Sensible Life

by Mary Wesley

  “Oh witty, very witty,” cried Cosmo and everybody laughed except Madame Tarasova. Cosmo leaned across the piano stool, caught Flora’s head in both hands and kissed her. Flora jerked away as Blanco aimed a kick at his friend. Between the friends there was a sudden surge of anger such as happens when a small child makes free with a little friend’s toy.

  It was then that Felix rapped on the door and came in. “I knocked at the street door,” he said, “but you were making such a noise you did not hear. Forgive me, Madame, my mother sent me to find my sisters. What is going on?” he asked. “Oh, I see, the rejects from the casino have created their own establishment. Why, you have everything—cards, backgammon—” His eyes darted round the room. “And even fortune-telling. Isn’t that a crystal ball I see? Will you tell us our fortunes, Madame?” He wove his way past his sisters and picked the crystal off the mantelshelf.

  Madame Tarasova took the ball from him and replaced it on the shelf. “I do not tell fortunes,” she said stiffly. “This is an ornament, a sphere.”

  Flora caught Blanco’s eye and looked away. Felix said easily: “Apologies, Madame. If you had been able to tell the future you could have told us the outcome of the General Strike in England, which starts at any minute. This is official.”

  “Welcome the revolution,” exclaimed Blanco.

  “Perhaps your cousin Chose will end up in a tumbril,” said Anne optimistically.

  “The miners will lose,” said Elizabeth. “One hardly needs a crystal ball to tell that.”

  “Oh God,” said Blanco, “there is no justice.”

  “And my father will get us back to school whatever happens,” said Cosmo gloomily.

  “Well, cheer up,” said Felix. “While you have been cooped up here gambling, the rain has stopped and the sun has come out. It’s a beautiful day.”

  Cosmo said, “Then we can have the picnic after all. I know the perfect place, a marvellous beach. Let us invite everyone, all the families.”

  Cosmo and Blanco followed Felix and his sisters up the street. “Seen from floor level,” said Cosmo, “those two women’s bosoms are quite something. It would be fascinating to see them naked.”

  “Rather much for my taste,” Blanco demurred.

  “If it keeps fine we could take our swimming things and bathe at the picnic,” said Cosmo. “Brave the chill.”

  “D’you think your sister and Tashie could be lured into the ocean?” asked Blanco, his mind following the line of his friend’s thought. “C’est une idée.”

  “Only if Felix swims too,” said Flora, who had been walking unnoticed a step behind them.

  The two friends spun round, collided, and Flora made off running fast. “Oh, let her go,” said Cosmo, “the skinny little beast,” and to entertain his friend he repeated Flora’s account of Jules’ baby. “She’s as ignorant and innocent as they come,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Blanco. “She caught my eye when Madame T. said she doesn’t tell fortunes, and would someone that innocent walk into the sea?”

  “I thought we decided she was sleep-walking,” said Cosmo, conscious as he spoke that they had decided no such thing, merely failed to discuss it, put the incident aside, almost forgotten it. “Come to think of it,” he said, “the first time I saw her was on that beach, the one I want for the picnic,” and he remembered then Flora’s chilled white face and enormous eyes. “She came in with the tide,” he said.

  THIRTEEN

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, darling? I’ve missed you.” Vita Trevelyan held out her arms.

  Denys bent to kiss her. “M-m-m, you smell good.” He sat beside her on the bed, slid a hand under the bedclothes. “I have not been gone long.”

  “It seemed ages.” She held his hand,

  “Shall I join you? Did you have lunch?”

  “I nibbled a little snack. Hurry up and undress.”

  Denys took off his shoes and socks, stood up to remove his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and looked down at his wife. “You are lovely.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I was delayed by General Leigh—”

  “Oh, him.”

  “—and his friends Ward and MacNeice at the casino.”

  “Freddy and Ian, go on—”

  “They have a plan to get all the children back to school in spite of the strike. They asked if we wanted to join in.”

  “Is the strike official, then? What’s the plan?”

  “As good as. They are hiring a bus at Southampton, packing in all the children and driving around the country dropping them off at their schools until they are delivered at their various academies. MacNeice called them that. His son is at Fettes, he will be the last.”

  “Take off your trousers, darling.”

  “I explained that much as I would like her dropped, preferably out of sight and forever, Flora is staying in France. Have you asked anyone to keep an eye on her, by the way?”

  “I hope you didn’t really say that.”

  “They thought I was joking.”

  “Take them off, darling. Yes, yes, I’ve asked the Russian dressmaker, and I thought I’d ask Milly Leigh. She’s staying on in France. And perhaps the baroness.”

  “Left it a bit late, haven’t you?” Denys unbuttoned his flies. “We leave the day after tomorrow.”

  “I know we do. I’ll say I wasn’t absolutely sure I was coming with you until now. By the way, I wrote for seats for Chariot’s Review, we can’t miss that. If you throw them down like that, they’ll lose their crease, darling.” Denys retrieved his trousers, shook them, folded them and hung them over a chair. “I shall ask them this evening,” she said. “We could have dinner at the Marjolaine.”

  “With the child?”

  “Why not? Do get in, darling, I am waiting. Cuddle up.” She held the bedclothes aside. Denys got into the bed. “I simply adore being in bed in the afternoon,” she said.

  “Me too. Leigh is going to drive up to his home—his car is at Southampton—and as he goes report on pockets of revolution when he comes across them. He has Bolsheviks on the brain.” Denys laughed. “This is nice.” He stroked his wife and kissed her gently. “I don’t believe in Bolsheviks myself, even in the North of England.”

  “Go on doing that.”

  “These little marks on your turn, darling?”

  “Stretch marks, you know they are.”

  “Left her bloody mark on you.”

  “Can’t be helped now. If I’d known I could have oiled myself, they say it helps. Yes, yes, go on doing that, yes.”

  “Did you do anything about the Italian family?”

  “How you fuss. Yes, I did. I telephoned them; she can go there any time and chatter in Italian. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden?”

  “I just want it fixed so that after tomorrow we needn’t bother and can enjoy the rest of my leave. If she grows up as plain as she is now, she may not marry, but if she speaks Italian, Russian and French she can get a job when she leaves school and be off our hands.”

  “That would be nice. Clever you are.”

  “Another seven or eight bloody years.”

  “We shall be in India—”

  “Have you told her she has to spend the holidays at school?”

  “I did, but she may get invited to stay by friends. I was invited all the time at her age.”

  “But you were lovely.”

  “She’ll improve.”

  “Let’s hope so. Is that nice? And this?”

  “What?”

  “What I am doing, of course.”

  “Yes, yes, it is. Do it again just a little higher, and again, go on doing that, aiah! Gosh! Oh gosh, Denys, how marvellous. Oh phew, that was colossal. Was it for you?”

  “Yum.” Denys lay back. “I have a suggestion.”

  “What is it?”

  “If you come as far as Marseilles with me on the boat, we could have an extra week. What d’you think?”

  “And come back here alone?” />
  “You were going to do that anyway. You’ll have the child.” His tone implied that the child was her fault, her penance.

  “It would mean a week’s less separation—”

  “A whole week. It’s nice going to Marseilles by sea at this time of year.”

  “We could pretend I was coming all the way to Bombay. Let’s do it Denys, and let’s do what we’ve just done again, shall we?”

  “If you are up to it.”

  “Let me show you. Then a little sleep before a large bath and a walk by the sea before dinner—”

  “With the British families at the Marjolaine. I bet they can’t wait to get their awful children back to school. All this family love is hypocrisy. When we’ve done our parental stuff we can hurry back to bed.”

  “You are so good at this, Denys!”

  “And so are you.”

  Vita watched her husband fall asleep. He always fell asleep when she, exhilarated, would have enjoyed a longer period of chat. His profile, she thought, resembled the bow of a yacht, with its prominent nose and a chin which did not match in strength. The term runaway crossed her mind. He had once remarked that it was fortunate Flora had not inherited his nose. Vita smiled. Turning on her side she considered what to wear that evening. Nothing too frivolous; Milly Leigh and Rosa always managed to look caring and parental. The evening would be dull but they could get back to bed early or pop into the casino for a bit. It was marvellous, she thought dreamily, how cosy they had made this funny little flat, with a few bright cushions, the yellow rug, the Breton lace bedspread. They would look nice later on in India in the bungalow. She would find something to keep her mind occupied, hurry the weeks along to the end of September and back to Denys. Another yellow rug? Why not? A trip by herself to Dinan to buy it.

  FOURTEEN

  ARRIVING AT THE MARJOLAINE for dinner, Denys and Vita found themselves caught up in the plan for the picnic. The change in the weather and Cosmo’s suggestion had galvanised the British families into action. For parents steeling their hearts against imminent partings from children who, toward the end of the holidays, indulged in sulks, impertinence and tears brought on by premature homesickness, the picnic plan was a heaven-sent distraction. Others, genuinely worried about the strike and its possible consequences, were equally pleased. Some who had been guiltily looking forward to the blessed peace of termtime were particularly enthusiastic, coming forward with generous and imaginative suggestions. Freddy Ward and Ian MacNeice, whose minds were already engaged on hiring the bus in Southampton, proved game to find a charabanc or even two to transport the picnickers to and from the beach. Children with swift legs were despatched by their mothers to alert the families in other hotels, urging them to bring food and drink, bathing suits and warm jerseys, and to rendezvous at the Marjolaine at eleven the next morning. (No, no, darling, we cannot start earlier; nobody will be there, there is too much to do.)

  A convulsion of energy swept from family to family. Spirits which had flagged in wet weather rose sky high. Boredom was banished.

  In this bonhomous atmosphere it was easy for Denys and Vita to join in and casually, while discussing picnic food, rugs, thermoses, and would a first aid box be a good idea, we always take one to picnics in India, mention to Milly and Rosa that, wishing to be together for Denys’ last days of leave, could they possibly ask Milly and Rosa to keep a friendly eye on Flora who would be staying on in the hotel until Vita got back, when of course she would move into the flat? She would not, Vita felt, be a nuisance; she had her lessons with Madame Tarasova to keep her occupied and Italian conversation with an Italian family, quite a full routine. It would be a relief to Vita and Denys to know that there was someone other than Madame Tarasova for Flora to turn to if in need. Milly and Rosa agreed to keep an eye; it would not have been possible to refuse.

  There had been awkwardness when, arriving at the hotel and looking around for Flora, they had found her eating her dinner off a tray in her room. Neither Denys nor Vita had known Flora did this; it had not occurred to either that the child might be averse to eating alone in the restaurant. The arrangement had been dreamed up by Gaston in connivance with the head waiter, Flora told them. “We should have been consulted,” said Vita angrily.

  “It frees a table for someone else in the restaurant,” said Flora, careless.

  “Come along and have dinner with us as you normally do,” snapped Denys.

  “What’s normal?” muttered Flora, following her parents into the restaurant. “I don’t want a second dinner,” she said, taking her place at the table.

  “Then watch us eat and make yourself agreeable,” said Vita, sitting on the chair the waiter held for her. “Mademoiselle isn’t hungry,” she said. Flora and the waiter exchanged looks.

  If her parents were tempted to hit her they gave no sign, chatting amiably through the meal to parties at neighbouring tables. Several people remarked on what a good-looking couple they were and one old lady said to her husband that it was a pity the child looked so disagreeable. “I expect she is spoilt,” she said. “It’s all those servants in India. School will knock the knobs off. The parents look so much in love.”

  “What’s this Italian conversation?” asked Flora in a low voice.

  “There is an Italian family who live a few kilometres out on the Dinan road. They are willing for you to spend afternoons with them and talk to you in Italian.”

  “Have you met them?”

  “Actually, no, but I will give you a note. I have arranged it by letter. You can reach them by bus.”

  “Oh.” Flora was dubious.

  “The man is a stud groom,” said Denys.

  “Horses?”

  “Presumably, if he is a stud groom.”

  “Then I can talk to the horses.”

  Vita did not care for Flora’s tone but felt it best to say nothing in front of the people in the dining-room. “You had better go to bed early,” she said, “so that you are fresh for this picnic tomorrow.”

  “May I go now?”

  “Wait until we have finished dinner. You really must learn some manners and consideration.”

  “Is there anything more we can do about this picnic?” asked Denys. “Or can we nip into the casino for an hour before bed?”

  “Lovely idea, darling. Let’s do that,” said Vita.

  Having watched her parents leave, Flora hovered inconspicuously around the hotel listening to the various plans being made for the picnic. Mabs, sitting near the entrance with her friend Tashie, did not notice her as they discussed what they would wear the next day, whether to wash their hair or change the varnish on their nails. “I have to take this varnish off; my mother objects.”

  “It is a bit purply.”

  “But will he notice?”

  “Does he ever notice?”

  “Of course he notices, he must.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Gone out with boring Elizabeth.”

  “No, she’s with her mother and Anne and my mother.” The girls’ eyes roved around the hotel lounge seeking the object of their desire.

  “When he danced with me, he—”

  “He has danced eight times with me, only seven with you.”

  “Oh, Tashie.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Why should we care?”

  “Wherever he is, we shall see him when he comes back if we stay here.”

  Cosmo and Blanco came by. “Lying in wait for Felix?” enquired Cosmo.

  “Of course not,” said Tashie.

  Mabs put out a foot to trip him.

  “Felix is in the casino dancing with a beautiful blonde,” said Joyce, hopping up the hotel steps from the garden on long springy legs.

  “Oh,” said Tashie.

  “Shall we?” suggested Mabs, rising to her feet.

  The two friends pulled their skirts straight, adjusted the seams of their stockings and strolled negligently out into the dark. Joyce doubled up w
ith laughter; she had an infectious laugh.

  “What’s the joke?” asked Cosmo.

  “Felix isn’t in the casino.”

  “Where is he, then?” Cosmo resented others than himself making a fool of his sister.

  “No idea.” Joyce wandered off.

  “A bitchy trick.”

  “They do rather invite—” murmured Blanco.

  Flora shrank back out of sight and presently made her way by a back alley to Madame Tarasova, who spent lonely evenings with Igor wishing she was in Paris with Alexis. Pushing open the street door and skipping up the steep stair, Flora knocked and went in to find Felix sitting in Madame Tarasova’s usual chair, drinking a glass of wine. He had taken off his coat and for some reason his shoes and sat in his shirt sleeves. Opposite him Madame Tarasova reclined on the chaise longue, wearing a sleeveless dress with a very short skirt. Her tiny hands were folded in her lap and her slender legs crossed at the ankles. Her high-heeled shoes were on the floor beside Felix’s.

  “Oh,” said Flora, “am I interrupting?” Prince Igor yapped sharply from his basket.

  “Come. Join us.” Felix held out a hand. “I came to persuade Irena to tell my fortune. She refuses, so we sit here discussing the state of the world with our shoes off. Take yours off too and sit here.” He patted the seat beside him. “Kick them off, kick them off.” Flora sat, pushed the heel of her right shoe with her left foot, eased off one shoe, eased off the other.

  “Good.” Felix and Madame Tarasova watched her indulgently. Felix sipped his wine. Madame Tarasova smiled. Igor snuffled in his basket, then scratched his neck, his nails clicking sharply against the name-tab on his collar.

  “I did not know your name was Irena.” Flora broke the silence.

  “You never asked me.”

  “It’s a lovely name.”

  “Isn’t it.” Felix smiled at Irena. “Flora is lovely, too.”

  “Why won’t you tell his fortune?”

  Irena laughed. “Because I do not know how. Sometimes I pretend to amuse young girls or middle-aged ladies. The girls want to know whether they will fall in love and marry, the older ladies want to know whether their husbands will grow rich or richer. It is easy to make them happy.”