by Alec Waugh
“Margot Seaton. I know her. She works at the Bon Marche. My, isn’t G.H. getting democratic.”
“I suppose H. E. thinks his son must see every side of our society.”
“From what I hear he spends his whole time with the inseparables.”
“We see him most days.”
“What’s he like?”
“I think he’s very nice. Wholesome without being dull. He’s flippant in self-defense, but he’s really a serious person. I fancy he’s a little overawed by being the son of somebody so important as H. E.”
“What does he talk about?”
“Mavis, half the time.”
“What does he talk about to Mavis?”
“Not about me, I gather. I’m due for a T.L. from her.”
T.L. Trade Last. A nostalgic word. It was eighteen months since she had used it. What fun they had had, the three of them, ringing each other up the morning after. Mavis and Jocelyn were still having that kind of fun.
“Do you gather that he’s at all serious about Mavis?”
“As serious as a young man can be who knows that he’s leaving soon.”
“With Mavis content to have it that way?”
“You ought to be the first person to know how Mavis feels.”
“Ought I? I’d say I was the last.”
Sylvia said it laughingly, but it was in large part true. Her sister puzzled her. “I’m not going to miss any fun that’s within my reach,” she’d say.
“But do you really find it all that fun?” Sylvia had asked her once.
“Heavens, yes, don’t you?”
Sylvia had laughed; that was just the point. She didn’t. She had enjoyed flirtations; at least she had enjoyed all that accompanied flirtations; the dressing-up, the competition, the telephone calls, the comparing of notes afterward, the flattery, the presents, the attentions; but when it went beyond preliminaries, that was another matter. She had been curious, inquisitive; but her experiments had left her with no inclination to repeat them. She had married for the dramatics of being married. Now as a matron, she envied the other two. She wished that like Jocelyn she was dressing for a real occasion, spurred by a rivalry in which nothing ultimate was at stake. What was the fun of dancing with middle-aged married men who held you too tightly when their wives weren’t looking?
There was a shuffle of bare feet on the landing.
“Car here, Mistress Jocelyn.”
Jocelyn took a long slow look at herself in the glass; then circled before Sylvia.
“Do I look a dream.”
“I wish I were a man. Have a good time. I’ll see you later.”
Sylvia rose lazily to her feet. Quarter to eight. She supposed she must start dressing. Whom for, what for, in heaven’s name?
3
Betty Fleury had not seen her son since her return. She had made that fact the excuse for inviting no other guests. “It’s too long since we were just ourselves,” she said.
She had planned in advance with Julian when and in what way they should raise the question of the English visit. They had both agreed that it would be better if she brought it up, taking advantage of the first convenient pause.
The opportunity came when they were starting the main course, with little likelihood of immediate interruption.
“Your father and I are worrying about Jocelyn,” she began. “She ought to meet more eligible men. She ought to spend six months in England; but if she went there alone, it might not work out well; she needs to be sponsored by someone closer to her than aunts and cousins whom she has never seen. We want to take her back ourselves. But I don’t want her to think that she’s the reason for our going. I am going to say that I am worried about your father’s health, he needs the change of a cool climate and the advice of a European doctor; moreover I want to see my cousins. Jocelyn must be made to feel that we have quite strong personal reasons for wanting to go back to England.”
Betty Fleury paused; she looked interrogatively at her son. It was his feelings not her daughter’s that she was considering. But Maxwell wouldn’t realize that: he was too wrapped inside himself to appreciate another’s point of view.
“Do you agree with me?” she asked.
“I do, but how’ll you manage about the Jamestown office?”
His father intervened.
“That’s the very point. The work in town is tricky; it could only be carried on by someone in whom I had the most perfect trust. There is no one employed in the office in whom I have that trust.”
“Then I don’t see …”
“What I suggest is this, that you should come into Jamestown, live here, and run the store until I come back. I know it’s a lot to ask, giving up your home, but it wouldn’t be for long.”
He paused; he looked from one to the other. He noted an eager flush in Sylvia’s eyes. She was in favor of it clearly, as he’d thought she would be. He had been right in guessing that she was bored at Belfontaine.
Maxwell had noted that look too. Anger shot along his nerves. Did she want to come into town, so that she would have more opportunities of seeing the man who smoked Turkish cigarettes?
“This needs thinking about,” he said.
4
The Nurses’ Dance was held in the St. James. The placards announced that it would start at 9. The Governor’s party was not expected until 10, and when the band started to play at half-past 9, no one took the floor though a number of men stood round the bar, and half the tables were occupied.
Ten chairs had been set round David Boyeur’s table. He was not the host, but he was behaving as though he were; wherever he was, he made himself the center of conversation. Whenever he found himself unable to do this, he moved to another group. By and large he had a good sense of audience. He did not often need to move.
“In a few weeks’ time,” he was saying, “we shall have our new constitution. All will be smooth sailing then. Our own representatives will pass the laws that will raise the standard of living; income tax will be raised to meet the rise in wages. We shall nationalize the sugar factory: the power will then be in our hands; that’s what I tell the laborers. I’ve got them where I want them. They listen to me. A strike, I tell them, is something that you may threaten, but must only use on very rare occasions when you are sure you’ll win. It’s like a right-hand punch, keep it for the knockout. Once we’ve got our constitution we shall not need to strike.”
He kept his eye upon the car park. He was anxious not to miss the arrival of the Governor’s party. He wanted to see out of which car Margot stepped. He had not seen her for a week. The game was up, and he knew when to cut his losses. When a woman was through with you, there wasn’t a thing to do. He had his pride. He wasn’t going to have people saying, “Look at David Boyeur hanging round the Bon Marche when the bird has flown.” He had spoken openly to his friends. “We’ve had two good years, and at our ages that’s enough. We can both use a change; but we’ve stayed good friends, naturally. Why shouldn’t we?”
He was most anxious that everyone should have a chance of seeing this evening that he had not spoken idly. And indeed he bore her no ill will. He was glad of a change and his self-esteem was flattered by her success. It would suit his book in a couple of years’ time when she was married to someone grand, to have people say, “Oh, don’t you know about her? She was David Boyeur’s girl for quite a time.”
Tonight he should learn who his successor was. She would never have been asked to a G.H. party unless she had been vouched for by someone with influence at Court. Grainger Morris? No. He wouldn’t have had that much influence. The Governor’s son? If that was the case, a useful lever would have been placed within his hands. Margot was an ally he did not propose to lose. For him she was still the pivot of the evening.
The arrival of the G.H. party was like the raising of a curtain on a play; there was a general feeling, Now we can start to enjoy ourselves: at the same time its immediate effect was damping. Many West Indians do not touch alcohol; mus
ic is their stimulant, and it is only after the rhythm of the music has beaten along their nerves for half an hour that they become worked up. For a quarter of an hour they would be too busy observing His Excellency for that to happen.
His Excellency was aware of their attention and it pleased him. It was a new experience for him. As a soldier he had sought, whenever possible, the anonymity of civilian clothes. At Lord’s, since most of his cricket had been played in India, he had not been well known by sight. Small boys had not rushed across the field to get his autograph. He felt now like a film star.
He looked round the room complacently. It was bare and large; divided by screens, normally it served as a dining room and a lounge; the screens had now been removed, and flags had been draped about the bar; there were over two hundred people in the room, half were coal black: a third were coffee colored; there were a dozen Syrians; but only three white tables. One of them was Fleury’s. That reminded him. But later on, he thought, not now.
It was time for him to open the ball. He looked round his table. His glance rested upon Margot. Everyone would be wondering whether he would choose Jocelyn Fleury first or Mavis Norman. He would surprise them. He had scarcely spoken to this pretty little girl. It was time he did. He rose to his feet. He walked round the table. He bowed. “Will you give me the pleasure of this dance.”
David Boyeur watching from his table raised his eyebrows. An idea that he immediately dismissed crossed his mind. The Governor was a widower, but that surely was an impossibility. Even so it was impressive. He watched them as they danced. His Excellency was five inches taller than Margot. He danced stiffly, yet there was a jauntiness about his movements. He was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
He was. He had expected that Margot would be tongue-tied and a little coy. He had counted upon a simper. To his surprise she chattered away, naturally.
“I did enjoy myself at dinner. I’ve never been to a big party like that before. I didn’t know whether I should bow or curtsey. Everyone told me something different. They said I mustn’t speak unless I was spoken to, but how could I have done that. I don’t think that Mr. Lestrange would have spoken at all, unless I had drawn him out.”
His Excellency chuckled. The Attorney General either remained silent or delivered half-hour-long speeches. If this child had got small talk out of him, it had been a feat.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said. “You’re a cousin of David Boyeur, I believe.”
“A distant one.”
“He’s a young man for whom I prophesy a very brilliant future. You must all be very proud of him.”
“That’s what he keeps telling us we should be.”
Again His Excellency chuckled. That A.D.C. of his had sense.
“They also tell me that you work at the Bon Marche Pharmacy.”
“For the time being, but I’ve taken shorthand and typing classes. I’m a qualified stenographer. I suppose you haven’t a place for me.”
That took the great man’s breath away. He looked at her quickly, then felt reassured. She was not being impertinent; she was not presuming on her presence at his party. She was someone who said as a matter of course whatever was in her mind. It would be fun to have her around.
“I didn’t think you’d dance as well as this,” she said.
That decided him. He needed some lightness in his routine. He’d have her shorthand and her typing checked and if she made the grade, a place would be found for her; and a place that lay “under his eye.”
When it was seen that the Governor’s first choice was not to be Jocelyn Fleury, Euan Templeton caught her eye across the table. “Shall we?” his look said; she nodded and they rose together. Their steps fitted well. It was the first time he had a chance of talking to her. It was a relief to be with her again; at dinner he had set next to Mavis. Mavis had looked pleased when they had met that evening: they had started talking fast as though they had so much to tell each other that one party was not nearly adequate, but before they had gone in to dinner, the pace of their conversation had begun to flag. They had not much common ground. She had never been out of the West Indies; she had only left Santa Marta for occasional holidays in Barbados and Antigua. She evinced an interest in anything he had to tell her, about London, about Devonshire and about the Middle East. She was ready to answer his questions about the Caribbean, but she was chiefly interested in personalities, and he knew few of the people in whom she was interested. With Jocelyn on the other hand there was no lack of common ground. He could talk to her about the Wessex that she had never seen, about the cousins and the aunts whom she knew only by name and about whom she could not ask too many questions.
He looked for Mavis. She was dancing with Colonel Carson. They were attempting, at least he was attempting—she was executing—a form of boogie-woogie. Her movements were provocative. Euan’s eyes lightened. Another quarter of an hour and they would dance together. It would be easier when they were dancing.
“How’m I doing?” Carson was inquiring.
“You’re doing fine.”
He felt that he was doing fine. This was one of his good days. He’d slept well after a tranquil night. His ulcers weren’t worrying him. There were days when he woke feeling sixty-eight, when he was ready to snap anybody’s head off, when he said the first mean thing that came into his mind; he’d abused his system and the abuse was paying dividends; but now and again there was a day when he felt under thirty. This was one of them. Why couldn’t he always feel like this? Maybe what he needed was someone young, to pace him down the course, someone like this filly. Then he wouldn’t spend all those evenings in the club, with men as old or older than himself, with rum the only means of rendering their talk tolerable.
The music quickened its rhythm and he quickened his: hands raised, shoulders shaking, feet moving fast. He wasn’t out of breath. There was nothing wrong with him.
The music stopped; the Governor looked round the table. It was time for refreshments. Champagne would not only dress the table, but keep the party sober; a girl wouldn’t feel justified in drinking more than a couple of glasses; none of the men would switch into spirits with champagne available. He caught Archer’s eye: the A.D.C. hurried to the kitchen.
Archer returned to find Margot by herself. It was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He held his hand out to her. It was the first time that they had danced together. He knew nothing about her, at the same time he knew everything: as she did about him. There was no pretense between them: they did not speak, there was no need, each knew what was in the other’s mind. His heart was pounding. If he missed this chance, she would despise him. He’d never make up the lost ground.
Their steps fitted in an easy rhythm. He was not holding her close: his right hand rested, but did not press, against her shoulder; the palm of his left hand lay level against hers. But even so that light touch was a courtship: a courtship that grew keener as their feet moved faster.
“It would be lovely to make love to you,” he said.
She smiled; her smile was an acceptance.
It was as simple as all that.
As the music stopped, once again he caught his boss’s eye. What was it now? A title for a book crossed his mind: H.E.’s Lackey, or the Unprivate Life of an A.D.C.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want to talk to Julian Fleury, but I don’t want it to seem that I have especially asked him over; will you invite his wife as well, and the two young people.”
The manoeuver was carried out. “I want an excuse for not dancing for at least ten minutes,” he said to Julian. “I think two old fogies like ourselves should be allowed a gossip.”
He brought the talk round at once to what he had in mind.
“I wanted you to be the first to know, I’m telling Whitehall that I propose to implement the new constitution right away. There will be three nominated members on the Legislative Council. I want you, my dear fellow, to be one of them. I need somebody in whom I can have implicit t
rust. I hope you will accept. You will be doing me a great kindness if you will.”
“I’m honored and I’m touched.”
It was indeed an honor and he was very touched. He would also enjoy the exercise of his duties. There was only one obstacle. If he took Jocelyn back to England, he might have to resign his seat. He could cross that bridge when he came to it. He did not want Jocelyn to know what he had in mind: he did not want to announce prematurely plans that might never be carried out.
“And to show you what a contrary person you are going to find me,” the Governor was continuing, “I’ll break it to you now that I’m not taking your advice in the Preston case.”
“No?”
“No. You’re probably right, in fact I am sure you are right in feeling that Preston made a mistake. At the same time I don’t feel sufficiently strongly about it to interfere. Justice should be allowed to take its course. And I must confess that I’m a little curious to see what course it takes.”
“The betting is fifty to one against anything happening.”
“That’s rather what I thought and it will be educational for me to see how things work out in what I suppose may be called ‘a pretty point.’ “
“Very likely Preston won’t win his case.”
“In which case everyone will be pleased. It can’t cost him much and he will have the satisfaction of knowing that he has made his gesture. Is he here this evening, by the way?”
“I haven’t noticed him.”
They both availed themselves of the excuse to halt their conversation and look round the room. The atmosphere was warming up: the dances were longer, the musicians had been well primed with rum. More and more couples were breaking into boogie-woogie. Euan Templeton had not, however. He was dancing with Mavis Norman, holding her very close.
She was conscious, acutely conscious, of the mounting excitement in him that made his touch electric. She in part responded; her vanity was flattered; at the same time she was depressed; the same routine again; so soon after the last.