Highland Fling

  Morris-Minerva is making my life sheer hell at the moment. I throw up quite constantly.

  Best love. Come and see us soon.

  SALLY.’

  Poor Jane found that it took her the best part of that day to answer these – and some thirty-five other letters, and Albert felt himself rather neglected. When the next morning she received not thirty-five but sixty-five, he announced that he would go to Paris until this influx of congratulations was over.

  ‘But my dear,’ said Lady Dacre, ‘when the letters come to an end the presents will begin, and that is much worse, because it is such an effort pretending to be grateful for absolute horrors.

  ‘Hubert and I were discussing your plans this morning, and we think that if you want to be married in November we had better go back quite soon to Wilton Crescent. There is Jane’s trousseau to be ordered, for one thing.’

  ‘If you do that I can stay with Mr Buggins, but meanwhile I really think I had better go over to Paris for a bit. I ought to be getting rid of my present studio, and have several things that must be seen to sometime soon. I won’t bother to look for a new flat yet. We can stay in an hotel after our honeymoon, until we find a nice one, but I must wind up my affairs, and this seems to be a good moment. Jane is far too much occupied to need me about the place now.’

  Eighteen

  Albert went to Paris meaning to stay there for a fortnight, but in a week’s time he was standing outside the Dacres’ front door in Wilton Crescent. Frankly, he had not enjoyed himself and had spent his time counting the hours to when he should see Jane again. This worried him a great deal. Always before he had been perfectly happy in Paris and he had expected to be so still – had thought that he would hardly miss her at all and that he might even find it quite an effort to come back to her, instead of which he found himself restless and miserable and unable to stay away. He began to realize that nothing would ever again be as it had been for him, and the realization annoyed him.

  He found Jane alone in the downstairs drawing-room; she was not expecting him and flew into his arms.

  ‘Darling sweetest,’ she said after a few minutes, ‘don’t go away again. It was dreadful, I had to be thinking about you the whole time.’

  ‘I got so bored with thinking about you that I had to come back.’

  ‘Angel, did you really? I am pleased. Come and see the presents, they’re simply unbelievable!’ And she dragged him upstairs to a large empty room which had been set aside for the wedding presents.

  ‘There are masses for you, too. I put them all over there. Shall we unpack them now?’

  ‘Let’s look at yours first. My dear, what a lot, though! You must know a quantity of people. But how absolutely horrible they are! What on earth shall we do with all these atrocious things? And where do people go to buy wedding presents? Is there a special shop for them, because these things are all exactly alike? Have you noticed that? Oh, look at the Lalique, and all that dreadful glass with bubbles in it! I shall burst into tears in a moment.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Jane, ‘don’t take it to heart too much. It only needs a good kick.’

  ‘I know what we’ll do,’ said Albert, ‘we’ll have a wedding-present shoot, and get General Murgatroyd to arrange it for us. You see, the drivers can throw the things over our heads and we’ll shoot at them. Then, when it’s all over, we’ll be photographed with the bag. Haven’t you any nice presents, darling?’

  ‘Not one,’ said Jane, sadly. ‘Now let’s open yours.’

  They set to work, and soon the floor was covered with brown paper, shavings and pieces of string. Whereas Jane’s presents were nearly all made of glass, Albert’s seemed to consist mainly of leatherwork. Leather blotters, wastepaper baskets and notecases were unpacked in quick succession, and lastly, a cigarette-box made out of an old book. This present, which was sent by someone he had known at Oxford, perfectly enraged Albert: it had originally contained the works of Mrs Hemans.

  ‘My favourite poetess. Why couldn’t he send me the book unmutilated? He must remember that I never smoke, in any case. Still, sweet of him to think of me.’

  The maid came in with some more parcels for Jane, containing a Lalique clock from Lady Brenda. (‘How kind! considering we’ve only met her once. It will do for the shoot, too.’) A lampshade made out of somebody’s last will and testament, and a hideous little glass tree, growing in a china pot, from Lady Prague.

  ‘I’m beginning to understand about wedding presents,’ said Albert. ‘It seems to me that they can be divided into three categories: the would-be useful, the so-called ornamental, and those that have been converted from their original purpose into something quite different, but which is seldom either useful or ornamental.’

  ‘I think,’ said Jane bitterly, ‘that they can be divided into two categories: those that have been bought in a shop, which are beastly, and those that have been snatched off the mantelpiece and given to the butler to pack up, which are beastlier. Look here, Albert darling, I’m getting really sick of this wedding. I do nothing all day but thank for these revolting presents, which I would pay anybody to take away, and try on clothes I don’t want. Couldn’t we chuck the whole thing and be married quietly somewhere? If I have to face another two months like this I shall be ill. Really, I mean it. Please, Albert.’

  ‘Well, darling, personally I think it would be heaven, but I must be in London for my exhibition, you know.’

  ‘When does that open?’

  ‘In three weeks tomorrow.’

  ‘That gives us heaps of time to have a honeymoon and everything. Please, let’s do that. Go and see about a special licence, now, this minute.’

  ‘But, darling, listen to me.…’

  ‘Oh, well, if you are going to be tiresome.…’

  ‘Very well, I’ll see what can be done, but first we must ask your parents. No, I absolutely insist on that, darling.’

  Sir Hubert and Lady Dacre, as might have been expected, showed no enthusiasm at all when told of Jane’s little plan.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Lady Dacre scornfully, ‘of course you can’t do any such thing. People would say at once that Jane is going to have a baby. The presents will get better soon, I dare say: probably you won’t have a great many more, and anyhow, the nicest ones generally come at the end.’

  ‘Why not advance the date a little,’ suggested Sir Hubert, ‘to, say, the middle of October, about a month from now? That would be much more sensible than rushing off in such a hurry, and after all, a month does go fairly quickly.’

  Jane and Albert felt the justice of these remarks and decided that they would definitely settle on the sixteenth of October, by which time Albert’s exhibition would be well begun.

  ‘If only,’ said Jane, ‘when announcing a marriage, one could put, “No presents, by request,” how much more bearable the life of engaged couples would become. Look what I’ve got to thank for now. A pair of bellows made from the timbers of the Victory and sent by Admiral Wenceslaus. Oh, dear!’

  ‘Very kind of him, I think,’ said her father reprovingly.

  ‘Oh, well; yes, so it is. Very kind of all the people who send these inferior things. I only wish they wouldn’t, that’s all.’

  ‘How much better it would be,’ sighed Lady Dacre, ‘if everybody would send cheques.’

  ‘Or postal orders,’ said Jane.

  ‘Or stamps,’ said Albert.

  For the next week or two, Jane and Albert had to make up their minds that they would only see each other once a day. They generally dined together and sometimes went to a play, but were often too tired even for that. Presents poured in for both of them, over and above which Albert was now very busy arranging about his exhibition.

  He found that he had not brought over quite enough pictures for it, and embarked on a series of woodwork designs for six chairs, based on the theme of sport in the Highlands. He also completed his ‘Catalogue of Recent Finds at Dalloch’ (having wired for and obtained the consent of the Craigdall
ochs), intending that a specimen copy should be on view at the exhibition.

  With Albert thus kept so busy that anyhow he would have had no time to play with her, Jane found her own jobs far less disagreeable. As Lady Dacre had predicted, the presents she received greatly improved in quality as time went on and she found it much less boring to write letters thanking for things that she really liked. Her trousseau now became a source of great interest, especially the wedding dress, which she could not try on often enough and which was extremely lovely. As for the other things, tiring as it undoubtedly was to stand for hours every day being fitted, there was a certain excitement about the idea that by the time she began to wear them she would be a married woman, and this sustained her.

  Nineteen

  Walter and Sally Monteath, on their return to London, found themselves financially in a very bad way indeed. They had lost almost all their personal effects in the fire. Although they replaced these as economically as they could, it took most of their available money to do so. At this inconvenient moment the accumulated bills of months began to rain upon them, more numerous and insistent than ever before. The bank refused to allow them a further overdraft, all Sally’s jewellery had long since been sold, and she began to have difficulty even in paying the household books.

  Sally felt desperately ill and worried, and even Walter was obliged to give up taking taxis everywhere; but, apart from that, the situation did not appear to weigh on him at all until, one evening, he came in with some books that he was going to review and found her crying bitterly.

  ‘Sally, darling angel! What is the matter?’ he said, kneeling down beside her and stroking her hair. When, through her tears, she explained to him that she could bear it no longer, that she literally didn’t know how to raise money for the week’s books, and that she had been adding up what they owed and found it amounted to nearly a thousand pounds, Walter was enormously relieved.

  ‘I thought something frightful must have happened,’ he said. ‘But if that’s all you’re worrying about, I can easily get some money. Why, anybody would lend us a hundred pounds or so to carry on with till our next quarter comes in. As for the bills, they can wait for years, if necessary.’

  ‘Walter, they can’t. Why, some of them have lawyer’s letters with them already. And it’s no use borrowing a hundred pounds – that won’t really help us at all, permanently, I mean. Then think of Morris-Minerva. How expensive all that business will be, and how are we going to educate him, or anything?’ She burst into fresh floods of tears and said wildly that she must have been mad to marry him on so little money but that she had thought they would be able to manage, and that so they would have, except for his idiotic extravagance.

  Walter, who had never before in his life known Sally to utter a cross word, was amazed by this outburst and began to feel really worried. His was the sort of mentality which never apprehends an unpleasant situation until it is presented so forcibly that it can no longer be ignored. Now, for the first time, he began to see that their position was, in fact, very parlous, and he was plunged into extreme despair.

  ‘Anyhow, darling,’ he said, ‘I can’t have you worrying like this. Leave it all to me. I’ll find a job and support you properly. I’ll go out now, this minute, and find one,’ he added, and seizing his hat he dashed out of the house, saying that he would come back when he had some work, and not before.

  Sally felt strangely comforted by his attitude, although not very optimistic about the job. She sat by the fire and thought that, after all, these bothers were very trifling matters compared to the happiness of being married to Walter.

  While she was sitting there thinking vaguely about him, there was a resounding peal on the door-bell.

  Sally remembered that the daily woman had gone home, and was half-considering whether she would sit still and pretend that everybody was out, when it occurred to her that it might be Walter, who was in the constant habit of losing his latchkey. The bell rang again, and this time Sally, almost mechanically, went to the door and opened it.

  She was a little bit alarmed to see, standing in the passage, three tall bearded strangers, but was soon reassured by the unmistakably gloomy voice of Ralph Callendar which issued from behind one of the beards, and said:

  ‘Sally, dear, I hadn’t realized until this very moment that you are enceinte. How beautifully it suits you! Why had nobody told me?’

  Sally laughed and led the way into the drawing-room. She now saw that the other men were Jasper Spengal and Julius Raynor, very efficiently disguised.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but how could you tell? It’s really very exciting, due in April. Morris, if a boy, Minerva, if a girl, and we haven’t the slightest idea where she’s going to live (there’s no room here, as you know) or how we can afford to educate him. But Walter’s out now, looking for a job. Have a cocktail, Ralph dear, be an angel and make one; the things live in that chest. But why fancy dress so early in the evening, and why haven’t we been asked to the party?’

  ‘No, dear,’ said Ralph sadly, taking some bottles out of the chest. ‘Not fancy dress at all – disguise.’

  ‘Are you – not wanted by Scotland Yard for anything, I hope?’

  ‘No, dear, curiously enough. No; we are going, simply in order to please Jasper, to the Savoy Theatre, where we shall see a Gilbert and Sullivan operette, called – what is it called, Jasper?’

  ‘ “I Gondolieri.” ’

  ‘Yes, “I Gondolieri”. Jasper has a new philosophy, which is that one should experience everything pleasant and unpleasant, and says that nobody ought to die until they have seen one Gilbert and Sullivan operette and one Barrie play. Last night he begged us to accompany him on these grim errands, and after much talk, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded. But as it would be impossible to explain this to all the casual acquaintances whom we might meet at the theatre, we decided to take the precaution of a disguise.

  ‘It is one thing to see a Gilbert and Sullivan, and quite another to be seen at one. We have our unborn children to consider, not to mention our careers.

  ‘It has taken us nearly all day, but I think the result satisfactory. To complete the illusion we intend to limp about during the entr’acte. Jasper, as you see, has a slight hump on one shoulder, and Julius a snub nose.

  ‘I myself, have not been obliged to go to such lengths. Nobody would ever suspect me. Even if I went undisguised, they would only say, “We didn’t know Ralph had a double.” Did you mention, Sally, that Walter is looking for a job?’

  ‘Yes, poor lamb, he is.’

  ‘He won’t find one, of course. But never mind, there are worse things than poverty, though I can’t for the moment remember what they are, and we’ll all take it in turns to keep the baby for you. A poet of Walter’s ability has no business with money troubles and jobs and nonsense like that. Are you very hard up at the moment, Sally?’

  ‘Yes, terribly, you know. We’ve got such debts and then our people simply can’t help. They give us more than they can afford as it is.’

  ‘Well, then, my dear, I’ll tell you what to do, straight away. Come and live with me till Christmas and let the flat to an American woman I know for twenty guineas a week. Would that help?’

  ‘Ralph, what an angel you are! But, of course, we can’t do that, and we’re not really so hard up, you know, only one likes a little grumble. Anyway, who would pay twenty guineas for a tiny flat like this? What are you doing?’

  ‘Hullo! Regent 3146,’ said Ralph into the telephone, his eyes on the ceiling. ‘Hullo! Mrs Swangard? Ralph here. Yes, I found you the very thing – a jewel, 65 Fitzroy Square. Belongs, you know, to the famous poet Monteath. Yes, I had the greatest difficulty.… Oh, no, no trouble. I knew at once it would be the place for you. Heart of Bloomsbury.… Oh, most fashionable, all the famous people.… Yes, all round you, roaring away. What? I said “roaringly gay” … My dear, you’ll be astounded when I tell you … only twenty guineas! A week, not a day.

  ‘Wonderful, yes. Of
course, they wouldn’t let it to just anybody, as you can imagine.… No.… As soon as you like – tomorrow if you like.… Tomorrow, then.… Yes, I’ll come round and see you about it after the play tonight.… Yes, perfect … goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, Ralph!’ said Sally, almost in tears. ‘How sweet you are! That means more than a hundred pounds, doesn’t it, and almost at once? Think what a help it will be. That is, if she likes the flat; but perhaps she won’t?’

  ‘My dear, that woman will like just exactly what I tell her to like. So pack up and come round some time in the morning. There’s quite a good-sized bedroom you can have, if you don’t mind sharing my sitting-room. Oh, nonsense, darling, you’d do the same by me, as you know very well. The poor are always good to each other. Are you going to Albert’s private view?’ he added, as though anxious to change the subject.

  ‘Oh, that’s tomorrow, of course, I’d forgotten. Yes, we’re supposed to be lunching with him first.’

  ‘I hear he’s given Jane for an engagement ring a garnet with Queen Victoria’s head carved on it.’

  ‘No! has he? Have you any idea at all what his pictures will be like?’

  ‘Absolutely none; but Bennet, I believe, thinks well of them.’

  Jasper and Julius, who had been looking at Vogue, now came over to the fireplace. Feeling that they had so far not quite earned their cocktails, they began to pour forth a flood of semi-brilliant conversation, mostly in Cockney, told two stories about George Moore, one about Sir Thomas Beecham, asked if there was any future for Delius, and left, taking Ralph with them.

  Sally resumed her meditations. How right she had been to marry Walter after all. Nobody could have made her so happy; life with him was very nearly perfect. The same tastes, the same friends, the same sense of humour and, above all, no jealousy. She dropped happily into an almost voluptuous doze. The rain was falling outside, which made the room seem particularly warm and comfortable.