скачать книгу бесплатно
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing. Tell me what’s happened.’ Hersey took Mrs Compline’s hands between her own, and, feeling them writhe together in her grasp, was visited by an idea that the distress which Mrs Compline’s face was incapable of expressing had flowed into these struggling hands. ‘What’s happened?’ Hersey repeated.
‘Hersey, that man, Jonathan’s new friend. I can’t meet him again.’
‘Aubrey Mandrake?’
‘No, no. The other.’
‘Dr Hart?’
‘I can’t meet him.’
‘But why?’
‘Don’t look at me. I know it’s foolish of me, Hersey, but I can’t tell you if you look at me. Please go on dressing and let me tell you.’
Hersey returned to the dressing-table, and presently Mrs Compline began to speak. The thin, exhausted voice, now well controlled, lent no colour to the story of despoiled beauty. It trailed dispassionately through her husband’s infidelities, her own despair, her journey to Vienna, and her return. And Hersey, while she listened, absently made up her own face, took off her net, and arranged her hair. When it was over she turned towards Mrs Compline, but came no nearer to her.
‘But can you be sure?’ she said.
‘It was his voice. When I heard of him first, practising in Great Chipping, I wondered. I said so to Deacon, my maid. She was with me that time in Vienna.’
‘It was over twenty years ago, Sandra. And his name –’
‘He must have changed it when he became naturalized.’
‘Does he look at all as he did then?’
‘No. He has changed very much.’
‘Then –’
‘I am not positive, but I am almost positive. I can’t face it, Hersey, can I?’
‘I think you can,’ said Hersey, ‘and I think you will.’
V
Jonathan stood in front of a blazing fire in the drawing room. Brocaded curtains hung motionless before the windows, the room glowed with reflected light and, but for the cheerful hiss and crackle of burning logs, was silent. The night outside was silent too, but every now and then Jonathan heard a momentary sighing as if the very person of the North Wind explored the outer walls of Highfold. Presently one of the shutters knocked softly at its frame and then the brocaded curtains stirred a little, and Jonathan looked up expectantly. A door at the far end of the room opened and Hersey Amblington came in.
‘Hersey, how magnificent! You have dressed to please me, I believe. I have a passion for dull green and furs. Charming of you, my dear.’
‘You won’t think me so charming when you hear what I’ve got to say,’ Hersey rejoined. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Jo.’
‘What an alarming phrase that is,’ said Jonathan. ‘Will you have a drink?’
‘No, thank you. Sandra Compline has been threatening to go home.’
‘Indeed? That’s vexing. I hope you dissuaded her?’
‘Yes. I did.’
‘Splendid. I’m so grateful. It would have quite spoiled my party.’
‘I told her not to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had scored.’
‘Now, that really is unfair,’ cried Jonathan.
‘No, it’s not. Look here, did you know about Sandra and your whey-faced boy-friend?’
‘Mandrake?’
‘Now, Jo, none of that nonsense. Sandra confides in her maid, and she tells me the maid is bosom friends with your Mrs Pouting. You’ve listened to servants’ gossip, Jo. You’ve heard that Sandra thought this Hart man might be the Dr Hartz who made that appalling mess of her face.’
‘I only wondered. It would be an intriguing coincidence.’
‘I’m ashamed of you, and I’m furious with you on my own account. Forcing me to be civil to that blasted German.’
‘Is she a German?’
‘Whatever she is, she’s a dirty fighter. I’ve heard on excellent authority she’s started a rumour that my Magnolia Food Base grows beards. But never mind about that. I can look after myself.’
‘Darling Hersey! If only you had allowed me to perform that delightful office!’
‘It’s the cruel trick you’ve played on Sandra that horrifies me. You’ve always been the same, Jo. You’ve a passion for intrigue, wedded to an unholy curiosity. You lay your plans, and when they work out and people are hurt or angry, nobody is more sorry or surprised than you. It’s a sort of blind patch in your character.’
‘Was that why you refused me, Hersey, all those years ago?’
Hersey caught her breath, and for a moment was silent.
‘Not that I agree with you, you know,’ said Jonathan. ‘One of my objectives is a lavish burial of hatchets. I hope great things of this weekend.’
‘Do you expect the Compline brothers to become reconciled because you have given Nicholas an opportunity to do his barn-yard strut before Chloris Wynne? Do you suppose Hart, who is obviously in love with The Pirate, will welcome the same performance with her, or that The Pirate and I will wander up and down your house with our arms round each other’s waists, or that Sandra Compline will invite Hart to have another cut at her face? You’re not a fool, Jo.’
‘I had hoped for your co-operation,’ said Jonathan wistfully.
‘Mine!’
‘Well, darling, to a certain extent I’ve had it. You made a marvellous recovery from your own encounter with Madame Lisse, and you tell me you’ve persuaded Sandra to stay.’
‘Only because I felt it was better for her to face it.’
‘Don’t you think it may be better for all of us to face our secret bogey-men? Hersey, I’ve collected a group of people each one of whom is in a great or small degree hag-ridden by a fear. Even Aubrey Mandrake has his little bogey-man.’
‘The poetic dramatist? What have you nosed out from his past?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘No,’ said Hersey, turning pink.
‘You are sitting beside him at dinner. Say, in these exact words, that you understand he has given up footling, and see what sort of response you get.’
‘Why should I use this loathsome phrase to Mr Mandrake?’
‘Why, simply because, although you won’t admit it, darling, you have your share of the family failing – curiosity.’
‘I don’t admit it. And I won’t do it.’
Jonathan chuckled. ‘It is an amusing notion. I shall make the same suggestion to Nicholas. I believe it would appeal to him. To return to our cast of characters. Each of them, Sandra Compline to an extreme degree, has pushed his or her fear into a cupboard. Chloris is afraid of her old attraction to Nicholas, William is afraid of Nicholas’s fascination for Chloris and for his mother, Hart is afraid of Nicholas’s fascination for Madame Lisse, Sandra is afraid of a terrible incident in her past, Madame Lisse, though I must say she does not reveal her fear, is perhaps a little afraid of both Hart and Nicholas. You, my dearest, fear the future. If Nicholas has a fear it is that he may lose prestige, and that is a terrible fear.’
‘And you, Jo?’
‘I am the compère. Part of my business is to unlock the cupboards and show the fears to be less terrible in the light of day.’
‘And you have no bogey-man of your own?’
‘Oh, yes, I have,’ said Jonathan, and the light gleamed on his spectacles. ‘His name is Boredom.’
‘And therein am I answered,’ said Hersey.
CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_b0470e3f-dd29-57fa-a6cb-bb006a8267d1)
Threat (#ulink_b0470e3f-dd29-57fa-a6cb-bb006a8267d1)
I
While he was dressing, Mandrake had wondered how Jonathan would place his party at dinner. He actually tried to work out, on several sheets of Highfold notepaper, a plan that would keep apart the most bitterly antagonistic of the guests. He found the task beyond him. The warring elements could be separated, but any such arrangement seemed only to emphasize friendships that were in themselves infuriating to one or another of the guests. It did not enter his head that Jonathan, with reckless bravado, would choose the most aggravating and provocative arrangement possible. But this was what he did. The long dining-table had been replaced by a round one. Madame Lisse sat between Jonathan and Nicholas, Chloris between Nicholas and William. Sandra Compline was on Jonathan’s right, and had Dr Hart for her other partner. Hersey Amblington was next to Dr Hart, and Mandrake himself, the odd man, sat between Hersey and William. From the moment when they found their places it was obvious to Mandrake that the success of the dinner-party was most endangered by Mrs Compline and Dr Hart. These two had been the last to arrive, Mrs Compline appearing after Caper had announced dinner. Both were extremely pale and, when they found their place-cards, seemed to flinch all over: ‘Like agitated horses,’ thought Mandrake. When they were all seated, Dr Hart darted a strange glance across the table at Madame Lisse. She looked steadily at him for a moment. Jonathan was talking to Mrs Compline; Dr Hart, with an obvious effort, turned to Hersey Amblington. Nicholas, who had the air of a professional diner-out, embarked upon a series of phrases directed equally, Mandrake thought, at Madame Lisse and Chloris Wynne. They were empty little phrases, but Nicholas delivered them with many inclinations of his head, this way and that, with archly masculine glances, punctual shouts of laughter, and frequent movements of his hand to his blond moustache. ‘In the nineties,’ Mandrake thought, ‘Nicholas would have been known as a masher. There is no modern word to describe his gallantries.’ They were successful gallantries, however, for both Chloris and Madame Lisse began to look alert and sleek. William preserved a mulish silence, and Dr Hart, while he spoke to Hersey, glanced from time to time at Madame Lisse.
Evidently Jonathan had chosen a round table with the object of keeping the conversation general, and in this project he was successful. However angry Hersey may have been with her cousin, she must have decided to pull her weight in the rôle of hostess for which he had obviously cast her. Mandrake, Madame Lisse, and Nicholas all did their share, and presently there appeared a kind of gaiety at the table. ‘It’s merely going to turn into a party that is precariously successful in the teeth of extraordinary obstacles,’ Mandrake told himself. ‘We have made a fuss about nothing.’ But this opinion was checked when he saw Dr Hart stare at Nicholas, when on turning to William he found him engaged in what appeared to be some whispered expostulation with Chloris, and when, turning away in discomfort, he saw Mrs Compline with shaking hands hide an infinitesimal helping under her knife and fork. He emptied his glass and gave his attention to Hersey Amblington, who seemed to be talking about him to Jonathan.
‘Mr Mandrake sniffs at my suggestion,’ Hersey was saying. ‘Don’t you, Mr Mandrake?’
‘Do I?’ Mandrake rejoined uneasily. ‘What suggestion, Lady Hersey?’
‘There! He hasn’t even heard me, Jo. Why, the suggestion I made before dinner for a surrealist play.’
Before Mandrake could find an answer Nicholas Compline suddenly struck into the conversation.
‘You mustn’t be flippant with Mr Mandrake, Hersey,’ he said. ‘He’s looking very austere. I’m sure he’s long ago given up footling.’
Mandrake experienced the sensation of a violent descent in some abandoned lift. His inside seemed to turn over, and the tips of his fingers went cold. ‘God!’ he thought. ‘They know. In a moment they will speak playfully of Dulwich.’ And he sat with his fork held in suspended animation, halfway to his mouth. ‘This atrocious woman,’ he thought, ‘this atrocious woman. This loathsome, grinning young man.’ He turned to Hersey and found her staring at him with an expression that he interpreted as knowing. Mandrake shied away and, looking wildly round the table, encountered the thick-lensed glasses of his host. Jonathan’s lips were pursed, and in the faint creases at the corners of his mouth Mandrake read complacency and amusement. ‘So that’s it,’ thought Mandrake furiously. ‘He knows and he’s told them. It’s the sort of thing that would delight him. My vulnerable spot. He’s having a tweak at it, and he and his cousin and his bloody friend will laugh delicately and tell each other they were very naughty with poor Mr Stanley Footling.’ But Jonathan was speaking to him, gently carrying forward the theme of Hersey’s suggestion for a play.
‘I have noticed, Aubrey, that the layman is always eager to provide the artist with ideas. Do you imagine, Hersey darling, that Aubrey is a sort of æsthetic scavenger?’
‘But mine was such a good idea.’
‘You must excuse her, Aubrey. No sense of proportion, I’m afraid, poor woman.’
‘Mr Mandrake does excuse me,’ said Hersey, and her smile held such a warmth of friendliness that it dispelled Mandrake’s panic. ‘I was mistaken,’ he thought. ‘Another false alarm. Why must I be so absurdly sensitive? Other people have changed their names without experiencing these terrors.’ The relief was so great that for a time he was lost in it, and heard only the gradual quieting of his own heartbeats. But presently he became aware of a lull in the general conversation. They had reached dessert. Jonathan’s voice alone was heard, and Mandrake thought that he must have been speaking for some little time.
II
‘No one person,’ Jonathan was saying, ‘is the same individual to more than one other person. That is to say, the reality of individuals is not absolute. Each individual has as many exterior realities as the number of encounters he makes.’
‘Ah,’ said Dr Hart, ‘this is a pet theory of my own. The actual “he” is known to nobody.’
‘Does the actual “he” even exist?’ Jonathan returned. ‘May it not be argued that “he” has no intrinsic reality since different selves arise out of a conglomeration of selves to meet different events?’
‘I don’t see what you mean,’ said William, with his air of worried bafflement.
‘Nor do I, William,’ said Hersey. ‘One knows how people will react to certain events, Jo. We say: “Oh, so-and-so is no go when it comes to such-and-such a situation.”’
‘My contention is that this is exactly what we do not know.’
‘But, Mr Royal,’ cried Chloris, ‘we do know. We know, for instance, that some people will refuse to listen to gossip.’
‘We know,’ said Nicholas, ‘that one man will keep his head in a crisis where another will go jitterbug. This war –’
‘Oh, don’t let’s talk about this war,’ said Chloris.
‘There are some men in my company –’ William began, but Jonathan raised his hand and William stopped short.
‘Well, I concede,’ said Jonathan, ‘that the same “he” may make so many appearances that we may gamble on his turning up under certain circumstances, but I contend that it is a gamble and that though under these familiar circumstances we may agree on the probability of certain reactions, we should quarrel about theoretical behaviour under some unforeseen, hitherto un-experienced circumstances.’
‘For example?’ asked Madame Lisse.
‘Parachute invasion –’ began William, but his mother said quickly: ‘No, William, not the war.’ It was the first time since dinner that Mandrake had heard her speak without being addressed.
‘I agree,’ said Jonathan. ‘Let us not draw our examples from the war. Let us suppose that – what shall I say –’
‘That the Archangel Gabriel popped down the chimney,’ suggested Hersey, ‘and blasted his trumpet in your ear.’
‘Or that Jonathan told us,’ said Nicholas, ‘that this was a Borgia party and the champagne was lethal and we had but twelve minutes to live.’
‘Not the Barrie touch, I implore you,’ said Mandrake, rallying a little.
‘Or,’ said Jonathan, peering into the shadows beyond the candle-lit table, ‘that my new footman, who is not present at the moment, suddenly developed homicidal mania and was possessed of a lethal weapon. Let us, at any rate, suppose ourselves shut up with some great and impending menace.’ He paused, and for a moment complete silence fell upon the company.
The new footman returned. He and Caper moved round the table again. ‘So he’s keeping the champagne going,’ thought Mandrake, ‘in case the women won’t have brandy or liqueurs. Caper’s being very judicious. Nobody’s tight, unless it’s William or Hart. I’m not sure of them. Everybody else is nicely, thank you.’
‘Well,’ said Jonathan, ‘under some such disastrous circumstance, how does each of you believe I would behave? Come now, I assure you I shan’t cavil at the strictest censure. Sandra, what do you think I would do?’
Mrs Compline raised her disfigured face. ‘What you would do?’ she repeated. ‘I think you would talk, Jonathan.’ And for the first time that evening there was a burst of spontaneous laughter. Jonathan uttered his high-pitched giggle.
‘Touché,’ he said. ‘And you, Madame Lisse?’
‘I believe that for perhaps the first time in your life you would lose your temper, Mr Royal.’
‘Nick?’
