by Henry Green
•
The next day was Sunday. John Pomfret sat over luncheon at the usual table looking out on the Park, with Miss Jennings.
“So I asked her right out,” he was saying in his pleasantly affected party manner, “I said ‘would it matter to you if I married again?’ ”
Miss Jennings appeared to listen with care.
“Oh Liz,” he cried and spread his arms out over two dirty plates on which were soiled knives and forks, two glasses of red wine, and a bottle in its gay straw jacket, “she made a picture, you know she’s a remarkable girl. Mary stood there like an angel, just a Botticelli angel framed in my lovely Matisse over the fireplace, those lozenges of colour perfect as a background for that pretty head. When I think how she’s carried on for years without a woman to talk with I feel ashamed and proud Liz!”
“What did Mary say then?”
A faint shade of embarrassment seemed to come over his handsome features.
“Not much,” he replied.
“How d’you mean?” she anxiously asked.
“No man could be luckier in a daughter,” he said. “Not one moment of worry, nary one. Of course if Jane hadn’t quarrelled with Julia before she died I might easily have called on Jane for help. I know I thought of it. But Liz it seemed disloyal to my wife, she would have turned in her poor grave. So I struggle on alone.”
He paused. Miss Jennings appeared incapable of speech. He was gazing through the great window on what looked to be a white sheet of water from which a few black trees in bud leaned against driving rain.
“And it’s come out quite perfect,” he proceeded. Miss Jennings blinked. “I can’t say too much in praise of my girl. So I’m going to give a party!”
“A party?” she exclaimed.
“Well she doesn’t meet enough people,” Mr. Pomfret announced. “How could the child when she looks after me at night and works all day? I’m not much use to her Liz,” he said. “My wretched job keeps me pretty well occupied! But Mary never gets a minute off.”
“That makes two in that case.”
“How d’you mean?” he enquired.
“There’s Jane going to give a twenty firster for Philip and now you’ll have yours.”
“I never heard about Philip’s,” he protested. “As a matter of fact I was to have had drinks yesterday at Jane’s but she went off to Brighton with Penelope and Dick Abbot. Jane would have told me then only she never got the chance. Who’s she having?”
“Oh all of us I believe John.”
“And some young people too I should hope,” he said. “So dreadful dull with nothing but us older ones.”
“Speak for yourself,” she protested rather dryly.
“I was,” he assured her. “In that case I think I shall wait until I see how Jane’s comes off. I really can’t afford a party, who can these days! Yes I’d rather wait and see. Of course Mary and I will be invited.”
“Did you think of giving a dance with champagne?”
“My dear girl where’s the money to spring from? And you can’t make out it’s expected nowadays!”
“People do. Several get together still,” she explained.
“No that wouldn’t go at all,” he decided. “Only yesterday bless her I asked if there were even anyone Mary specially wanted and she wouldn’t have it. No let’s see what sort and kind of a show Jane puts on first.”
“And how’s little Penelope?” she enquired.
“My dear Liz damn all that silly nonsense is what I insist. The child’s just living till she can pick on something new to upset her, you mark my words.”
“I’d’ve thought it made everything so difficult with Jane.”
“Old Jane’s all right,” he said. “But my God you’re lucky not to have children of your own yet Liz.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she muttered.
“Well I must say that’s a weight off me now I haven’t to give a do for Mary right off,” he announced, visibly taking heart. “Yes you’re lucky all right. Lord the things that keep coming up! No rest at all. Though I’ve not got anything against the child, please understand.”
“Mary’s sweet,” she agreed in a perplexed voice.
He thought of something else.
“How did you come to hear of Jane’s party?” he demanded.
“Philip told me.”
“I didn’t know you ever saw him,” Mr. Pomfret complained with lazy amazement.
“I had to go round to the office. As a matter of fact my business took me to his boss,” she boasted.
“So did you look in on Mary in M?”
“There wasn’t time darling and I’m not sure she’d have been overjoyed.”
“Good God Liz what nonsense you can talk. Why Mary’d have loved it! Pity you didn’t you know. She’s managing marvellously well. No more than a junior in length of service of course but already she’s established and doing damned important work too let me tell you. To tell the truth I once knew her chief. I’m always meaning to ring the woman one day to ask. But what holds me back is Mary’s face if she got to hear. Oh she’s independent Liz, and won’t take any manner or means of help. And I respect her for it.”
“Philip was handing round the tea and buns,” Miss Jennings informed him. He burst into laughter.
“Well maybe my dear you did best not to explore further than Department C. You might have come on Mary with a mop and bucket between M and N. No, as for her it’s not only what she tells me, which is little enough in all conscience, because I have other sources, I know what I’m talking about. But I’m not far wrong when I say Philip’s an ungodly failure. What you told me just now doesn’t come one bit as a surprise.”
“Is that really so? I had no idea,” Miss Jennings protested and seemed pleased.
“Don’t breathe a word to anyone least of all to Jane,” he implored. “He’s not quite all she’s got, there’s still little Penelope practising to become St. Francis, but it would kill poor Jane all the same. Oh now what made me say any of that! Liz I’m growing crabbed and ill natured in middle age.”
“You aren’t,” she said.
“I jolly well am! Oh yes, worse luck! Never mind. Forget it.”
“Good heavens John you remember about nine weeks ago when we were discussing his mother and she promptly came in, well here’s Mary with Philip.”
He twisted round in the chair.
“They can’t afford this,” he said into the room in a loud voice. Then he saw. They were standing before Pascal, close together in an attitude of humility while the man sneered in their faces. It was plain they were not known.
“Excuse me Liz,” Mr. Pomfret asked over a shoulder. He got up. “Can’t have that you understand,” he said and went across. “Hello there,” he called. Pascal and Gaspard stepped back as he strode to kiss Mary. She seemed to shrink while Philip put on an embarrassed grin. Mr. Pomfret shook him warmly by the hand. After some more talk which Miss Jennings watched with a tender smile, Pascal, obsequious again, at once led the young couple away to a good table. As they went John said something to his daughter who sent Liz a startled glance.
When he sat down once more John said, “Well I only hope he pays.”
Miss Jennings replied, “Why here she comes.”
Mr. Pomfret rose to his feet. “Fancy seeing you,” Mary greeted Miss Jennings shyly. Her wrist was loose when she took Miss Jennings’ hand.
“Oh darling,” Liz cried, “you look so sweet.”
“You both do look wonderful,” Mary mumbled. Another phrase or two and she made her escape. As he sat down again the father said with satisfaction,
“My girl’s got manners. I rather pride myself on that as a matter of fact.”
“She’s sweet,” Miss Jennings repeated. “You didn’t expect to see them here then?”
“Those two? My dear Liz I never interfere. But I certainly imagined she was lunching back home this afternoon. Not that she can’t do just as she likes of course. I thought she said something
about tea. I must have misheard. And I didn’t know they ever met.”
There was a pause while he watched his daughter.
“Were you told about Arthur Morris?” she next enquired.
“No? Not more bad news, you can’t surely mean? What is it?” he asked turning back to her.
“Now they’re having to take the ankle off.”
This time neither laughed or even smiled.
“Good Lord,” he cried “like so much else it’s beginning to be a bad dream. Who’s his doctor then? Can’t they do anything for him?”
“Poor Arthur isn’t it bad luck?” she said.
“Frightful,” he agreed. “Now what are you proposing to have now? Cheese or sweet or both? Where is Gaspard? First they don’t or won’t recognize one’s own children and then they can’t bother to take an order. Here Pascal!” He waved.
“Only coffee for me darling. I must watch my figure.”
“Would you mind if I had just a bite of cheese? Look Pascal you won’t give my daughter a table and then there’s no one to get us on with Miss Jennings’ luncheon! She’d simply like some white coffee and I’ll have cheese and biscuits.”
The man hurried off. “What were we saying?”
“About Arthur.”
“Why,” he protested, “it’s the most frightful thing I ever heard in all my life! Poor old fellow. No knowing where these things’ll stop either. And the bill too if you don’t mind, waiter. I am sorry to hear that,” he ended.
“It’s when a man must wish he’d married,” Miss Jennings said reflectively. “Having a leg off.”
“Never forget William Smith,” he objected.
“William Smith?” she echoed. “I don’t remember.”
“Perhaps he was a bit before your time. He got into a motor smash, lost both arms and Myra left him.”
“Was he married?”
“But I’ve just told you! Yes Myra went. And she got her decree on incompatibility of temperament.”
“Perhaps that had been going on a long time John.”
“It’s very dangerous to lose a limb when you’re married,” he announced. “Two limbs are almost always fatal. So watch out.”
“Oh I wouldn’t think much of a husband who left as soon as I happened to be maimed,” she cried.
“The thing is they do. And damn quick too! Without even a by your leave!”
“No John that’s dreadful!”
He let out a great gay laugh.
“It’s the way of the world,” he explained. “Anyway lucky old Arthur isn’t married is he?”
“No, but all the same!”
“Forget it I was only joking,” he said.
There was a pause while he fondly smiled and she seemed lost in thought.
“Will she ask me?” she enquired at last.
“Who darling?”
“Jane of course.”
“What to? I can’t tell how you mean?” he objected.
“This party she’s to give so you can make up your mind whether you’ll have one after.”
“Naturally she will.”
“Why darling?” she wanted to know.
“She’d better,” he announced.
“I don’t fancy Jane likes me,” Miss Jennings insinuated.
“Ask us without each other?” he protested. “That would be unheard of, dear.”
“Have the invitations gone out already John?”
“But most certainly not. Jane doesn’t even realize she’s giving a party yet, not before she and I have talked it over. And she can’t if she won’t ask you.”
“John you’re being very sweet yet I wonder if Jane really likes me?”
“She loves you,” he roared.
“No, that’s going too far,” she insisted. “You spoil it!”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “She depends on you. She knows very well I wouldn’t come if you weren’t there and Jane relies on me.”
“And so what do you mean by that, darling?”
“Precisely the little I’m saying. Since her husband died she’s never given anything without she had all her old men friends round her, she wouldn’t dare.”
“You say she’ll invite me only because of you.”
“That’s so.”
“Well then it’s not very nice is it?”
“Liz darling you’re trying to trap me. She adores you.”
“Does she? I don’t think I’ll come then.”
“Look darling,” he said, “with this frightful rain this is not one of those days we can take our customary Sunday walk.” He laughed. “Come Liz,” he said, “let’s get back to bed.”
“Aren’t you awful! Oh! I suppose so, all right,” she replied, getting up to go at once, giving a shy smile.
•
Miss Pomfret waved to her father as he left with Miss Jennings while Philip made as if to rise from his place. When he had settled down again he said,
“Have you heard about this party my mother’s to give?”
“Oh Philip but when? And are you inviting me?”
“Of course.”
“How kind! Oh dear how nice.” She beamed upon him. “When is it?”
“There’ll be weeks of talk yet. While she makes up her mind how not to ask a single one of our relations. No at the moment it’s to be for my friends, only she knows quite well I haven’t any.”
“Surely that’s nonsense Philip. What about the men you knew at school?”
“I’ve lost touch.”
“Well it wasn’t so long ago after all?”
“They none of them work in London,” he said in a severe voice as though to discourage questions. “I don’t know where they are now. But she accuses me of behaving as apparently as I used to when she came down to my first school.”
“You’ll have to tell me a little more if I’m to understand” Miss Pomfret gently said.
“She was always in the car,” he explained. “When we passed any of the other chaps I used to duck right down just as if,” and here he copied his mother’s emphatic speech “ ‘just as if they had guns, repeating rifles.’ ”
“And did you?”
“Of course we every one of us did. You don’t spend entire weeks with the creatures only to want to see them when you can get away for an hour or so. Besides there was too much chromium plate on the beastly thing. It was vulgar.”
“Oh no Philip.”
“Were you at school?”
“As a matter of fact I wasn’t.”
“And I suppose at a girls’ establishment you did anything you could to show off?”
“I expect they did,” she meekly replied.
“I used to see the girls out with their parents in hotels Mamma took me to tea,” he muttered. “But the point, no, part of the point is that Mamma as she accused me of trying to duck every time we passed anyone, suited her action to the words or whatever the phrase may be and bumped her head down on the sofa she was sitting in to show me how I used to behave and smashed one of her eyebrows against a heavy glass ashtray she’d put beside herself.” He laughed.
“Did she hurt her forehead?” Miss Pomfret enquired warily.
“Just a bump,” he answered. “Sometimes Mamma is rather wonderful.” He was smiling. “She’s so violent.”
“I think your mother’s sweet now, Philip!”
“Well the fact is, when she hurt herself it set her off and I got the whole thing again all over. How even at Eton I hadn’t any friends, still never saw a soul these days, what was I doing with my life, all that sort of usual trouble. And lastly of course she wanted to know, would she have to have all over again the whole of this wretched experience that had made her so miserably unhappy with little Penelope when Pen grows up.”
“Oh but Philip you aren’t really making your mother unhappy are you?”
“It’s just the way she speaks you understand. Why, are you the joy of your father’s life at the moment?”
She laughed. “I really believ
e I am,” she replied. “How is your kid sister anyway?”
“As well as can be expected. For the time being there’s nothing on her mind of course. But even at Eton we didn’t want to see each other either. It was torture going to the theatre the night before one went back, there were so many. They even sat right next.”
“You mean you simply couldn’t bear to see them again now?”
“Oh no,” he protested. “Of course it’s quite different now. I just don’t want to see any of ’em that’s all.”
“Well then you needn’t.”
“The only thing is,” he said in a rueful way, “I’m supposed to have this party for my twenty firster.”
“But Philip,” she cried “in that case you can’t not invite your friends.”
“You know what it is with Mamma. The ones she does eventually ask will all come out of her set inevitably in the end. They won’t be contemporaries of mine.”
“I could rake up a few girls,” she volunteered.
“I don’t mean anything against her,” he said, seeming to ignore Mary’s offer. “I’ve known this happen before. And of course when Penelope’s little time comes there’ll be thousands of young men Mamma will have in, all that part of it is in my mother’s blood. No, but where I am concerned, she’s making an excuse to throw a party of her own. Apart from which one has to be sorry for parents. They had such a lot of money once and we’ve never seen what that was.”
“I think it’s a shame,” she said rather mysteriously.
“If she wants to give her own ‘do’ why shouldn’t she? And my twenty firster provides the excuse because I know she can’t afford two.”
“But you should have your friends in for your own twenty firster Philip.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “If I told her that, she’s incredibly generous and she’d lend me the flat for the evening and enough money to give another.”