by Albert Cohen
'Yes, but her sister's got double pneumonia.'
'Bronchitis and pneumonia are six of one and half a dozen of the other. But let's drop the subject. Such utter lack of principle is beyond me. Do let's talk about something else. Now, oh the business of Monsieur Solal's precious letter, the more I think about it the less gratifying it seems. In the first place, it was addressed to her, though I would have thought it more natural if he had written to me, but there it is. Besides, I don't care at all for the tone. Do you remember how it starts? Just apologies, and not even sincere apologies either, though it would have been only good manners. And then "Perlease convey my apologies to all concerned" is a reference to you and me. He could at least have mentioned my name, seeing as how I spoke to him on the telephone. And then he talks about a sudden indisposition without saying what it was exactly. I find it all very offhand, I must say. What do you make of it?'
'The fact is,' said Monsieur Deume.
'And he sends his regrets, but he couldn't even go to the bother of saying they were heartfelt.'
'I'll second that,' said Monsieur Deume.
'And he ends with plain good wishes, not best. I know she's young and so forth, but really! And the way he invites them to dinner, at his hotel, giving them just the one date, Friday the eighth of June at eight o'clock, which is the day after tomorrow. It's a case of take it or leave it. What do you think?'
'Well, I weckon he's a vewy important man and obviously . . .'
'I know all that,' she sighed. 'But even so, manners are manners. And why didn't he invite us too? Do you think that's correct?'
'Maybe he doesn't know we live with Didi.'
'He is perfectly aware that we do! Because I introduced myself over the telephone that evening, and I even said my husband and I or something of the sort. You mustn't think I mind in the least, first because I'm used to staying in the background, and second because in any case we won't be here the day after tomorrow, and third because I can well do without hotel cooking, thank you very much. But it's his manner I don't care for. Still, he did send his apologies, and so appearances have been kept up.'
'Besides, he's the chap who fixed Didi's pwomotion.'
'He gave him his due and no more. (To underscore her point, she voraciously resumed her knitting. She finished a row then scratched the inside of her ear with the free needle.) And as for that wife of Didi's, talk about a flash in the pan! All her fine resolutions have died a natural death, vanished in a puff of smoke! Saying she was running errands for him, pressing his trousers and so forth, all that's gone with the wind! She spent all yesterday afternoon sunbathing in the garden in full view of passers-by! Carrying on like that will hardly send our stock up with the neighbours! And I see that she hasn't even cut the pages of Watch and Pray, which I gave her to read! That's all the thanks I get for giving up my small room downstairs so that Madame could turn it into her sitting-room! Imagine, her own private sitting-room! And none of her usual sloth in the way she set about it! She bucked up her ideas and took no time at all to set up shop with all those awful old bits and pieces belonging to her aunt, I wouldn't have them if they were given! That ancient threadbare carpet! She even had her piano brought down! And brought down at Didi's expense, of course! And not answering when I asked her ever so naicely how she was, spiritually speaking. The conceited, impudent hussy! Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?'
The downstairs telephone rang. Only too grateful for the diversion, Monsieur Deume rushed off to answer it. He returned gasping for breath, for he had climbed the stairs three at a time, and said Madame Ventradour was on the line. Madame Deume hurried off.
As the door closed behind her, he collapsed into an armchair. That phone call was providential. If it lasted any length of time, it would give her something else to think about and maybe she wouldn't go on any more to him about Ariane. No, he couldn't and wouldn't say nasty things about her just to keep Antoinette's hat straight. Not after Ariane had been so sweet to him yesterday when she'd got back just after that English chap had gone, she'd been a brick, taken charge, quick! hide the empty tins, hurry up! tidy up the kitchen, spit-spot! take a taxi to town and buy replacement tins and more bottles of the same Bordeaux! And she'd given him excellent advice about the letter, just say it had come and leave it at that. Fortunately Antoinette had got home late from Madame Gantet's. He'd have really caught it in the neck if she'd come back and found him and the Englishman there together up to their eyes in Bordeaux and cassoulet, singing their heads off! The Englishman was a very decent sort, though, and they'd had a merry time of it. They'd even embraced when it was time for him to go. Come to think of it, he'd never had a real friend in his life. He wouldn't have minded seeing him again, except that he was a lord and therefore several cuts above him. Well at least their tea party would be a memory to treasure. He blew his nose and stared into his handkerchief, folded it, and forced himself to think about something else. Yes, he'd buy a magnetic screwdriver, it would come in very handy. What on earth was she telling Madame Ventradour? Noiselessly he opened the door, leaned over the banister, and listened. 'What a pity, dear, you missed Jeanne Gantet's littel talk, she's such an intellectual person, never at a loss for words. She spoke to us about the link between science and religion, it involves all sorts of things one never normally thinks of, such as the telephone, for instance, which enables us to ask a friend with greater religious experience for spiritual support in some faith-shattering moral crisis, or again the railways, religious congresses could not be held without them! or the radio, which puts out such comforting programmes! We were all absolutely spellbound! It was definitely one in the eye for unbelievers who say that there aren't any links between science and religion! Anyway, I'm so pleased everything is going well for you. But I must tell you, dear, that we've been through thick and thin here these last few days! It never rained but it poured! First, the sink in the kitchen got blocked, pouring chemicals down didn't do the trick and in the end we had to call the plumber! And then Martha's gone, went the day before yesterday. I didn't catch that. Oh no, I didn't send her packing, she left of her own accord. You see she'd been having trouble with her back ever since she fell when trying to hang a picture, you know what these girls are like, always getting ideas into their heads, that's right, she was trying to hang quite a large picture the other evening while we were waiting for a supper- or rather dinner-guest, as a matter of fact it was the Under-Secretary-General of the League of Nations, a very dear friend of Adrien's. Martha, poor thing, could barely drag herself about, and naturally her work suffered as a result. So, feeling very sorry for her, I advised her to go home to her family for a rest, to return to the fold and get good and well again there. Besides, I had made it perfectly clear to her from the beginning that I was engaging her on a purely temporary basis, only until such time as Mariette came back. Not that she's any great loss. For a start, she was dreadfully clumsy in her work in spite of all the trouble I took to train her, and, since she'd never learned how to behave, I didn't get very far in my efforts to teach her naice manners. For example, she had this mania for knocking before entering the drawing-room. How many times did I point out in the kindest possible way that it's only on bedroom doors a correctly brought-up person knocks before entering! And tactless! Would you believe that one day I found her crying her eyes out, so naturally I asked what was the matter and even held her hand to encourage her to speak up for herself, and can you imagine what she told me? She had the impudence to say she was homesick for her cows! Of course, I forgave her with all my heart, for I never lost sight of the fact that she came of humble stock. But I do hope that the serious talks I had with her will prove a blessing on her, the poor littel thing was religiously quite backward. Anyhow, I did my level best to raise her spiritual consciousness, especially by praying with her, yes I did! We'll have someone else as of tomorrow, she doesn't seem anything to write home about and she'll be mornings only, seeing as how she does somewhere else in the afternoons. But in view of the
fact of how difficult it is finding domestics nowadays we should be grateful for whatever God sends us in the way of servants, even if the quality leaves much to be desired. Naturally, as soon as poor Martha decided to go off and get well wherever it was she came from, I wired reply-paid to Mariette, who is if you recall in Paris and is in any case due to resume her duties here on July the first, asking her in the light of events to come back and start work with immediate effect. We received a telegram saying she couldn't come seeing as how her sister, who is a concierge, has come down with double pneumonia, and that she won't be in a position to return before the beginning of July. Really, it's always the same with servants. We are at their absolute mercy. But, dear, there I go, prattling on, and I haven't yet told you the big news! You won't believe it, but we're off to Brussels the day after tomorrow! Relations of mine, the van Offels, of the Chateau van Offel, have sent for me urgently! Yes, I got a letter by the midday post yesterday from dear Elise van Offel, that is the younger Madame van Offel, literally begging for my help! Her mother-in-law has had a stroke, one side is completely paralysed, and they've taken her in because she was in such a bad way. But Wilhelmine van Offel, that's Madame van Offel the elder, the one who's been struck down, can't get on with any of the nurses and has been positively clamouring for me, seeing as how I once looked after her many years ago. Heeding only the promptings of my heart, I was naturally prepared to drop everything and go to her at once, taking Hippolyte with me, of course, he can't do without me, but there weren't any sleepers until the day after tomorrow. When I travel overnight I always take a sleeper, it's a firm family principle. So we booked both of us on the Friday-night train nineteen francs forty-five, excuse me nineteen forty-five, a quarter to eight that is. It will get us into Brussels at ten to nine on Saturday morning, God willing and barring accidents, which can always happen. We'll probably be away for three months, or perhaps a bit less, depending on how her condition develops, for at best, or so the doctor says, the poor dear will be promoted to glory by the beginning of August at the very latest. There's no knowing how it will all turn out, it's in the hands of the Almighty, to whom all things are known. Be that as it may, I cannot leave dear Elise in the lurch, incidentally her maiden name was van der Meulen, the family was very big in refining. Oh yes, naturally there'll be a nurse, I'll be there principally to provide spiritual comfort but also to tell the nurse what to do. I'll put the time to good use, though, I'll catch up with my knitting and shall make a point of getting on with some more socks for my husband, who goes through them at a terrible rate, I can't think how he manages it. Sorry? No, no. What I do is the heel first, then I knit the feet in two parts up to the place where you decrease. I knit up two pieces of the right length because, do you see, the instep doesn't get much wear, so when the sole needs replacing all I have to do is a new underside and decreases, that way I save both time and wool. But tell me, dear, I've just had a thought, I'd love to see you before we caviare, sorry, slip of the tongue, I meant to say before we leave here. We'd be ever so perleased if you were able to come to lunching tomorrow, Thursday. Thursday's no good for you? Well perhaps Friday, then, the day we leave? You have a lunching engagement? Well in that case there's nothing for it: you'll have to come on here for an early supper. You can? Wonderful, I'm delighted. But listen, dear, do come early so that we can squeeze in a good heart-to-heart. Now let's see, our train goes at nineteen forty-five, which is a quarter to eight. Would you like to come at four? We'll sit down to table at half past five sharp, so it will have to be high tea, in the circumstances you won't mind taking pot luck. I'll see you on Friday then, dear, I'm so looking forward to it, and thanks again for your useful tip about using pillowcases for delicate things, I've already tried it and it protects them wonderfully! I'll pass on good wishes from Hippolyte, who is right beside me making signs that I'm to give you his best. I'd have passed on my Adrien's too if he'd been here, but it's wicked to tell untruths, isn't it dear? Let's just say that if he had been here he would certainly have wanted me to convey his very best to you. But I must let you get on, dear. I'll see you at four the day after tomorrow, I'm so looking forward to it, and in the meantime I send you a joyful smile!'
When she got back to her room, Madame Deume sat down in the Voltaire-style armchair, picked up her knitting, put it down again almost at once, and gave her husband a pale-blue look. He shivered and assumed an innocent expression.
'Did you notice there was something up with Didi this morning? Oh, he did his best to hide it, but a mother's heart is never deceived. Oh yes! I know exactly what the matter was! It was because yesterday she wouldn't go with him to the big reception given by Monsieur what's-his-name Benedetti! That girl's a nasty piece of work! (She crunched a cracknel: it exploded in the sinister, frightening mouth of her self-regard.) I guarantee that when we sit down to dinner — if, that is, Madame condescends to put in an appearance — I guarantee that when I tell her we're having Emmeline Ventradour over the day after tomorrow for high tea she won't say a word, just to show that Princess High-and-Mighty is simply not interested in such things. (Dental twitterings to accompany the removal by suction of fragments of cracknel.) Anyway, you can take it from me that the Ventradour estate is in a different class altogether in terms of size from that tiny place of her aunt's, which in any case was snatched from under our very noses, seeing as how it was left to the uncle so that my poor Didi wouldn't get his hands on it! And she had the barefaced nerve to tell me that she thought it was only right! Still, I have a duty to love her and I shall pray for her!'
CHAPTER 28
Responding with a conditioned reflex to the sound of the buzzer, Miss Wilson made an exactly judged entry and halted two metres short of the Louis XVI desk. Fifty-something, proper, deficiently hindquartered, convinced of the utter rightfulness of her existence, exuding overpowering waftures of lavender orchestrated with the harmonics of Pears soap, she waited in silence, perpendicular and efficient, and netted him with her frank, green, fearless, irreproachable, devoted and vacuous stare.
Turning his head away to avoid her eyes which made him uneasy, for it was the look worn by the uncomplicated and the sensible, he asked her to call the heads of section to a meeting. She acquiesced gravely, deferential but self-contained, then turned on heels as flat as her behind, and made her exit, borne up by her certainties, strong in her faith in God and King, sustained by her implacable uprightness, by the sure promise of a place in the ever-after and by the cottage she had already bought in Surrey, where she would live when she retired and snip her roses with sharp secateurs between cups of tea (strong, no sugar), held in high regard by all and sundry, pally with the vicar's wife, irreproachable and happy in her little cottage, which she would leave only when, still a virgin and with her large feet first, she was summoned directly to heaven. Her place was among life's fortunates and she had faith. He, on the other hand, belonged nowhere, a man of solitude who believed in nothing. The only way out: suicide. But in the meantime, on with the farce of the daily meeting.
The six heads of section sat waiting in the committee room around a long table, notepads before them, smoking and courteously flashing expensive lighters at their neighbours, exchanging pleasantries and heartily detesting each other. Jonkheer van Vries, secretly despising his colleagues who were commoners and lacking in the social graces of which he believed he had more than his fair share, contributed little to the conversation. (He was particularly proud of his familiarity with the stratospheric social niceties, such as knowing that some great names like Broglie or Cholmondeley were pronounced in unexpected and quite delightful ways, or that some dukedoms were sovereign and others not. Furthermore, saying 'my tuxedo' rather than 'my dinner-jacket' filled him with a delicious sense of superiority. These and other insiderly trivialities together with his acquaintance with a versifying countess who, though constantly at death's door, was socially very astute and gave large parties, plus the fact that he was received by a particularly dim-witted queen-in-exile, were the rai
son d'etre which sustained this sorry specimen of humanity, with his great pop-eyes and his perpetual highly perfumed aura of Russian Leather.)
The heads of section stood up when Solal came in. He surveyed them and knew them for what they were. With the exception of Benedetti, who plotted against him underhandedly, they were all on his side, that is to say, they settled for a prudent smile, occasionally tinged with approval, when they heard someone speak ill of him.
He motioned them to be seated and said there was only one item of business, which had been put on the agenda at the request of the Secretary-General and drafted by Sir John personally, to wit: 'Action to be taken to promote the goals and ideals of the League of Nations'.
None of the section heads had any more idea of what form such action should take than did Sir John, who expected his subordinates to tell him what he wanted. Nevertheless, they all took turns and spoke volubly, the rule of rules being never lose face, always appear to be on top of things, and at all cost never admit to not understanding or not knowing what to do.
And so they rambled on boldly, brightly, without any clear idea of which issues they were supposed to be discussing. While his colleagues, who all quickly tired of lengthy comments other than their own, drew geometric doodles on their notepads and then glumly proceeded to improve them with curlicues, van Vries droned on for ten minutes to the effect that it was essential to draw up a plan of action which was not simply systematic but concrete. Next, Benedetti spoke to two points which were in his view crucial: firstly that, in his opinion, for what it was worth, what was required was a programme of action rather than a plan of action, he repeated, a programme, the difference, he believed, was capital, at least in his book it was; and secondly, that the programme of action should be conceived as a specific project, he was not afraid to nail his colours to the mast, a project that was specific.