They were now in the kitchen. Paula handed him two plates of sandwiches.
“Both are egg and cress, one each end.” She gazed, saddened for a moment, at Hans’s back. What a pity, when there was to be a party and all were so happy, that Hans should have his day spoilt because he must play the piano to Mr. Moses. When she thought of Mr. Moses the words “zum Verrücktwerden” sprang into her mind to be quickly pushed out. If thinking of Mr. Moses made her think in German then it was best not to think of Mr. Moses. She heard a door slam in the distance; that would be the terrible Mrs. Bank leaving Mrs. Willis; she was one who either left doors open or slammed them; there was no alternative. She hurried down the stairs.
“Jenny. Jenny. Please, you will come up, we are so busy, every hand is needed.” Jenny did not reply so Paula went into the flat. She found the girl on her bed. It was unlike her to be lying down, and Paula was concerned. “You’re feeling all right?”
Jenny looked frightened and uncertain.
“I think so, I felt rather odd . . .” Paula helped her up.
“Of course you are all right. We want you in the dining-room with us, we must have advice on how the table should be. We are expecting Mabel with the cake.”
They climbed the stairs arm in arm, Paula slowing her pace to match Jenny’s heaviness. It was good to think Mr. Willis would start his holiday to-night and would not go back to work until the baby was born. This girl was too much of a responsibility, she did not look at all well this morning, but it was not wise to say so. So often she had not looked well; it was better to make no mention of her appearance, just keep her busy and employed. Nothing heavy, nothing she could do harm to; often she would not seem to know what she was at. To-day she could arrange sweets on little dishes. At least that could not be done wrong, and if it was not done at all then she herself could do it later.
The table had begun to look really festive when Mabel’s knock was heard on the door. Mabel could have walked in. Every door was open and she could hear Irma’s shrill, gay voice, but the arrival of the cake should not go unannounced. She was greeted with a scream from Irma and Paula’s excited, “That will be Mabel with the cake; come, children, it will be the cake, Jenny.”
The cake was placed in position. Irma could not find the words to praise it.
“But that is marvellous—it is wunderschön—it is like the frock of Coppelia—ach wie schön—it is super—it is gorgeous—himmlich—Mother, one day I will have a ballet frock that colour and in my hair the dog roses . . .”
Hans for once became talkative. He told Mabel how much he admired the cake, he pointed out its beauties to Jenny, he chattered away to Irma. Paula looked at the cake with a rapt, admiring smile. Not even Mabel could guess what it had cost her not to make that cake herself. There was something about a cake for a party. It was a thing that all might admire without appearing greedy. Heinrich had been angry that she had left the making of the cake to Mabel; he had wished to hear Mr. Moses say he wished Mrs. Moses could make such a cake. Never, for one moment, had Paula hoped to win liking for herself in handing the honour of the cake making to Mabel; she knew that was impossible, that she had about her an insignificance that made people in the house not dislike her but forget she was there. In giving Mabel the cake to make, if she thought of any one but Mabel, she thought of her children. Pleasure given, or respect shown, to one who was not Jewish might make the road a little easier for them when they grew up. She laid a hand on Mabel’s arm.
“It is beautiful, always I have dreamed of such a one.”
Penny and Charlotte ran into each other in Shepherd Market. Penny had her arms full of parcels. She looked, Charlotte thought, rather like the cover of a Christmas number, for she had on a sheep-skin coat and round her neck a vivid Jacqmar scarf, and out of one of her parcels stuck the head of a Father Christmas.”
“Christmas shopping?”
Penny dismissed her bundles with a casual glance.
“For the party that Paula’s giving for Jane. The idea was, you know, that I’d give it as Freda’s so busy, but Paula said she would because they’ve got the piano. She also said they could get things to eat. My God! That’s true. The stuff that man brings home is like an American food ad.”
“Can you have a glass of sherry at that bar of yours?”
Penny looked at Charlotte with amusement.
“Getting a proper drunkard, you are. I said I’d hurry home with the things I’d bought for Paula; actually, it’s a farce, the bits and pieces I’ve been able to buy are a disgrace to a Bettelheim party.”
“I wanted to ask you what happened about ‘the gentleman’ and Mrs. Duke.”
“I told her not to be an ass and bring him to the house. In a way, you know, she’s fond of Jeremy.” Is she, thought Charlotte? If she is it’s amazing the way she remains friends with Penny. Penny was having a look at Charlotte. She looked tired, she thought, and in a way helpless. Perhaps it was the shopping bag. Most women looked vaguely pathetic carrying a shopping bag. Charlotte said:
“Thank God it’s fine for once.”
Penny agreed it was marvellous and led the way into the bar. It could not be the shopping bag, she decided. Charlotte must be feeling tired, it was unlike her to blah about the weather, which was not really so hot.
They sipped their sherry. Penny wondered if Charlotte had suggested the drink out of friendliness or because she had something she wanted to say. Charlotte was wishing she had not suggested the drink; she was feeling tired and depressed and had jumped at the chance of Penny’s company; for all Penny’s moods she could have a very tonic effect. She had not seen her alone since she had been up for that drink the day they had discussed Freda Duke. She had longed for an opportunity to cement the new-found friendship they had made that afternoon, but she had felt that it would be clumsy to push it, the first move must come from Penny or from an accidental meeting. This was an accidental meeting and she had snatched at it without thinking. It would be a pity if Penny found her boring and heavy in hand, and was put off. Something had made her feel more tired and depressed than she had been. She wondered what it could have been and landed on Mrs. Bettelheim. Penny called everybody by their christian names; it was very mysterious why Mrs. Bettelheim should have become Paula. She was a dear little thing but not in the least Penny’s type. She must have a lot to her; it was queer that so retiring and gentle a creature had acquired the position she had in the house; nothing ever seemed to happen but in some way Mrs. Bettelheim came into it.
“I feel useless, Penny.”
Penny lit a cigarette.
“In what way?”
“In the house. Mrs. Bettelheim—Paula as you call her—seems to do all the things that I ought to do.”
“Do you mean give a party? What would you be giving a party for? You’ve no children.”
“Not only the party. It’s Mrs. Willis . . .”
Penny interrupted.
“She’s all right. He starts his leave to-day. As a matter of fact, the whole house has been clucking round her like a hen from what I can gather. Mabel making little bits of this and that, Hannah puffing up the stairs and having a look in, Paula being marvellous. Any odd moment Mrs. Parks is there, she says she can spare the time, actually what’s happening is, as I tell the old so-and-so, she charges me half a crown an hour to clean my flat and gives me a lick and a polish, and spends the time having cups of tea with Mrs. Willis. Still, it’s all in a good cause; he’s been awfully nice about this party; he’s Willis’s stores, you know.”
“Willis’s stores? What, along the south coast?”
“Yes, didn’t you know? He started at the Brighton branch, now he’s something frightfully grand in the new London branch. They’ve got a toy department, he’s managed to get no end of toys for the Christmas tree for Paula’s party. He’s rather nice, he was madly funny about Mrs. Willis’s mother. If you believe it, Charlott
e, she’s called Mumsie. I told him I simply couldn’t live without meeting Mumsie now he’s told me about her. Actually, I suppose, the whole house will be buzzing with Willis relations making cooing noises and bringing rattles.” Charlotte put down her sherry glass. Good God, thought Penny! Brighton again, I am an ass. She looks quite green; she added lightly, “Actually, he simply loathes Mumsie, so I don’t think she’ll be around much.” She beckoned to the barman. “I vote we have another drink.”
Charlotte did not want a second glass of sherry, but she accepted it in silence. What a stroke of fate, the Willises on both sides being Brighton families. She tried to think why she had not found that out when Mr. Willis came to see her at Peasefield. Why had she got it into her head that they came from Eastbourne or Hastings or wherever it was? He must have said something about the south coast. Why, oh, why, hadn’t she had the sense to ask him where he lived? Only she had been sorry for him and he was so eager to have the flat. She felt that Penny’s sharp eyes were on her and pulled herself together. So stupid to feel sick every time Brighton was mentioned. After all, she never saw the Willises, they did not even use the same staircase as she did. If all their relations and all their friends came up to see the baby there was no earthly reason why she should run into any of them.
“Fancy me drinking a second glass of sherry. I never do. I’m a bit tired to-day, perhaps it will do me good. I find Christmas shopping such a bore; it used to be fun but now you can’t get anything you want. Your father has had cards printed. I’m sending out a couple of hundred, but I’m sure I shall find I’ve forgotten somebody. I’m so terrified of forgetting one of the village at home.”
Penny could hear that Charlotte was talking at random. She was not bothered with Christmas shopping, she was not bothered with cards, she was just fumbling for something to say. Poor old thing, pity to get into a state; after all, if she’d got another husband at Brighton or a body buried under the beach or whatever it was, there was no reason why the Willises should know anything about it. No matter what Charlotte had been up to before she appeared at Peasefield as Lady Nettel, it was perfectly certain from Mr. Willis’s description of Mumsie that she could never have lived in Mumsie’s world. Penny wanted to say something nice; she looked at Charlotte’s clothes. Most women could be cheered up by being told they looked nice, but there was nothing about Charlotte that she could comment on. She was wearing the same clothes that she had worn that morning at the beginning of the year when they had met each other to look over the empty house. Charlotte would think it perfectly idiotic if she said, “What a nice coat.” It was quite a nice coat, but it was very far from new. She went back to the beginning of their conversation.
“You’re all wrong when you say Paula does the things you ought to do. You ought to hear Mrs. Parks, ‘Lady Nettel says this’ and ‘Lady Nettel says that.’ Actually, you’re important, like the Holy Ghost, invisible but highly influential.”
Charlotte smiled.
“Silly child. You’re very naughty. If your father heard you he would suggest you came to church with us on Sunday mornings. All the same, I do feel useless. D’you think there’s anything nice I could do at Christmas?”
“What sort of nice? You can’t call on all the flats with bottles of ginger wine and cigarettes, if that’s what you mean. I suppose you could organise carol singing in the hall . . .”
Charlotte refused to be put off.
“There must be something we could do. It is our house. Do you suppose drinks . . .”
Penny laughed.
“‘It was Christmas day in the workhouse’—that would be Christmas cheer. Can you see us? Dad and Mr. Bettelheim drinking the flowing bowl; Mr. and Mrs. Parks brought up from their nice warm basement, wishing that if there was any drink going they could take it downstairs with them; Mrs. Willis practically giving birth on the carpet. I suppose you’d have to ask Hannah and Mabel. Hannah would probably give notice, thinking the whole thing wildly unsuitable. I dare say Jeremy and Mr. Willis would fit in all right, but Paula would die of horror at the mere thought, and, as a finishing touch, I think you ought to ask Freda and ‘the gentleman.’”
“No, it wouldn’t work. I just thought it’d be nice to do something. Perhaps I could ask the children to tea. She’s rather a sweet little girl, Irma, and I’ve always been fond of Hans, and we could have the little Duke girl down.” Penny stooped to pick up her parcels. She looked, Charlotte was surprised to see, suddenly at her most aloof. The laughing, friendly, teasing was over. She was an unaccountable girl. Charlotte said gently, “Thank you for the sherry, it’s done me good. I dare say I won’t do anything about Christmas. It’s just that hearing about the party I felt rather useless.”
Penny had picked up her parcels. She had a thoughtful expression.
“I suppose you and Dad wouldn’t like to look in at the party? I think Paula would like to ask you only she’s too shy. Tea’s at four-thirty. You could come in time for the cutting of the cake. Some time the wretched Hans has got to play the piano and Irma’s going to dance. Mr. Bettelheim has arranged that. Actually, you would probably please everybody if you came along.”
Charlotte was surprised. She had known the Bettelheims longer than Penny. At no time had they ever asked her to anything. She had, in fact, supposed that they liked to be left to themselves and she thought it very natural of them. She, too, collected her things.
“Your father isn’t very keen on parties, as you know, but of course we’ll come if Mrs. Bettelheim asks us. I suppose we ought to bring a present if it’s the Duke child’s birthday. There’s a toy shop round here; I suppose some little thing would do.” She broke off. Penny was trembling she was on the verge of one of her nervous outbreaks. Charlotte was ashamed of herself. How clumsy she had been. Of course she should not have said some cheap little thing when speaking of Mr. Duke’s daughter. She patted Penny’s arm. “I was joking, I’ll find something nice. You tell Mrs. Bettelheim that you’ve asked me and that will save her telephoning.”
* * * * *
Hans was playing his first piece. Penny and Jeremy had shepherded the younger children into the dining-roomforices. John and Charlotte had been included in the manœuvre.
“You’ll be able to hear Hans from the dining-room if you want to,” Penny said, “but a concert at a children’s party is madly revolting somehow. I remember how I used to detest them.”
John found himself talking to Jeremy.
“Pity your wife can’t be here; little girl seems to be having a wonderful time.”
Jeremy explained about Freda’s matinée; he could see that John was incapable of believing that anything Freda might be doing was sufficiently important to make her miss her own daughter’s party, so he changed the subject.
“Nice little flat you’ve let us have, sir. My study is at the back. Queer the difference a room makes. Never seemed able to settle down and write since I got out of the navy, but I can there.”
“What are you writin’?”
Because John was so unlikely to read a novel Jeremy talked about his book. He found himself telling John things he had never thought to tell anybody. About those days at sea when he had got the idea that he knew what he wanted to say and might be able to say it. Of how most days were disappointing, but how the occasional day’s work, or perhaps even an occasional hour’s work, could compensate for everything. John was interested. To him it sounded rather like fishing. To keep on trying, day after day, the same pool, different flies, different times of day; coming home and thinking about it, planning new tactics for the next day. He explained this to Jeremy who, after thought, agreed that it was rather like that. They stood comfortably relaxed leaning against the wall, separated from the party by water, fish rising and the faint scream of a line running out.
Charlotte cast an eye now and again at the two men. Whatever could they have found to talk about? It would be convenient for Penny if John wer
e not to dislike Mr. Duke. Penny was serving ice cream, assisted by Gladys and Mabel. Charlotte went over to her.
“Can I help?”
“Would you get these round as quickly as possible. They’ll keep quiet if they’re eating. It will spoil the party for Paula if there’s a noise while Hans is playing. Mr. Bettelheim will blame her.”
Charlotte nodded. Even through the closed door she could hear Rachmaninoff. Extraordinary that so little a boy as Hans could make so much noise. Mabel was loading ices on to a tray. Charlotte smiled at her.
“Where’s Hannah?”
“We’re doing half time each, m’Lady. Hannah’s listening for bells.”
“There’s no need for that. Sir John and I will be going down soon, I’ll send her up.”
Mabel moved away. Penny said:
“Don’t go yet, Charlotte. Dad looks quite happy. I’ll run down and fetch Hannah.” She filled small plates with ice cream and put them on Charlotte’s tray. “Those were damn nice handkerchiefs you gave Jane; must have cost the earth.”
Charlotte was glad she had pleased Penny.
“Everybody ought to have a party handkerchief. It’s an important day when you are five. Pretty little thing Jane is, and her frock is charming. I hear it’s your present.”
Penny dismissed the frock with a shrug.
“It’s all ribbon, no coupons. There, that’s the lot. I’ll go and fetch old Hannah.”
The children were sitting on the floor. Charlotte climbed in and out, smiling and charming, but her mind was not on what she was doing. What a funny position it was between herself and Penny. There was Penny saying, in effect, “Don’t take Dad away, he’s getting to know . . .” As usual Charlotte skipped the exact word. And there was she accepting the position, and she had always thought herself so deadly respectable.
Grass in Piccadilly Page 17
