Gavin Lyall - Flight From Honour

“How very nice to see you back in town, Mrs Finn,” said one of the sub-managers or floor-walkers or whatever Debenham’s called the people it dressed as diplomatists. Corinna flashed him a dazzling smile while privately thinking it extraordinary presumption to assume that just because she hadn’t been in his damned shop for a few weeks she couldn’t have been in London. But that was English shopkeepers for you; maybe Gordon Selfridge with his Chicago background would shake them up a bit.

But not go so far as banishing such places as Debenham’s Ladies’ Club Room. This was just what it sounded like except without the deliberateness of a men’s club. You just drifted in when you got exhausted with choosing new curtains for the ball room, sipped a coffee, skimmed a magazine – and picked up any mail addressed to you there. Corinna guessed that this last was what appealed to Adelina, Lady Hovedene; at any rate, she was already seated at a delicate little writing-table scribbling a reply to a letter that (Corinna assumed) she wouldn’t have liked her husband to see.

She waved her pen at Corinna, who dropped into the most comfortable chair she could find, asked the maid for coffee and picked up a newspaper, turning to the finance and shipping page and becoming instantly engrosed. Stuck for a word, Adelina glanced back at her and thought Really . . . There was quite a lot to be Really about with Corinna. She couldn’t help being young – thirty or so, which was young for a widow – nor her height, but did she have to sprawl like that? English girls at least had the self-respect to carry themselves as if they already had rheumatic necks, but Americans seemed to be all education and no deportment. And that wraparound skirt in royal blue might suit a Paris boulevard, but it wasn’t due to be fashionable in London for another year at least. And reading the finance page, probably even understanding it . . . Really .

She finished her letter and sealed it in an unaddressed envelope. Then, of normal height and slightly cottage-loaf of figure, hobbled – because she was wearing a proper hobble skirt in acceptable pastels – across to sit by Corinna.

“Oh Lord, how can one sound passionate in a draper’s shop at twelve o’clock in the morning? And do put that paper away, you’ve got far too much money already.”

“It’s not money, it’s finance. Two quite different things.” But Corinna put the newspaper aside, then noticed and picked up a Tauschnitz edition of a novel that had been banned in Britain. Adelina had obviously had it sent from Germany by post. “Have you read this yet?”

“No. Will I learn anything?”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Oh, bother. And it doesn’t even have any pictures.”

“Pictures? – in a Tauschnitz edition? They’re supposed to be literature.”

“It was supposed to be unspeakably corrupting,” Adelina said wistfully.

Corinna laughed. “If it’s pictures you want, I’m sure they have such things in Paris. I’ll send you some.”

“Would you really? Not for myself, you understand, but some of my . . . friends seem to need a little inspiration. And don’t actually send them. People can be so dreadfully helpful at undoing parcels.”

“And you don’t want to corrupt the servants’ morals.”

“Their morals be damned, it’s their time I’m concerned about. If they get the idea that there’s more to life than a quick wham-bang in the airing cupboard then I’ll never get any work out of them.”

In truth, Corinna suspected it wasn’t really bedroom athletics that drew Adelina into affaires. She might enjoy believing she was falling in love – Lord Ronnie was a pillar of society and indeed a pillar in his own right, but hardly romantic – but Corinna guessed that what she really sought was friendship and involvement. But while English society accepted clandestine adultery, it was suspicious of overt friendship between men and women, so Adelina had little choice.

However, at least she had found involvement. The list of Adelina’s lovers (as far as Corinna had been able to compile one) suggested that she believed a woman’s place was in the know. Her hospitality was precisely aimed to give her an unmatched insight into Cabinet, Court and diplomatic circles. If Adelina told you something was going to happen – if, because she didn’t retain her position by being a blabber – then you could bet money on it. Corinna had.

But, of course, you were expected to pay your way by gossip of your own.

“And how,” Adelina went on, “is your gadabout life?”

Correctly interpreting the question, Corinna said carefully: “He’s an officer in your Army.”

“My dear, I would certainly assume he’s an officer, but what regiment?”

Corinna hesitated; she wasn’t going to mention Ranklin’s name, but this much could hardly hurt. “He’s in the Artillery. Do they have regiments?”

“They’re one big regiment, almost as bad as a Corps. And I do think Guardees or the Cavalry are safer: less chance of their being fortune hunters.”

Corinna just gave an unladylike grunt, since she didn’t think any man’s regiment would stop him hunting her prospective fortune. Moreover, she didn’t care whether Ranklin were in the Guns (as he called them) or the Loyal Snowballers since he wasn’t really in either but – though he stubbornly never admitted it aloud – in the Secret Service.

“But perhaps he’s got money of his own?” Adelina suggested.

“Not by my standards.” In fact, she believed that Ranklin was, technically if not legally, bankrupt.

“Your standards, in that regard if no other, are commendably high. But Gunners sound terribly mechanical – is he? Mind you, there’s nothing like a Guardee for doing things by numbers. One ends up feeling trooped like a colour.”

“He’s well travelled and I don’t think he’s always kept his pants on.”

“Corinna, you really are the most dreadful trollop, and if you want to keep on being one, you’re going to have to get another husband.”

“So useful about the house and to take for walks? Isn’t being a widow enough?”

“It wears off. A husband will define your place in society.”

Corinna’s eyebrows went up. “I think people know who I am.”

“Reynard Sherring’s daughter. Quite. But it isn’t the same thing. A single lady can suddenly be dropped by society – women never quite trust her, anyway – but it’s a much more difficult thing to drop a man who’s got a proper position. And a husband can be the most useful protection for . . . for behaviour quite as interesting as anything you want to get up to.”

This time, Corinna’s smile was a wry one. “It seems a pity to marry some poor guy just to cuckold him.”

“My dear, he certainly won’t be poor once you marry him, and if it disturbs your conscience, you can rest assured he’ll certainly be doing the same to you.”

“I’m not so certain I’d be reassured. I might even get mad and shoot the bastard.”

“Oh, you Americans are such romantics.” Adelina frowned thoughtfully. “I know some American influences have been welcomed in society, but I’m not sure that shooting husbands is one.” She thought a moment longer, then changed tack. “Now, dear, what I really wanted to ask you about is your brother. Andrew, isn’t it? I hear he’s in town.”

“More or less.”

“And single? Now, do I invite him? – single men aren’t thick on the ground at this time of year.”

“You could invite him, but I couldn’t promise he’ll remember to come.”

“Oh dear .”

Corinna laughed outright. “And if you want to say ‘What a family’, go right ahead. The thing about Andrew is, he’s an engineer – an inventor. And right now he’s crazy about airplanes.”