The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford

  They all fell into chairs and fanned themselves. Poppy and Marjorie looked anything but smart London ladies, calculated to impress local housewives. Eugenia, her eye suddenly lighting upon Mr Leader pointed him out to Poppy, saying in a stage whisper, ‘He’s a well-known Pacifist. Shall we give him Union Jackshirt justice?’

  ‘Not now,’ Poppy whispered back, ‘we’re all much too tired.’

  A sort of blight now began to fall on Mrs Lace’s party. It was dreadful for her because nobody was behaving in the way she had planned they should. Most of the neighbours had gone home to their early dinners and those that remained formed little knots in the garden, talking to each other about sport or to Major Lace about the iniquities of the Milk Marketing Board. The Rackenbridge young men hung round the bar eating and drinking all they could lay their hands on, while her new friends were being in no way wonderful, but merely lay about the place in attitudes of extreme debility.

  ‘We are so tired,’ they reiterated apologetically, ‘you should have seen what a distance we marched, it was terrible. In this heat too, whew!’

  Poppy, who had a conscience about these things, did whisper in Jasper’s ear that she thought they should mingle a bit more. Jasper replied, ‘Mingle then,’ but nothing happened.

  Mrs Lace brought up Mr Leader and introduced him all round, saying, ‘It was Leslie who did these wonderful decorations for me. He is a Surréaliste you know.’

  Poppy said, politely, ‘Oh! how interesting. Aren’t you the people who like intestines and pulling out babies’ eyes?’

  Jasper said that he had once written a play, the whole action of which took place inside Jean Cocteau’s stomach. ‘Unfortunately I sold the film rights,’ he added, ‘otherwise you could have had them. The film was put on in Paris and many people had to leave the Jockey Club and stop being Roman Catholics because of it. I was pleased.’

  Eugenia looked gloomily at Mr Leader, and said in a menacing voice, ‘You should see the inside of the new Social Unionist head-quarters.’

  ‘It’s even more exciting than the inside of Jean Cocteau’s stomach,’ added Jasper.

  After these sallies conversation died, and poor Mr Leader presently wandered away. Noel now lay back and put a newspaper over his face – nobody could have supposed, to see him, that he was madly in love with his hostess, nor were her guests at all likely to go home with the impression that between these two people was undying romance. Mrs Lace looked at him in despair.

  Worse things, however, were to befall her. Presently the hated Mr Wilkins, looking even less soigné than usual, and covered with white dust, was shepherded into the room by Major Lace, who rubbed his hands together saying, ‘Here’s dear old George at last – broke down twice on the way! Still, better late than never, eh! George? I thought that was your old bag of nails heard rattling up the drive. Cocktail or whisky and soda, eh?’

  ‘I absolutely love that man’s appearance,’ Lady Marjorie whispered to Poppy.

  ‘He certainly has a very whimsical face,’ Poppy agreed.

  At this juncture Mrs Lace was called away from the room to speak on the telephone. One of the neighbours had left a dust-coat behind and would call for it the following day. ‘We loved your party,’ she added. ‘It was too bad we had to leave so early.’ Mrs Lace agreed that it was too bad, promised to keep the dust-coat quite safely, and returned to the drawing-room, where an extremely painful sight met her eyes.

  Mr Wilkins was seated on a sofa between Mrs St Julien and Lady Marjorie who were both doubled up with laughter. Mr Aspect, and the nameless but exalted Noel, crouching on the floor beside them, also appeared to be highly amused, whilst Major Lace stood over the whole group with the expression of a conjurer who has just produced from his sleeve some enchanting toy.

  ‘And have you heard about the man who went into W. H. Smith?’ Mr Wilkins was saying.

  ‘No,’ they cried, in chorus.

  ‘He said to the girl behind the counter, “Do you keep stationery?” And she said, “No, I always wriggle.”’

  Roars of laughter greeted this story.

  ‘And do you know about the man who was had up by the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They said, “Anything you say will be held against you.” He said, “Anything I say will be held against me?” and they said, “Yes,” and he said, “Right oh, then, Greta Garbo.”’

  As Mrs Lace gazed with disgust upon this scene, she was approached by Mr Leader, who, looking as if he had a bad smell under his nose, came up to say good-bye.

  ‘I will walk down the garden with you,’ she said, glad of any excuse to take her away from hateful Mr Wilkins and his success.

  ‘Dear, lovely Anne-Marie,’ said Mr Leader, putting his hand on her arm, ‘do explain your new friends to me – what is the point of them? You always used to tell me how much you dislike that sort of person, rich, smart, idle and stupid,’ he spoke reproachfully.

  ‘You don’t quite understand,’ said poor Mrs Lace. ‘They are delightful really, only today they seem different. If you talked to them alone you wouldn’t think them at all stupid.’

  ‘My dear, they must be stupid if they have joined the Social Unionist party.’

  ‘Oh! I think that’s all a joke.’

  ‘Social Unionism is no joke. It is a menace to the life’s work of those who, like myself, love peace and wish all men equal. Surely, Anne-Marie, you cannot in two short weeks have forgotten all our wonderful ideals?’

  ‘Oh! no,’ said Anne-Marie, ‘it’s not that. But it is always interesting to meet new people, don’t you think so, to try and get a view of life from their angle? And Noel Foster is, in many ways, very exceptional. The others are nice, but he is something different from what I have ever known. I can’t explain why, you must meet him again, more quietly and see for yourself.’

  ‘No thank you,’ said Mr Leader, ‘I have seen enough of him this afternoon.’

  ‘I wondered,’ Mrs Lace went on, ‘whether all of you at Rackenbridge would help us with the pageant? We want various groups of people to undertake the different episodes, nothing is quite settled yet though.’

  Mr Leader said he would think it over. ‘I must say good-bye now, you wonderful creature. Don’t forget that you are the greatest inspiration any man could have, and never waste your friendship on somebody who may be unworthy of such a gift.’

  Mrs Lace could have kicked him for not making this pretty compliment in the hearing of Noel. She felt it to be utterly wasted among the dank laurels at the bottom of the garden.

  When she got back to the house she found that all her guests had departed, with the exception of Mr Wilkins and his still admiring claque.

  ‘Here’s Anne-Marie,’ said Noel, affectionately. ‘Come over here and talk to us for a bit. You’ve been a hostess for long enough.’

  ‘Oh! yes,’ cried Poppy, making room for her on the sofa. ‘We want you, we want to tell you all the things we’ve been fixing up for the pageant.’

  ‘Ah! the pageant,’ Mrs Lace felt happier. What mattered it that her cocktail party had not been all she had hoped when she still had the pageant glowing on her horizon? She reminded herself that she and Noel were to play the parts of Queen Charlotte and George III. Together they would drive through cheering crowds, bowing to right and to left of them, a cynosure for all eyes, in the beautiful and historic coach that Lady Chalford was lending on that occasion.

  This picture was constantly in Anne-Marie’s mind; she thought about it nearly the whole time. How sweet and pretty she would look in her charming head-dress, how handsome the appearance of Noel in wig and uniform; how evident to all observers their great love for each other. In after days those who had seen them would be saying, ‘What a pity we didn’t know then who he really was. I suppose we might have guessed from the grace and ease with which he acknowledged the cheers. Of course, they were deeply in love, nobody could have failed to realize
that. How romantic it all is!’

  Perhaps their photograph would appear in the newspapers, a photograph in which Noel would be gazing at her, a whole wealth of love in his eyes. There was no end to the intoxicating vista of possibilities which stretched out before Anne-Marie when she began to think about the pageant.

  What was Poppy saying now? ‘Yes, it was Marge’s idea. She is clever to have thought of it, and it’s all quite settled. Mr Wilkins is going to be George III! He has promised he will at last, but we had to go down on our hands and knees to persuade him, didn’t we, Mr Wilkins? And that will make the pageant a most wonderful success because no two people have ever looked so much alike as Mr Wilkins and George III; had you noticed it? Now you know we shall have to be getting back to Chalford because it’s fearfully late and our dinner will be ready. We have loved the party, specially meeting Mr Wilkins. Thank you so much for it, and for introducing us to Mr Wilkins, it was heavenly of you. Good-bye Mr Wilkins, see you tomorrow then, at about one.’

  Major Lace could not understand why his wife cried herself to sleep that night. He supposed that she must be in the family way again.

  10

  Next day at the usual hour Noel pushed his way, hooting from time to time, through the undergrowth which surrounded his trysting-place. As he heard no answering cry, he presumed that Anne-Marie had been unable to come. He found her lying, however, a little crumpled heap of despondency, on the steps of the temple, and very soon she was sobbing her heart out on Noel’s shoulder.

  ‘Darling, I really can’t see that it matters as much as all that,’ he said, when at last he had realized the reason for all this misery. ‘Of course it would have been fun to do it together, and it is sweet of you to mind, but you know, Lady Marjorie is quite right, Mr Wilkins is the living double of George III. Rather clever of her to notice I thought.’

  ‘Oh! you don’t understand,’ sobbed Mrs Lace. ‘I’m not so stupid as to make all this fuss over an old pageant, although I had been looking forward to acting with you quite particularly.’

  ‘Then what is it, my darling?’ said Noel, who was getting rather bored with this scene.

  ‘I’m so dreadfully, dreadfully unhappy.’

  ‘Darling, why?’

  ‘You’re so unkind to me. I feel I can’t bear it any longer.’

  ‘Unkind?’

  ‘All the secrecy.’

  ‘What secrecy?’

  Mrs Lace had now, more or less, recovered her composure. She knew that she looked pretty when she cried, so long as the crying only lasted a little while. Therefore, at the psychological moment she usually stopped. She did so now, and proceeded to comb her hair and powder her nose, peeping from beneath dewy eyelashes at Noel from time to time. There was an expression on his face which she interpreted as a warning not to go too far. In actual fact he was merely reminding himself that all women like an occasional good cry; it was a tax which lovers had to pay. He hoped that she would cut it short, meanwhile steeling himself to endurance.

  ‘You see, darling,’ she went on presently, ‘it is rather cruel, the way you never tell me anything about yourself.’

  Typical grievance, thought Noel. ‘My darling,’ he said, ‘there really isn’t much to tell. The history of my life up to date is extremely dull, believe me.’

  ‘The smallest things about you are interesting to me,’ said Anne-Marie, passionately.

  ‘Well,’ said Noel, with that bright facetiousness which was such an unattractive feature of his mind, ‘shall we begin at the beginning? I was born of poor but honest parents –’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where was I born? I don’t know exactly, it was somewhere in the Balkans. My father, you see, was an archaeologist, and he and my mother spent the first years of their married life wandering about in that part of the Continent. I know she had a bad time when I was born, as I was premature, and they could not get hold of a proper doctor for ages. They were both so vague, always.’

  ‘Yes, I see. So then where were you educated?’

  ‘In England, of course. After the War broke out circumstances compelled my parents to settle down at Hampton Court, and I went to a private school and to Eton in the ordinary way. They did want to send me to some foreign university, but there were various complications and in the end I went to Oxford.’

  ‘And your parents – did they never go back?’

  ‘No. After the War they said they were too old (they had married rather late in life). Besides, things had become so changed then, they preferred to stay on at Hampton Court. Now they are both dead.’

  This conversation seemed to confirm suspicions which were already forming in Mrs Lace’s mind. Noel was obviously the rightful king of some Ruritania, preparing in the solitude of an English village for the coup d’état which should restore to him his throne. Any day now the courier might arrive and announce that the time was ripe, the people and the regiments in a proper frame of mind to welcome him back to the land of his fathers. Those two strange men whom she had noticed hanging about the Jolly Roger were doubtless members of his personal bodyguard. Her total ignorance of central European politics and geography, coupled with an imaginative nature, enabled her to treat this conjecture as though it were a solid fact; she did not have the smallest misgiving about it from the first moment of its inception.

  ‘What made you think of coming down here?’ she asked, boldly.

  Noel looked embarrassed. It would be difficult for him to explain his exact motives for coming to Chalford. He wondered whether Mrs Lace had spoken about this to Jasper, and if so what impression she had received from him. In order to be on the safe side, he muttered vaguely, ‘Oh, I don’t know, just waiting for something to turn up.’

  The courier. The news from his Capital. ‘And how long will it be before that happens? How much longer do you expect to be here?’

  ‘Just as long as I can go on seeing you every day, darling Anne-Marie.’

  ‘I wish you would take me away from here,’ she cried, passionately.

  Noel frowned. He had been anticipating some such development to this conversation. ‘My dear,’ he said, in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Whatever would your husband say if I did?’

  ‘He would divorce me, and I shouldn’t care a pin.’

  ‘My darling Anne-Marie,’ said Noel, kissing her hand and holding it in his, ‘I must explain to you, I should have explained before – that I am not in a position to marry anybody. If I were, it would be my dream of dreams to marry you. But, for many reasons this is not possible, alas! You must take my word for it, dearest.’

  Now for the storm, he thought, now for half an hour of hysterical reproaches. He knew exactly what would be said, he had heard it all before. ‘To you I have been nothing except an agreeable summer holiday’s diversion, but to me you are life itself,’ and so on. It would take all his tact at the end of it to keep things on their old footing, as he very much hoped he would succeed in doing. For he still thought that Mrs Lace was a wildly attractive young woman.

  There was a pause, during which he could feel the storm gathering. Metaphorically speaking, he cowered, putting up his coat collar. But to his enormous surprise and relief no storm broke. Mrs Lace encircled his neck with her arms and whispered in his ear, ‘I quite understand, my own angel; don’t let’s think of this any more. We must be happy together whilst happiness is still possible, and try to forget that the day is at hand when we must part, perhaps for ever. And when that day does come, let us be brave and hide, from the world at any rate if not from each other, our broken hearts.’

  Noel could hardly believe his ears. He thought that Mrs Lace was by far the most remarkable woman he had ever met.

  ‘I always told you she was something out of the ordinary,’ he said to Jasper that evening, after repeating the whole conversation for his benefit. They were on the best of terms now, Noel feeling so much gratitude for Jasper’s surprisingly loyal interve
ntion in this affair that he had forgiven and forgotten the piece of blackmail which had ensued. Ever since that afternoon when Jasper had been to see Anne-Marie she had shown a perfectly stupendous love for Noel, he felt that it would have taken weeks of diffident courtship on his part to produce such a result.

  Jasper watched the situation developing itself with fiendish amusement, and could not resist telling Poppy what he had done.

  ‘Oh! I say, poor Mrs Lace,’ she said, laughing, ‘anyway, I don’t suppose she believed a word of it.’

  ‘Didn’t she just? Well then, why is she being so nice to Noel all of a sudden? She would hardly look at him before.’

  ‘That’s true. I think it’s awfully funny, but awfully unkind of you, Jasper.’

  ‘Not at all. The girl’s having a fine time, and so is Noel. I think it was exceedingly nice of me, especially as I could have had her myself by raising a finger, and she’s quite a cup of tea you know.’

  ‘Really, Jasper, you are outrageous. Pass me the soap-dish, will you?’

  Next time they were all together Poppy could not resist treating Noel with exaggerated deference for the benefit of Mrs Lace.

  As for Anne-Marie, her dreams became daily more extravagant. She saw herself now as the central figure of an impending tragedy. The farewell scene – Noel booted and spurred, and glittering with decorations, kissing her good-bye in the moonlight while an equerry, holding two horses, awaited him at a discreet distance. ‘Keep this ring and wear it always, it was my mother’s.’ He would tuck her little glove (or handkerchief, she had better order some new ones) into his belt, and gallop away, leaving her in a dead faint. Dreary weeks would follow, during which she would scan the papers for news of his triumph. Then, much later on, the wedding. Anne-Marie, drawn as by a magnet to his capital, would be standing in the crowd while Noel rode in state to marry some royal princess of an unexampled hideosity. His eye would light upon her as she stood there heavily veiled, and pierce her disguise. He would turn deathly pale and bite his lip until the blood came, to hide its quivering. Then, regaining his composure with a kingly gesture, he would ride on amid the huzzas of the populace. At that moment the assassin would draw his weapon, quick as thought she would throw herself before him, and stop the bullet with her own body, to die a few minutes later in the arms of Noel. As he closed her eyes he would pluck from his bosom, and pin to hers, the highest Order that was his to bestow. An alternative. Perhaps in the hour of his triumph he would send for her and install her in some gorgeous palace, joined to his own by an underground tunnel. She would be his good genius, guiding him with her wonderful feminine intuition through the quagmire of internal and international politics. The statesmen of all countries would bow before her and solicit her good offices with the king, and when she died her strange life would be written in several different languages. In fact, there was no end to these interesting possibilities.