Cluny Brown
Page 23
“Been busy, Uncle Arn?”
“Fair,” said Mr. Porritt.
“Been getting along all right without me?”
“Well enough,” said Mr. Porritt. “Well enough.…”
Cluny paused. She did not really want to hear that he had missed her, for that would make it too hard to leave him and go to America; but she wanted him to say something affectionate. She wanted to say something affectionate herself, but could not find the words.
“How’s Aunt Addie, Uncle Arn?”
“She’s all right.”
“And Uncle?”
“They’re both all right,” said Mr. Porritt.
“Do you still have dinner there on Sundays?”
He nodded impatiently, and silence fell again. Cluny began to wonder how long her sojourn in String Street was going to last: whether there would be many evenings spent like this; how long, in fact, it would take to get married. For want of something to do she rolled Mr. Wilson’s telegram into a ball and offered it to the puppy to play with; but the puppy was asleep. Cluny involuntarily yawned. She was just about to say she would go to bed when Mr. Porritt turned and fixed her with a long, troubled look.
“I suppose you know what you’re doing,” he said heavily.
“Yes, I do,” replied Cluny, waking up. “I’m going to be very happy. I’m going to have a wonderful time. I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted, Uncle Arn, but it’s what suits me. That’s the great thing, isn’t it?”
“In my day,” said Mr. Porritt, “it wasn’t what suited you, it was what you got.”
Fortunately Cluny had not to take this remark at its face-value. She knew perfectly well that whatever he might say, Mr. Porritt had always liked being a plumber, he enjoyed the position and importance it gave him. But she didn’t want to argue. Standing up, she said, very earnestly:—
“Uncle Arn, before I go and get married, I want you to know I’m grateful. You’ve done an awful lot for me, that I’ll never forget. I’m very fond of you, Uncle Arn.”
She stooped and kissed him. He turned his head and rather clumsily kissed her back.
“That’s a good lass,” said Mr. Porritt.
Epilogue
The reporters had just come on board. They had several people to interview, a famous bridge player, a Balkan prince, a minor British film star, and Adam Belinski. The prospect did not appear to excite them at all unduly; they advanced along the deck in a small, business-like group, five men, two women, with looks alert but reserved. They would have liked to find their celebrities in a bunch, lined up and ready for them; but it was their experience that celebrities, when about to be interviewed, rarely bunched.
“Now, there’s some one who looks like somebody,” observed Miss Beebee.
The others followed her glance. Leaning against the rail stood a very tall young woman with a red scarf round her dark head and a small black dog under one arm. She returned their combined gaze with interest and complete ease.
“The film star?” suggested Miss Beebee.
“Too tall,” objected a colleague. “Also the film star’s a blonde.”
“She’s some one, anyway,” asserted Miss Beebee.
Detaching herself from the group she advanced purposefully on Cluny, née Brown, now Belinski. Cluny watched her approach with extreme admiration, thinking she had never in her life seen any one so beautifully dressed.
“Pardon me, but are you Miss Deirdre Foster?”
“Certainly not,” said Cluny. “I’m Mrs. Adam Belinski.”
“Lead me to him,” urged Miss Beebee. “I represent a whole row of women’s papers, who are thirsting for an interview.”
“Oh, are you the Press?” asked Cluny. She had indeed been stationed there by Belinski to catch the Press as it came aboard, and before the edge was taken off its enthusiasm by the bridge player, the film star and the Balkan prince; but Cluny’s ideas of the Press were gathered solely from films, and she had expected a far tougher, cigar-chewing, hat-on-back-of-head company.
Miss Beebee, returning Cluny’s stare with interest, nodded. Mrs. Adam Belinski was certainly some one; and she looked almost as though she might be some one in her own right.…
“Then he’s in the bar,” said Cluny. “He says he always meets journalists in the bar.”
“And a very good idea too,” agreed Miss Beebee warmly. But she hesitated. Turning to her colleagues, she said, “Boys, Mr. Belinski’s in the bar. I’m just going to have a talk with Mrs. Belinski.…”
For a moment the others hesitated in turn; they had a great respect for Miss Beebee’s acumen, and she looked as though she were on to something. However, the husband had to be dealt with at some point; they nodded, and went on.
“I believe,” continued Miss Beebee, returning to Cluny, “we’d like a picture of you with that cute little pup. I guess it’s a bit early to ask your opinion of American women—”
“Are they all like you?” enquired Cluny seriously.
“Well, I naturally consider myself a piece above the average, but you can take me for a fair sample.”
“Then I think they’re beautifully dressed, and very friendly.”
“Go on,” urged Miss Beebee. “Keep it up. Tell me something about yourself. How long have you been married?”
“Three weeks.”
“Then this is your honeymoon? Look,” said Miss Beebee, “why don’t we go into the saloon or some place, where we can talk comfortably?”
Cluny was only too eager to do so. She was longing to talk, longing to tell some one how enthralling it was to be yourself, Cluny Belinski, invading America with your husband. And she had more to tell than even that; at last she had found some one willing to hear about Cluny Brown. She couldn’t wait; she began at once.
“Well, I’ve had a very interesting life,” said Cluny joyfully. “I used to be a parlour-maid—”
“For goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Miss Beebee, really startled.
“But I wasn’t very good at it,” added Cluny, “because I didn’t know my place. My husband says that won’t matter so much in America.”
“He’s probably right,” agreed Miss Beebee, considering Cluny very attentively. “May I ask where you were a parlourmaid?”
Cluny pulled herself up. After all, Lady Carmel had been very kind.…
“I don’t think I’ll tell you that,” she said. “They mightn’t like it. I mean, so long as domestic service survives, the convenience of the employer naturally comes first.”
How strangely it sounded, that phrase of Mr. Wilson’s, on the deck of the Queen Mary! How remote seemed those employers, Lady Carmel and Sir Henry, and Syrett and Mrs. Maile! Cluny cast them a final backward look as she followed the fascinated Miss Beebee into the saloon, and dismissed them for ever. She thought of Mr. Porritt and the Trumpers: less remote, but still dim, already fading. “Good-bye, Uncle Arn!” thought Cluny with a last flicker of regret; and sat down beside Miss Beebee, and opened her heart to the United States.
About the Author
Margery Sharp (1905–1991) is renowned for her sparkling wit and insight into human nature, which are liberally displayed in her critically acclaimed social comedies of class and manners. Born in Yorkshire, England, she wrote pieces for Punch magazine after attending college and art school. In 1930, she published her first novel, Rhododendron Pie, and in 1938, she married Maj. Geoffrey Castle. Sharp wrote twenty-six novels, three of which, Britannia Mews, Cluny Brown, and The Nutmeg Tree, were made into feature films, and fourteen children’s books, including The Rescuers, which was adapted into two Disney animated films.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fi
ctitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1944 by Margery Sharp
Cover design by Mimi Bark
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3425-8
This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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