From a View to a Death, page 6
‘A little more to the left,’ he said. ‘Look up a little.’
Mary said: ‘But this is silly. It’s like being at the photographer’s.’
Zouch laughed and scraped away at his palette. There were a number of things he wanted to make enquiries about and he decided that this might be a favourable moment to begin them. He said:
‘Who was the girl we spoke to when we came out of the church? She was talking to the Fosdicks when we came through the porch. Do you remember?’
‘She’s called Joanna Brandon.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s not bad.’
‘She seemed rather nice.’
‘She’s not very nice really. At least I don’t like her very much. They live in the town. Her mother is rather an awful old creature. Joanna isn’t bad really. She’s rather—rather pretentious or whatever you call it. She tries to be a highbrow.’
‘Well, so do I. Not a very successful one perhaps. But still I try.’
Mary laughed a lot. That sort of joke amused her because she was quite unused to people who said things like that. Zouch said:
‘Now you have moved to quite a different position. But aren’t you a highbrow too?’
‘Me? No. Of course I’m not.’
‘No, perhaps you’re not. That is why you are so nice.’
‘You are polite. Do you always say nice things like that when you paint people?’
‘Always. I’ve got all sorts of other things rather like that which I’m going to say to you later on.’
Mary laughed again. She was sure now that her instincts had been right when she had asked him to come and stay at Passenger. He was certainly unlike any of the other young men whom she knew. It was refreshing to meet someone who was so different. And then, thinking again of what he had been saying earlier, she said:
‘Do you think Joanna Brandon pretty?’
‘Who is Joanna Brandon?’
‘I’ve just told you. The girl you were asking about. The girl we met after church,’
‘Oh yes, of course. You were saying that that was her name. Pretty? Well, I hardly noticed. I only spoke to her for a second.’
‘Some people think she is.’
‘Do they?’
Mary became quiet suddenly and did not speak for nearly two minutes. Zouch decided that if he did not bother her she would talk about Joanna of her own accord and he would find out anything there was to know. After a time Mary said:
‘Torquil Fosdick is a funny boy, isn’t he?’
‘He certainly is.’
‘I should think he was—well, at least I mean, you know—at least I should think anyone would think so, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I should think so. If they took the trouble to think about him, I mean.’
‘He is at Oxford, you know. He’s just been sent down.’
‘Oh, has he?’
‘Only for a term.’
‘Really?’
Zouch regarded both the universities as effete, but he kept this opinion to himself, as he found that persons who had been educated at them often disagreed with, and were irritated by, this conviction when he expressed it aloud. Not knowing what Mary’s views might be he thought it better to change the subject and so he said:
‘Tell me more about the pageant.’
‘It’s quite a small one. Just scenes from the life of Charles II. He once visited the town, you know.’
‘Did he? Who is acting Charles?’
‘Captain Hudgins-Coot. He’s the hunt-secretary. They wanted father to do it but he wouldn’t take part in it at all. I’m doing Lady Castlemaine. Betty is Nell Gwyn. Mr. Petal is organising it all and we must get him to find a part for you.’
‘What are the Fosdicks doing?’
‘Major Fosdick is going to be General Monk. The two boys are courtiers. Rochester and somebody, I think. Doing Lady Castlemaine will be rather fun. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Who was Lady Castlemaine?’ Zouch said.
He did not know much history, though he remembered the essential facts about Nell Gwyn. He hoped he was not going to be let in for a lot of acting. Dressing up was the furthest he was prepared to go. Mary said:
‘She was one of Charles’s mistresses, you know.’
She felt that she had brought the word out rather well. Zouch thought she had too. She said it in a way that showed that she was a broad-minded girl but at the same time was not at all indifferent, like her sister Betty, to wider moral issues. She said:
‘I don’t expect she had much of a time, poor thing, because he seems to have had a good many of them.’
Zouch said: ‘Yes. I expect he did,’ and laughed.
But he felt that enough had been said for that afternoon about the seamy side of life.
‘Can you sit a little more round this way?’ he said. ‘Yes, like that. Excellent.’
He wondered what part had been cast in the pageant for Joanna.
3
BETTY PASSENGER and Torquil Fosdick walked together through the dust and up the hill leading out of the town towards the London road. Betty was carrying a tennis racquet, which she had picked up at a shop in the town where they had been mending one of its strings. She herself hardly ever played tennis and it was Mary’s racquet which she had agreed to go into the town to collect for her, as Mary had something else that she wanted to do on that afternoon. Mary often used Betty for odd jobs of this kind, all of which Betty seemed prepared for. Passing the Fosdicks’ house, she had looked in to see if Torquil was at home and, on finding him there, had suggested that he should walk some of the way home with her. When she walked Betty took long masculine strides and Torquil had to trot along quickly to keep up with her.
‘Olives,’ she was saying. ‘You must not forget olives. They make all the difference to a party of that sort. And cheese straws.’
Torquil said: ‘And then the Orphans. What about them? Do you think they will prefer cocktails or beer? I shall have to provide something for them. Perhaps beer would be better.’
‘And don’t forget some cigarettes.’
‘Do you think Mary will come?’
‘My dear Torquil, of course she will. I’ll make her.’
‘Can you really?’
‘Of course I can.’
‘And Mr. Zouch?’
‘Yes, he’ll come all right too. We’ll all come. It’s going to be a great party, Torquil.’
‘What is Mr. Zouch like?’ Torquil said.
He hurried along, peering up at Betty with his little rat eyes.
‘Shall I tell you?’
‘Do tell me, Betty.’
‘He’s lousy,’ Betty said. ‘But don’t go and say I said so.’
‘My dear Betty, you know I should not dream of repeating such a thing. You can rely on me to be discreet.’
‘Oh, you’re so sweet. I could bite you.’
Torquil laughed a trifle nervously. He liked Betty. He enjoyed the fact that she was a duchess, even though it might be only a Neapolitan one. But sometimes he had no idea what she was talking about and she alarmed him more than a little. They went on up the hill. Torquil said:
‘But what is it you don’t like about Mr. Zouch?’
He knew Zouch’s name from reading art-criticisms and he was anxious not to miss a lion of this kind.
‘Is he very difficile?’ he said.
‘No, he’s a damn sight too facile,’ Betty said. ‘He’s an ambitious little brute whom Mary has taken a great fancy to for some reason. She’d have a fit if she knew some of the things about him that I do.’
‘Really bad things?’ asked Torquil hopefully.
‘Oh, no. Just dreary things.’
‘What sort of things?’
Betty said: ‘I can’t possibly tell you now. It would take all the afternoon. He’s just awful and there it is.’
Torquil was disappointed. He said:
‘Still, you’ll bring him to my party, won’t you?’
‘Don’t you worry. He’ll come without you asking him, if he hears that there is a party anywhere near.’
‘Oh, Betty, I feel sure that he would not. No one would go to a party unasked. Even at Oxford there are people who wouldn’t do that.’
‘I just love to hear you talk. It’s wonderful. Like a tonic.’
Torquil was embarrassed.
‘Am I being a bore, Betty?’ he said.
‘A bore? You know, Torquil, I don’t know what I should do without you here. I need looking after and nobody ever takes any notice of me except you.’
‘Oh, but, Betty, you can’t say that. You’ve lived. You’ve had adventures. Known famous people. I’m still at Oxford.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Betty said. ‘It doesn’t depend on what you’ve done. Look at Mary. She’s never had any experience, but she knows how to look after herself far better than I do. Look at Jasper. He’s had plenty of experience and look what he is, even though he is your brother, my pet.’
Torquil felt that he was getting into deep water. He said:
‘Anyway, I want to live too.’
‘You shall,’ said Betty. ‘One of these days I’ll take you out and show you people and then you’ll be able to judge for yourself. You can choose what you like from the whole cock-eyed world.’
This sort of talk made Torquil quite breathless.
The rehearsal of the pageant which took place some days later was not much to Zouch’s liking, but he saw that in the near future he would have to put up with a good deal of that sort of thing and so he did what seemed to be required by politeness and then sneaked away to smoke a cigarette in the morning-room. A deserted part of the garden would have been more pleasant but he did not know when the focus of the pageant might suddenly remove to any secluded spot chosen by him. He left Mary and Betty listening to a disquisition on deportment from the lips of Mr. Petal, the master of the ceremonies. Joanna was present but he had not yet had an opportunity to approach her. When he reached the morning-room he found to his annoyance that Jasper Fosdick was already sitting there on the sofa. Jasper said:
‘Hullo. So you’ve slipped away too, have you?’
Thinking it unnecessary to admit verbally that such was the case, Zouch replied with a special sort of leer and, walking across the room, took a cigarette from the box. Here away from the crowd he was beginning to recover his superman technique which had been threatened momentarily by the number and unfamiliarity of those taking part in the rehearsal. He sat down in one of the armchairs. Jasper said:
‘A chap doesn’t want to do that sort of thing all day.’
‘Hardly.’
‘After a bit you want a sit-down.’
‘Certainly you do.’
‘You’re staying here, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you known the Passengers long?’
‘Yes.’
‘Know this part of the country well?’
‘No,’ said Zouch, ‘I don’t.’
He had begun to feel irritable. This person, by all appearances a moron, seemed to be preparing to put him through the third degree. To turn the tables, he said:
‘Do you live here?’
‘Just outside the town. In a house called Widemeadows. The one with chains in front of it. And I say, old man, is that a Toc H tie you’re wearing?’
Zouch was not going to stand much more of this sort of thing. He said: ‘Do you enjoy living in the country?’
‘Well,’ said Jasper, screwing up his face, ‘it’s not so bad. Do you play golf?’
‘No.’
‘There’s golf. And then I go zooming round in the family Ford. She’s not a bad old bus when you know the trick of cranking her up.’
‘She isn’t, isn’t she?’ said Zouch. ‘And what else do you do?’
A puzzled look came over Jasper’s face. He wore no suspenders and he began thoughtfully to pull up the thick woollen socks that hung in corrugations about his crepe-rubber-soled shoes.
‘Oh, there’s plenty to do,’ he said, ‘though I suppose I stay put most of the time. You see I don’t seem to be much good at jobs. I’ve had a good many of them in my time, though. You’d be surprised if I told you about all the jobs I’ve been in, off and on. But I’m like Betty Passenger. I’ve made a mess of my life.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You’ve heard all about her of course?’
‘She married someone rather awful, didn’t she?’
‘An Italian. She’s a duchess. Did you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Her husband was called the Duke of Something-Moreno. She met him at a night-club in London and insisted on getting married. Moreno thought that all English ladies had lots of money and when he found that she had hardly any at all he deserted her in Paris. Or she left him. I can’t remember. Anyway no one knows exactly what she did for a year or two. But after a time she came back home and settled here.’
‘But what has that got to do with you?’ said Zouch. ‘Did you make an unfortunate marriage too?’
Jasper said: ‘Oh no. Nothing like that. But I mean both Betty and I haven’t got much to do here, if you know what I mean. We just sit around. We don’t seem to belong somehow.’
‘But Betty is quite happy, isn’t she? With her daughter and so on?’
‘Oh yes. She seems all right really. I don’t think she is in love or anything awful like that.’
‘You speak as if you yourself were suffering from something of the sort.’
Jasper lay back on the sofa and stretched his legs in front of him. He was wearing a pair of flannel trousers that had seen better days. Or, if not better, at least cleaner ones. He stared fixedly at the ceiling and pulled at his rank moustache hairs. He said:
‘You’ve said it. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m in love.’
Zouch thought to himself that this was not by any means the only thing that was wrong with Jasper. He wondered who was the object of this clod’s affections. It occurred to him that it might be Mary Passenger. His curiosity was aroused and he said:
‘Is she here to-day?’
‘Is she? I should say she is.’
‘Taking part in the pageant?’
‘Rather.’
In moments of excitement Jasper’s speech faltered between ill-imbibed patter culled from the talkies and the argot of wartime musical-comedy, imperfectly remembered. Their combination was impressively individual so that by his presentation of these modes of speech he managed to exclude from each any forcefulness of expression that might be thought to have been inherent in them.
‘Fair or dark?’ Zouch said.
A little jocularity might get it out of him. Zouch was quite curious to know which of the girls taking part in the pageant—not a very interesting crowd on the whole—had captivated Jasper.
‘She’s in between,’ Jasper said. ‘Neatest little figure you ever saw. Of course I know I’m not half good enough for her and all that, but all the same a chap can’t help falling in love, can he?’
‘No,’ said Zouch, ‘I suppose he can’t,’
‘The trouble is she’s clever. She’s always reading books.’
‘Is she?’ said Zouch, thinking that the delineation sounded familiar.
He felt sure that there could not be many girls in the neighbourhood to whom this description might be said to apply. If his suspicions proved to be correct, here was a funny situation. He said:
‘I daresay her home life isn’t any too cheerful either?’
‘You’re quite right. It’s not. But how the dickens did you guess?’
‘Is it the girl who stood on the left of the steps when the king and queen came down them?’
Jasper’s lower jaw, always a subordinate feature in his face, went limp. He ruffled up his hair, already untidy enough, with one hand and plunged the other more deeply into his pocket. He said: :
‘Now how the deuce could you have guessed that it was Joanna? Have you met her?’
‘Joanna? Joanna? What is her surname? It was only that I noticed you glance several times in that direction when she was coming down the steps.’
‘She’s called Joanna Brandon. That’s her. You’ve got it in one.’
‘Joanna Brandon? Oh yes, I believe we were introduced on Sunday after church. But really I had no idea that it was her you meant. It just struck me as a possibility.’
‘No. That’s her. You’ve hit the nail on the head. You see she wants to get away from here. She’s tired of living here. I don’t blame her. And marrying me would mean living here. I know that’s why she won’t do it. That must be it, mustn’t it?’
‘Oh, obviously,’ said Zouch. ‘But why does she want to get away from here so much?’
Jasper raised his eyebrows in a series of grimaces, each less inviting than the one that had preceded it. Towards the close of these contortions his face began more and more to resemble his father’s. He continued to scratch his head.
‘It’s her ma,’ he said.
‘Her ma?’
‘Her father died years ago. He was a sailor. He and Mrs. Brandon used to fight like one o’clock. She was an actress at one time, you know. Joanna’s father used to be great friends with old Passenger. That was why he came to live here, but Mrs. B. didn’t like the Passengers because she thought they high-hatted her. Then, when her husband died, she said she would be like Queen Victoria and never be seen in public again. It was really an excuse because she hated taking exercise. Nobody minded about it but it’s tough luck on Joanna. It’s made her a bit strange you know. She sits about reading a book all day long. Of course I daresay reading is in the blood and she does it just naturally like her mother does. Still, you’d think she’d like to come and have nine holes with me once in a while, wouldn’t you?’
