Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

' Tea-party?’ said the comrade from Leeds. ‘Oh, goody. Goody, goody gumdrops. ' He sat swaying, poured out some wine into a glass already half full, and said, ' Excuse me. ' He fell asleep, as he sat, his mouth falling open.

Above her, in the sitting-room, Frances could hear voices -Johnny's, his mother's. ' Stupid fool,’ she heard, from Julia, and Johnny came down the stairs, several at a time, and into the kitchen. For once he was off centre, and flustered. 'I have a right to a woman who is a real comrade, ' he said to Frances. ' For once in my life I am going to have a woman who is my equal. '

' That is what you said about Maureen, do you remember? Not to mention Phyllida. '

' Absurd,’ said Johnny. ‘I couldn't have done. '

Here the playwright came to himself, said, ' Seconds out of the ring, '-and fell asleep again.

Sophie appeared to say the party had begun.

‘I shall leave you two to wrestle with the sins of the world,’ said Frances, and left them.

Before joining the tea-party she went to her room, and put on a new dress, and combed her hair, which transformation enabled her to remember, looking into the mirror, that in her time she had been described as a handsome blonde. And on the stage, more than once she had been beautiful. And with Harold Holman during that weekend which now seemed such an age ago, she had certainly been beautiful.

At the beginning of December Julia had descended to Frances's rooms, and she was looking embarrassed: that was not her style at all. ' Frances, I don't want you to be offended with me...’ She was holding out one of her thick white envelopes, that had Frances on it, in her beautiful handwriting. In it were banknotes. ‘I could not think of a nice way to do this... but it would make me so happy ... do go to a hairdresser, and buy yourself a good dress for Christmas.'

Frances tended to comb her hair flat on either side of a parting, but the hairdresser (certainly not Evansky or Vidal Sassoon, who could only tolerate the current style) was able to make this look the last word in chic. And she had paid more for a dress than she had ever done in her life. No point in putting it on for Christmas lunch, with all that cooking to do, but now she entered the sitting-room, as self-conscious as a girl. At once there were compliments, and even, from Colin, a little bow as he rose to offer her his chair. Clothes makyth manners. And someone else was making a point of admiring her. Julia's distinguished Wilhelm rose, bent over her hand – unfortunately it probably still smelled of the kitchen – and kissed the air just above it.

Julia nodded and smiled congratulations.

'You spoil me, Julia,' said Frances, and her mother-in-law replied, 'My dear, I wish you could know what it really means to be loved and spoiled. '

And now Julia poured tea from a silver teapot, and Sylvia, her handmaid, handed around slices of the stollen, and the heavy Christmas cake. On their chairs Geoffrey and James, Colin and Andrew fought to keep awake. Franklin was watching Sylvia trip about as if she had appeared magically from thin air. Conversation was being made by Wilhelm, Frances, Julia, and the three girls, Sophie, Lucy, Sylvia.

A problem: the windows were still open, and it was after all mid-winter. A fresh cold dark lay outside the polluted room where Julia sat remembering, and they knew she did, how she had entertained ambassadors and politicians here. ‘And even once the Prime Minister.’And in a corner lay a tangle of sleeping bags, an overlooked empty wine bottle.

Julia wore a grey velveteen suit, with lace, and garnets in her ears and at her throat, which flashed and reproached them. She was telling them about Christmases long ago, when she was a girl, in her home in Germany, a sprightly, even formal recital, as if she was reading it from a book of old tales, while Wilhelm Stein listened, nodding to confirm what she was saying.

'Yes,' he said into a silence. 'Yes, yes. Well, Julia my dear, we have to agree that times have changed.'

Downstairs could be heard Johnny's voice in energetic debate with the playwright. Geoffrey, who had nearly toppled forward, asleep, got up, and with an apology, left the room, followed by James. Frances was overwhelmed with shame, but was pleased they had gone, for at least the girls could be trusted not to nod off while sitting and holding pretty teacups as if they had never done anything else. Not Rose, of course, she was in a corner, apart.

Julia said, ‘I think the windows...’ Sylvia at once went to close them, and drew the heavy curtains, lined and interlined brocade, which had faded after sixty years to a greenish blue that made Frances's blue look crude. Rose had threatened to pull down the curtains and make herself a dress ' like Scarlet O' Hara's' , and when Sylvia had said, ‘But, Rose, I am sure Julia wouldn't like that,’ said, ‘You can't take a joke, you've got no sense ofhumour. ‘Which was certainly true.

Andrew now said that he knew they were all besotted barbarians but if she could have seen the meal they had just put away Julia would forgive them.

Her stollen, her cake, lay in untouched slices on the tiny green plates, that had pink rosebuds on them.

A burst of laughter from downstairs. Julia smiled ironically. She did smile but there were tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Julia, ' crooned Sylvia, going to her, putting her arms around her, so that her cheek lay on the silvery cap of waves and little curls, ‘We do love your lovely tea, we do, but if you only knew...'

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Julia. ‘Yes, I know. ' She got up. Wilhelm Stein got up and put his arm around her, patting her hand. The two distinguished people stood together in the middle of the room which made such a frame for them, and then Julia said, ‘Well, my children, and now I think that is enough. '

She exited, on Wilhelm's arm.

No one moved, then Andrew and Colin stretched their arms out and yawned. Sylvia and Sophie began gathering up the tea things. Rose, Franklin and Lucy went off to join the lively group in the kitchen. Frances did not move.

Johnny and Derek were seated at either end of the table, conducting a kind of seminar. Johnny was reading passages from A Revolution Handbook which he had written and had published by a respectable publisher. It was making some money: as a reviewer had said, 'This has the makings of a perennial bestseller.'

Derek Carey's contribution to the welfare of nations was to exhort young people, at meeting after meeting, to fill in census forms wrongly, to destroy any official letters that came their way, to take jobs in the post offices as postmen and destroy letters, and to shoplift as much as possible. Every little bit helped to bring down the structure of an oppressive state such as Britain. In the recent election they had been advised to spoil voting forms and write insulting remarks on them, such as Fascist! Rose and Geoffrey, needing to distinguish themselves in this exhilarating company, now described their recent shopping expedition. Then Rose ran downstairs and came back with carrier bags full of stolen presents, and began handing them out: soft toys mostly, plushy tigers and pandas and bears but there was a bottle of brandy -handed to Johnny – and one of Armagnac, given to Derek. 'That's the stuff, comrade,’ said Derek, with a comradely wink that reached Rose's soul, parched for compliments; it was like a medal for achievement. And Johnny gave her a clenched fist salute. No one had seen her so happy.

Franklin was distressed, because he had wanted so much to give Frances a present, and had expected that some of this ' liberated'stuff would find its way to him, but he saw now this wouldn't happen. Rose said, 'And this is for Frances.' It was a kangaroo, with a baby in its pouch. She held it up, grinning around, waiting for applause, but Geoffrey took it from her, offended at the criticism of Frances. Franklin admired the kangaroo, and thought it a wonderful compliment to Frances, a mother to them all; he had not understood Geoffrey's reaction, and now he reached out for the kangaroo. Geoffrey gave it to him. Franklin sat taking the baby from its pouch and putting it back again.