Роберт Эйкман - The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

They returned to the house: Edwin carrying Pamela in his arms: and Mrs Hatch and the Duke bearing Mr Leech (fortunately a lightweight) between them, as Mrs Hatch considered that Hammersmith had better fill in the vast grave before someone fell into it and damaged himself. The Duchess, distinctly more buoyant now that all was over, scattered the carnations in a wide circle round Fritzi’s resting place; to which Hammersmith returned a grimly abrupt acknowledgement, his rufus eyes rolling, his ropey muscles extending and contracting all over him as he shovelled.

‘Now that little Fritzi has been laid to rest, can we not once more be gay?’ enquired the Duchess in her curious interglossal accent. It was nearly 11.30. Edwin had carried Pamela upstairs; and Mr Leech, his sensibilities revived by Monk, sat quietly in a corner drinking, at his own request, a tumbler of warm water laced with a dessertspoonful of brandy.

Mrs Hatch was seen to hesitate.

‘I usually tramp until dusk,’ she said, ‘But today for your sake, Odile, I shall make an exception. I shall return for a late luncheon, if all of you are prepared to wait, and after luncheon we’ll play games. If that is agreed, perhaps, Odile, you’d be so good as to order luncheon for 2.15. Mr Leech had better only have arrowroot. Come, Griselda; let us return to our elements.’

Though Mrs Hatch walked very fast, Griselda, used to long lonely walks almost since childhood (for conditions at home had tended both to drive her afield and to compel her to solitude), was perfectly able to keep pace with her. Mrs Hatch, moreover, had been right about walking in the rain. A proper costume made all the difference (just as Louise had said). Whatever else Griselda thought of her hostess, she would always owe to her the introduction to a new pleasure, which was more than was usually owed to anyone. As they walk through the lanes (some of them in process of development into the avenues of a new housing estate), Mrs Hatch cross-examined Griselda about her life and Griselda schemed to find out more about Mrs Hatch. Neither was particularly successful, but each returned home with increased respect for the other, and a glow of joyous struggle. Griselda re-entered the house warm and dry, hungry and happy; also muddy to the tops of her boots, and healthy to the roots of her hair. She felt equal to anything: to Louise’s love; or, contrariwise, even to an afternoon of organized playfulness.

On the doorstep they met George Goss, still wearing his horrid blanket and untidy bonnet, but green as a chameleon on a faded billiard-table.

‘I say, Melanie, will there be a chemist in Hodley who’s open on Sunday?’

Mrs Hatch, pushing out health and unbuttoning her tunic, took in the seedy figure of her distinguished guest.

‘Nonsense, George, you don’t want a chemist. Six or seven mugs of cold water will flush you much more cleanly. Besides how are you going to reach Hodley? If you walk it, you won’t need any other remedy.’

George Goss shuddered all over. Then he said ‘I was going in Leech’s car.’

‘I didn’t know that Leech was leaving us?’

‘Cabinet Meeting or something. As if I care. But his car’s due any minute.’ He spoke quasi-sotto-voce.

Lurking about the hall were four strange doughty-looking men in ready-made tweeds. Mr Leech, wearing an overcoat and hat of the type favoured by important public figures, was seated on a hard chair in their midst, his official despatch-case, his botanical vade-mecum, and a large Gladstone bag on the floor at his feet. As Mrs Hatch entered, he rose and came towards her, looking his most imposing.

‘It is as Mr Goss says, Mrs Hatch. My hand is immediately and unexpectedly needed on the rudder of state. Now that we are subject to a Coalition, such sudden calls must, I daresay, be expected of us all.’

‘Who are these men?’ asked Mrs Hatch in a loud undertone.

‘A foolish precaution deemed necessary by our new Home Secretary,’ replied Mr Leech. ‘One of Minnit’s people, as you will recall. For my own part I should not only have preferred to take my chance, but should have insisted upon doing so. But it is necessary to tread softly in these early days, so I have subdued my natural inclinations.’ None the less, Griselda thought, the Prime Minister appeared distinctly to have gathered confidence from some source or other.

‘What about lunch before you go? Your arrowroot? After your misadventure, it would hardly be prudent to travel underfed.’

‘Thank you, Brundrit was good enough to lay me out some brawn,’ replied the Prime Minister a little stiffly, ‘and I helped myself to a couple of Abernethy biscuits. I am too old a campaigner, you know, to require more.’

A large black car had driven up outside. It was visible through the open front door. A footman dismounted and stood in the doorway holding a camel-hair rug. Griselda noticed that he carried two pistols in holsters attached to his belt. The pistols were large and old-fashioned, and made him look like a pirate.

‘I’m sorry you have to leave so suddenly,’ said Mrs Hatch, ‘but Griselda and I will see you off. As for you, George, you’d better go and lie down.’

‘Lying down only makes me vomit,’ said George. ‘I’d have you know I’ve a headache.’

‘Griselda knows about those things and may be able to help you,’ said Mrs Hatch. ‘All in good time. Do you think you have everything, Mr Leech?’

Griselda liked as little as ever the look on George Goss’s face; and she turned to bid the Prime Minister adieu, Mr Leech had made for the door with an unusually determined step, almost amounting, indeed, to a stride. In many ways he seemed a changed man. His henchmen had taken up positions from which the entire scene could instantly be raked with gun-fire.

‘Good-bye,’ said Mr Leech, smiling gravely. ‘And thank you. I know nowhere which offers such peace as the rose garden at Beams.’

‘My roses are sensible of your devotion, Mr Leech.’ At this point Griselda noticed the barrel of a musket projecting from the rear window of the Daimler.

‘It is ever and again to the ample silent things of life that we return for renewal,’ continued Mr Leech, his eye searching the watery clouds from under the brim of his important-looking hat. ‘Bur too soon we are recalled by the reveille of duty.’ A few big drops of rain fell from his hat on to the astrakhan of his lapels.

‘Too soon, indeed,’ replied Mrs Hatch. She began to rebutton her tunic. There seemed no knowing how long this might continue.

Griselda realized that she had greatly grown since she had first set eyes on Mr Leech two days before.

‘Good-bye,’ said Mr Leech again, suddenly pulling himself together and smartly returning the chauffeur’s salute. ‘Good-bye, Miss de Reptonville.’ Griselda remembered that success in public life is dependent upon remembering people’s names.

‘Good-bye, Mr Leech.’

The Prime Minister set aside the proffered camel-hair rug.

‘Thank you, no. Not on this occasion.’ The atmosphere was heavy with the crisis and the coalition as well as with the damp.

Mr Leech took his place beside the musket: the footman beside the driver. There was a moment’s uncertain silence as the four bodyguards whispered among themselves, in the manner of Becket’s murderers. Then one of them without a word opened the car door and, seating himself next to Mr Leech, manned the lethal object. He fiddled about with the mechanism like a wood-wind player tuning his instrument. The weapon still pointed directly at Griselda.

In the moment the car started Mrs Hatch cried out ‘What shall I do about Austin Barnes?’

It was no good. Already the Prime Minister’s eyelids were drooping into slumber. Mr Leech had been having a strenuous time of it.