Роберт Эйкман: The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

‘Griselda is learning to dance, Odile.’

‘But that is impossible in England. I learned for years when I was a girl and not till I met Gottfried was I anything but a carthorse. Believe me, my dear, I was mad to dance, just like you, but you cannot dance until you love.’

Monk’s liveried figure passed the window pushing Doris’s rattling bicycle. She slipped away.

‘It would be a weight off all our minds if Doris married Geoffrey Kynaston,’ observed Mrs Hatch.

Pamela took the opportunity to retire upstairs. The Ellensteins, George Goss, and Mrs Hatch were engaged in animated conversation about experiences they had shared in the past. Their memories seemed excellent; their relish for detail almost unlimited. No reason was apparent why they should not continue for days or weeks; and then start again at the beginning like a film programme. Necessarily, little attempt could be made to include Griselda. Though she did not much care for George Goss, she noticed even that he had ceased to look at her and was gazing instead at the Duchess’s fat but still not ill-proportioned legs. (He resembled, she thought, an inquisitive elephant.)

After about an hour and a half of it, Edwin returned and said that he had been having a really valuable talk with the Prime Minister upon the Indo-Chinese problem; and that Mr Leech had made his tea of a biscuit or two he had brought from his pocket. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Hatch,’ concluded Edwin. ‘I just couldn’t persuade him to leave his beloved roses.’

There were a number of cold dead crumpets on the occasional table in their midst, and some dregs of tea in the cups; but, Griselda noticed, the Ellensteins and George Goss had eaten the entire famous fruit cake among them.

‘Thank you, Edwin,’ said Mrs Hatch. ‘I quite understand. You’d better go back and pump the old man until dinner time. We’re perfectly happy without you.’

‘I’m sure you’re divinely happy every single hour of the day, Mrs Hatch,’ replied Edwin. ‘But I must admit I should be glad to have the true story of the railway strike. I have a great responsibility to my readers. They do trust me so completely.’

He was gone.

‘Is there a railway strike?’ asked Griselda. ‘I didn’t notice it.’

But the Duchess was recalling the night the four of them (and several others) started a bonfire in Leicester Square.

‘Do you remember?’ said the Duchess. ‘It was Austin Barnes’s idea.’

III

Dinner was not until 8.30; but Pamela gave the impression of having spent the entire interminable interim changing for it. Griselda, plainly debarred for tonight from the coffee-coloured taffeta, had put on her other dress, of pinkish organdie and very nice too; only for Pamela to make it immediately though silently obvious to her that the proper style for the occasion was that followed by herself, a blouse and long skirt. Mrs Hatch, when she appeared was similarly dressed; as, to Griselda’s complete dejection, was the Duchess, who came down last, skilfully made-up, with the Duke in a beautifully fitting dinner jacket. Edwin’s dinner jacket was of very dark red velvet; and his rose had been changed by Mr Cork for an even larger one in a more suitable colour. Mr Leech looked rather nondescript by comparison.

‘Where is Mr Barnes?’ asked Mrs Hatch when they were seated.

‘Mr Barnes asks me to present his compliments,’ replied Monk, ‘and to say that he is so fatigued that he has thought it best to retire completely to bed. I am to bring him a boiled egg later.’

‘There is nothing the matter with Mr Barnes, I hope?’ asked the Duke anxiously.

‘I understand nothing, your Highness. Mr Barnes did mention to me that his present condition was nothing out of the ordinary. Shall I request Mr Brundrit, ma’am, to serve Dinner?’

‘Please do,’ said Mrs Hatch; and under the superintendence of a tall, wasted-looking butler, Monk and a pretty parlourmaid called Stainer served the most portentous meal Griselda had ever attended. There was patй: there were truffles; there was a sorbet. There was a blanc-mange-like pudding with angelica and an undertone of rum insufficient to offset the otherwise total lack of flavour; which in turn was followed by a savoury (called Tails in the Air), and a choice of stilton cheese or dessert, or both for those (like the Duke and Duchess and George Goss) who wished. There had been no alcoholic preliminary, but, accompanying the food, four successive wines and a liqueur with the wonderful strong coffee. Mr Leech ate very little, but at the end brightened up enough to express a preference for brandy if any was available, and Mrs Hatch joined him. Pamela found tongue enough to indicate her various gustatory preferences; though even then appearing to force out words like stones from her mouth, and as if each single word was a disgusting thing to be shunned when uttered. Griselda did the best she could, seated between the Duke, who occasionally said something paternal to her, and Mr Leech, who showed little sign of the taste for young girls which Mrs Hatch had plainly implied to be his; but by the end she felt a little sick.

During dinner there were more reminiscences. Griselda noticed that the endless stories tended to begin admirably and to hold out real promise; but after a time it always became apparent that there was to be no climax, point, or even real conclusion. The stories were simply long rakes, designed to turn over as many memories as possible. There was little nostalgia, however, about the reminiscing quartet, Griselda observed with pleasure; they all in their different ways seemed as full of gusto as ever, especially the Duchess, in whom gaiety seemed positively a normal mood.

Replete, they migrated to the Drawing Room; an apartment of which the faultless and spotless comfort fell just short of elegance. There were a rosewood grand piano of German make; a white mantel some way after the Adam Brothers; and a number of French eighteenth century pictures, well and harmoniously selected. The general colouration was pink; which, as it happened, excellently set off Griselda’s dress. There was a real Aubusson carpet, like the cloths of heaven to walk upon. All that fell short was individuality, and perhaps vitality, however controlled.

Edwin at once suggested bridge. Mrs Hatch agreed with appetite; and the Ellensteins also volunteered. Mr Leech asked if anyone would mind his sitting quietly in a corner with an excellent book he had found in the library. He then half sank into an elaborate illustrated manual of horticulture, sitting semi-submerged for hours, every now and then turning the volume round and round on his knees the better to penetrate the botanical detail. Griselda noticed, however, that much of the time his mind seemed to be wandering and his expression strangely blank. He turned the pages much too infrequently and irregularly. Occasionally he could be heard sighing, almost groaning. It was remarkable how little any part of him moved: even the occasional blink of his eyelids seemed consciously decided upon and consciously executed.

The Duchess being occupied, George Goss seated himself on a sofa upholstered in couleur de rose flowered silk, beside Pamela. Pamela immediately moved to an armchair next to Griselda; whereupon George Goss making the best even of adversity, placed his feet on the sofa where Pamela had been seated, and lay bundled together like a giant chimpanzee in a dinner jacket. He continued smiling blandly before him, and soon, without asking Mrs Hatch’s permission, fired and began to draw on a huge inefficient pipe which had recently been presented to him by an admiring young woman. Later, again without enquiry of his hostess, he managed to reach a bell with his long arm, thick as the branch of a tree; and, when Monk answered, ordered a bottle of brandy to be brought to him with a syphon. Having appeased his thirst, he fell asleep and began to snore. Bridge had gripped the players into its own distinctive delirium; so that none of them noticed George Goss, still less Griselda and Pamela.