“Thanks. I don’t want Father to see me in this fancy dress. I’ll change into slacks, meanwhile will you sew on those cloth stars on this jacket? You can see how they go on—point to point, not parallel. Many thanks, dear Hetty!”
When he came down Hetty told him that his father was home. “He’s in the sitting-room.”
“Oh, lor!”
Richard got up immediately his son opened the door, and held out his long thin hand. On the worn brocaded tablecloth at his corner lay the open case and the white enamelled cross. “Well, old chap, I must congratulate you! I’ve been looking at it. Mother assured me that you would have no objection——”
“No, Father, of course not.”
“It’s a beautiful piece of work. I must show you your grandfather’s Crimea medals sometime.”
“Did he—er—have any luck?” asked Phillip eagerly.
“He had campaign medals. I have them in the vault at the Bank, they will be yours someday. Have you seen the Pall Mall Gazette tonight? Rather a libel, I consider; it looks as though you haven’t washed your face since you came out of the trenches!”
“Good heavens, why did I grin like that? And my cap’s on one side. What a bounder! I didn’t really want the beastly thing taken.”
“Would you like a glass of sherry?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, Father, there’s a sort of regimental dinner tonight, and I ought to be off now.”
“We’ll expect you when we see you, then. I expect you’ll be back fairly late? Mother has given you a key, has she? I see. I’ve got to be on duty tonight. By the way, I saw your Uncle Hilary the other day. He asked me to give you his congratulations, and to say that he’d be very glad to see you at his club, the Voyagers. He will be there until the end of the week, if you care to look in, he said. Well, I must not keep you. Oh, before I forget—would you like me to clean your double-barrel for you? Mother tells me you are going to shoot partridges.”
“Thanks. Oh, by the way, there’s just a chance I may stay in town, Father. One of our chaps who was in the Flying Corps has the entrée to a club, and can put up people. We’re all going to a dance later on.”
“Well, you’re only young once, but look after yourself, old chap, won’t you?”
Part Four
THE LOST KINGDOM
“A man may bear a World’s contempt when he bears that within that says he is Worthy. When he contemns himself—there burns the Hell——”
From a diary written at Sebastopol, 1856,
by Augustus Williamson, Lieut. 30th Foot.
Chapter 17
NIGHT FLOWERS
At half-past eleven that night Phillip was walking alone down an unfamiliar London street, trying to clear his mind of the confusions of the evening. The street was nearly empty; in front of him walked another figure, solitary and small between the shaded lights of lamp-posts. What an evening—almost every moment of it wasted.
First, the reunion at the Monico bar. Desmond and Eugene both had two dry martinis each, for which he paid, as in the old days. Gene told them about his latest bird. “I’m working on her now. She’s engaged to a chap I know, but says that isn’t going to stop her having her fling. She’s a sport, has a fairly well-to-do father, but works in a factory to help the war effort.”
“Where?” asked Desmond.
“Out beyond Finchley. She wears trousers while there. I tell her that I don’t mind a girl wearing trousers, provided she takes them off occasionally.”
“And has she?” asked Desmond.
“She will, I think.” Eugene gave some details which Phillip thought were rather crude; but then Gene was a Brazilian. “I’d like you to see her, Phil. How about asking her to come along?”
Phillip thought this a bit off, but he said, “By all means.”
When Eugene returned from the telephone booth he said: “Leonora asked if she could bring her young sister along and I said it would be all right. We’ll go to my flat afterwards. I shall have to get a bottle of crême-de-menthe. I suppose you couldn’t lend me a bradbury, could you?”
“Yes, of course.” Phillip had two fivers, and to get change (for he didn’t want Gene to borrow the fiver) he said, “How about another before we go?” The change came with the drinks. “If you could make it two, old man?” Having put the pound notes in his case, Eugene, who had been looking at his rank badges, went on to say, “I thought you were a colonel now, Phil.”
“Oh, that’s all done with, Gene.”
“But I’ve told Leonora you are a colonel. What shall I say to her when she sees that you’re not?”
“Tell her that I went up with the rocket and came down with the stick.”
“But—I saw it in the paper!”
“Acting rank in the field only, old boy. You’ll have to use your own ammunition on your bird.”
“Still, you’ve won the D.S.O.”
“It came up with the rations, Gene. They dish them out to figureheads. But the real heroes——”
He told them about Garfield. “My God,” said Gene, “fancy chucking yourself on a machine-gun instead of a woman. It just shows how mad the world is.”
Phillip determined to slip away as soon as he could after dinner. He had outgrown his life of the days before the Somme. “Come on, you crab wallahs, do an allez.”
They crossed Piccadilly Circus. Swan and Edgar’s bombed and boarded up, the press of figures coarsened, rough, formless; the bright lights gone with the keen and simple faces of ’15 and ’16 long since dissolved from the bone, and ‘dunging with rotten death’ the loams of Picardy and the clays of Flanders. He passed wondering faces of Americans under wideawake hats, a few shocked behind their eyes after returning from the St. Mihiel salient. At least there was fugacious light and warmth inside the restaurant, the string band playing the barcarolle from Tales of Hoffman.
“The Yanks should have been brigaded with our fellows for the first kick-off. And it was damned unfair to ask them to make a salient out of a salient at St. Mihiel, Vallum told me.”
Eugene glanced at him, and went on telling Desmond about someone called Roy Cohen.
“Roy Cohen, did you say? Is he an insurance broker in Piccadilly? Well then, he’s the one who used to come into our office in Wine Vaults Lane. His father bought up all the old Metropolitan Police uniforms, and had a factory in Houndsditch!”
“That’s right. They’ve opened a shop, Cahoon Brothers, just off the Strand, and sell second-hand uniforms, boots, et cetera. Roy tells me it’s a gold mine.”
“How did you meet him, Gene?”
“Through Leonora Spero. In fact he’s practically engaged to her, she says.”
“But if she’s engaged, how can she——”
At this Desmond withdrew his face from the circle, his lips screwed into sardonic detachment.
The small Italian waiter was hovering. “Hadn’t we better order now, Gene? I expect he’s thinking that the manager will strafe him. People down there are already waiting for tables. We got here just in time. What will your friends want to eat?” The waiter put the menu before him. He passed it over.
“Do we need coupons for steaks?” asked Gene. The waiter nodded. Desmond said he had plenty, so four steaks were ordered. He explained that he commanded a gun detachment, and had as many leave ration-books as he wanted. Also railway warrants.
“I make them out for a station beyond my destination, and so they never get back to the Paymaster’s office. Coming this time to London, I made out my warrant to Folkestone, saying I was breaking my journey, so the inspector handed it back to me.”
“How about going back?”
“Oh, I make out another one to Northallerton, and get out at a station before York, where my headquarters motorcycle combination meets me and takes me to the detachment.”
“That’s a good wheeze, Des.”
“I can let you have some warrants if you like.”
“Thanks all the same, but I don’t think I’d be able to use them.
I mean,” as sardonic aloofness returned upon the other’s face, “it’s a short journey from Ipswich to Liverpool Street, and to buy a ticket from Landguard to Ipswich, then to go on by warrant——”
“There’s no need to explain. I fully realise the change in you since the old days. You weren’t so particular about riding to Fox Grove on a penny ticket from Crofton Park then. In fact, you taught me that it was the thing to do.”
“You’re perfectly right.”
At first the arrival of the two girls did not make things easier. He disliked their dark almost jet eyes, and the rather fat fingers of the older girl, Leonora, who began by being arch. When he spoke to her she opened her eyes wide so that they gave out a sort of flash, while with full red lips parted she showed off her fine even teeth. Finding him unresponsive, she turned to Desmond, while her sister sat demurely, long hair brushed straight to her waist, between them. The only thing to do was to finish the bottle of wine as soon as possible and get another, so that the stream of reverie flowed and he was moored, fairly happily, off a bright little island imagining faraway scenes against the talk of Desmond and the young girl, and Eugene with his hand on the knee of his inamorata under the table, while instructing her about his favourite Italian operas. By the time the cheese came round, five bottles of Spanish-Algerian Château Victoire Burgundy had been taken away. The younger girl had drunk none of this, but sipped her Cyderette with little finger extended, as befitted being up West.
“Have a liqueur,” urged Eugene. “Crême-de-menthe? It’s not alcoholic, or barely so. For me, a brandy and a good cigar just rounds off a dinner. Waiter! Then we’ll go back to the flat and have coffee.”
“Well, honestly, we mustn’t be late, Gene. Rebecca has to go to school in the morning.”
“You won’t be late.”
“Are the others coming?”
“Sure thing.”
“The colonel? He’s a nice boy.” Leonora looked naturally across at Phillip. “He has such lovely eyes. What’s been the matter, Phillip? You look so sad.” She put her arm across the table, and laid her hand on his. He looked into eyes which were no longer bold, but softened by the wine, and turning over his hand, clasped hers.
“Here, change places, Gene, I want to be next to Phillip.” She settled beside him, and taking his hand between her two hands, felt all of herself from the waist up going into his eyes. “You have beautiful eyes, Phillip,” she repeated. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“Oh—just life!”
“Don’t go away from me! Look at me! I may be tight, but I know what I want when I see it. Oh no, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not that sort of girl, cross my heart!” She drew his hand to her chin, lightly touching it, then to her bosom, and laughing, said, “No further!” as she lifted his hand and kissed it.
Eugene had watched this exhibition with mixed feelings, among them admiration that his hero had impressed his friend, and satisfaction that Phillip had drawn her out, thus bringing Leonora nearer his bed, as he told Desmond later that night, while the two undressed in Eugene’s attic flat opposite Paddington station.
“Sex is the root of life. All poetry and music comes from that. There’s no such thing as an ideal love. That comes from being afraid of the real thing. All girls are the same underneath their clothes. I once did a lot of good to a girl who had been jilted by an officer. She told me that he was always wanting to have her, and when she gave in he gave up before getting half way, and then chucked her. She was still a virgin, and so unhappy that she spent hours going back over the past trying to find out what had gone wrong, to cause him to chuck her. I told her that if she had had any experience it wouldn’t have happened. In Brazil, I told her, a girl was complimented when someone in a crowd pinched the cheeks of her bottom, while in this country, she would be angry and call a copper. Well, this girl asked me what she ought to do, so I told her to leave it to me, who had the experience. You have to be gentle, of course; all this caveman stuff is a masturbator’s dream. That was what was wrong with this girl’s fiancé, he had flogged his mutton too much. How did you get on with your bird, Des?”
“You tell me how you got on with yours.”
“I got there. I knew I would when she fell for old Phil. I wonder what he’s doing at this moment?”
“Oh, probably telling the same platonic tale to some prossy or other. Tell me what Leonora said about him.”
“She cried when I told her that he had got his D.S.O. by flinging himself on top of a German machine-gun, so that he was maimed for life.”
Desmond grunted and groaned with laughter. “You’re a cunning sod, Gene!”
“But it’s all the same thing. It’s all sex! She didn’t love Phillip, her behaviour was due only to the fact that he was a mystery to her, and it piqued her——”
“Then you piqued her!” Desmond laughed. “I wasn’t so lucky with mine. She was too tight.”
“Nervousness,” said Gene. “She’ll be sorry she couldn’t before long, and won’t rest until she has. That’s where I’ll come in, while you’re shooting at raiders coming up the Humber.”
There was a Curfew Order, so called, that restaurants and hotel dining-rooms be closed at 10 p.m. Shortly after this hour, having paid the bill, and said goodbye, with the feeling that he was on all accounts the odd man out, Phillip had gone to the Alhambra, to find that it had just closed, the hour being 10.30. He thought of the Café Royal, for coffee in the red plush room with mirrors, visited last during the winter of 1915–16, when it was open at midnight. It was closed, so he took a taxi to the Grafton Galleries, paid off the driver and walked past the door, waiting until the taxi had gone before going back. There was no one there, the door was locked. Should he go to the airmen’s club in Berkeley Square, in the furnished house rented from Lord Someone, where the fun went on until dawn and later, according to Colin? Where was Berkeley Square? He set out to walk there, having asked the way.
He had gone down several side streets and arrived at a narrow main road of sorts, marked by dim specks of street lamps. In front of him walked another figure, and as it passed under the small circle of lamp-light he saw it was that of a girl when she turned half round. She was dressed in green. The look quickened him, he wondered what she was like, prepared to avoid an obvious tart and the repellent ‘Hullo, dearie’. By lengthening his stride he kept to the same number of footfalls and came level with her under the next lamp-post. There she looked up at him, and he saw that she was young, almost a flapper, with brown eyes and short hair under a knitted green cap.
“Can you tell me where I am, please?”
“This is New Bond Street.”
“I want to get to Berkeley Square.”
“I’ll show you the way. Look!” She held out her arm, and he saw a bracelet on her wrist in the form of a snake, with glistening eye. “Don’t you like him? Don’t be afraid, he doesn’t bite.”
They walked on side by side. He felt his blood thicken. Was she——? His heart bumped when she said, “Do you mind?”, while her fingers sought his. They walked on hand in hand, past a policewoman.
“I’ve missed the last train from Baker Street,” she said.
“That’s bad luck. I’m on leave.”
They walked on, she gently swinging her hand in his.
“Do you know any place where we can go and sleep?” he said, at last.
“I know a place at Paddington, if you don’t mind the noise of trains.”
“You and me?”
“If you like.”
He was disappointed. And yet——
“I suppose you’ve been there with other men?”
“Only once. With a friend.”
“Did you meet him like this?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“Well—no.”
They walked on, he making an excuse to take away his hand by lighting a cigarette. Then, “I’m sorry, do you smoke?”
“Thanks.” He lit it for her. “I know Eastbourne Ter
race in Paddington. I’ve got a friend who has a flat there.”
“Then perhaps I’d better say good night?”
“No, don’t go.” He seized her hand.
“I think you’re sweet,” she said.
“Honestly, have you only had one man?”
“Yes, truly. He was my boy, only he cast me off.”
They got a taxi, and in the cab he put his arms round her and rested his cheek on her cap, with its little tassel, and gently touched her forehead with his lips, while his heart beat faster as he felt desire for her. “How old are you?” he whispered, lest the cabbie hear.
“Seventeen. And you?”
“Terribly old. Twenty-three!”
They were moving under trees. “Where is this?”
“Hyde Park. I work near here, in Oxford Street. I type on a tall new Remington, the only new one in the office!”
“What will your people say, if you’re not back tonight?”
“I’ll say I stayed with a friend. Anyway, they don’t care.”
He was becoming afraid. Perhaps after all she was a tart, and taking him to a house where he would be robbed and perhaps knocked about. At the same time he longed to feel he could trust her, she had such a young and innocent face.
“Look, he does not like you now,” she said, holding the silver snake to his cheek.
“I can’t quite make out what you are doing here, to be frank.”
“My father married again only a week after my mother died, and I don’t like his wife,” she said, rapidly and tonelessly, as though she had said it many times before.
“Where’s this?” He peered through the window.
“The Marble Arch, leading into Edgware Road. Paddington Station’s up on the left, about three quarters of a mile. You don’t feel very easy, do you?”
“You seem so grown up for seventeen.”
“Well, you make me feel grown up. You seem so young and innocent, somehow. Haven’t you had much to do with girls?”
A Test to Destruction Page 37