Evelyn Waugh - Decline and Fall

At dinner Margot talked about matters of daily interest, about some jewels she was having reset, and how they had come back all wrong; and how all the wiring of her London house was being overhauled because of the fear of fire; and how the man she had left in charge of her villa at Cannes had made a fortune at the Casino and given her notice, and she was afraid she might have to go out there to arrange about it; and how the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Buildings was demanding a guarantee that she would not demolish her castle in Ireland; and how her cook seemed to be going off his head that night, the dinner was so dull; and how Bobby Pastmaster was trying to borrow money from her again, on the grounds that she had misled him when she bought his house and that if he had known she was going to pull it down he would have made her pay more. 'Which is not logical of Bobby, she said. 'The less I valued this house, the less I ought to have paid, surely? Still, I'd better send him something, otherwise he'll go and marry, and I think it may be nice for Peter to have the title when he grows up.

Later, when they were alone, she said: 'People talk a great deal of nonsense about being rich. Of course it is a bore in some ways, and it means endless work, but I wouldn't be poor, or even moderately well‑off, for all the ease in the world. Would you be happy if you were rich, do you think?

'Well, it depends how I got the money, said PauL

'I don't see how that comes in.

'No, I don't quite mean that. What I mean is that I think there's only one thing that could make me really happy, and if I got that I should be rich too, but it wouldn't matter being rich, you see, because, however rich I was, and I hadn't got what would make me happy, I shouldn't be happy, you see.

'My precious, that's rather obscure, said Margot, 'but I think it may mean something rather sweet. He looked up at her, and her eyes met his unfalteringly. 'If it does, I'm glad, she added.

'Margot, darling, beloved, please, will you marry me? Paul was on his knees by her chair, his hands on hers.

'Well, that's rather what I've been wanting to discuss with you all day. But surely there was a tremor in her voice?

'Does that mean that possibly you might, Margot? Is there a chance that you will?

'I don't see why not. Of course we must ask Peter about it, and there are other things we ought to discuss first, and then, quite suddenly, 'Paul, dear, dear creature, come here.

They found Peter in the dining‑room eating a peach at the sideboard.

'Hullo, you two! he said.

'Peter, we've something to tell you, said Margot. 'Paul says he wants me to marry him.

'Splendid! said Peter. 'I am glad. Is that what you've been doing in the library?

'Then you don't mind? said Paul.

'Mind? It's what I've been trying to arrange all this week. As a matter of fact, that's why I brought you here at all. I think it's altogether admirable, he said, taking another peach.

'You're the first man he's said that about, Paul. I think it's rather a good omen.

'Oh, Margot, let's get married at once.

'My dear, I haven't said that I'm going to yet. I'll tell you in the morning.

'No, tell me now, Margot. You do like me a little, don't you? Please marry me just terribly soon.

'I'll tell you in the morning. There're several things I must think about first. Let's go back to the library.

That night Paul found it unusually diflicult to sleep. Long after he had shut his book and turned out the light he lay awake, his eyes open, his thoughts racing uncontrollably. As in the first night of his visit, he felt the sleepless, involved genius of the house heavy about his head. He and Margot and Peter and Sir Humphrey Maltravers were just insignificant incidents in the life of the house: this new‑born monster to whose birth ageless and forgotten cultures had been in travail. For half an hour he lay looking into the darkness until gradually his thoughts began to separate themselves from himself, and he knew he was falling asleep. Suddenly he was roused to consciousness by the sound of his door opening gently. He could see nothing, but he heard the rustle of silk as someone came into the room. Then the door shut again.

'Paul, are you asleep?

'Margot!

'Hush, dear! Don't turn on the light. Where are you? The silk rustled again as though falling to the ground. 'It's best to make sure, isn't it, darling, before we decide anything? It may be just an idea of yours that you're in love with me. And, you see, Paul, I like you so very much, it would be a pity to make a mistake, wouldn't it?

But happily there was no mistake, and next day Paul and Margot announced their engagement.

Crossing the hall one afternoon a few days later, Paul met a short man with a long red beard stumping along behind the footman towards Margot's study.

'Good Lord! he said.

'Not a word, old boy! said the bearded man as he passed on.

A few minutes later Paul was joined by Peter. 'I say, Paul, he said, 'who do you think's talking to Mamma?

'I know, said Paul. 'It's a very curious thing.

'I somehow never felt he was dead, said Peter. 'I told Clutterbuck that to try and cheer him up.

'Did it?

'Not very much, Peter admitted. 'My argument was that if he'd really gone out to sea he would have left his wooden leg behind with his clothes, but Clutterbuck said he was very sensitive about his leg. I wonder what he's come to see Mamma about?

A little later they ambushed him in the drive, and Grimes told them. 'Forgive the beaver, he said, 'but it's rather important at the moment.

'In the soup again? asked Paul.

'Well, not exactly, but things have been rather low lately. The police are after me. That suicide didn't go down well. I was afraid it wouldn't. They began to fuss a bit about nobody being found and about my game leg. And then my other wife turned up, and that set them thinking. Hence the vegetation. Clever of you two to spot me.

They led him back to the house, and Peter mixed him a formidable cocktail, the principal ingredients of which were absinthe and vodka.

'It's the old story, said Grimes. 'Grimes has fallen on his feet again. By the way, old boy, I have to congratulate you, haven't I? You've done pretty well for yourself, too. His eye travelled appreciatively over the glass floor, and the pneumatic rubber furniture, and the porcelain ceiling, and the leather‑hung walls. 'It's not everyone's taste, he said, 'but I think you'll be comfortable. Funny thing, I never expected to see you when I came down here.

'What we want to know, said Peter, 'is what brought you down to see Mamma at all.

'Just good fortune, said Grimes. 'It was like this. After I left Llanabba I was rather at a loose end. I'd borrowed a fiver from Philbrick just before he left, and that got me to London, but for a week or so things were rather thin. I was sitting in a pub one day in Shaftesbury Avenue, feeling my beard rather warm and knowing I only had about five bob left in the world, when I noticed a chap staring at me pretty hard in the other corner of the bar. He came over after a bit and said: "Captain Grimes, I think?" That rather put the wind up me. "No, no, old boy," I said, "quite wrong, rotten shot. Poor old Grimes is dead, drowned. Davy Jones' locker, old boy!" And I made to leave. Of course it wasn't a very sensible thing to say, because, if I hadn't been Grimes, it was a hundred to one against my knowing Grimes was dead, if you see what I mean. "Pity," he said, "because I heard old Grimes was down on his luck, and I had a job I thought might suit him. Have a drink, anyway." Then I realized who he was. He was an awful stout fellow called Bill, who'd been quartered with me in Ireland. "Bill," I said, "I thought you were a bobby." "That's all right, old boy," said Bill. Well, it appeared that this Bill had gone off to the Argentine after the war and had got taken on as manager of a… ‑ Grimes stopped as though suddenly reminded of something ‑ 'a place of entertainment. Sort of night club, you know. Well, he'd done rather well in that job, and had been put in charge of a whole chain of places of entertainment all along the coast. They're a syndicate owned in England. He'd come back on leave to look for a couple of chaps to go out with him and help. "The Dagos are no use at the job," he said, "not dispassionate enough." Had to be chaps who could control themselves where women were concerned. That's what made him think of me. But it was a pure act of God, our meeting.