Rhododendron pie, p.7
Rhododendron Pie, page 7
‘Yes, it would give one something to look back on.’ Dick considered the question. Saw himself pale and impassive at the altar, self-contained and elegant as the bishop himself, distracting all attention from the bride. . . .
‘And for the woman to take the man’s name,’ said Elizabeth, ‘it’s like the plate on a dog’s collar, “Property of so-and-so.”’
‘Then you’re in favour of—of—’
‘Living in sin,’ explained Dick. ‘I agree with Elizabeth. Why, because one wants to live with a person for three months, say, should one be expected to live with them for the rest of one’s life? With suicide as a punishable offence?’
‘That’s so characteristic of legislation altogether. You can’t get a drink unless you have sandwiches too.’ Croy paused. ‘Then as you see it it’s simply a case of sacrificing your freedom to your dramatic sense.’
‘You sacrifice your individuality,’ corrected Elizabeth. ‘Complete detachment is attractive, but it’s a dead sea fruit. Your own personal separateness is what matters. To be “given away” in the sight of the congregation.’
‘You see, Gilbert,’ said Mr. Laventie, ‘that at least one of a father’s traditional agonies will be spared me.’
‘And your relief will be untempered by any—shall we say—more conventional emotion?’
‘On the contrary. I applaud their sanity. We have produced a new brood, Gilbert, and they will take the water in their own way. Who am I to tell Dick, the first time he is taken by a pretty figure, that he will love the owner all his life, and must therefore marry her? If he makes himself a nuisance, retribution or the police will step in and move him on: but I see no reason why he should invite their interference in advance.’
‘Besides,’ said Mrs. Laventie, ‘Dick would never think of doing such a thing.’
Her husband said they would take their coffee in the drawing-room.
Chapter 7
‘But seriously,’ said Mr. Laventie, putting down his coffee cup, ‘we must provide something in the way of entertainment for our guest. I suggest the Fête. We have never been ourselves, Gilbert, but I believe it combines the cardinal horrors of a bazaar and a flower show.’
‘It must be pretty revolting, if Sir George has anything to do with it,’ observed Dick.
‘Sir George Bowman,’ explained his father, ‘is our local magnate. He bought The Hall in 1919, in order to devote his declining years to thinking manorially. Hardware, I believe.’
Mr. Croy was much taken by the idea, and trusted there would be an entertainment.
‘That I cannot promise,’ said his host, ‘but one can hope.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Ann, ‘there’s going to be a sketch, after tea.’ She was smoking her cigarette through a long green holder which made her feel very sophisticated and look remarkably young.
‘Ann is our liaison officer,’ said Mr. Laventie. ‘She has sources of information sealed to the rest of us. Was it the curate or his sister this time, Ann?’
‘Peggy Gayford told me. She’s prompting.’
‘Who are these Gayfords?’ asked Croy. ‘I hear the name whenever I go to the Post Office.’
‘A most estimable family,’ Mr. Laventie told him. ‘They have achieved local celebrity through sheer force of numbers. I forget the exact figure, but it must be somewhere about a dozen. Ann knows them.’
‘I like them immensely,’ said Ann.
‘Ann has the collector’s instinct. She collects people as you and I, Gilbert, would collect ivories—the odder the better. Every now and then she disappears for the afternoon, and we know she is indulging in an orgy of curio-hunting. Isn’t that so, my dear?’
Ann smiled. She fancied herself in this role of whimsical connoisseur. Besides, it was so peculiarly convenient to be able to turn her Gayford escapades into a social asset.
‘I like people,’ she said lightly. ‘They excite me. What else do you make your films of, Gilbert?’
‘Oh, light and shape and movement, to begin with,’ he cried, and proceeded to develop his method in considerable detail.
Now this was the first time for some weeks that Ann had thought about the Gayfords, for she had been much occupied with other and more worthy matters; and it was therefore curious that half an hour later she should meet John coming up from the big gate. Ann smiled pleasantly at him, feeling very detached and observant.
‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ he said. ‘Is anything up?’
‘But of course not!’ She rather liked beginning her sentences with ‘but’; it made them sound translated from the French. Why this should have been an advantage was too subtle to explain.
‘Well, I haven’t seen you about anywhere.’
‘It’s been so hot, I stayed in the garden. And we’ve had people.’
‘I thought so,’ said John. ‘Tall chap with long black hair and a drawl. Is he an actor?’
‘A scenario writer,’ Ann explained kindly. The conversation seemed to have received its death-blow.
Then:
‘I’ve got a rise,’ said John baldly.
She observed that that must be very nice for him.
‘I thought I’d come and tell you. That’s all.’ He turned and went down the path, and Ann stood where she was, dismayed and puzzled by her conflicting sentiments. She could not give a name to them, though the Gayfords would have had no difficulty: they were the feelings of a person who has just been rather a pig.
‘Ann!’ called Gilbert Croy from the house. ‘Come and listen. Elizabeth is going to play to us.’
She obeyed him gratefully.
Chapter 8
I
It was the most signal mark of Croy’s intimacy that he now took breakfast under the limes instead of in his room. Ann grew quite accustomed to finding him sitting with her mother when she came down, and after the first few days did not trouble to forgo her preliminary inspection of the flower-beds. On the morning of the Fête, however, she was late, and had to join her family immediately.
‘My gardener tells me,’ Mr. Laventie was saying, in a slightly surprised voice, ‘that I have entered two marrows and a basket of peas. That may or may not be an added attraction, but in any case I think one would do well not to arrive much before four. That will give us time to have tea before the concert, and I shall give each of the children a shilling to spend.’
‘Don’t you want to see the country-dancing?’ asked Mrs. Laventie, who was always kept well informed by Martha.
‘I do,’ said Ann kindly in the pause that followed.
‘Ann has the most amazing faculty for assimilating her background,’ observed Mr. Laventie. ‘She takes a virtuoso’s pride in it, and goes to these functions out of sheer conceit, in order to dazzle her astounded family.’ He rose, smiling at her, and said they must excuse him, as he would need at least two volumes of Swift to fortify his mind. Dick soon followed him into the house, and for a few minutes the remaining four sat in silence under the limes; but breakfast was the one completely informal meal, and presently Gilbert and Elizabeth wandered off down the garden talking about people they both knew.
Elizabeth’s essays had brought her a wide circle of correspondents in addition to her father’s friends, and many of these Gilbert knew more intimately, as people one had dinner with in Soho and met on Sunday afternoons outside the Film Society. He could therefore add much she had not gathered from their handwriting.
‘I wish you would come to Town, for a while at any rate,’ he said. ‘It seems criminal to lure you from this marvellous place, but I think you would be interested. You would certainly not be lonely.’
Elizabeth reflected. The idea appealed to her immensely.
‘I should have to take a flat,’ she said. ‘It’s the organisation of the thing that daunts me.’ She laughed lightly, but incompetence did not sit well on her.
‘Couldn’t you stay with friends?’
‘I have done—often—for a week at a time. A week is just sufficient to assure oneself that no visit should ever last longer. The more charming they are the more difficult it becomes.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said Croy. ‘A cousin of mine—a painter—has a small flat, which he decorated himself. He is now in Serbia, and I am left more or less in loco parentis.’
‘And you think he would approve me as a tenant? I like your suggestion.’ Elizabeth pondered the idea, which seemed in some odd way subtly connected with the hot sunlight on her throat. ‘I like it very much indeed. May I have an option on the flat for a fortnight or so?’
‘For as long as you like. My cousin doesn’t particularly want to let it, and certainly not to a chance comer. I might mention that there is also a Mrs. Weekes attached to the premises, whom it is well to conciliate as soon as possible.’
‘Can she cook?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Sufficiently. There is also a spare bedroom, in case you want to invite Ann or Dick to stay with you, and some delightful colour prints in the sitting-room. Being my cousin’s flat you will probably find a good many details missing: he is almost too artistic to be true. No shoe-trees, I should imagine.’
‘I can bring those with me,’ said Elizabeth; and they both looked with pleasure at her long narrow feet.
II
Mrs. Laventie’s big work-bag was on the ground beside her, and presently she took out her wool and began to knit. Ann had finished her breakfast, and would have liked to follow the other two down the garden, but somehow it seemed rather heartless to leave her mother there all alone. On the other hand, what were they to talk about? One of the few disadvantages of the Whitenights atmosphere was that it offered very little inducement to banalities to trip readily off the tongue.
‘What are you making?’ asked Ann politely; and was horrified to see a slow painful flush spread over Mrs. Laventie’s thin cheeks. However, she replied quite calmly.
‘Baby’s boots, such a pretty pattern . . . what are you going to wear this afternoon, dear?’
‘My new green linen.’ Ann felt at once relieved and surprised. She had not allowed for any initiative on her mother’s side.
‘The one with the quaker collar?’
Ann nodded. ‘I think that’s about right, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Mrs. Laventie surprisingly. ‘It’s not nice enough.’
‘Oh, but I love it,’ protested Ann, ‘it’s awfully pretty. Are you thinking of the right one?’
‘It’s too childish, darling. Elizabeth told you so at the time, and I agreed with her. Wear your green suit.’
Ann opened her eyes at this, for the green suit was her very best, beautifully tailored in flannel the colour of love-birds, with a paler silk skirt and deep blue tie.
‘You don’t think it’s too surprising?’ she suggested, remembering with pleasure the little green hat she had bought to match.
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs. Laventie firmly, ‘all the village will be there.’
So it happened that when Ann came downstairs at five to four she completely took Gilbert’s breath away with her blue and green finery; but his condition passed unnoticed, since all her attention was monopolised by Elizabeth’s new black coat.
Chapter 9
I
Mr. Laventie had done no less than justice to the attractions of the Fête; having indeed omitted the sports section which an ingenious curate had instituted as a sort of safety-valve for his younger and rowdier parishioners. The flower show itself was held in a large dirty-white marquee at the other end of the paddock, where tea was also served in a roped-off enclosure, while the village hall was devoted to the bazaar. There was a stage there, too, where the entertainment would take place: and stacked behind the stalls rows of hard chairs stood ready to be rushed into the centre of the floor at five o’clock. That was also an idea of the curate’s, and whenever he had a moment to spare from starting obstacle races he hastened back to make sure that they were still there.
‘People will take them away without asking,’ he explained to Mrs. Gayford, as that kindly lady pressed a gratuitous cup of tea into his moist hand. For seven years now she had had charge of the teas, and considered herself entitled to give away a cup if she wanted to.
‘And you deserve it if anyone does, Mr. Seeker,’ she encouraged him. ‘I think your sports are a really splendid idea. I haven’t seen Ralph or Alan all afternoon.’
Mr. Seeker smiled, a little wearily.
‘Yes, I think they’re a success,’ he said, with mingled pride and apprehension. ‘The trouble is that the official programme finished sooner than was expected, and they insist on going on. I do feel of course that it’s desirable to keep the children outside as long as possible, but on the other hand there is the question of prizes.’
‘Oh, never mind about the prizes,’ cried Mrs. Gayford earnestly, ‘only whatever you do don’t let them all in till the entertainment begins. You’ve no idea how children complicate a bazaar, they get under things so. If my two boys have won anything, Mr. Seeker, just tell them they must give it up, and then you can use it for another race.’
‘Er—yes,’ said Mr. Seeker thoughtfully. ‘I believe they have won one or two events. Thank you very much, Mrs. Gayford.’
He vanished into the crowd, still carrying his tea-cup, and she had to send a waitress girl to fetch it back.
‘Very worthy young man, that,’ observed Miss Finn, getting up from her sister’s table, ‘but my money’s on Alan.’
‘Oh well, perhaps they haven’t won much. Have you had a good tea, Cecilia?’
‘If you mean have I enjoyed it, I have not, because I was sitting in a draught; but for a bazaar tea, it was quite edible and does you credit. Made much?’
‘About the usual,’ said Mrs. Gayford. ‘People always seem to get so hungry at a flower show. We had to fetch all the Sunday scones from home.’
‘More fool you,’ observed her sister unsympathetically. ‘I saw Sir George wolfing them down right enough. Detestable man.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, he does a lot of good,’ said Mrs. Gayford kindly.
‘Then he oughtn’t to.’ Miss Finn snorted. ‘I’ve no use for these beknighted ironmongers who make their fortunes in some disgusting slum and then spend them pauperising our respectable villages. Birmingham’s the place where he ought to be throwing his money about.’
‘My dear, he’s lived here ever since the War, and I’m sure he takes far more interest in the people than the old squire ever did.’ Mrs. Gayford looked quite distressed; Sir George had asked for the recipe.
‘Well, don’t ask me to clap when he presents the prizes, that’s all. Dear me, here come the Laventies with one of their London young men: now we must pull ourselves together.’
II
The Whitenights party were indeed causing something of a sensation as they moved serenely and compactly through the heat and tumult of the Fete. With the exception of the Vicar’s housemaid and a lad from one of the racing stables, they were easily the five best-looking people there, and had in addition a nonchalance of looks and bearing that was almost insufferably distinguished. It lay somehow in Mr. Laventie’s stoop and Elizabeth’s slow stride, in Croy’s hawk profile and Dick’s narrow head, and beside it Sir George and his lady looked red and clumsy. The three men, too, lent an additional air to the group, for the success of the Fête depended almost entirely on female effort.
‘Handsome lot,’ observed Miss Finn, screwing up her eyes to look at them. ‘What a fox mask that man has, Margaret!’
‘Who? Elizabeth’s young man? I think he’s very good-looking.’
‘No, the old ’un. Mr. Laventie. I don’t know where his spiritual home may be, but it’s certainly not a respectable Sussex flower show. I should like to know him better.’
‘How you talk!’ said Mrs. Gayford comfortably. ‘Ann’s looking very pretty to-day. I like her coat and skirt.’ She caught her eye and beamed invitingly, but Ann, though she smiled and waved, did not leave her party.
‘Think a damn sight too much of themselves, if you ask me,’ said Miss Finn.
Ann was indeed feeling very proud of her family. It was rarely that they all went out together, and with so much reflected glory to shine in she achieved an unusual self-confidence. Having Gilbert, too, made things specially agreeable for anyone accustomed to making a third to Dick and Elizabeth’s brilliant duet: he walked beside her nearly all the time, and was beautifully appreciative of her conversation. With such a backing Ann could take her place in their group almost without effort, attaining to hitherto unapproached heights of wit and distinction: she almost felt they must be proud of her too. It was true that John had stayed with them only about two minutes before going off to help Mr. Seeker with the sports, and that she hadn’t yet had a chance to buy anything off Peggy’s stall: but these were trifles. Dick and Gilbert were amusing themselves immensely, and clamoured for the lucky dip.
‘There must be one,’ asserted Croy. ‘I feel sure I’ve seen it. A large tub frilled with pink paper.’
‘It must be back in the hall,’ said Elizabeth; ‘this is the flower show.’
‘Is it? Oh yes, I remember that begonia. What a terrible joke, and then they say God hasn’t a sense of humour. To the bran tub, mes enfants!’
They made their way back to the hall and were directed by a hot little girl selling buttonholes. With an innate feeling for salesmanship she managed to upset her tray against Gilbert’s long legs, so that he became the gallant and spectacular purchaser of about twenty fading carnations and a like number of dead roses. They were unattractive little things and the problem of their disposal exercised him considerably, until Dick struck on the happy notion of giving them all back.
As they approached the lucky dip the crowd seemed mysteriously to melt away, so that they had it all to themselves; but Ann could feel the ring of curious eyes and ears that formed around them. That being so she could have wished Dick and Gilbert a little less witty on the subject of the Creation but Elizabeth created a really amusing sensation by putting back her china Bonzo because it reminded her too much of Mr. Seeker. Mr. Laventie got a tangerine, and Gilbert a wooden spoon, while Dick spent so long chasing an alleged toothbrush that he was disqualified and had to start again. As they looked like being there for some time Ann thought it might be a good opportunity to slip away and find Peggy. It would look terribly bad not to buy anything, and one didn’t want to appear rude.
‘And for the woman to take the man’s name,’ said Elizabeth, ‘it’s like the plate on a dog’s collar, “Property of so-and-so.”’
‘Then you’re in favour of—of—’
‘Living in sin,’ explained Dick. ‘I agree with Elizabeth. Why, because one wants to live with a person for three months, say, should one be expected to live with them for the rest of one’s life? With suicide as a punishable offence?’
‘That’s so characteristic of legislation altogether. You can’t get a drink unless you have sandwiches too.’ Croy paused. ‘Then as you see it it’s simply a case of sacrificing your freedom to your dramatic sense.’
‘You sacrifice your individuality,’ corrected Elizabeth. ‘Complete detachment is attractive, but it’s a dead sea fruit. Your own personal separateness is what matters. To be “given away” in the sight of the congregation.’
‘You see, Gilbert,’ said Mr. Laventie, ‘that at least one of a father’s traditional agonies will be spared me.’
‘And your relief will be untempered by any—shall we say—more conventional emotion?’
‘On the contrary. I applaud their sanity. We have produced a new brood, Gilbert, and they will take the water in their own way. Who am I to tell Dick, the first time he is taken by a pretty figure, that he will love the owner all his life, and must therefore marry her? If he makes himself a nuisance, retribution or the police will step in and move him on: but I see no reason why he should invite their interference in advance.’
‘Besides,’ said Mrs. Laventie, ‘Dick would never think of doing such a thing.’
Her husband said they would take their coffee in the drawing-room.
Chapter 7
‘But seriously,’ said Mr. Laventie, putting down his coffee cup, ‘we must provide something in the way of entertainment for our guest. I suggest the Fête. We have never been ourselves, Gilbert, but I believe it combines the cardinal horrors of a bazaar and a flower show.’
‘It must be pretty revolting, if Sir George has anything to do with it,’ observed Dick.
‘Sir George Bowman,’ explained his father, ‘is our local magnate. He bought The Hall in 1919, in order to devote his declining years to thinking manorially. Hardware, I believe.’
Mr. Croy was much taken by the idea, and trusted there would be an entertainment.
‘That I cannot promise,’ said his host, ‘but one can hope.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Ann, ‘there’s going to be a sketch, after tea.’ She was smoking her cigarette through a long green holder which made her feel very sophisticated and look remarkably young.
‘Ann is our liaison officer,’ said Mr. Laventie. ‘She has sources of information sealed to the rest of us. Was it the curate or his sister this time, Ann?’
‘Peggy Gayford told me. She’s prompting.’
‘Who are these Gayfords?’ asked Croy. ‘I hear the name whenever I go to the Post Office.’
‘A most estimable family,’ Mr. Laventie told him. ‘They have achieved local celebrity through sheer force of numbers. I forget the exact figure, but it must be somewhere about a dozen. Ann knows them.’
‘I like them immensely,’ said Ann.
‘Ann has the collector’s instinct. She collects people as you and I, Gilbert, would collect ivories—the odder the better. Every now and then she disappears for the afternoon, and we know she is indulging in an orgy of curio-hunting. Isn’t that so, my dear?’
Ann smiled. She fancied herself in this role of whimsical connoisseur. Besides, it was so peculiarly convenient to be able to turn her Gayford escapades into a social asset.
‘I like people,’ she said lightly. ‘They excite me. What else do you make your films of, Gilbert?’
‘Oh, light and shape and movement, to begin with,’ he cried, and proceeded to develop his method in considerable detail.
Now this was the first time for some weeks that Ann had thought about the Gayfords, for she had been much occupied with other and more worthy matters; and it was therefore curious that half an hour later she should meet John coming up from the big gate. Ann smiled pleasantly at him, feeling very detached and observant.
‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ he said. ‘Is anything up?’
‘But of course not!’ She rather liked beginning her sentences with ‘but’; it made them sound translated from the French. Why this should have been an advantage was too subtle to explain.
‘Well, I haven’t seen you about anywhere.’
‘It’s been so hot, I stayed in the garden. And we’ve had people.’
‘I thought so,’ said John. ‘Tall chap with long black hair and a drawl. Is he an actor?’
‘A scenario writer,’ Ann explained kindly. The conversation seemed to have received its death-blow.
Then:
‘I’ve got a rise,’ said John baldly.
She observed that that must be very nice for him.
‘I thought I’d come and tell you. That’s all.’ He turned and went down the path, and Ann stood where she was, dismayed and puzzled by her conflicting sentiments. She could not give a name to them, though the Gayfords would have had no difficulty: they were the feelings of a person who has just been rather a pig.
‘Ann!’ called Gilbert Croy from the house. ‘Come and listen. Elizabeth is going to play to us.’
She obeyed him gratefully.
Chapter 8
I
It was the most signal mark of Croy’s intimacy that he now took breakfast under the limes instead of in his room. Ann grew quite accustomed to finding him sitting with her mother when she came down, and after the first few days did not trouble to forgo her preliminary inspection of the flower-beds. On the morning of the Fête, however, she was late, and had to join her family immediately.
‘My gardener tells me,’ Mr. Laventie was saying, in a slightly surprised voice, ‘that I have entered two marrows and a basket of peas. That may or may not be an added attraction, but in any case I think one would do well not to arrive much before four. That will give us time to have tea before the concert, and I shall give each of the children a shilling to spend.’
‘Don’t you want to see the country-dancing?’ asked Mrs. Laventie, who was always kept well informed by Martha.
‘I do,’ said Ann kindly in the pause that followed.
‘Ann has the most amazing faculty for assimilating her background,’ observed Mr. Laventie. ‘She takes a virtuoso’s pride in it, and goes to these functions out of sheer conceit, in order to dazzle her astounded family.’ He rose, smiling at her, and said they must excuse him, as he would need at least two volumes of Swift to fortify his mind. Dick soon followed him into the house, and for a few minutes the remaining four sat in silence under the limes; but breakfast was the one completely informal meal, and presently Gilbert and Elizabeth wandered off down the garden talking about people they both knew.
Elizabeth’s essays had brought her a wide circle of correspondents in addition to her father’s friends, and many of these Gilbert knew more intimately, as people one had dinner with in Soho and met on Sunday afternoons outside the Film Society. He could therefore add much she had not gathered from their handwriting.
‘I wish you would come to Town, for a while at any rate,’ he said. ‘It seems criminal to lure you from this marvellous place, but I think you would be interested. You would certainly not be lonely.’
Elizabeth reflected. The idea appealed to her immensely.
‘I should have to take a flat,’ she said. ‘It’s the organisation of the thing that daunts me.’ She laughed lightly, but incompetence did not sit well on her.
‘Couldn’t you stay with friends?’
‘I have done—often—for a week at a time. A week is just sufficient to assure oneself that no visit should ever last longer. The more charming they are the more difficult it becomes.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said Croy. ‘A cousin of mine—a painter—has a small flat, which he decorated himself. He is now in Serbia, and I am left more or less in loco parentis.’
‘And you think he would approve me as a tenant? I like your suggestion.’ Elizabeth pondered the idea, which seemed in some odd way subtly connected with the hot sunlight on her throat. ‘I like it very much indeed. May I have an option on the flat for a fortnight or so?’
‘For as long as you like. My cousin doesn’t particularly want to let it, and certainly not to a chance comer. I might mention that there is also a Mrs. Weekes attached to the premises, whom it is well to conciliate as soon as possible.’
‘Can she cook?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Sufficiently. There is also a spare bedroom, in case you want to invite Ann or Dick to stay with you, and some delightful colour prints in the sitting-room. Being my cousin’s flat you will probably find a good many details missing: he is almost too artistic to be true. No shoe-trees, I should imagine.’
‘I can bring those with me,’ said Elizabeth; and they both looked with pleasure at her long narrow feet.
II
Mrs. Laventie’s big work-bag was on the ground beside her, and presently she took out her wool and began to knit. Ann had finished her breakfast, and would have liked to follow the other two down the garden, but somehow it seemed rather heartless to leave her mother there all alone. On the other hand, what were they to talk about? One of the few disadvantages of the Whitenights atmosphere was that it offered very little inducement to banalities to trip readily off the tongue.
‘What are you making?’ asked Ann politely; and was horrified to see a slow painful flush spread over Mrs. Laventie’s thin cheeks. However, she replied quite calmly.
‘Baby’s boots, such a pretty pattern . . . what are you going to wear this afternoon, dear?’
‘My new green linen.’ Ann felt at once relieved and surprised. She had not allowed for any initiative on her mother’s side.
‘The one with the quaker collar?’
Ann nodded. ‘I think that’s about right, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Mrs. Laventie surprisingly. ‘It’s not nice enough.’
‘Oh, but I love it,’ protested Ann, ‘it’s awfully pretty. Are you thinking of the right one?’
‘It’s too childish, darling. Elizabeth told you so at the time, and I agreed with her. Wear your green suit.’
Ann opened her eyes at this, for the green suit was her very best, beautifully tailored in flannel the colour of love-birds, with a paler silk skirt and deep blue tie.
‘You don’t think it’s too surprising?’ she suggested, remembering with pleasure the little green hat she had bought to match.
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs. Laventie firmly, ‘all the village will be there.’
So it happened that when Ann came downstairs at five to four she completely took Gilbert’s breath away with her blue and green finery; but his condition passed unnoticed, since all her attention was monopolised by Elizabeth’s new black coat.
Chapter 9
I
Mr. Laventie had done no less than justice to the attractions of the Fête; having indeed omitted the sports section which an ingenious curate had instituted as a sort of safety-valve for his younger and rowdier parishioners. The flower show itself was held in a large dirty-white marquee at the other end of the paddock, where tea was also served in a roped-off enclosure, while the village hall was devoted to the bazaar. There was a stage there, too, where the entertainment would take place: and stacked behind the stalls rows of hard chairs stood ready to be rushed into the centre of the floor at five o’clock. That was also an idea of the curate’s, and whenever he had a moment to spare from starting obstacle races he hastened back to make sure that they were still there.
‘People will take them away without asking,’ he explained to Mrs. Gayford, as that kindly lady pressed a gratuitous cup of tea into his moist hand. For seven years now she had had charge of the teas, and considered herself entitled to give away a cup if she wanted to.
‘And you deserve it if anyone does, Mr. Seeker,’ she encouraged him. ‘I think your sports are a really splendid idea. I haven’t seen Ralph or Alan all afternoon.’
Mr. Seeker smiled, a little wearily.
‘Yes, I think they’re a success,’ he said, with mingled pride and apprehension. ‘The trouble is that the official programme finished sooner than was expected, and they insist on going on. I do feel of course that it’s desirable to keep the children outside as long as possible, but on the other hand there is the question of prizes.’
‘Oh, never mind about the prizes,’ cried Mrs. Gayford earnestly, ‘only whatever you do don’t let them all in till the entertainment begins. You’ve no idea how children complicate a bazaar, they get under things so. If my two boys have won anything, Mr. Seeker, just tell them they must give it up, and then you can use it for another race.’
‘Er—yes,’ said Mr. Seeker thoughtfully. ‘I believe they have won one or two events. Thank you very much, Mrs. Gayford.’
He vanished into the crowd, still carrying his tea-cup, and she had to send a waitress girl to fetch it back.
‘Very worthy young man, that,’ observed Miss Finn, getting up from her sister’s table, ‘but my money’s on Alan.’
‘Oh well, perhaps they haven’t won much. Have you had a good tea, Cecilia?’
‘If you mean have I enjoyed it, I have not, because I was sitting in a draught; but for a bazaar tea, it was quite edible and does you credit. Made much?’
‘About the usual,’ said Mrs. Gayford. ‘People always seem to get so hungry at a flower show. We had to fetch all the Sunday scones from home.’
‘More fool you,’ observed her sister unsympathetically. ‘I saw Sir George wolfing them down right enough. Detestable man.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, he does a lot of good,’ said Mrs. Gayford kindly.
‘Then he oughtn’t to.’ Miss Finn snorted. ‘I’ve no use for these beknighted ironmongers who make their fortunes in some disgusting slum and then spend them pauperising our respectable villages. Birmingham’s the place where he ought to be throwing his money about.’
‘My dear, he’s lived here ever since the War, and I’m sure he takes far more interest in the people than the old squire ever did.’ Mrs. Gayford looked quite distressed; Sir George had asked for the recipe.
‘Well, don’t ask me to clap when he presents the prizes, that’s all. Dear me, here come the Laventies with one of their London young men: now we must pull ourselves together.’
II
The Whitenights party were indeed causing something of a sensation as they moved serenely and compactly through the heat and tumult of the Fete. With the exception of the Vicar’s housemaid and a lad from one of the racing stables, they were easily the five best-looking people there, and had in addition a nonchalance of looks and bearing that was almost insufferably distinguished. It lay somehow in Mr. Laventie’s stoop and Elizabeth’s slow stride, in Croy’s hawk profile and Dick’s narrow head, and beside it Sir George and his lady looked red and clumsy. The three men, too, lent an additional air to the group, for the success of the Fête depended almost entirely on female effort.
‘Handsome lot,’ observed Miss Finn, screwing up her eyes to look at them. ‘What a fox mask that man has, Margaret!’
‘Who? Elizabeth’s young man? I think he’s very good-looking.’
‘No, the old ’un. Mr. Laventie. I don’t know where his spiritual home may be, but it’s certainly not a respectable Sussex flower show. I should like to know him better.’
‘How you talk!’ said Mrs. Gayford comfortably. ‘Ann’s looking very pretty to-day. I like her coat and skirt.’ She caught her eye and beamed invitingly, but Ann, though she smiled and waved, did not leave her party.
‘Think a damn sight too much of themselves, if you ask me,’ said Miss Finn.
Ann was indeed feeling very proud of her family. It was rarely that they all went out together, and with so much reflected glory to shine in she achieved an unusual self-confidence. Having Gilbert, too, made things specially agreeable for anyone accustomed to making a third to Dick and Elizabeth’s brilliant duet: he walked beside her nearly all the time, and was beautifully appreciative of her conversation. With such a backing Ann could take her place in their group almost without effort, attaining to hitherto unapproached heights of wit and distinction: she almost felt they must be proud of her too. It was true that John had stayed with them only about two minutes before going off to help Mr. Seeker with the sports, and that she hadn’t yet had a chance to buy anything off Peggy’s stall: but these were trifles. Dick and Gilbert were amusing themselves immensely, and clamoured for the lucky dip.
‘There must be one,’ asserted Croy. ‘I feel sure I’ve seen it. A large tub frilled with pink paper.’
‘It must be back in the hall,’ said Elizabeth; ‘this is the flower show.’
‘Is it? Oh yes, I remember that begonia. What a terrible joke, and then they say God hasn’t a sense of humour. To the bran tub, mes enfants!’
They made their way back to the hall and were directed by a hot little girl selling buttonholes. With an innate feeling for salesmanship she managed to upset her tray against Gilbert’s long legs, so that he became the gallant and spectacular purchaser of about twenty fading carnations and a like number of dead roses. They were unattractive little things and the problem of their disposal exercised him considerably, until Dick struck on the happy notion of giving them all back.
As they approached the lucky dip the crowd seemed mysteriously to melt away, so that they had it all to themselves; but Ann could feel the ring of curious eyes and ears that formed around them. That being so she could have wished Dick and Gilbert a little less witty on the subject of the Creation but Elizabeth created a really amusing sensation by putting back her china Bonzo because it reminded her too much of Mr. Seeker. Mr. Laventie got a tangerine, and Gilbert a wooden spoon, while Dick spent so long chasing an alleged toothbrush that he was disqualified and had to start again. As they looked like being there for some time Ann thought it might be a good opportunity to slip away and find Peggy. It would look terribly bad not to buy anything, and one didn’t want to appear rude.
