She said, ‘How well did you know him in Cairo, in the war?’
‘He was only around when on leave from the desert. I didn’t see much of him, but I knew Margaret’s husband. I was interested in antiquities. Then of course I became a prisoner of war and out of touch. I only got to know Henry properly when we came to live down here. But you must have known him as a girl? You were neighbours.’
‘All I remember is a gangly, spotty youth one sometimes got stuck next to at parties. I was on another tack, aiming high, craving to escape from home and find myself a rich husband.’ Calypso leaned against Hector, brushing her head against his chin.
Hector said, ‘Me.’
‘You.’
‘Us,’ she said, looking out across the moonlit garden, considering herself fortunate and blessed in her trouvaille. ‘I would not like you perfect,’ she said.
Hector said, ‘That’s a comfort.’
Strolling back towards the party, Henry said, ‘You are now free to go to the lavatory, Barbara.’
Barbara said, ‘That was an excuse. I’m sorry.’
Henry said, ‘I am sorry if I hurt you. You had better get back to James.’ When Barbara said nothing, he said, ‘I take it you are in love with him.’
Barbara said, ‘I suppose so,’ without ardour and waited for Henry to question her lack of enthusiasm but he did not, so she stopped and Henry stopped too, and Humble and Cringe sat down. Barbara said, ‘What does a man like you do about sex?’
‘What makes you think I do anything?’ He was amused by her temerity.
Barbara said, ‘One can’t possibly believe your wife.’
Henry said, ‘That’s good news.’
‘And you seem quite normal,’ she pressed on.
He asked, ‘Are you propositioning me?’
Barbara said, ‘Of course not! I am interested. Your situation seems so strange and you say you were once in love, so—’
‘So you imagine I have ordinary urges?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t you being rather impertinent?’
‘Curious.’
Laughing, Henry said, ‘There are such things as call-girls.’
‘Tarts?’ Barbara was taken aback. ‘I hadn’t thought—’
‘Then you don’t do much thinking,’ said Henry patiently. ‘Listen, child, before they married my father and his friends rogered village girls. I grew up to see my mother looking askance at the local adolescents, hoping not to see a likeness. The two Jonathans, for instance, are results of my father’s pre-marital era, though not his, I hasten to say. My mother never took to them and resented my love for them; they reminded her of my father’s habits before she met him. I incline to what solace London may offer. Satisfied?’
Barbara said, ‘Was Valerie a call-girl?’
‘Valerie? What Valerie?’
‘The Valerie James brought to stay here.’
‘Oh, that Valerie. No, not a call-girl.’
‘Oh.’
‘How, by the way, did you hear of her?’
‘Your wife.’
‘It’s amazing,’ said Henry, exasperated, ‘what a fount of mischief that woman can be. The little trot James had with Valerie was of no importance. Anyway,’ Henry said, remembering James lovelorn and sulky, ‘it’s all over long since. I don’t suppose he ever gives her a thought. James is patently in love with you. Now, if you don’t mind, I must get back to the others.’
‘But I just wanted to ask—’ Barbara persisted.
What Barbara wanted to ask Henry was never to know and Barbara forgot, retaining only a blurred impression of their questions and answers since they were overridden by the screams, shouts and yells coming from the dinner party. Henry broke into a run.
The dinner table was a shambles. Maisie was screaming, Trask swearing and Pilar yelling, ‘Aie! Aie!’ at the top of her voice. Some of the candles had been snuffed, some had fallen and spitted their grease as Margaret danced on the table among the debris of the meal. As she danced she crushed the lilies of the valley underfoot. She had ripped the Dior dress, tearing the bodice, so that she was naked to the waist. Flame from a candle had scorched up her skirt; the smell of singeing mingled with the lilies. But worse than the smell of burning Dior was the stink of scorched feathers as she whirled the cockatoo round her head, then dipped it low to catch in the candles. Maisie was screaming on a high, hysterical, undulating note and Peter was being sick into the tulips.
Trask, Ebro, James and Matthew made futile grabs at Margaret but, evading them, she stamped and danced, whirling the cockatoo.
Then Antonia leapt upon the table. Margaret crowed, ‘I dare you to come closer.’ As Antonia hesitated she tore off the bird’s head and flung it in Antonia’s face, shouting, ‘Hah! Come on! Come on!’ and began ripping the bird’s wings.
Henry, bursting past Ebro, hurled himself on to the table and, catching Margaret round the knees, brought her down among the glass and china. As she went down she tore at his face with her bloody hands. The table collapsed under their weight and Antonia, terrified, cried, ‘Help! I am falling!’ And Margaret, struggling with Henry, bit him in the neck.
Matthew said, ‘Oh dear!’ and helped Antonia to her feet. Maisie and Pilar stopped screaming, Barbara ran into James’s arms, buried her face against his dinner jacket and sobbed, but nobody spoke until Henry said, ‘Give us a hand, somebody,’ and extricated himself and his wife from the broken table, setting her carefully on her feet as Hector and Calypso arrived at a run to see what was happening.
They heard Henry say, ‘You must not get cold, Margaret.’ He was quiet and solicitous after the shrill pandemonium. They saw him take off his jacket and wrap it round her nakedness. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt? No? That’s good.’ The bite on his neck was bleeding but he was gentle with Margaret, setting her upright, holding her steady.
Margaret said, ‘Well yes, I am a bit chilly. Perhaps I will go back to bed. It would be nice if Pilar or somebody would bring me a glass of hot milk.’
Henry said, ‘One of us will.’
As they walked towards the house Margaret said, ‘That was a good party. I did enjoy it. We must do it again. Good night, everybody,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘so glad you could come. Come again some time, but not you who is being sick all over the tulips. You do have peculiar friends, Henry.’
Hector was to comment later on the macabre behaviour of the dogs. Humble retrieved what was left of the cockatoo, while Cringe, unable to locate the head which Matthew, mindful of his fiancée’s sensitivity, had covered with a plate, contented himself with a mouthful of feathers to be carried in his master’s wake.
Calypso overheard Matthew say sotto voce, ‘I expect after that you would like me to take you straight back to London.’
And Antonia’s robust reply: ‘Don’t be so wet.’
‘Those girls have no manners.’ Margaret leaned against Henry. ‘Not the sort of behaviour I learned at home. All that screaming.’
Henry held his jacket round his wife’s shoulders; he did not ask where ‘home’ had been. The Jonathans, who had tried to delve into Margaret’s mysterious antecedents, claimed that she had confided that she was born in Leeds, but at other times she had said Alexandria or the Lebanon.
‘My feet are hurting,’ Margaret whimpered. ‘If you were going to buy me a dress you might at least have gone the whole hog and bought me shoes to match.’
I do not even know what size she takes, thought Henry. ‘Kick them off,’ he said, ‘the grass is soft.’
‘I can’t walk barefoot,’ Margaret snapped. ‘You did buy the dress?’ she accused.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did.’
‘I thought as much. What do you take me for?’ Henry did not answer. Margaret giggled. ‘Oh, how those two girls desired it!’
‘Did you tread on glass?’
‘I may have done.’
He led her to the house. Pilar was already in the hall. ‘Could you bring Margaret s
ome hot milk?’ he asked her.
Pilar nodded.
‘With honey?’ he suggested.
‘No sweetener,’ snapped Margaret, ‘idiot.’
Henry led his wife up the stairs. Pilar, watching, made a wringing motion with closed fists.
At Margaret’s door Henry said, ‘Wait,’ to the dogs, who sank down on reproachful haunches. He led Margaret into her room and closed the door.
Margaret stood in the middle of the room while Henry drew the curtains and pulled back the bedclothes for her. She was a beautiful creature, he thought objectively, and wondered whether any man had ever wanted to have her, whether she could arouse desire. ‘Let me help you,’ he said as she fingered the tattered dress. ‘Better take it off.’
‘Any other colour would have been better. You have no taste,’ she said.
‘Come on.’ Gently he drew the torn dress over her head, letting it drop and blend with the carpet, the walls, the bedspread, the nightdress he handed her and her hair. Her pubic hair was rust colour; he had not seen it before and was shocked to find it ugly.
‘I am sick to death of this colour,’ she said.
‘Are your feet all right? Let me see if they are cut.’
‘Of course they are not cut! That old bag Calypso’s hair is the colour of hay,’ she said, ‘pretty musty hay. She should tint it, liven it up.’
Had she livened her bush? ‘If your feet are all right, you should get into bed,’ said Henry quietly. ‘Here is your milk,’ he said as Pilar knocked at the door.
‘Don’t let her in,’ exclaimed Margaret. ‘I don’t want her in here.’ She got into bed. ‘As tomorrow I shall not want you.’
Henry brought her the milk.
‘Too hot,’ said Margaret. ‘Put it down. I shall consult with your sisters what colour to have next.’ She looked at her golden room with narrowed eyes.
‘Sisters?’
‘The Jonathans, the quasi-men, the silly old sodomites, your spiritual sisters. Can’t you sit down?’ she said irritably. ‘I shall keep all the mirrors.’
Henry sat with his back to the window, his jacket across his knees. In the wood owls hooted and he thought of Trask, the old man’s love of birds and kindness to him as a child. Weary, he yawned.
Margaret was talking.
‘I have my own money,’ she was saying belligerently, ‘I can pay for it myself if you start being mean.’
‘I would rather you did not use your money. I do not know what money you have, nor do I want to know,’ said Henry. It would be an obscenity to use her money on the house, he thought; I would rather pay myself for whatever grisly colour she chooses.
‘Your sisters know! Those old queens pry! They call themselves my friends, but I know they betray me. But they do not treat me as you do. You treat me like an animal,’ she said viciously.
Henry said, ‘Yes,’ and fingered his neck where she had bitten him. His fingers came away sticky. She is a wounded animal, he thought and yes, he was treating her as such, far more kindly than he would a woman. He was always gentle with animals, more tender than he had been tonight to poor silly Barbara.
‘You do not treat me as you should a woman.’ Margaret reached for the glass of milk.
Henry stiffened. Would she throw it at him? Spilt milk smelt disgusting.
‘You don’t begin to know how to treat a woman.’ Margaret drank the milk. ‘You and those Jonathans are alike, your sexual parts atrophied from lack of use. All that gristle dangling about, useless and untidy.’
Henry laughed.
‘And you had the nerve to ask me to marry you!’ Margaret almost shouted.
Wearily Henry said, ‘Margaret, you needed a British passport. My father had heard of your plight; he wrote, suggesting I should marry you to save you being interned. It’s ancient history.’
‘The stupid old man! And who put him up to it? Tell me that!’
‘He thought it a helpful idea,’ said Henry temperately. ‘He was given to acts of kindness.’
‘It was not kindness! It was mischief. Your friends, your sisters put him up to it,’ Margaret crowed.
Henry flinched. Was she speaking the truth? Oh, the Jonathans—
‘You cannot divorce me,’ Margaret was saying. ‘You will never get rid of me. I will see to it that you never have children.’ She drained the milk.
Henry stood up and took the empty glass from her. ‘Will you sleep now?’ he asked. He tried to imagine Antonia, Barbara, Calypso or even poor Maisie Bullivant voicing such spleen. ‘Try and sleep,’ he said. ‘Good night.’
Margaret said, ‘I am glad I bit you.’
SEVENTEEN
THERE WERE WAS A shamefaced tidying up. As is usual at times of social disaster, those present felt guilty and responsible. Antonia and Barbara collected the residue of the meal, a lot of which had spilled on the grass. Matthew and James tried to right the trestle tables. In so doing they got in Trask’s and Ebro’s way, causing unconcealed animosity. Pilar had followed Henry and Margaret into the house. Several chairs had suffered in the fracas, and broken glass endangered fingers.
Maisie, shocked into silence, dusted Peter down and they slunk away in a drone of apologetic and sibilant goodbyes. As the sound of their car faded, Jonathan said to John, ‘It will be some time before Henry asks them to the house again. They egged that harpy on.’
John replied tartly, ‘I should imagine that stricture would apply to us all. Not, of course, to you and Hector,’ he said to Calypso. ‘You weren’t here.’
Antonia, who had kept quiet since Henry removed his wife, exclaimed, ‘Oh, my God! Oh Christ, look!’ She had come upon the cockatoo’s head, hidden by a plate, crushed into a butter dish.
‘Leave it, leave it,’ exclaimed Matthew. ‘Let me deal—’
Ignoring Matthew, Antonia turned to Calypso. ‘We had forgotten he was there. Margaret was behaving normally; she was being quite amusing, or so the men seemed to think. He waddled up the table towards her. She held out a strawberry, he laid back his crest and she grabbed. Then she climbed on the table. ‘You helped her,’ she said to Matthew. ‘She began to shout and dance, and Peter cheered her on! She ripped the dress with one hand and the bird—she shook it. Did you see?’ she asked Calypso, almost shrieking.
Calypso said, ‘Thankfully not,’ her voice steady.
Antonia cried loudly, ‘My face! She threw its head in my face, she—’
Matthew said, ‘Now then, darling, it’s all over, don’t get hysterical.’
Antonia hissed, ‘I am not hysterical; there is a difference between shock and hysteria. Oh!’ she cried, crashing the pile of plates she had collected on to the table. ‘What a pompous ass you are! You laughed. You thought it funny when she—You thought, this is some sort of old world binge. A relic of the Folies Bergere. An excess of spirit. In a minute you would have been drinking out of her sweaty shoe. God!’ she said, raising her hand to strike. ‘I can’t think how I could ever have got engaged to you.’
Hector, who had been standing a little apart, now spoke. ‘Bedtime, girls. Off you go.’
Surprised, Antonia lowered her hand. Barbara said, ‘Come on, I’m whacked. Good night, everybody,’ and, putting her arm round her friend, led her away.
Halfway to the house Antonia turned and shouted, ‘How can Henry be so magnanimous?’
Calypso murmured tiredly, ‘How indeed?’
James said to Matthew, ‘Hadn’t we better see that they are all right?’ and the two men followed their girls at a discreet distance.
Hector said, ‘I don’t know about anybody else, but I could do with a swallow of Henry’s brandy from the drinks table in the sitting-room.’
Jonathan said virtuously, ‘We can’t leave this mess.’
Hector said, ‘Yes, we can. Trask and Ebro are dying to get shot of us. You are, aren’t you?’ he asked Trask.
Trask said drily, ‘Since you ask, yes.’
John said, ‘In that case, I think we two will be on our way.’
> ‘Shouldn’t one of us see how Henry is?’ enquired Calypso.
Henry appeared, answering for himself, ‘I am quite all right.’
‘Your throat? Your face?’ Jonathan lingered.
‘Plastered, as you see, by Pilar; scratches duly dabbed with Dettol. Are you two off?’
‘Yes,’ they said, ‘yes. Good night.’ They said, ‘It was a most, a most unusual party, dear boy, thank you for asking us.’
‘Have Maisie and Peter gone?’
‘Evaporated,’ said Jonathan, ‘as we must also.’
John said, ‘We are sorry there was, so sorry there—’
‘Was a storm in a teaspoon,’ Henry finished his sentence for him. ‘I will walk you to your car.’
Hector said, ‘Brandy. Come on,’ and led Calypso into the house.
She said, ‘He looks rather dishy, all plastered and haggard. I am not surprised the virgins wooed him.’
Hector said, ‘The virgin who jumped on the table was on the point of busting her engagement.’
‘Might be a good thing. She won’t, though she rightly called him wet.’
‘Dampish, I agree.’ Hector poured a little brandy into a glass. ‘For you?’ he offered.
‘No, thank you, I’ll drive home.’
Hector poured more brandy into the glass and gulped. ‘Ah, that’s better.’
Joining them, Henry asked, ‘Have la jeunesse gone to bed?’
Calypso said, ‘So one supposes.’
Henry said, ‘I would suggest sitting on the terrace, but it’s immediately under my wife’s window.’
Calypso said, ‘It’s very nice here,’ and settled on the sofa.
Hector said, ‘Couldn’t you divorce her?’
Henry asked, ‘For killing a cockatoo?’ As neither Hector nor Calypso answered, he said, ‘And who would look after her if I did?’ He took the brandy Henry handed him. ‘Tonight was my fault,’ he said. ‘She is OK left in bed. I get impatient. She does get up. When she wants to. If she wants to. I should have left well alone.’
‘Well?’ Calypso raised an eyebrow.