‘Oh, do shut up and talk sensibly,’ I said.
‘To talk in terms that you would understand, Ma, I can’t approve, I never have, of your way of life. I hate the bourgeoisie. In Zen I find the antithesis of what you and Father have always stood for. So I embrace Zen with all my heart. Do you see?’
‘Yes. I wonder why you feel like that?’
‘It seems almost incredible that people like you should still be living in the 1950s.’
‘You can’t expect us to commit suicide in order to fall in with your theories.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind you being alive, it’s the way you live. Basil feels as I do. I’ve implored him for years to cut the umbilical cord and now at last he has.’
‘That’s your doing, is it? Thanks very much. He lies on his face on hot sand, instead of reading for his exam. It seems appalling waste of time to me.’
‘Time does not exist. People who have clocks and watches are like bodies squashed into stays. Anything would be better than to find oneself in your and Dad’s stays when one is old. Dawn and I are looking for an untrammelled future. Where is she?’
‘If you go to the room above this one you’ll find her.’
He went. Presently I heard his heavy footfall over my head. When David was a child Uncle Matthew used to say he walked like two men carrying a ladder. Greatly relieved, I telephoned to the Chancery. I got Philip. ‘Just tell Alfred,’ I said, ‘that old Zennikins has gone and he can come back and finish his tea.’
Alfred kissed the top of my head. ‘To think he took a first in Greats!’
‘Let me pour you out another cup – that’s cold. I remember, when the boys were little, you used to say if they don’t revolt against all our values we shall know they are not much good.’
‘That was not very clever, was it?’
‘You were very clever – you took a first in Greats yourself. Another thing was: “I hope when they see me coming into a room they will look at each other as much as to say: here comes the old fool. That is how children ought to regard their father.”’
‘How very odd of me. I’ve quite forgotten.’
‘Yes, one forgets –’
‘Hot news,’ Northey said, next day. ‘David and Dawn are drinking whisky with sweet Amy in the Pont Royal bar. ’Chang has been dumped with the men’s coats.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve just seen them.’
‘And what were you doing at the Pont Royal bar?’
‘I was meeting Phyllis McFee, the friend of my far-distant youth in Caledonia stern and wild.’
‘Northey, it’s not a suitable place for young girls. Please find somewhere else to meet her – why not here? What’s the good of giving you that pretty room – ?’
‘You’re saying all this because you don’t like clever little Amy.’
‘No, I do not.’
The answers to all the questions we had so discreetly not asked now became available to us in the Daily Post.
ZEN BUDDHISTS AT PARIS EMBASSY
Bearded, sandalled, corduroyed, and piped, accompanied by wife Dawn and baby ’Chang, David Wincham, the eldest son of our envoy to France (formerly Professor of Pastoral Theology, Sir Alfred Wincham), is staying with his parents on his way East, where he plans to join a Zen community. During a Parisian tea-ceremony yesterday David outlined his projects.
EXPECTING
‘Dawn and I were married last week. We are expecting our first baby in two months. Dawn’s father, the Bishop of Bury, disapproves. He wanted her to finish her studies and he was against our adopting little ’Chang, the child of our Zen Master.’
WORLD CITIZEN
‘Yes, ’Chang is a Chinese name; our child is a World Citizen. Dawn’s father is against World Government. He does not understand Zen nor does he realize the importance of the empty or no-abiding mind. He thinks that people ought to work; Dawn and I know that it is sufficient to exist.’
SEVEN
So David, Dawn, and ’Chang are existing very comfortably at the expense of the taxpayer. I asked when they expect to leave for the East. ‘In seven hours, seven days, seven weeks, or seven years. It’s all the same to us.’
‘If it’s seven years,’ said Philip, ‘your successor will have to give them the entresol.’
As a matter of fact, we heard no more about going East; they settled quite contentedly into the best spare room over the Salon Vert. It seemed that the long maturing of the Sacred Unsubstantiality could come to pass quite as well in the Hôtel de Charost as in a Siberian gaol – better, perhaps, because they were not certain to find a Zen Master in the gaol whereas there was this excellent one at Issy-les-Moulineaux. Dawn felt tired and was not anxious to recontemplate the wisdom of the road. David told Mildred Jungfleisch all this and she kindly passed it on. No explanations were vouchsafed to me or Alfred, but the portents seemed to indicate a good long stay. I bought an Empire cradle which I set up in the Salon Vert and banned the blue plastic one from any of the rooms inhabited by us. This was the only step I took to assert my personality.
13
Valhubert joined the throng of Northey’s suitors. No doubt this was inevitable, but it worried me since he was in quite a different category from the others: a man of the world, experienced seducer, with time on his hands; I thought he would make mincemeat of the poor child. Besides I was very fond of Grace, my most intimate friend in Paris. She was obviously changing her mind about Northey; I never seemed to hear her say ‘What a darling’ any more. The other followers were rather a nuisance; they took up far too much of Northey’s time and attention and doubled the work of our telephone exchange but I did not think them dangerous. I used to have long confabulations on the subject with Katie, who, fond of Northey and in a commanding position, was invaluable to me. She was sensible in a particularly English way in spite of having lived abroad for years. She had been at the Embassy longer than anybody else, since before the war, during which she had worked with the Free French.
‘Of course, I don’t listen,’ she said, ‘but sometimes I can’t help hearing.’
‘Do listen as hard as you can, Katie. It’s so important for me to know what she’s up to. I’m responsible for her, don’t forget.’
‘You needn’t worry – she doesn’t care a pin for any of them; she drags in the name of Philip whenever possible. They must be sick of being told that she worships him, poor things. Of course, the ones who can use the secret line, but I feel it’s exactly the same. She’s so transparent, isn’t she!’
‘What do the French think of it all, I wonder?’
‘The worst, of course, but then they always do. If she had no followers at all they would say she’s a Lesbian or has got a lover in the Embassy. You can’t count what they think.’
‘Tell me something, Katie. Does she often speak to Phyllis McFee?’
‘Who?’
‘A Scotch girl who is working here in Paris –’
‘Never, as far as I know.’
‘That’s funny. When she doesn’t want to do anything she always drags in Phyllis McFee as an excuse.’
‘She’s probably shut up in some office where she can’t use the telephone.’
‘Well –’ I said, ‘I wonder!’
I did not ask Katie about M. de Valhubert but I knew that he was constantly on the line. I also noticed that Phyllis McFee, whose name had hitherto cropped up at regular but reasonable intervals, now seemed to be Northey’s inseparable companion.
‘Northey, aren’t you rather behind-hand with my letters?’
‘Not bad – about twelve, I think.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and finish them after dinner, then they would be off your mind?’
‘Because tonight, actually, Phyllis McFee and me are going to Catch.’
‘Catch?’
‘That’s French for all-in wrestling.’
‘Darling, it’s really not suitable for two girls to go alone to all-in wrestling.’
‘We shan’t be alone. Phyllis McFee and me have got admirers. We shall be escorted.’
‘How can you bear to watch it?’
‘I adore it. I love to see horrible humans torturing each other for a change instead of sweet animals. L’Ange Blanc, the champion, has got the fingers of a doctor, he knows just where it hurts the most –’
‘Funny sort of doctor. But there’s still the question of the letters. They can’t be put off indefinitely.’
‘I say, Fan, you know how you’re not dining out?’
‘You want me to do them? But what do I pay you for?’
‘You won’t be paying me anything at all until November the twenty-eighth next year. I’ve borrowed until then. Fanny – each for each?’
‘Oh, very well. Bring me your little typewriter and I’ll do them in bed.’ Only young once; we did not have these boring jobs at that age. Indeed when we were that age, Polly Hampton, my cousins and I, it was as much our duty to go out with young men and enjoy ourselves as now it was Northey’s to write twelve letters. I only wished I could be certain that Phyllis McFee was really going to be of the party and that the escort was not Valhubert. As I wrote my letters I resolved that I would have to speak to Northey; the Foreign Legion policy of no questions may be quite all right with boys; girls are a very different proposition, giddy, poor things, hopelessly frivolous, wayward and short-sighted. Although I hate all forms of interference between human beings I felt, nevertheless, that I had a duty to carry out.
I was busy just then. Mr Gravely, the Foreign Minister, came and went. I saw little of him as the dinner which Alfred gave in his honour was for men only. He seemed a dry old stick. I said to Philip, ‘I do love Grace’s idea of him being driven to the brothels because his wife didn’t come!’
‘She’s not far wrong. All English politicians want to do dirty things as soon as they get to Paris. Only of course they don’t want to be seen by Mockbar. It’s a nuisance that the only night club which is fairly respectable should happen to be called Le Sexy. La Tomate sounds quite all right but we really could not let them go there – no, I couldn’t possibly tell you. Ask Mees –’
Contrary to all known precedent, Mr Gravely did not fall in love with Northey, in fact he hardly noticed her. He gave her various odd jobs to do for him, speaking in a dry, official, impersonal voice which so took her by surprise that she actually did them all herself, quite efficiently.
The night he left we dined at home. Alfred seemed tired and depressed; the visit had probably added to his difficulties. I had not yet had an account of it. David and Dawn had gone to share a bowl of rice with a friend – they never could say they were dining out, like anybody else. However, when we got to the dining-room we found that my social secretary was honouring us, a very unusual occurrence.
‘Your cows, Northey,’ said Alfred, ‘are a nuisance.’
‘I know – isn’t it splendid! B.B. has stopped them, Fanny, I quite forgot to tell you. You see what can be done, by making a fuss!’
‘Again I say, they are a nuisance. The Irish Ambassador was so friendly to me, everything seemed perfect between us. Now he has been called home by his government for consultation. It’s very serious for the Irish – one of their main exports has vanished overnight. They all think it’s due to the devilish machinations of the English.’
‘So it is and serve them right for being so cruel!’
‘All poor peasant communities are cruel to animals, I’m afraid – and not only the Irish. If they can’t export cattle to France they’ll be even poorer. It’s not the way to make them kinder. The result will probably be that they will send the unhappy beasts to other countries where the journey will be longer and the slaughter-houses more primitive.’
‘B.B. doesn’t think so. He says there are no other practicable markets.’
‘You know you should use your, apparently absolute, power to make the French eat frozen food. If they would do that these journeys could all be stopped and the beasts could be killed at home.’
‘They won’t,’ said Northey, ‘they call it frigo and they loathe it. B.B. says they are quite right – it’s disgusting.’
‘All very well – they’ll have to come to it in the end.’
After dinner she said she was simply exhausted. ‘I must dree my weird to bed – oh the pathos of the loneliness!’ She trotted off to her entresol. We too went early to our rooms. Before I went to bed I heard a little cheeping noise, very far off, rather like a nest of baby birds, which meant that Northey was on the telephone. I could just hear her when all was quiet in the house. As I went to sleep she was still at it. I woke up again at three in the morning; she was still piping away.
When she came for her orders next day I said, ‘Northey, I don’t want to be indiscreet, but were you telephoning practically half the night?’
‘The agony of clutching the receiver all those hours! My arm is still aching!’
‘Who was it? M. Bouche-Bontemps?’ She looked surprised that I should ask but replied, nonchalantly, ‘No, poor duck, he is too busy nowadays. It was Charles-Edouard.’
Just as I thought. It was evidently time that I should intervene, unless I were going weakly to let things take their course. I went on, very much against my own inclination, ‘Whatever was it all about?’
‘My investments.’
‘Indeed! Have you investments – ?’
‘Yes. He has forwarded me my wages until Alfred’s sixtieth birthday by which time you will retire and I shall be out of a job. Now he is advising me how to place the money. He says it’s very important because nobody else will ever employ me and I am facing a penurious old age. So I have bought Coffirep, Finarep and Rep France. You can’t imagine how they whizz. Les reps sont en pleine euphorie, the Figaro said, yesterday.’
‘I don’t think you ought to let M. de Valhubert talk to you all night. Grace might not like it.’
Northey’s face closed up in a mutinous expression. ‘Who cares?’
‘I do, for one. But it’s not that, darling, I worry about you. I’m so dreadfully afraid you will fall in love with Charles-Edouard.’
‘Fanny! Hoar antiquity!’
‘No hoarier than most of your followers – they all seem to be over forty and Bouche-Bontemps –’
‘But I’m not in love with any of them. Is this a talking-to?’
‘I suppose it is a sort of one.’
‘Quelle horrible surprise! You never scold me. What’s come over you?’
‘I’m not scolding, I’m trying to advise. There are sometimes moments in people’s lives when they take a wrong direction. I feel that both Basil and David have – but men can more easily get back to the right path than women. You ought to reflect upon what you want, eventually, and steer towards that. Now, as M. de Valhubert has noticed, you don’t seem to have professional ambitions, so I suppose you are after marriage?’
‘Perhaps I would prefer to be a concubine –’
‘Very well. In that case the first rule is don’t enter a seraglio where there is a head wife already.’
‘I see your mind is still running on Charles-Edouard.’
‘All this midnight telephoning makes it run.’
‘But Fanny, if I wanted to hug Charles-Edouard I would do it in bed, not on the end of a telephone line.’
‘I don’t say you do want to hug, yet. I’m simply afraid that presently you may.’
‘I’ve often told you I’m in love with Worshipful.’
‘Yes, often, indeed! Do you think it’s true?’
‘St Expédite is covered with candles – why do you ask me that?’
‘If you want to marry Philip you’re setting about it in a very funny way.’
‘I never said I wanted to marry him. Why shouldn’t I be his concubine?’
‘Phili
p isn’t a Pasha, he’s an ambitious English Civil Servant. The last thing he would do would be to saddle himself with a concubine – drag her round after him from post to post, can you imagine it! He’d very soon get the sack if he did. The only thing he might do would be to marry you.’
‘Fanny – you said it was hopeless –’
‘You are making it quite hopeless by your behaviour.’
‘How ought I to behave?’
‘Be more serious. Show that you are the sort of person who would make a splendid Ambassadress – pay more attention to your work –’
‘Now I see exactly what you are getting at –’
‘Our interests happen to coincide. And go slow with the followers.’
‘I don’t understand why, as I don’t hug –’
‘I might believe that but nobody else will. With Frenchmen love leads to hugs.’
‘They’re not in love.’
‘What makes you think so?’
‘They wouldn’t mind a hug or two, I must admit, and they do sometimes very kindly offer, but they’re not in love. I know, because as soon as somebody is I can’t bear him. There was somebody at home – oh, Fanny, the horror of it!’
‘Dear me, this is very inconvenient. How are we ever going to get you settled?’
‘With Worshipful of course, who you say never will be –’
Alfred came in. ‘Bouche-Bontemps seems to be on the telephone for you,’ he said to Northey, ‘in the library. They made a mistake (Katie’s day off) and put the call through to me – his secretary was very much embarrassed.’ As Northey skipped away, delighted, no doubt, at being delivered from a tiresome lecture, he shouted after her, ‘Ask him if his government will survive the debate on the national parks, will you?’
‘No. I’m not the Intelligence Service! Ask your spies – !’
‘Is that rather cheeky? Never mind. I say, Fanny, our son Basil has appeared. He is dressed [falsetto] like “O Richard, O mon Roi!” What do you think this portends?’