Nothing Page 7
“You see we were all in the one set, went about together, stayed great pals most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” she echoed with an artless expression.
“Well it must be so with your generation,” Mr. Morris answered. “We had our ups and downs. People fall out then come together again. Don’t you find that?”
“Me? Oh I haven’t any friends.”
“Haven’t any friends, a pretty girl like you? Or is there something wrong?”
“Wrong with me!” she cried.
“So you see you’ve got hundreds of ’em,” he concluded.
“I haven’t, honestly. I don’t think we meet the number of different people you used to.”
“It may not be quite the same for girls of course but boys still go to Eton don’t they?”
“I suppose,” she said. “Did Mummy know many?”
“Etonians?”
“Don’t be idiotic,” she demanded smiling. “No, people of course.”
“Yes,” he said, “a beautiful woman like that would have, wouldn’t she?”
“And Mrs. Weatherby and she got married at the same time?”
“They did,” he replied.
“D’you think Philip and I look like each other?” she asked.
“No I don’t.”
“Who were her other friends?”
“Your mother? Well everyone of our lot. You’ve seen ’em about again and again whenever your father invites them in.”
“He’s to give another party now,” she announced.
“Don’t tell me that just when I’m stuck here like this!”
“But you’ll be out soon?”
“Oh I expect so. When is it?”
“This is funny,” she said. “You know how cautious Daddy can be. It seems Mrs. Weatherby’s planning one and he wants to see how hers goes before he commits himself.”
“I don’t know why he need,” Mr. Morris objected. He hitched himself back against the pillows as though the cradle under bedclothes over his leg were sucking his whole body towards the foot. “They’ll be the same old crowd in the end,” he added.
“And was that the case when Mummy was alive?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well anyway who were her particular friends?”
“We’ve all kept together, those who’re still alive of course. You’ve met every single one Mary.”
“Then why ask them to Philip’s twenty firster?”
“Is that what Jane’s doing?”
“It’s what she will do,” the girl replied. “Oh I’ve no call to say a word even. But don’t you think it rather dim for Philip?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing’s happened yet surely.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I’m still without an invitation and she would be bound to ask me.”
“Still you’re in bed aren’t you? Oh I am so sorry, how horribly rude! I am beastly.”
“You aren’t,” he said. “But of course she’d send an invite even if I couldn’t come. We’ve all stuck together always.”
“It’s not for me to say but don’t you think at his twenty firster Philip ought to see more people of his own age?”
“Of course I don’t know who is actually to be invited,” he replied. “Do you mean John’s going to ask only his cronies to your party?”
“Oh I’ve got no one, I don’t meet a soul,” she answered. “You knew Mummy. What would she have done?”
“The same as Jane I imagine.”
“She would have invited her.”
“Yes,” Mr. Morris said doubtfully. “Oh yes, at one time.”
“You see I was told Daddy and Mrs. Weatherby had had a terrific affair once.”
Mr. Morris seemed uncomfortable.
“Well I don’t know about that,” he said. “We had our ups and downs. One can’t be sure of anything. But what would be wrong if they had?” he asked.
“Oh nothing,” she agreed too hastily. “Nothing in the least. Surely I can be curious when I never knew Mummy,” she pouted, “don’t remember her at all.”
“Yes it certainly can’t be easy for you,” he said.
“I’ve not known anything else and that’s easy,” she objected.
Shortly afterwards she left, having learned no more from him.
Later, in time for a glass of sherry, Philip Weatherby sent his name up and was welcomed by Mr. Morris.
“Mary’s just been,” the older man said.
“I’m back from Brighton as a matter of fact and everyone seems to be asking me if I’ve come from Mary. I can’t understand it.”
“You must be thinking of her all the time,” Mr. Morris replied.
“How’s that?”
“Did you never notice Philip? You see someone in the street you haven’t met for years and the next fortnight you come across them again and again for a bit. You’d better look out, you’re falling in love.”
“What’s the connection?”
“Forget it I was only joking. There’s none of course. Your mother’s to give a party I hear.”
“Yes she is.”
“Your twenty firster?”
“No, just a small thing for her friends. I don’t see much point in twenty firsters do you? Or bachelor dinner parties before you’re married. All that tripe is out of date.”
“Oh I don’t know Philip. How about silver weddings?”
“They’re different,” the young man announced. “They’re family. There can be some point in those. But I wanted to ask something. D’you think Mr. Pomfret’s in love with my mother or her with him?”
“Is she feeding him?”
“What on earth are you getting at?”
“Does she ask him continually to meals? Not drinks, meals.”
“Well yes he does come pretty often.”
“It’s an infallible sign with women Philip. Do you mind?”
“Me? Why should I? It’s none of my business. But look here this is strictly private. Was he very much in love with Mamma once?”
“My dear chap I’ve no way of knowing.”
“He was supposed to be wasn’t he? Didn’t you tell me that?”
“That’s not evidence,” Mr. Morris objected.
“I mean did he ever actually have a child by her?”
Arthur Morris gave the young man a long look before he replied.
“Where is it now if he did?”
“How should I know?”
“Then all you’ve got is the evidence of your own senses Philip. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”
There was no resemblance physical or otherwise between Mr. Weatherby and Mary. Shortly after, without another word on this subject, Philip made his excuses and left with ill grace.
•
Later that week Philip Weatherby and Mary Pomfret were sitting in the downstairs lounge of the same respectable public house off Knightsbridge.
“They all ought to be liquidated,” he said obviously in disgust.
“Who Philip?”
“Every one of our parents’ generation.”
“But I love Daddy.”
“You can’t.”
“I do, so now you know!”
“They’re wicked darling,” he exclaimed. “They’ve had two frightful wars they’ve done nothing about except fight in and they’re rotten to the core.”
“Barring your relations I suppose?”
“Well Mamma’s a woman. She’s really not to blame. Nevertheless I do include her. Of course she couldn’t manage much about the slaughter. And she can be marvellous at times. Oh I don’t know though, I think I hate them every one.”
“But why on earth?”
“I feel they’re against us.”
“You and me do you mean?”
“Well yes if you like. They’re so beastly selfish they think of no one and nothing but themselves.”
“Are you upset about your twenty firster then?”
“Not really,”
he answered. “I wouldn’t’ve had one in any case.”
“Then what is actually the matter?”
There was a long pause.
“It’s because they’re like rabbits about sex,” he said at last.
“But I don’t know the habits of rabbits, do I, except they have delicious noses?”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am a bit.”
“But you realize I’m right Mary darling.”
“No I don’t,” she said. “And I’m mad about Daddy.”
“Well then what d’you really think about my mother?”
“To me she’s very clever and rather sweet, now at all events.”
“Even when she practically broke up your mother’s home?”
“Oh no Philip you’re not to go on this way about parents. If you continue like it you’ll begin to have them on your mind and then there’ll be rows and all sorts of unpleasantnesses.”
“But can you stand by and listen to this talk of theirs without putting in a word?”
“Mummy’s dead, we’ll never know the truth and it’s you who’re raking a whole lot up or so I think.”
“Oh I didn’t have that idea at all,” he protested.
“Yet Philip it can only harm Mummy.”
“When she was the aggrieved party?” he demanded.
“Of course. You must be discreet you really must.”
“I’m sorry. It’s natural the whole business should be beastly for you. Forgive me.” He sounded genuine and penitent. She smiled rather sadly.
“You’re forgiven,” she said.
But it appeared he was unable to keep off the subject.
“I went to see Arthur Morris the other day,” he began again.
“So did I.”
“You did? Yes I think he said something. I’ve forgotten. But he made the oddest statement. That when a woman starts to get tired of a man she stops feeding him, having him in for real meals.”
“If that’s so then I truly love Daddy because I what you call feed the dear one all the time.”
“We did discuss him as a matter of fact.”
“In what way?” she demanded with signs of irritation.
“As to whether Mamma was still fond of your father.”
“No Philip you shan’t go on like this and you simply mustn’t discuss Daddy with Mr. Morris. I won’t have it d’you hear? You’re just raking the ashes and I tell you it’s most frightfully suspect.”
“I know,” he hastened to explain. “I see your point. But I can’t sleep at night now, I’m getting in a regular state.”
“Oh darling what’s the matter?” she asked nervously, and for the first occasion in the evening looked full at him.
“I hope you’ll find this absurd, too ridiculous for words, but I’ve told you before, we might be half brother and sister.”
“So you want to make out whether I’m one of your precious relatives?” she asked with scorn.
“Well yes in a way. Yes I do.”
“Then I’m not!” she said in almost a loud voice. “I’ve been making enquiries on my own and we’re quite definitely not what you say.”
“We aren’t?” he cried and it was obvious that he was deeply excited. “You’re sure? Certain?”
“Yes Philip.”
“But how? Who can possibly tell?”
“Now I’m not going to have another word about that poor wretched worry of yours ever again. And you’re to promise me before we leave here!”
“You swear it’s true Mary?”
“I do” she said. She got out a handkerchief, blew her nose hard. “Now will you promise?”
He showed signs of great nervousness.
“All right. Yes. I will,” he said.
She gave him a small smile.
“It’s right, what I said. You can trust me,” she averred.
“But you went to find out on your own?” he demanded.
“Now you promised you know,” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he said.
There was a further pause.
“Have another drink?” he asked with enthusiasm at last. “You don’t want to go on with those light ales. Try a short.”
“I think I’ll stick to beer if you do feel like one more,” she replied, smiling sadly at him. This time she did not offer to pay the round and sighed as she looked at her face in her mirror while he went to fetch their drinks.
“Have you heard about little Penelope?” he enquired when he came back. He laughed in rather a wild manner.
“No.”
“She can’t let go of her arm now.”
“What do you mean?”
“She will persist in hugging her own elbow Mary. Holds her left arm in the right hand all day, even falls asleep like it at night.”
“And how does your mother accept that one?” Miss Pomfret demanded with the first sign of malice she had shown.
“Well I think she’s wrong, she takes not the slightest notice Mamma doesn’t. But to my mind it might be really serious.”
“In what way?” the girl demanded in a bored voice.
“You see I got to the bottom,” he replied. “Cheers,” he said, raising the glass to his lips. She let her drink stand on the table. “I made Pen come out with it,” he went on. “You’ve no idea the passion for secrecy they have at that age.”
“I was one once you know,” she reminded him.
“By now you must have forgotten,” he said. “Well it seems she saw a war wounded man with a stump for an arm on the front at Brighton without his coat, escaping out of chains or something. So she thinks unless she keeps hold she’ll lose hers.”
Miss Pomfret yawned.
“I’ve told Mamma but she won’t catch on,” he continued. “Mary what do you think?”
“I expect Penelope’s doing this to attract attention. Girls usually like attention you know,” Miss Pomfret said.
“But if that’s the case she’ll go on indefinitely.”
“I suppose she may Philip.”
“That’s a grim thought surely?”
“One day she’ll marry and then her husband can take over,” Miss Pomfret drily suggested.
“Well you know what my mother is. I can’t understand her ignoring this. Oh aren’t one’s parents and their friends extraordinary! Imagine what I overheard between Mamma and that old Abbot. He was going endlessly on about his war experiences out in Italy. She’d said how wonderful she found white oxen. I expect someone once said those great eyes of hers were so alike. As a matter of fact I distinctly admire her eyes don’t you? But anyway he said he’d spent night after night out with them. That made Mamma scream all right. So he came back that a night in a stall with an ox was a damn sight better than out in the open alone under stars. Then she asked did they snore? Would you believe it? And there’s worse coming. Because when he didn’t reply Mamma said ‘Do they dream Richard?’ Honestly I was nearly sick.”
“I know,” Miss Pomfret agreed. “They can be frightful.”
•
Mrs. Weatherby was giving Mary’s father dinner.
“Oh my dear,” she said, “when are we ever going to see the sun?” He sighed.
“Is there simply never to be Spring this year?” she insisted.
“The continual rain is too frightful,” Mr. Pomfret agreed. “Well Jane was your trip down to Brighton a success?”
“It helped Penelope and me so enormously John.”
“Did you see anyone?” he incuriously enquired.
“Richard Abbot came over for the day which was sweet of him wasn’t it? Oh yes Philip was kind enough to look in.”
“And how’s Pen?”
“Ah the gallant angel,” Jane cried. “She’s my one comfort apart from you. She loved Brighton. Just came back with a little thing, only that she has somehow to keep hold on her elbow, but I know a way to manage the little sweet. I’m going to buy her a bag, John, to carry. Now don’t you think that a brilliant notion?”
“Oh no, there I’m in despair,” she announced. “Simply desperate.”
“Would you like me to talk to him?”
“Dear John I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I think I’d really rather not, that you didn’t. It was poor Richard offered himself you remember and put it in my head. Of course I thought at once how much better you would be if you could. But the boy’s been so disagreeable, John. Don’t remind me of him please.”
“He hasn’t been rude to you?”
“Oh no not quite. It’s just I think he’s insane. Better leave him strictly to his poor mad self. And you? How have you been?”
“As well as may be these hard times.”
“How true that is darling. But then Mary? What’s her news?”
“I don’t seem to see much of her Jane. One’s offspring are a sacred farce.”
“John you don’t think this extraordinary feeling they have for snobbery, some of them that is because I’m sure I’ve not noticed the tiniest trace, even, in Mary, can you suppose it would go oh I can’t tell but to absurd lengths with them, even to refusing to marry outside the family.”
“What’ve you got in mind? The old continental requirement of sixteen quarterings in a husband?”
“No no my dear I wish I had,” she said. “Or rather I think it quite out of date don’t you and in any case I haven’t any, that is I can’t run to that extraordinary number. But of course in a small way it might simplify things.”
“How Jane?”
“Well naturally not with my Philip,” she explained in a laugh. “He’s got the idea now right enough. Yet I’ve warned him it might cut both ways, prevent his marrying someone he very much wanted. And again I don’t mean Mary, I’m sure the dear child is much too sensible. But oh John I have warned Philip if not once then quite a thousand times. No but the whole picture has grown so enormous in his poor head I really believe he feels deep down inside him that he must, simply must find a wife so close that the marriage could almost turn out to be incestuous John.”
“Incestuous. So you’re afraid he’ll never start a family is that it?” Mr. Pomfret did not appear to take the conversation seriously.
At this point Mrs. Weatherby left her place to twitter in bad Italian down the dumb waiter shaft. She was answered by a sweet babble that was almost song.
“Ah these Southerners,” the lady remarked as she sat herself at table again. “The other day Isabella came to me for half a crown. The last occasion she asked for money was only the whole return fare to go back to Italy to vote in the elections. So I naturally wanted to know what for this time and what d’you suppose she said, why simply to buy a mouse. ‘Get a mouse?’ I said after I’d looked the word up in the dictionary. ‘Because Roberto’ that’s our cat ‘is so lonely’ she answered. I screamed, I just yelled, wouldn’t you? I can’t bear cruelty to animals John dear. But she’s so persistent and in the end of course she got her own way! Naturally I kept out of the house for a few days after that and forbade sweet Penelope the kitchen or I said I’d simply never speak to the child again. And then I forgot. Isn’t it dreadful the way one does? I went down there for something or other and Isabella showed me. They were both drinking milk out of the same saucer, Roberto and his mouse. John is it sorcery, spell-binding or something?”