“But that would spoil it,” said Berry.
“Well, if you don’t,” said I, “the publisher will.” I picked up my pen. “Never mind. And now—”
“Wait a minute,” said Berry. “Then, just to ease the tension, I take the reader back to Montmartre.”
I covered my face. Berry’s memories of Montmartre were – well, arresting.
“First, I thought I’d put in a short monograph on the nomenclature of the cafés. That’ll have to wait, for I can’t remember them all.”
“I shouldn’t try,” said I.
“Don’t be silly,” said Berry. “Besides, it’s never been done.”
“It never will be,” said I. “By you or anyone else.”
Berry frowned.
“The omission must be repaired. Who knows what history lies behind those names. One, I remember, was called The Seat of the Clergyman’s Trousers. Well, there must have been some reason for that.”
“No doubt,” said I. “But I tremble to think what it was. And if you propose to indulge your powers of surmise…”
“After the monograph,” said Berry, “I return for a moment to London.
“From time to time, in London, efforts were made to capture the spirit and manners of Montmartre. Such an endeavour was commendable, but hopeless. Naturally reserved, the English must drink to get going. The French require no such stimulus. They can become uproarious over a grenadine. Still, with the aid of liquor the old — in — Street did contrive to reproduce some of the less attractive features of the cafés of the Latin Quarter. It says much for the conduct of this establishment that, while it was condemned by the kill-joys, it was approved by the police. As a house of call, shortly before midnight, it did more than serve its turn; and I must confess that I find it engaging to remark how many of its habitués have made good, as pillars of Church or State. There were occasions, such as ‘Boatrace Night’, when the clientèle unbent, and I have had the privilege of seeing a future Bishop follow a future Cabinet Minister into the dock at Marlborough Street Police Court as a result. The point is that youth was served. But my most elevating memory of the —, was the arrival in its hall of a German and his wife, who, attracted by its name, had decided to stay there during their English holiday. It is, of course, just possible that before now some English Vicar’s Warden has been set down with his family and luggage at the doors of The Red Nose in Montmartre, but I cannot believe that his welcome was more enthusiastic than that accorded to two of the most objectionable Teutons that I have ever seen. While their luggage was being unpacked, a table d’hôte was hastily improvised and ten minutes later four of us took our seats, attired in the changes of raiment the man and his wife had brought. It takes a lot to put a Boche off his food… They looked pretty hard at me – in a morning coat and plus-fours and a celluloid dickey and a pair of banana boots; but when their eyes settled on Sibyl, who was wearing a Mannheim model as no Mannheim model was ever meant to be worn, the woman endeavoured to rise and the man wrung his soup from his beard with a gesture I shall never forget… The things they said about England. But then, you see, on arrival they should not have spat in the hall. One of my collaborators is now a member of the House Committee at The Athenoeum; but I sometimes wonder if his something ponderous responsibilities afford him one tenth of the pleasure which that one did. After all, as the poet says, ‘One crowded hour without a name Is worth an age of public life.’”
“Very good indeed,” said I. “I suppose you’ll get someone to print it. You’ll have to cut out that bit about Marlborough Street.”
“That just shows,” said Berry, “how much you know. Why, everyone will be asking which of the Lords Spiritual it is. And The Glass will have an article – THOU ART THE MAN. I tell you, the public will eat it.”
“The Church and State won’t,” said I. “And publishers have to live.”
“The trouble with you,” said Berry, “is that you have lost what sense of proportion you had. Just to show you what I mean, I’m going to read you my appreciation of The League of Nations.”
He did so faithfully.
When he had finished, I took a stroll on the terrace, to let my emotions cool down. I knew of no case in which the submission of a manuscript had constituted the publication of a libel; but I could see no reason why it should not. If it did…
We spent Christmas and the New Year in England, as we had done before. But, happy as everyone made us, the world seemed gross after Gracedieu, and we were relieved to return to the meadows and hanging forests and the unspoiled beauty that waited upon the topless hills.
As Berry had foretold, the change of scene was effected in less than nineteen hours, and the great cry of London seemed scarce to have died away, when I heard the song of the Columbine down in the valley below.
That night we all went to bed early, but we had brought back some new films, and the following evening we showed them off at Lescar, a short eight miles from Pau.
Spring came in in glory. Standing on the terrace one morning at seven o’clock, I watched the miracle. The sun was lacing with splendour a lovely world. Beneath his wand, the emerald pile of the meadows was standing up, pale green and gilt was stealing into the mountain’s cloaks, the diamond snows were trembling against the blue. Magic was being made before my eyes.
A footfall, and Jill was beside me, finger to lip.
Then she slid her arm through mine, and the two of us stood in silence before a royalty of ritual that Milton might have sung. Only an organ-voice could have caught its majesty and rendered unto mankind a thing that was God’s.
When at last we turned away—
“And all this for nothing,” said Jill. “Boy, you know, we’re so many millionaires.”
To my mind we were far richer than anyone that I knew.
Then the daffodils which we had planted began to peer…
By now the lawn was being mown twice a week, and all the pains which Daphne and Jill had taken, began to shew forth a promise for which they had hardly hoped. It was clear that the garden would be a lovely sight. The creepers were taking hold of the base of Hadrian’s Wall, undismayed by the height of the bastion they were to clothe; and all that we had planted was finding its pretty feet. Still, because they were young, all had to be cosseted, and every hour we could spare went into ‘the property’.
June came in, and spring began to pass into summer – I think, the fairest transition I ever saw.
“Well, why not do it?” said Berry. “Now is the time. It’ll take us two full days. We leave on Tuesday morning and get back on Wednesday night. We can go to Carcassonne in the autumn. That’ll need three.”
“All right, I’ll see Eugène,” said Daphne. “Will you telephone to Goursy and take the rooms?”
“Yes, he will,” said Berry. “I’ve got to translate some slugs. I’m going to weigh them this time. If it takes three quarters of an hour to pass two pounds of slugs into Paradise, how many years will it take to clear Evergreen? You know they concentrate on this place. The order has gone out to rally at Gracedieu. There are millions still on the way. But they’d all turn round and go back, if they knew what was waiting for them. Fancy taking a couple of months to crawl to your doom. Why the ‘nine o’clock walk’ isn’t in it.” He rose to his feet. “Nine o’clock. It always used to be eight. Another sign of decadence. Never mind. What’ll you bet I don’t get three pounds tonight? Of course, if you’d rather I didn’t…”
“Oh, no,” said my sister, quickly. “It’s got to be done. But I do so wish it hadn’t.”
“It won’t,” said Berry, “one day. Every night I turn two round and tell them to make their way back and say what they’ve seen. Between propaganda and attrition, I think the rush should subside in two or three years.”
As the door closed behind him—
“Tuesday then,” said Daphne. “I do hope the weather holds.”
“Ulysse says it will,” said I. “And he’s always right.”
To the east of us
lay four passes – the Col de Fer and his fellows, cheek by jowl. We proposed to drive over two and to sleep the night between the second and third: then we planned to drive over the third and fourth and so return to Lally by way of the plain. It was the fairest season at which to make such a run, for the snows were over and gone and the uplands would be in flower; and though, of course, we could have covered the ground in one day, that would have meant that we had no time to linger; yet a journey so handsome as that should never be rushed.
So I took the rooms at Goursy for Tuesday night, and early that day we set out, with luncheon for Tuesday and Wednesday bestowed in the back of the cars. Carson made one of us, for, though we all could drive, neither Berry nor Daphne nor Jill were accustomed to roads like these; and Jonah and I would be glad of some relief, for the way we were going was long and the man at the wheel must keep his eyes on the road. Sometimes I drove the Andret and sometimes I drove the Rolls, and sometimes I did not drive, but took my rest. Indeed, we kept no places, but constantly changed our seats, for the cars kept close together the whole of the time. And that was, of course, how it happened.
At five o’clock on Wednesday, we slipped down the eastern slopes of the exquisite Col des Pins after two flawless days on the top of the world. Each day we had broken our fast five thousand or more feet up. Each day we had stopped and gone strolling, to prove the promise of some view-point or taste the sweet of some dell. In a word, we had let time slip and had gone as we pleased. The forests through which we had climbed; the thunderous falls of water that wet the cars with their spray; the hamlets, looking like toys, three thousand feet below our incredulous eyes; the peerless peaks, wearing their snow like jewels instead of garments; above all, the flower-starred meadows, rising and falling and scenting the scented air – all these we had enjoyed at our leisure for two long, glorious days. And not only at our leisure, but all to ourselves. What is called ‘the tourist season’ had not begun. I never remember an excursion of which I had so much.
As we swung into Castelet—
“Do they look like stopping?” I said.
Jill slewed herself round, to keep an eye on the Rolls.
After a moment—
“No, they’re coming,” she said.
She and I were alone in the Andret; Berry had left us nearly an hour before, “for,” he said, “my hams are not what they were, and, after two days, I’d rather have English coachwork to help them out.” The truth was, of course, that he was drowsy, and for one who desired to sleep, the back of the Andret was less convenient than even the front of the Rolls.
I turned to the left and on to the road to Pau.
Once I was sure they were coming, I let the Andret out. We had eighty miles to cover, and if we ‘popped along’, we should be back at Gracedieu before night fell. The Rolls, of course, could do ninety; still, we could do seventy-five.
“Boy,” said Jill quietly, “all this is too good to be true. We’ve no right to be so happy in such a world.”
“Damn it,” I said, “we’ve had our whack of misfortune. For year after year it pursued us. It never let up at all, till we came out here.”
“I know. We’d a rotten time. But look at the last two days”
“A fellow called Herrick,” said I, “once gave some damned good advice.”
“You’re an Epicure,” said Jill. “Or isn’t that what I mean?”
“It’s near enough, sweetheart. But you must admit that gathering rosebuds is rather fun. And if you gather the right ones, they never fade.”
“That’s quite true,” said Jill. “And they keep their scent. Jars of pot-pourri. And when everything is hellish, you just go and take off the lid.”
“That’s how I see it,” I said. “And, taking it by and large, we’ve got quite a lot of jars. All full of stuff worth having, that can’t be pinched. We’re living in difficult times, and he’s a wise fellow who knows what the following day will bring forth; but I often think that, if one day, I’m shoved up against a wall, I’ll be able to laugh in the face of the firing squad. They can take my fortune and they can take my life: but they can’t take my jars of pot-pourri…”
“What dreadful things you do think of. But these two days have been so full, they’ll have to have a jar of their own. Darling Boy, will you mind if I go to sleep? Just for five minutes? It’s only the pace we’re going, after the mountain air.”
She laid her head on my shoulder, as she had so often done…
Not until we had passed through Pau, did she open her eyes.
I must say, we came very well. We entered Gracedieu’s drive at half past seven o’clock.
As I brought the car to rest on the apron, Therèse and Felix were descending the last of the ninety-three steps…
Jill and I emerged from opposite sides of the car.
“Miladi has enjoyed her excursion?”
“Therèse, it was wonderful. The very loveliest thing. You’ll have to come next time.”
“Miladi is kindness itself, but I have had a great time. I have cut out Miladi’s step-ins. They will look ravishing.”
Here the Rolls slid alongside, and Felix opened her door.
“My God,” said Jonah, “that little fellow can move. Carson had his work cut out to keep on your tail.”
With that, he followed my sister out of the Rolls.
“And where is Monsieur?” said Therèse.
There was a horror-struck silence.
Daphne looked wildly round.
“But isn’t he here?” she said faintly, “I thought he was in the Andret.”
“He said,” said I, “he was going to ride in the Rolls.”
“God in heaven,” said Jonah. “When was the last time we stopped?”
We all knew the answer to that. It was some twelve miles from Castelet, up on the Col des Pins.
At half-past eleven that night, four miles beyond Castelet, a familiar figure stepped into our headlight’s beam.
“At last,” murmured Jonah, and brought the car to rest.
Carson and I alighted. The air was more than fresh, and Carson had with him Berry’s camel-hair coat.
No one said anything.
In silence Berry turned his back upon Carson and put out his arms. Tenderly Carson slid him into his coat.
As Berry buttoned it up—
“Should you desire,” he said, “to turn your automobile, there’s a spot higher up the mountain conducive to such a manoeuvre. I passed it – some years ago. Funny how these trifles stick in your mind… But then I was always observant.”
With a fearful effort I maintained my gravity.
“We have here,” I said, “a collation. If you’d like to start right away, Jonah and Carson will leave us and turn the car, and—”
“Not on your life,” said Berry, getting into the Rolls. “I’m through with treachery. They might lose their way or something. And strangely enough, I have an urge to sit down. It’s very peculiar. I’ve only been on my feet for seven hours. Marvellous dews, they have here. Two minutes after sundown the whole of this pass is drenched. Of course you can sit down. You can sit down in a basin which you have previously filled: but I’ve always understood that, unless you’ve a change of raiment, such action is apt to be productive of most distressing results. I did think of taking off my trousers and relaxing for a minute or two; but I felt the bears mightn’t get it, so I hung from a branch, instead. I believe that’s very healthy. They say it lengthens the arms.”
We were under way now, but I dared not trust my voice.
Berry proceeded quietly.
“Of course you won’t be forgiven. I’ve seen to that. You won’t even be admitted. I’ve put St Peter wise. I’ve laid the facts before him. A blasted, cold-blooded outrage – that’s what it was. Ferdinand and Isabella aren’t in it.” He regarded my open cigarette-case. “Perhaps, I will. I’ve gone off smoking lately. Astonishing how easy it is, when you’ve got no cigarettes.” He took a cigarette and accepted a light. “ I’ve gi
ven up food, too, really.”
“We haven’t,” said I. “We haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“If I had my way,” said Berry, “you wouldn’t eat for a month. That’d learn you to take out your betters and leave them in desert places without a word.”
“You declared,” said I, “you were going to change to the Rolls. When I heard them shut their doors, of course I assumed you’d done it. And as I was leading the way, I started off. And the Rolls followed on.”
“There is,” said Berry, “no need to tell me that. I left the car, to round a small eminence or knoll, because I surmised that such perambulation would afford me the prospect I desired. In this, my judgment was good. Before me, I found a very remarkable view. This took me some time to observe, because the hag I protect had seen fit to alter the focus of my binocular – a vile and selfish practice which I have, too often, condemned. On my return to the road, I supposed at first that I had mistaken my way, and that I had struck the thoroughfare either above or below where the cars had stood. Yet, the place seemed familiar; and upon closer inspection I perceived the very beautiful specimen of a decayed sheep’s head which I had remembered observing, as I had emerged from the car. In a state bordering upon frenzy, I ran to the nearest brink, from which I knew I could see the road below; and there, about two miles distant, I saw two cars. With shaking hands, I employed the binocular – only to make assurance obscenely sure. Of course I shouted. I screamed. I made arresting gestures – some of which, I fear, the bears may have misinterpreted. I might as well have spat at the moon. Returning to the binocular, I had the infinite privilege of watching the cars disappear…
“The next few minutes I frankly prefer to forget. Indeed, I have reason to believe that I had a slight mental seizure, for, when I came to, I was running – a procedure, as you will agree, even more vain and unprofitable than that of addressing companions some three miles off. Then I practised wishful thinking. I convinced myself that my absence could not long remain undetected. My presence would be demanded. You would want some money to pay for a drink. Jill would want to know if I had remembered to efface what some fowl of the air had done to the Bunker’s Hill totem-poles. Daphne would want to know if I felt my throat. I mean, that’s been going on hourly for forty years… So I started working out mileage and watched the clock. And then at last I knew that Fate had put a spoke in my wheel. For once in my life, no demands would be made upon me. For once in my life, I was to be left in peace, and it would be left to my servants, nearly a hundred miles distant, to notice the absence of their lord. Without prejudice, am I right?”
House That Berry Built Page 30