Gerald Durrell - The Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium

“Harrods?”

“Well, more or less,” agreed Ursula, doubtfully.

“So Perry was at St Jonah’s,” I prompted.

“Yes, and doing frightfully well, so the headmaster said. And out of the blue came this bolt,” she said, lowering her voice to a penetrating whisper.

“Bolt?” I said, puzzled. “What bolt?”

“Out of the blue, darling,” went on Ursula impatiently, “You know how bolts come. I do wish you’d stop interrupting, darling and let me get on with the story.”

“I wish you’d get on with the story, too,” I said. “So far all I’ve got out of it is an adulterated Duke’s son with a bolt, and I have no means of knowing whether this is an affliction or not.”

“Well, be quiet and let me tell you. If you’d stop talking for a moment I could get a word in sideways.”

I sighed.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you, darling,” said Ursula, squeezing my hand. “Well, as I say, Perry was doing frightfully well when along came this bolt. Reggie and Marjorie went to the school. Reggie was employed as their art master because, you know, he is awfully good at oil-painting and etching and things like that, although I do think he’s rather eccentric and so I was surprised at St Jonah’s taking him, really, because it’s so posh that they don’t really go in for eccentrics, if you know what I mean?”

“Why is he eccentric?”

“Well, my dear, don’t you think it’s eccentric to have an oil-painting of your wife in the nude hung over the mantelpiece in your drawing-room ? I told him I thought it was more suitable for the bathroom, if you had to put it on the wall, and he said that he had thought of hanging it in the guest bedroom. I ask you, darling, if that’s not eccentric, what is?”

I did not say so, but I rather warmed to Reggie.

“So Reggie was the bolt?” I enquired.

“No, darling, Marjorie was the bolt. The moment Perry saw her he fell violently in love with her, because she a rather beautiful — if you like those women from the South Seas that Chopin used to paint.”

“Gauguin?” I suggested.

“Probably,” said Ursula vaguely. “Anyway, she really is quite pretty, but I think she’s just a weeny bit stupid. Well, she behaved very stupidly with Perry because she encouraged him. And then came another bolt.”

“Another bolt?” I queried, steeling myself.

“Yes,” she said. “My dear, the silly girl went and fell in love with Perry, and as you know she’s almost old enough to be his mother and has a baby. Well, perhaps she’s not old enough to be his mother , exactly, but he’s eighteen and she’s thirty if she’s a day, although she always swears she’s twenty-six, but anyway, it doesn’t alter the fact that the whole thing was most unsuitable. Naturally, Reggie got very despondent.”

“He could have solved the problem by giving Perry the portrait of Marjorie,” I suggested.

Ursula gave me a reproving look.

“It’s no laughing matter, darling,” she said severely. “We have all been in a complete turmoil, I can tell you.”

I was fascinated by the thought of seeing a Duke in a turmoil, but I did not say so.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“Well, Reggie tackled Marjorie and she confessed that she had fallen in love with Perry and that they had been having an affair behind the gym, of all uncomfortable places. So, not unnaturally, Reggie got fearfully annoyed and gave her a black eye, which was really quite uncalled for, as I told him. He then went looking for Perry to give him a black eye, I suppose, but luckily Perry had gone home for the week-end, so Reggie couldn’t find him, which was just as well because Perry’s not a very strong boy, poor dear, whereas Reggie is built like an ox , as well as having a terrible temper.”

Now that the plot had started to unfold, I found myself starting to take an interest in it, in spite of myself.

“Go on,” I said, “what happened next?”

“This is the worst part of the whole thing,” said Ursula, in her penetrating whisper. She took a sip of her drink and glanced around to make sure that the whole of Venice, now assembled around us for a pre-lunchtime drink, was not eavesdropping. She leant forward and pulled me towards her by my hand. I leant across the table and she whispered in my ear. “They eloped,” she hissed, and sat back to see the effect of her words.

“You mean Reggie and Perry eloped?” I asked, in well-simulated astonishment.

“Idiot,” said Ursula angrily, “you know perfectly well what I mean, Perry and Marjorie eloped. I do wish you would stop making fun of this, it’s very serious.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “do go on.”

“Well,” said Ursula, slightly mollified by my apology, “of course this really put a cat among the pigeons. Reggie was simply furious because Marjorie had not only eloped but had taken the baby and the nannie with her.”

“It certainly sounds like a very overcrowded elopement.”

“And naturally,” Ursula continued, “Perry’s father took it very hard. As you can imagine it’s difficult for a Duke to condone his only son’s adulteration.”

“But adultery is when the husband is at fault, as a rule,” I protested.

“I don’t care who’s at fault,” said Ursula firmly, “it’s still adulteration.”

I sighed. The problem itself seemed complex enough without the additional difficulty of having Ursula’s interpretation of it.

“In any case,” she went on, “As I told Marjorie it was as good as incest.”

“ Incest? ”

“Yes,” said Ursula, “after all the boy was under age and in any case, as she well knew, adulteration has to be done by adults.”

I took a deep drink of my brandy to steady myself. It was obvious that Ursula had grown worse over the years.

“I think I had better take you to lunch while you tell me the rest of this.”

“Oh, darling, will you? How wonderful. But I mustn’t be late because I’ve got to go to Marjorie’s, because I don’t know where Reggie is and the Duke’s arriving.”

“You mean,” I said slowly and carefully, “that all these people you have been talking about are here , in Venice ?”

“But of course , sweetie,” she said, wide-eyed. “That’s why I want you to help me. Didn’t you understand?”

“No,” I said, “I didn’t understand. But just remember that I have not the slightest intention of getting muddled up in this affair. Let’s go and have lunch . . . where would you like to go?”

“I’d like to go to the ‘Laughing Cat’,” said Ursula.

“Where the hell’s that?”

“I don’t know, but I was told it was very good,” she said, powdering her nose.

“All right, I’ll find out,” I said. I called the waiter over, paid for the drinks and asked the way to the ‘Laughing Cat’. It turned out to be within easy walking distance of the Piazza San Marco, a small but well-appointed little restaurant which, judging by the fact that most of its clientele were Venetians, was going to provide us with pretty substantial fare. We found a pleasant table out on the pavement under an awning, and I ordered mussels simmered in cream and parsley, followed by stuffed shoulder of kid with a chestnut purée the way they serve it in Corsica . We were — fortunately — just demolishing the kid (which melted in your mouth), and were thinking in terms of some Dolcelatte cheese to be followed, perhaps, by some fresh fruit, when Ursula, looking over my shoulder, gave a gasp of horror. I looked round to see a very powerful, and exceedingly drunk gentleman approaching our table, tacking from side to side like a yacht.