Роберт Эйкман: The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

To Griselda’s surprise, Pamela, upon escaping from George Goss, spoke to her.

‘Are my eyes all right?’

Griselda looked at them with conscientious care. As well as being large, they were yellowy-green and ichthyological.

‘I think so. They’re lovely.’

Irritated with the familiar compliment, Pamela replied: ‘The mascara, I mean. It’s new stuff. Daddy brought it back from B.A.’

Griselda looked again. ‘It looks all right to me.’ A question seemed expected. ‘What was your Father doing in South America?’

‘You know that Daddy’s Chairman of Argentine Utilities. We practically own the country. You don’t use mascara much, do you?’

‘Not much,’ said Griselda.

‘I can tell by the look of the lashes. You’re probably very wise.’ The tone of the last observation suggested that the speaker thought the opposite. ‘Mascara’s frightfully bad for the eyes.’

‘Like staring too long at me,’ said George Goss.

‘Shall we look at this together?’ said Pamela to Griselda, ignoring George Goss, who continued smiling all over his face.

It was the latest issue of The Sketch . Griselda was not particularly interested, but something had to be done to pass the time, and Mrs Hatch had told her to make friends with Pamela. Moreover, Pamela was used to getting her way.

‘Where do you live, by the way?’ asked Pamela.

‘About twenty miles outside London.’

‘I thought I was the only one to do that. But perhaps you don’t mind?’

‘I haven’t much choice really.’

‘Daddy thinks the country air’s good for me and Mummy. It’s hell having to motor out after parties and having no friends.’

‘It’s surely easier to make friends in the country than in London?’

‘It depends what you mean by friends.’

Pamela began to explain the scandalous circumstances and backgrounds of the various people whose photographs appeared in The Sketch . The explanations were rendered lengthy by Pamela’s lack of vocabulary; and complex by her lack of all standards of references beyond her own changing impulses. Griselda noticed however, that Pamala was as much interested in the financial as in the sexual history of her friends, and as well informed upon it; also that she appeared as strongly to disapprove of homosexuality as if she had been an elderly pillar of some Watch Committee.

When they had finished The Sketch , Pamela produced The Tatler from the same heap; and before she had finished explaining The Tatler (her opinions of various current plays and films being now involved, and of certain recent Rugby football matches at Twickenham), George Goss had ordered his bottle and fallen into a slumber, and the bridge players had entered upon their inevitable row. It seemed to be mainly Mrs Hatch setting upon the Duchess (her partner). The Duke (though, of course, on the other side) loyally backed his wife (to whom, indeed, he seemed utterly devoted in every way), wheezing with exasperation and becoming much more Teutonic in delivery. Edwin was trying very hard indeed to smooth things over, so that the game could be resumed. When one expedient or line of argument was obviously unavailing, he never failed to produce another, surprisingly different. Griselda had noticed for some time that the partnership of which Edwin was one, seemed usually to win. The combatants stabbed their fingers at selected cards among the litter on the green topped walnut table.

Absorbed in an account of how well she knew Gladys Cooper, Pamela ignored the row as long as possible. When it became necessary almost to shout above the raised voices, she switched to details of the similar scenes which commonly attended the frequent bridge parties organised by her parents. ‘I can’t be bothered with the game myself,’ said Pamela, ‘though I’ve quite broken Daddy’s heart by not playing with him.’ An achievement of some sort seemed implicit in her words; a triumph of righteousness in some inner conflict. George Goss’s mouth had fallen wide open, but he was snoring less loudly in consequence.

Griselda looked at her wrist-watch.

Suddenly with a high-pitched squeal, the Duke had overturned the card-table, the top of which struck Mrs Hatch sharply on the ankle. ‘We are misbehaving ourselves’ cried the Duke, ‘let us kiss and once more be friends. I appeal to your warm heart, Melanie.’

‘I really think that would be better.’ It was Mr Leech who spoke ‘Of course I take no sides in the matter under dispute. But I do warmly endorse the Duke’s appeal.’ His finger remained fixed to a point in a large diagram of corolla structure.

Mrs Hatch had lifted her long skirt above her knees, and was rubbing her ankle while the blood rushed to her head. ‘I think you’ve broken a bone, Gottfried,’ was all she said. She certainly seemed more chastened than aggressive.

Griselda hurried forward. ‘Perhaps I can help. I’ve had a little first-aid training.’

The Duchess, absolved from offering succour beyond her competence, smiled gratefully at Griselda, and began carefully to attend to her heavy make-up. Edwin rushed to bring a cushion to support Mrs Hatch’s back.

Griselda began to take charge. ‘May I remove your stocking?’

‘Please do.’

Griselda undid the suspenders and rolled off the stocking.

‘Nothing’s broken. But it’s an exceedingly nasty bruise.’ The swollen place was already turning the colour of cuttlefish ink.

‘If that’s all, I’ll say no more about it,’ said Mrs Hatch.

‘Melanie, you are magnanimous,’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘I knew you had a great heart.’

‘You’d better put your leg up, and not take much excercise for a day or two.’ Griselda placed the injured foot on the chair vacated by Edwin, who immediately ran to fetch another cushion, to place beneath the foot.

‘My dear Griselda, what about the dance? What about the preparation for the dance?’

Griselda felt most strongly tempted to reply that the dance might have to be cancelled, when George Goss, whom she had not seen wake up, cried out:

‘Melanie won’t miss the dance. Melanie won’t miss a dance when she’s in her grave.’

In some ways it seems uncharacteristic that Mrs Hatch should be so fond of dancing; but all the evidence seemed to suggest that such was the case.

‘I’ll be there, George,’ said Mrs Hatch. ‘Gottfried has failed to break my leg.’

‘The idea!’ said the Duke tearfully. ‘It was only a gesture for peace between us. My very dear friend.’ He placed a plump hand on the shoulder of Mrs Hatch’s evening blouse.

Pamela was reading about Longchamps in The Bystander .

George Goss lumbered round to look at the bruise. ‘It’s like the night Austin Barnes gave Margot two black eyes.’ They laughed. George Goss subsided on a Pompeian red pouffe and sat leering at Mrs Hatch’s expensive underclothes still visible inside her lifted skirt.

‘Have you any liniment?’ enquired Griselda.

‘You shall apply it in my bedroom,’ said Mrs Hatch, rising to her feet and letting her skirt drop. She staggered and Edwin supported her. ‘You and Pamela shall help me to undress. The rest of you can stay here if you want to. Monk has gone to bed, but you’re at liberty to forage if you wish, so long as you conceal the traces from Brundrit and Cook, and don’t leave masses about for the mice. Come along, Pamela, you can’t read all night.’ Reluctantly Pamela let The Bystander fall upon the floor. George Goss remained seated, but the others grouped themselves solicitously. ‘Good night,’ said Mrs Hatch.

The Duke clicked his heels. Edwin said: ‘There must be something I can get for you.’ Mr Leech said: ‘I am so relieved that things are not worse.’ The Duchess kissed Mrs Hatch on the mouth; then said to Griselda and Pamela ‘I suppose I shan’t be seeing you two again tonight either,’ and kissed them also. At the moment of Mrs Hatch’s departure, George Goss floundered vaguely upwards; but his intentions had not been made clear before she had left the room with one arm round Griselda’s neck, and the other round Pamela’s. Edwin went before them and opened the door of Mrs Hatch’s bedroom.