinkie is in one of his moods you can’t do anything right. The other day things got to such a pitch that I thought Marcus was going to burst and the rest of the cast were in tears, so I just took up my fur coat and put it on quite slowly and walked out. I was acting, of course,” said Harriet. “I was playing the part of the prima donna in a huff — but it worked all right.”
“You played it again to-night,” Caroline reminded her.
“Yes, that was funny, wasn’t it?”
Harriet was silent for a few moments and then she continued: “Things go on and on. When you’ve lived in a play for weeks you forget there’s any other life. You forget that some day it will be over and you’ll be living and thinking quite differently. The only thing to do, to keep sane, is to get outside and look at the thing from a distance. That’s where I have a pull over Marcus and the others. They can’t get outside, whereas I can. Sometimes I go right outside and look at it and laugh. I don’t know why I can do it — perhaps because I’m not really an actress, through and through. I’m me first and an actress afterwards. It could be that … or it could be because I’ve got you,” added Harriet smiling at Caroline across the little table.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHILE CAROLINE was enjoying herself in gay surroundings and giving very little thought to her home, Vittoria Cottage drowsed in the autumn sun. The cottage was old and had seen many changes. People came and went; they unpacked their belongings, settled down and sheltered beneath its roof and then they were gone like the wind leaving little evidence of their sojourn. The cottage did not regret the absence of its mistress, it had become philosophical in its old age. Its mistress would return.
Leda and Bobbie regretted their mother’s absence, and Comfort of course. Life ran less smoothly without Caroline to direct its course. Leda and Bobbie quarrelled incessantly; they quarrelled over the food and they quarrelled over who should go to the village and fetch the fish. They quarrelled because Bobbie forgot to post Leda’s letter to Derek and because Bobbie gave Joss the remains of a rabbit stew which Leda had intended to heat up for supper. Leda usually got the better of the argument for she remained
perfectly calm and shot her bolts with accurate aim, lodging them where she knew they would do most damage, whereas Bobbie would fly into a rage and hit out wildly in all directions without bothering where her blows fell. When the row was over, Leda would sulk for hours and Bobbie would retire to the kitchen and talk to Comfort and Mrs. Podbury and tell them all about it.
“It’s a shame, that’s what,” Mrs. Podbury would declare. “Miss Leda didn’t have no call to say that about Joss.”
Comfort would nod and agree — she had no use at all for Miss Leda.
Thursday was Comfort’s afternoon off; she and her mother decided to go to Wandlebury and do some shopping and see a picture. Bobbie volunteered to wash up the lunch dishes so that they could catch the early bus. Leda did not help, of course — she had not given the Podburys permission to go early — she took a book and sat by the fire while Bobbie cleared the table.
“I may as well set the tea while I’m about it,” Bobbie said.
“You needn’t set it for me,” replied Leda. “Derek’s coming. We’re going out for a walk.”
She had scarcely spoken when Derek arrived in his car and after some conversation the two set forth to walk over the hill together.
Bobbie was alone in the house. It was unusual and she didn’t like it much; in fact she was thoroughly bored. The afternoon stretched before her like a wilderness. A pelican, that’s what I am, thought Bobbie. I’m a pelican in the wilderness. She got out her stamps and spread them all over the table but somehow they failed to fascinate her. This being so, she was pleased when the telephone-bell rang … but not so pleased when she discovered it was only Mr. Shepperton.
“Mummy has gone to London,” said Bobbie. “She’s gone to see Aunt Harriet’s new play. I’m here alone.” She hesitated and then added, “Come to tea if you like; I’m doing stamps.”
It appeared the Mr. Shepperton liked stamps. He had possessed a good collection but possessed it no longer.
“What a pity! We might have done some swapping,” exclaimed Bobbie in disappointed tone. “Did you sell your collection?”
Mr. Shepperton did not answer this, but said that if Bobbie really wanted him he would come; and Bobbie, being heartily sick of her own company, replied that she really wanted him.
Meanwhile Leda and Derek were walking over the hill. Leda liked walking but Derek didn’t, he preferred to do his travelling by car. Unfortunately he was obliged to economise in petrol — he used it to come over from Oxford to Ashbridge — and there was none for unnecessary expeditions. It annoyed Derek to think of his car standing idle at the gate of Vittoria Cottage while he toiled up the hill.
“We could have gone to Wandlebury,” Derek complained. “There’s a good flick on there. It’s sickening, isn’t it?”
“We might have gone in the bus,” said Leda.
“The bus!” exclaimed Derek in disgust. “I hate buses … it would have been more sensible to spend the afternoon at the cottage. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“I did,” Leda told him. “I thought a walk would be nicer. Bobbie is at home so we couldn’t have talked or anything.”
“If we were married I shouldn’t have to use up all my petrol coming over to see you,” grumbled Derek. “Why shouldn’t we be married? That’s what I want to know.”
“They’re so silly,” Leda agreed. “They’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young. It wouldn’t cost any more if we were married and had rooms together at Oxford. Think how lovely that would be.”
“I know,” said Derek, giving her hand a little squeeze.
“I could help you with your work,” continued Leda. “We could live on very little, you know. Then you would get your degree and —”
“The only thing is,” interrupted Derek. “The only thing is — I mean what’s the use of getting my degree?”
“What’s the use!” she exclaimed in amazement.
“To tell you the truth I’m most awfully fed up with Law. It’s so damned dull.”
“But Derek, I thought you wanted —”
“I did, of course. If I could have gone straight from school it would have been all right. I got out of the way of working when I was in the Army; it was such a different sort of life. Now it’s just a grind. Grind, grind, grind!” said Derek impatiently.
“It won’t be for long,” soothed Leda.
“Won’t it!” he returned. “Even if I get my degree next year —”
“Derek! Of course you’ll get it.”
He was silent.
“Derek, you simply must,” she urged him. “It’s the only way for us to get married. Your father says —”
“Not the only way,” mumbled Derek. “As a matter of fact we could get married much sooner if I chucked the whole thing. I’m sick of Law. I’m sick of grinding away at books. What’s the use of it, anyhow? It would be years before I could make enough money to live comfortably. Whereas if I went into business …”
They walked on for a few moments without speaking.
“What sort of business?” asked Leda.
“Any sort,” he replied. “I’m not particular. All I want is a decent screw and plenty of holidays.”
“But Derek, when you start a thing you ought to finish it … all this time you’ve been working will be wasted.”
“It’s a waste going on working at something I hate. I didn’t know I was going to hate it or I shouldn’t have started, of course. Look here, Leda, I know a man who has a house near Oxford; it’s a marvellous place with a swimming pool and tennis courts and everything you could want. He made all his money out of tooth-paste.”
“Tooth-paste!”
“What’s wrong with tooth-paste? Every one uses it. You’ve seen the posters advertising Bright’s tooth-paste, haven’t you?”
Leda had seen them — nobody could have helped seeing them for they were pasted upon nearly every hoarding — a brightly coloured picture of a girl with golden hair and two rows of magnificent teeth. SHE HAS BRIGHT TEETH, announced the posters. CLEAN YOUR TEETH THE BRIGHT WAY. THE BRIGHT WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY.
“That’s Valerie,” Derek said.
“Valerie?” asked Leda.
“Yes, Valerie Bright.”
“You don’t mean the girl on the posters is Mr. Bright’s daughter?”
“Yes, Valerie has gorgeous teeth and she’s always used Bright’s tooth-paste.”
“But Derek, how awful! They must be most extraordinary people.”
“They aren’t extraordinary at all,” replied Derek with some heat. “They’re very kind and hospitable. Valerie is rather marvellous, she’s so … but that isn’t the point,” said Derek, swerving suddenly from his eulogism of Miss Bright and changing his tone of voice. “The point is they’re very rich — and it’s all tooth-paste — and I think Old Man Bright would give me a job in his factory if I asked him. He’s got a huge factory, one of those modern factories with vita glass and little houses for all the work-people.”
Leda showed no enthusiasm for the idea. “Your father would be furious,” she said.
“Just at first, of course. I know exactly what Dad would say and how he would say it — extraordinary how easily I can see through Dad! There would be a hell of a row but he would come round in the end.”
They had reached a sheltered spot. Derek spread his waterproof and they sat down side by side. It was almost exactly the same place where Caroline had sat and had her tea and talked to Mr. Shepperton, but to-day it was damp and grey instead of warm and golden.
“You ought to get your degree,” said Leda. “It would be far better than making tooth-paste.”
“You talk as if I were going to make it with my own hands!” Derek exclaimed. “I should have an executive post, of course, and —”
“It’s still tooth-paste,” Leda pointed out. “If you had your degree you could get a professional appointment.”
“I’ve told you I shan’t get it,” said Derek crossly. “Oh, I suppose I could get it if I set to and worke
d like a black slave …”
“Of course you could,” agreed Leda. “You must get it, Derek. Do it for me,” she added.
Derek did not respond as she had hoped. He took up a handful of gravel and let it trickle through his fingers. “It would mean I couldn’t come over here so often … but perhaps you wouldn’t mind that.”
“I should know you were working for me,” Leda pointed out.
It was Derek’s turn to be disappointed. He was silent for a few moments and then he said, “I want a job. Let’s go all out for that. Then we could get married.”
“We can’t go against everybody, Derek. Your Father would be very angry — so would Mummy —”
“They’re silly — you said so yourself. You said they had forgotten what it was like to be young.”
The argument had come full circle. They were back at the beginning.
“Yes,” agreed Leda. “I said that — and it’s true. If only they would let us be married everything would be all right. We could live in rooms in Oxford. You could get your degree quite easily if you worked hard and didn’t have to come over to Ashbridge.”
“We’ve said all that,” said Derek, impatiently. “What’s the use of saying it all over again! I’ve told you there isn’t a hope of my graduating next year and Dad won’t let us be married.”
“Couldn’t we persuade him? We could tell him we didn’t want a penny more than you’re getting now.”
“It would be difficult for us to manage,” said Derek doubtfully.
“We could live very cheaply,” urged Leda. “It doesn’t cost much more for two people to live together than for one to live alone — and you could sell your car, couldn’t you?”
“I might lay it up,” said Derek more doubtfully than before.
“If you sold it your father would see that you really meant to economise.”
“But I don’t want to sell it!” exclaimed Derek.
Leda was annoyed. She said, “Oh, of course, if you like your car better than me it would be a pity to sell it.”
“Don’t be a little silly! It’s you I’m thinking of. We could have picnics on Sundays if we had a car … and all sorts of fun. As a matter of fact a car saves quite a lot of money in taxis and railway fares.”
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 7