The Tumbled House

  “Darling, any shop you go into offers you the expensive things first. But what does it matter, or how you are served? There were some quite pretty little rings——”

  “Pretty little rings!”

  “Well, if they’re little, does that matter either? I don’t mind. Why should you? A curtain ring will do.”

  “All right, then,” he said furiously, “ we’ll try Woolworths!”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, taking his arm. “ When you have money I’ll help you to spend it. I love being extravagant. But it isn’t the—the one essential, and you know it just as well as I do.”

  Presently they went into another shop and bought a ring for twenty pounds. He fumed all the way back to their car. “What future is there for us?” he said. “ I remain an office boy and you an air skivvy and we get married and live in two barren rooms and meet accidentally about four times a week! That isn’t married life as it should be!”

  Getting impatient she said: “Well, what do you suggest?”

  He at once retracted. “ Oh, I’m talking through my hat, Bennie. It’s only that I want everything of the best for you.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll come. We’re not the only ones who have to make do. Look at the people about you, darling.”

  “Yes, I know.…”

  One of the people about them, who saw them turn out of Clifford Street and roar up Bond Street, was Joanna. She saw Michael look at Bennie and Bennie’s smiling answer. She didn’t catch the gleam on Beanie’s finger as her hand lay on the side of the car, but the exchange of glances was enough. She went on with her window shopping in a thoughtful mood but did not mention anything to Don when she got home.

  Nor had she ever mentioned her sight of Mrs Delaney in the Albert Hall.

  Don had just come from Whitehouse who told him the Old Millhouse was at last sold. The price wasn’t good, but it had been worth waiting for. As the new people only wanted curtains and carpets the rest of the furniture would be auctioned. When all was settled he might expect to clear four thousand, and the same for Bennie, but he had asked White-house to keep his share to put against the costs of the action.

  “If we lose it.”

  “Yes.” Their talk round and about this one preoccupying subject was always rather guarded now; they discussed it as little as possible.

  He had also heard that morning that George Bratt was coming back as arranged, so that his contract with the Royal Ballet would not be renewed.

  “Did Henry tell you just like that?”

  “No, but that’s what it amounts to.”

  She stood beside him at the piano. In her Capucci shoes she was nearly as tall as he was. “Well, I suppose that’s all we expected in the first place. You’ll be the first on the list if he ever does decide to retire.”

  “I wouldn’t even be sure of that.”

  “Oh, come.”

  “Well, I could have done better.” He hesitated, decided not to revert to the sore subject. He sat down at the piano and began to play again, punsing now and then to dab at the score with a pencil.

  When he finished she said: “You have some recording on, haven’t you?”

  Two overtures. Then there’s a thing in Manchester in November, and of course the concert in Edinburgh on October 22. That’s the one important job pending because it’s to do with the Burns Centenary celebrations, and I shall be in the same programme with two foreign conductors.”

  They discussed ways and means. This house was too expensive for them, they should get a small flat somewhere. It was a recurring theme, but they always put off a decision because the house suited them perfectly and they kept hoping next month would be better. Of course this money from his father might just put them on—if it ever came … Joanna was playing in a revival of The Lady’s Not for Burning on October 21; it was important to her because it was the sort of part she wanted. But it might mean she could not get up to Edinburgh for his concert.…

  While this was going on she had moved to the white-painted bookshelves which were stacked with books on music and the theatre. Occasionally she took one down, not looking at it, ran a pointed finger along the top.

  Suddenly she said: “ Don, this thing still means as much to you, doesn’t it … I don’t mean just the money, I mean putting things right about your father?”

  He closed the music. “I think it’s got to. I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s any turning back now.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you to. But I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Why?”

  “I just wanted to be absolutely sure. What date is the auction of the furniture? October the sixth? I think I’ll go down.”

  “For any particular reason?”

  “It’s a feeling I have.”

  He fished among the music beside the stool but did not take any of it out. “ Go by all means if you want to, though I don’t see.…” He paused and looked at her, aware that penetrate. “Please don’t worry about it, Joanna. It’ll soon be over now.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’ll soon be over now.”

  Michael had seen Peter only twice since July, and it was by chance that they met now. Michael had taken Bennie out to the airport for her afternoon flight, and when he came back he turned in at the Three Crowns and Peter was there.

  It had been a mixed day for Michael. On Thursday when she promised to marry him everything had been infused with a golden glow; for the first time in his life he had felt drunk without touching liquor. Today should have been the same, but instead he had been brought up against the financial facts of life. He had been made bitterly aware of the different value placed on a few bits of diamond chips in a thin gold circle by a London shop and by Boy’s fences.

  And that was only the symbol for everything else. Marriage for him and Bennie would almost literally have to start in two bare rooms. And his romantic hope of becoming an engineer was finally going to be blown away. Of course he would marry her on any terms—that was not in question—but he had none of her disregard for the luxuries.

  After the one outburst in the Burlington Arcade he had hidden his feelings from Bennie; they’d been terribly happy together over lunch, laughing more than they had ever done before so that one crazy joke led to another. What made it funnier was their perfect awareness that no one else would see anything mildly amusing in what they were laughing at. It was lovers’ laughter. Yet at the heart of it Michael felt a stone.

  When she had left him the coldness and the desolation came back; she was his only shield against it; perhaps when they were married she would become a permanent shield; but now she was gone.

  Peter offered him a beer as if they had never had any disagreement, and soon they were talking. It was easy for Michael to go on with his story.

  Peter said: “ The trouble with you, darling boy, is that your pride is bigger than your purpose. You’re crazy about this girl and you want to lavish everything on her. You can’t bear to think that you’re not able to load her with mink and jewels. Very praiseworthy. But you haven’t a bean to do it with. You’re in a dead-end job but can’t get out of it. You take up a life of crime and then get cold feet before you’re properly launched——”

  “I get cold feet the way you run things.”

  “Peter nodded. “Yes, I certainly made a hash of that last affair. However, the hash has led to nothing, has it? We’re no worse off for the experience.”

  “We’re worse off—or feel it—for not being better off. If Kenny hadn’t let us down I might well have had enough capital to get married in the way I wanted, to do all the things I planned.”

  “You probably would have. However, don’t let me hold that out as a further enticement. You come to me for diagnosis and I tell you what’s wrong, not how to cure it.”

  They had two more rounds and stayed an hour. Peter never drank much, and Michael’s three pints was not excessive. But just as they were leaving Michael asked the question he had wanted to ask all evening. “Are you working with
someone else now?”

  “No. I looked on it as a slice of life. But I felt that if both my partners had—backed out, it was time for me to stop too.”

  “Well look.…”

  They had left the pub and walked towards Michael’s car.

  “Look at what?”

  “If you get any thoughts about one more job, let me know.”

  “Oh, I often get thoughts. I had thoughts about one last week but I went no further with them.”

  ‘What was it?”

  Peter opened the door of the M.G. “ If you’re interested I’ll make a few more inquiries. But it would definitely be something for two to do.”

  Michael got in. The desolation was round him again. “All right,” he said. “If it’s anything good I’ll try it, this once.”

  “Car still going all right?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  Peter shut the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In the following week Sir Percy Laycock gave a dinner-party in a private room at Claridge’s to the Mander Brothers, their lawyer, a third director of The Globe called Burnett, Roger and himself. This was another sort of engagement party from Michael’s.

  Roger did not welcome Burnett’s presence tonight, and was surprised that he was here. Burnett had little money involved, but he had had long practical experience as a working journalist and was more closely concerned than any other director with the day-to-day running of The Globe. Inevitably Roger’s suggestions for a new editorial policy involved criticisms of the old, and usually he had been successful in keeping Burnett out of the top-level discussions.

  Newspaper policies were hardly mentioned until the coffee and brandy were served. Then a general rather unprecise discussion broke out, which went on until Burnett said to Roger: “ You know, Mr Shorn, I like these new ideas of yours, but I must say they’re going to be a gamble.”

  “Which particularly?” said Roger carefully, aware that silence had immediately fallen.

  “Well, I see your arguments, of course. You say our paper only runs twelve pages a day while papers like the Daily Express are up to sixteen—how can we expect to compete? Maybe that’s true. But this idea of pushing up to sixteen right away without being sure of more advertising is a blazing risk. An extra four pages a day could cost you, will cost you, ten thousand a week. That will be all loss to begin.”

  “That’s what we’ve budgeted for,” Roger agreed. “For some weeks, perhaps three months. From then on we shall begin to pick up.”

  “Well, of course you’ll attract some extra advertising. But you’ll have to show your circulation figures to get it.”

  “You know my answer to that. More features—constantly more features. With extra pages you can spread yourself. Look what’s happened to The Sunday Times.”

  “Yes, but that’s weekly. And there were immense resources behind it. Daily’s another kettle of fish. And don’t forget another thing. Suppose, just suppose, you increase our circulation by half a million. Until you get your advertising, you increase your loss by, say, fifty per cent. So your loss per week rockets to fifteen thousand; and the new advertising beats the loss down to the original ten thousand. Where do you go from there?”

  Roger noticed that Sir Percy was watching him closely. He suddenly realised that Burnett was here at Laycock’s express invitation. What Roger still did not understand was why.

  He said evenly. “My dear Burnett, all this has been thrashed out before. I should have failed utterly as Sir Percy Laycock’s adviser if I had not warned him of the most obvious pitfalls.” He turned. “Haven’t I done so?”

  “Yes,” said Laycock, but a shade non-committally.

  “From the beginning I pointed out the risks and the opportunities. I told him that in my view a quarter of a million pounds was the initial stake. Another quarter of a million may have to be engaged. It is a big investment for a big prize: a flourishing left-centre newspaper, vital without being vulgar, informed without being stodgy, not the first with the news—that’s out-dated—but information about the news that the others don’t get.…”

  He went on talking; and once or twice Burnett interrupted him. But on the whole he knew he was carrying his listeners along. Again he wondered why it should be necessary at this late stage.

  Once Burnett said: “You talk about editors. You know, editors hardly matter these days. It’s the business manager of a newspaper who counts most—how he organises his forces. Production’s everything.”

  “Certainly production’s everything. But that’s the business of the editor. Editorials, of course, mean practically nothing. It’s how the editor deals with his news. That’s how policy is influenced today.…”

  Eventually the dinner-party broke up. The others left but Roger stayed, interested to know if he would hear what was behind this cross-examination. Laycock ordered more brandy and they talked superficially for a while. Then he said:

  “You know, Shorn, I’ve often thought of asking you, but never have, what you hope personally to gain in this. You must make a very handsome living the way you are now. Editorship of The Globe is a big responsibility.”

  “Which I should welcome, if it was offered me. And freelance work, however well paid, is chancy and uncertain. Besides, a columnist is constantly in fetters to his masters. I want to be free to do something big while there’s still time.”

  “But in The Globe you’d still be subject to me and the other directors.”

  Roger smiled. “I think I should get a reasonably free hand. I should expect it.”

  Sir Percy sipped his brandy. “Would that apply also to my daughter?”

  Roger blinked. So that was it.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well.… I hear from Marion you’ve been seeing more of each other these last few months than I knew about.”

  Roger said: “I’ve seen her—once in ten days perhaps. Not more. I assumed she told you about it and you didn’t object.”

  “No, she didn’t tell me about it. Not till yesterday when something slipped out, accidentally I think.”

  A waiter came in and brought two clean ash-trays. When he had gone Roger said: “ I took Marion to Wimbledon once, because I knew she wanted to go and I had tickets. We have been to the opera once and have met occasionally for lunch. I don’t think it’s anything that the strictest parent could object to.”

  “Well, maybe yes and maybe no. Marion seems to have grown rather fond of you.”

  “I confess I have grown rather fond of Marion.” When Sir Percy looked at him sharply Roger went on: “ It’s not so surprising, is it? She’s a highly intelligent girl, with a great deal of charm and a well-balanced mind and judgement of her own. I greatly admire her.”

  Sir Percy shifted his stiff leg. “That’s very well, Shorn. I’m glad you think she’s a nice girl. But one has to look at it all round. You have a son as old as she is. You’ve been married three times, apart from—anything else. You’ve knocked about a lot and are very much a man of the world. It adds up. And there’s this libel action. I don’t say I’m blaming you for any of this. I’m only stating it as I see it, as anyone would see it. I’ve a great admiration for your intellectual capacity—look at the way you’ve been talking tonight. But that’s as a business associate. I think there is danger in being friendly with an impressionable young girl who may take you more seriously than you intend.”

  Roger said: “Has it struck you that there’s equal danger for me—that I may feel this thing even more deeply than she does?”

  There was silence. Laycock said: “ Then by God, it’s time something was done about it!”

  Roger nipped the end of his Romalo No. 2. “I’m more than sorry, Sir Percy, to worry you in any way. Obviously it’s not to my benefit that I should offend you now. But I promise you the entanglement’s not of my seeking. I took her out first simply as a friendly gesture towards you both, nothing more. I thought you knew all about it and approved. I looked on her as I wou
ld a daughter. It was only when I got to know her better that I found her so advanced—and so fascinating. Perhaps you don’t realise. Even then I should never have thought—would hardly have dared to think of anything more if she hadn’t given me to understand that she’d welcome it. Then for a time I tried to put a stop to it; we didn’t see each other; but it wasn’t any use.” He paused to light his cigar. When it was going he went on: “Why should I look for any attachment? As I say, the last thing I want now is to quarrel with you. But even the most experienced of us fall into these traps. The problem is how to get out. I tell you I’m in love with your daughter and would like to marry her. Nothing would give me greater delight. But if you forbid it, then I’m willing to co-operate in any way you think fit.”

  “Hm,” said Sir Percy, and drained his brandy. “Hm!”

  “I honestly don’t think,” Roger said, “ that it will help if you forbid Marion to see me. She has a lively sense of indepeadence and a strong generous will. The surest way of cementing this thing would be to send her off to Switzerland or the South of France—and if it didn’t cement it she would in all probability throw herself away on the first man she met, who might be even more unsuitable than I am.”

  Sir Percy fidgeted suspiciously. “You know how to put things to your advantage, Shorn. I’m not saying you’re the most unsuitable man in the world. What I’m saying is that she is my only child and I want to do the best for her; and this development leaves me very worried indeed.”

  “I’ve had sleepless nights myself,” said Roger.

  There was silence for a time. Sir Percy fumbled with his stick. “I think we’d best be going. Not much good will come of sitting here.”

  Roger said: “ I hope concern over this won’t affect your judgement in the matter of The Globe. So far as that goes, if it’s the sort of opportunity you want, then I’d advise you to take it; because I can’t see the same set of circumstances occurring again. Whether I become editor is another matter altogether. There are plenty of good editors in the world.”

  Sir Percy got up, and Roger politely followed suit. “That’s as may be. But so far as Marion is concerned I can only tell you I am very disturbed.”