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‘No, because Gladys didn’t tell him that. He said it wasn’t a thing he could mention to me, which I must say I thought was rather dear and old-world of him, and made me wish I’d gone all Early Victorian instead of River Girl. However, it didn’t really matter, because by the time he’d absorbed Ermyntrude’s rich-looking décor, he got rather fierce about plutocrats, and the Red Flag, and things, and I rather lost interest, because I’ve heard all about the lovely time everyone will have when we’re all Communists from Alan; and though I do utterly agree that it’s practically incumbent on one to go Red, I don’t somehow think that I shall, because I don’t feel as though I should enjoy it much.’
‘Look here, Vicky, did you actually take it upon yourself to interview this young man?’
‘Yes, of course, and I do think I may have done a lot of good, because I told him that Wally isn’t rich at all, which made him talk about deceivers seducing innocent girls, though as a matter of fact I don’t myself think that it makes it any better to seduce girls when you’re rich, do you? Percy got more like Alan than ever when I said so, though, and I got bored, and gave it up.’
‘Vicky, I wish you’d pull yourself together, and talk sense! It all sounds too garish to be believed so far. Of course, you oughtn’t to have seen him at all, and I’m glad he had enough decency not to discuss it with you. But what’s he going to do? Did you gather that he meant to make himself unpleasant?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t know,’ replied Vicky, considering this. ‘He said it was no good Wally’s hiding himself, because he was going to see him sooner or later, but I shouldn’t at all wonder if he cooled off. Because if Gladys really did tell him she thought Wally was a bachelor, he must see that she couldn’t have thought anything of the kind, once he’s thought it over, on account of her being the ticket-office girl at the Regal Cinema, and having seen Ermyntrude with Wally hundreds of times.’
‘The cashier at the Regal!’ ejaculated Mary. ‘That nice girl with the freckles! Oh, I don’t believe it!’
‘Darling-sweet, you’re thinking of the Odeon-girl. Gladys is the thin one with red finger-nails that click, and that sort of wobbly figure which looks pretty lewd in tight black satin.’
‘O God!’ said Mary blankly. ‘And he’s coming back?’
‘I should think he probably will. He said so, anyway. It does rather look as though Ermyntrude will have to buy him off, which seems to me frightfully rotten for her, really, because though I quite like Percy, it’s utterly common knowledge that Gladys is quite too phoney for words.’
‘She won’t do it,’ Mary said. ‘I know she won’t do it. It’s the wrong moment. Oh Lord, what a week-end!’
Four
Neither Vicky nor Mary mentioned the circumstance of Mr Baker’s visit to Ermyntrude when she came downstairs to tea; and although Vicky’s sense of propriety would not have deterred her from giving her stepfather an account of it, the shooting-party returned to Palings too late to allow her the opportunity of seeking any private conversation with Wally.
The dinner guests began to assemble at a quarter-to-eight, the Bawtrys being the first people to arrive, and the Prince coming downstairs a few minutes later.
Ermyntrude, who had been persuaded by Mary’s tactful flattery to wear black, was looking a good deal less startling than usual, though rather overloaded with jewellery. She knew, for she had been told, that it was not considered good form to wear rings upon her first and second fingers, but whenever she opened her jewel-box and saw the row of fat, sparkling gems she could not resist the temptation to push as
many of the rings over her dimpled knuckles as was possible. ‘After all,’ she said reasonably, ‘if I don’t wear them, who’s to know I’ve got them?’
So diamonds, emeralds and rubies jostled one another on her fingers; four or five expensive bangles clinked on each of her wrists; and a superb double row of pearls knocked against diamond clips, and a huge brooch, rather like a breastplate, on her bosom. A strong aroma of scent enveloped her like an ambrosial cloud; but these somewhat repelling features were in a great measure counteracted by the honesty of her smile, and the real kindliness that obviously underlay her extravagances.
She stood in awe of Mrs Bawtry, and was very ready to let Mary bear the burden of conversation with that brisk, bright-eyed, little matron. On the other hand, Tom Bawtry, a big bluff man of no great brain, but immense good nature, was a creature quite after her own heart. He laughed readily, and had often, in the past, annoyed his wife by describing Ermyntrude as a damned fine figure of a woman. Being a hunting-man, his strictures on any irregularities of dress in the field were sweeping and severe, but as Ermyntrude had never been on a horse in her life, and Tom was quite uncritical of female garb out of the saddle, he saw nothing very much amiss either with her décolletage, or her jewellery, and was a good deal flattered by the deferential way in which she listened to anything he had to say.
‘My dear, what England wants at this moment is more God-guided citizens,’ Connie Bawtry informed Mary energetically, as the Prince came into the room. ‘You’ve no idea what a difference it makes to you, once you become God-controlled.’
Happily for Mary, Ermyntrude saved her from having to answer by introducing the Prince. Connie was not in the least interested in princes, whatever their nationality, but she saw in every new acquaintance a potential convert, and at once abandoned Mary for this fresh victim.
She was still telling him how Europe’s troubles could be solved (without, apparently, any more human effort than was entailed by the subjugating of self to Divine Control), when the Derings were announced.
Lady Dering shook hands with her hostess in the friendly fashion that always soothed Ermyntrude’s unhappy sense of inferiority, and passed on to Wally, who was still brooding over the morning’s mishap. As she had heard all about it from Hugh, she at once congratulated him on his escape from death, and listened with assuaging sympathy to his own rambling account of the affair.
Sir William, who wore the parboiled look of a gentleman dragged out to dinner against his will, frightened Ermyntrude with the punctiliousness of his manners; and Hugh gravitated to where Mary was standing, and at once demanded to be told why the notorious Miss Fanshawe was not present.
‘She’s going to make an Entrance,’ replied Mary gloomily. ‘I had one or two things to see to after I’d changed, so I hadn’t time to find out what her role is for tonight. She was a femme fatale last night, but I shouldn’t think she’ll repeat herself quite so soon.’
She was right. Vicky, entering the room five minutes later, was dressed in a wispy frock of startling design, and still more startling abbreviations. She displayed, without reserve, a remarkably pretty back, her frock being suspended round her neck by a plait of the material of which it was made. Her curls stood out in a bunch in the nape of her neck, but were swept severely off her brow and temples. A diamond bracelet, begged from Ermyntrude’s collection, encircled one ankle under a filmy stocking, and her naturally long lashes were ruthlessly tinted with blue.
‘One of the Younger Set,’ said Mary knowledgeably.
‘So sorry if I’ve kept anybody waiting!’ said Vicky. ‘Oh, how do you do, Lady Dering? How do you do, everybody? Oh, is that sherry? How filthy! No, I’ll have a White Lady thank you.’
‘Good Lord!’ murmured Hugh, taken aback.
Sir William was also startled, but when Vicky smiled at him, rather in the manner of an engaging street-urchin, his countenance relaxed slightly, and he asked her what she was doing with herself now that she had come home to live.
‘Well, it all depends,’ she replied seriously.
Sir William had no daughters, but only his memories of his sisters to guide him, so he said that he had no doubt she was a great help to her mother, arranging flowers, and that kind of thing.
