Passenger to Frankfurt

131

  of bad eggs and the latest sort of diet and walking to take

  the Cure, or the Waters, or whatever they call them now, at

  a rather inconvenient hour in the morning. And I expect they

  give you massage or something. It used to be seaweed. But

  this place is somewhere in the mountains. Bavaria or Austria

  or somewhere like that. So I don't suppose it would be

  seaweed. Shaggy moss, perhaps--sounds like a dog. And

  perhaps quite a nice mineral water as well as the eggy

  11 sulphury one, I mean. Superb buildings, I understand. The

  only thing one is nervous about nowadays is that they never

  seem to put banisters in any up-to-date modem buildings.

  Flights of marble steps and all that, but nothing to hang on

  to.'

  1 think I know the place you mean,' said Dr Donaldson.

  'It's been publicized a good deal, in the press.'

  'Well, you know what one is at my age,' said Lady

  Matilda. 'One likes trying new things. Really, I think it

  is just to amuse one. It doesn't really make one feel one's

  health would be any better. Still, you don't think it would

  be a bad idea, do you, Dr Donaldson?'

  Dr Donaldson looked at her. He was not so young as

  Lady Matilda labelled him in her mind. He was just approaching

  forty and he was a tactful and kindly man and

  willing to indulge his elderly patients as far as he considered

  it desirable, without any actual danger of their attempting

  something obviously unsuitable.

  'I'm sure it wouldn't do you any harm at all,' he said.

  'Might be quite a good idea. Of course travel's a bit tiring

  though one flies to places very quickly and easily nowadays.'

  'Quickly, yes. Easily, no,' said Lady Matilda. 'Ramps and

  moving staircases and in and out of buses from the &i;port

  to the plane, and the plane to another airport and Torn

  the airport to another bus. All that, you know. But I 'riderstand

  one can have wheelchairs in the airports.'

  'Of course you can. Excellent idea. If you promise to do

  that and not think you can walk everywhere . . .'

  'I know, I know,' said his patient, interrupting him 'Y011 do understand. You're really a very understanding m&a- One has one's pride, you know, and while you ci-a still

  hobble around with a stick or a little support, you do111 really want to look absolutely a crock or bedridden or something.

  It'd be easier if I was a man,' she mused. 'I mean,

  one could tie up one's leg with one of those enormous ban^ dages and padded things as though one had the go^ '

  mean, gout is aU right for the male sex. Nobody tl"11132

  anything the worse of them. Some of their older friends

  think they've been tucking in to the port too much because

  that used to be the old idea, though I believe that is not

  really true at all. Port wine does not give you gout. Yes,

  a wheelchair, and I could fly to Munich or somewhere like

  that. One could arrange for a car or something at the

  other end.'

  'You will take Miss Leatheran with you, of course.'

  'Amy? Oh, of course. I couldn't do without her. Anyway,

  you think no harm would be done?'

  'I think it might do you a world of good.'

  'You really are a nice man.'

  Lady Matilda gave him the twinkle from her eyes with

  which now he was becoming familiar.

  'You think it'll amuse me and cheer me up to go somewhere

  new and see some new faces, and of course you're

  quite right. But I like to think that I'm taking a Cure, though

  really there's nothing for me to be cured of. Not really, is

  there? I mean, except old age. Unfortunately old age doesn't

  get cured, it only gets more so, doesn't it?'

  The point is really, will you enjoy yourself? Well, I think

  you will. When you get tired, by the way, when doing

  anything, stop doing it.'

  'I shall still drink glasses of water if the water tastes of

  rotten eggs. Not because I like them or because frankly I

  think they do me any good. But it has a sort of mortifying

  feeling. It's like old women in our village always used to

  be. They always wanted a nice, strong medicine either coloured

  black or purple or deep pink, heavily flavoured with

  Peppermint. They thought that did much more good than a

  nice little pill or a bottle that only appeared to be full of

  ordinary water without any exotic colouring.'

  'You know too much about human nature,' said Dr Donaldson.

  You're very nice to me,' said Lady Matilda. 'I appreciate

  " Amy!'

  ^Yes, Lady Matilda?'

  Get me an atlas, will you. I've lost track of Bavaria and we countries round it.'

  'Let

  me see now. An atlas. There'll be one in the

  lib:

  (j ary' ^ suppose. There must be some old atlases about,

  "ng back to about 1920 or thereabouts, I suppose.'

  , pondered if we had anything a little more modem.' ^tias,' said Amy, deep in reflection.

  not, you can buy one and bring it along tomorrow

  133

  morning. It's going to be very difficult because all the

  names are different, the countries are different, and I shan'-i know where I am. But you'll have to help me with that.

  Find a big magnifying glass, will you? I have an idea I was reading in bed with one the other day and it probably

  slipped down between the bed and the wall.'

  Her requirements took a little time to satisfy but the

  atlas, the magnifying glass and an older atlas by which to

  check, were finally produced and Amy, nice woman that

  she was. Lady Matilda thought, was extremely helpful.

  'Yes, here it is. It still seems to be called Monbriigge or

  something like that. It's either in the Tyrol or Bavaria.

  Everything seems to have changed places and got different

  names--'

  Lady Matilda looked round her bedroom in the Gasthaus.

  It was well appointed. It was very expensive. It combined

  comfort with an appearance of such austerity as might lead

  the inhabitant to identify herself with an ascetic course of

  exercises, diet and possibly painful courses of massage. Its

  furnishings, she thought, were interesting. They provided

  for all tastes. There was a large framed Gothic script on

  the wall. Lady Matilda's German was not as good as it had

  been in her girlhood, but it dealt, she thought, with the

  golden and enchanting idea of a return to youth. Not only

  did youth hold the future in its hands but the old were

  being nicely indoctrinated to feel that they themselves might

  know such a second golden flowering.

  Here there were gentle aids so as to enable one to pursue

  the doctrine of any of the many paths in life wb.;ch attracted

  different classes of people. (Always presuml'ig that

  they had enough money to pay for it.) Beside the bed wa5

  a Gideon Bible such as Lady Matilda when travei' the United States had often found by her bedsid

  picked it up approvingly, opened it at random and '

  a finger on one particular verse. She read it, node

  head contentedly and made a brief note of it on a r,

  that was lying on her bed table. She had often d
  in the course
of her life--it was her way of obtainin guidance at short notice.

  / have been young and now am old, yet have I not ''righteous

  forsaken.

  She made further researches of the room. Handil

  but not too apparent was an Almanach de Gotha, modestly

  situated on a lower shelf of the bedside table. A most

  invaluable book for those who wished to familiarize themselves

  with the higher strata of society reaching back for

  several hundred years and which were still being observed

  and noted and checked by those of aristocratic lineage or

  interested in the same. It will come in handy, she thought, I can read up a good deal on that.

  Near the desk, by the stove of period porcelain, were

  paperback editions of certain preachings and tenets by the

  modern prophets of the world. Those who were now or

  had recently been crying in the wilderness were here to be

  studied and approved by young followers with haloes of

  hair, strange raiment, and earnest hearts. Marcuse, Guevara,

  Levi-Strauss, Fanon.

  In case she was going to hold any conversations with

  golden youth she had better read up a little on that also.

  At that moment there was a timid tap on the door. It

  opened slightly and the face of the faithful Amy came

  round the corner. Amy, Lady Matilda thought suddenly,

  would look exactly like a sheep when she was ten years

  older. A nice, faithful, kindly sheep. At the moment, Lady

  Matilda was glad to think, she looked still like a very

  agreeable plump lamb with nice curls of hair, thoughtful

  and kindly eyes, and able to give kindly baa's rather than

  to bleat.

  'I do hope you slept well.'

  'Yes, my dear, I did, excellently. Have you got that thing?'

  Amy always knew what she meant. She handed it to her

  employer.

  'Ah, my diet sheet. I see.' Lady Matilda perused it, then said, 'How incredibly unattractive 1 What's this water like

  one's supposed to drink?'

  'It doesn't taste very nice.'

  'No, I don't suppose it would. Come back in half an hour. 1 ^ got a letter I want you to post.'

  Moving aside her breakfast tray, she moved over to the ^sk. She thought for a few minutes and then wrote her "ater. 'It ought to do the trick,' she murmured.

  1 beg your pardon. Lady Matilda, what did you say?'

  J^as writing to the old friend I mentioned to you.'

  yea ?one you said you havea>t seen for about fifty or sixty

  ^ady Matilda nodded.

  do hope--' Amy was apologetic. 1 mean-^I--it's such

  135

  a long time. People have short memories nowadays. I do

  hope that she'll remember all about you and everything.'

  'Of course she will,' said Lady Matilda. "The people you

  don't forget are the people you knew when you were about

  ten to twenty. They stick in your mind for ever. You

  remember what hats they wore, and the way they laughed,

  and you remember their faults and their good qualities and

  everything about them. Now anyone I met twenty years

  ago, shall we say, I simply can't remember who they are.

  Not if they're mentioned to me, and not if I saw them even.

  Oh yes, she'll remember about me. And all about Lausanne.

  You get that letter posted. I've got to do a little homework.'

  She picked up the Almanach de Gotha and returned to bed,

  where she made a serious study of such items as might

  come in useful. Some family relationships and various other

  kinships of the useful kind. Who had married whom, who

  had lived where, what misfortunes had overtaken others. Not

  that the person whom she had in mind was herself likely to

  be found in the Almanach de Gotha. But she lived in a part

  of the world, had come there deliberately to live in a Schloss

  belonging to originally noble ancestors, and she had absorbed

  the local respect and adulation for those above all of good

  breeding. To good birth, even impaired with poverty, she

  herself, as Lady Matilda well knew, had no claim whatever.

  She had had to make do with money. Oceans of money.

  Incredible amounts of money.

  Lady Matilda Cleckheaton had no doubt at all that she

  herself, the daughter of an eighth Duke, would be bidden

  to some kind of festivity. Coffee, perhaps, and delicious

  creamy cakes.

  Lady Matilda Cleckheaton made her entrance into csw of

  the grand reception rooms of the Schloss. It had b ; a

  fifteen-mile drive. She had dressed herself with somf 'are,

  though somewhat to the disapproval of Amy. Amy s'" ^;T1 offered advice, but she was so anxious for her pnn'ip" to succeed in whatever she was undertaking that st"' b'10 ventured this time on a moderate remonstrance.

  'You don't think your red dress is really a little w-rn. it

  you know what I mean. I mean just beneath the arm in '

  well, there are two or three very shiny patches--' .

  I know, my dear, I know. It is a shabby dress b i4 ^ nevertheless a Patou model. It is old but it was enor ^ 136

  expensive. I am not trying to look rich or extravagant. I

  am an impoverished member of an aristocratic family. Anyone

  of under fifty, no doubt, would despise me. But my hostess

  is living and has lived for some years in a part of the world

  where the rich will be kept waiting for their meal while the hostess will be willing to wait for a shabby, elderly woman of

  impeccable descent. Family traditions are things that one

  does not lose easily. One absorbs them, even, when one goes

  to a new neighbourhood. In my trunk, by the way, you will

  find a feather boa.'

  'Are you going to put on a feather boa?*

  'Yes, I am. An ostrich feather one.'

  'Oh dear, that must be years old.'

  'It is, but I've kept it very carefully. You'll see. Charlotte

  will recognize what it is. She will think one of the best

  families in England was reduced to wearing her old clothes

  that she had kept carefully for years. And I'll wear my

  sealskin coat, too. That's a little worn, but such a magnificent

  coat in its time.'

  Thus arrayed, she set forth. Amy went with her as a

  well-dressed though only quietly smart attendant.

  Matilda Cleckheaton had been prepared for what she

  saw. A whale, as Stafford had told her. A wallowing whale,

  a hideous old woman sitting in a room surrounded with

  pictures worth a fortune. Rising with some difficulty from

  a throne-like chair which could have figured on a stage

  representing the palace of some magnificent prince from any

  age from the Middle Ages down.

  'Matilda!'

  'Charlotte!'

  'Ah! After all these years. How strange it seems!'

  They exchanged words of greeting and pleasure, talking

  Partly in German and partly in English. Lady Matilda's

  German was slightly faulty. Charlotte spoke excellent German,

  excellent English though with a strong guttural accent, and

  occasionally English with an American accent. She was really,

  Lady Matilda thought, quite splendidly hideous. For a mo- "tent she felt a fondness almost dating back to the past ^though, she reflected the next moment. Charlotte had been a ^ost detestable girl. Nobody had really liked her and she


  erself had certainly not done so. But there is a great bond,

  y what we wiU, in the memories of old schooldays. Whether

  lott e had uked her or not she did n&t know- But char" ^ e, she remembered, had certainly--what used to be called

  inose days--sucked up to her. She had had visions, pos137

  sibly, of staying in a ducal castle in England. Lady Matilda's

  father, though of most praiseworthy lineage, had been onfr of the most impecunious of English dukes. His estate had

  only been held together by the rich wife he had married whoro he had treated with the utmost courtesy, and who had

  enjoyed bullying him whenever able to do so. Lady Matilda

  had been fortunate enough to be his daughter by a second

  marriage. Her own mother had been extremely agreeable and

  also a very successful actress, able to play the part of looking

  a duchess far more than any real duchess could do.

  They exchanged reminiscences of past days, the tortures

  they had inflicted on some of their instructors, the fortunate

  and unfortunate marriages that had occurred to some of

  their schoolmates. Matilda made a few mentions of certain

  alliances and families culled from the pages of the Almanach

  de Gotha--'but of course that must have been a terrible

  marriage for Elsa. One of the Bourbons de Panne, was it

  not? Yes, yes, well, one knows what that leads to. Mo&t

  unfortunate.'

  Coffee was brought, delicious coffee, plates of millefeuille

  pastry and delicious cream cakes.

  'I should not touch any of this,' cried Lady Matilda. 'No

  indeed 1 My doctor, he is most severe. He said that I must

  adhere strictly to the Cure while I was here. But after all,

  this is a day of holiday, is it not? Of renewal of youth.

  That is what interests me so much. My great-nephew who

  visited you not long ago--I forget who brought him here,

  the Countess--ah, it began with a Z, I cannot remember

  her name.'

  The Countess Renata Zerkowski--'

  'Ah, that was the name, yes. A very charming young woman, I believe. And she brought him to visit you. It. was

  most kind of her. He was so impressed. Impressed, too,

  with all your beautiful possessions. Your way of living, and

  indeed, the wonderful things which he had heard about you.

  How you have a whole movement of--oh, I do not know

  how to give the proper term. A Galaxy of Youth. Golden,

  beautiful youth. They flock round you. They worship you.

  What a wonderful life you must live. Not that I could support

  such a life. I have to live very quietly. Rheumatoid

  arthritis. And also the financial difficulties. Difficulty in

  keeping up the family house. Ah well, you know what it is for

  us in England--our taxation troubles.'

  'I remember that nephew of yours, yes. He was agreeable,

  a very agreeable man. The Diplomatic Service, I understand?'

  138

  'Ah yes. But it is--well, you know, I cannot feel that

  his talents are being properly recognized. He does not say

  much. He does not complain, but he feels that he is--well,

  he feels that he has not been appreciated as he should. The

  powers that be, those who hold office at present, what are

  they?'

  'Canaille!' said Big Charlotte.

  'Intellectuals with no savoir faire in life. Fifty years ago

  it would have been different,' said Lady Matilda, 'but nowadays

  his promotion has been not advanced as it should. I

  will even tell you, in confidence, of course, that he has been

  distrusted. They suspect him, you know, of being in with--

  what shall I call it?--rebellious, revolutionary tendencies.

  And yet one must realize what the future could hold for a

  man who could embrace more advanced views.'

  'You mean he is not, then, how do you say it in England,

  in sympathy with the Establishment, as they call it?'

  'Hush, hush, we must not say these things. At least / must

  not,' said Lady Matilda.

  'You interest me,' said Charlotte. Matilda Cleckheaton sighed.

  'Put it down, if you like, to the fondness of an elderly

  relative. Staffy has always been a favourite of mine. He

  has charm and wit. I think also he has ideas. He envisages

  the future, a future that should differ a good deal from

  what we have at present. Our country, alas, is politically

  in a very bad state. Stafford seems to be very much impressed

  by things you said to him or showed to him. You've

  done so much for music, I understand. What we need I

  cannot but feel is the ideal of the super race.'