Love in a Cold Climate

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘We lit this little fire,’ she said, ‘thinking that he may feel cold after the journey.’ It was unusual for her to refer to any arrangement in her house, people being expected to like what they found there, or else to lump it. ‘Do you think we shall hear the motor when it comes up the drive? We generally can if the wind is in the west.’

  ‘I expect I shall,’ I said, tactlessly. ‘I hear everything.’

  ‘Oh, we’re not stone deaf ourselves. Show Fanny what you have got for Cedric, Montdore.’

  He held out a little book in green morocco, Gray’s Poems.

  ‘If you look at die fly-leaf,’ he said, ‘you will see that it was given to my grandfather by the late Lord Palmenton the day that Cedric’s grandfather was bom. They evidently happened to be dining together. We think that it should please him.’

  I did so hope it would. I suddenly felt very sorry for these two old people, and longed for Cedric’s visit to be a success and cheer them up.

  ‘Canadians,’ he went on, ‘should know all about the poet Gray, because General Woolf, at the taking of Quebec –’

  There were footsteps now in the red drawing-room, so we had not heard the motor after all. Lord and Lady Montdore got up and stood together in front of the fireplace as the butler opened the door and announced ‘Mr Cedric Hampton’.

  A glitter of blue and gold crossed the parquet, and a human dragon-fly was kneeling on the fur rug in front of the Mont-dores, one long white hand extended towards each. He was a tall, thin young man, supple as a girl, dressed in rather a bright blue suit; his hair was the gold of a brass bed-knob, and his insect appearance came from the fact that the upper part of the face was concealed by blue goggles set in gold rims quite an inch thick.

  He was flashing a smile of unearthly perfection; relaxed and happy he knelt there bestowing this smile upon each Montdore in turn.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ he said, ‘just for a moment. Just let me go on looking at you – wonderful, wonderful people !’

  I could see at once that Lady Montdore was very highly gratified. She beamed with pleasure. Lord Montdore gave her a hasty glance to see how she was taking it, and when he saw that beaming was the note, he beamed too.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said, ‘to Hampton.’

  ‘The beauty,’ Cedric went on, floating jointlessly to his feet. ‘I can only say that I am drunk with it. England, so much more beautiful than I had imagined (I have never had very good accounts of England, somehow), this house, so romantic, such a repository of treasures, and above all, you – the two most beautiful people I have ever seen!’

  He spoke with rather a curious accent, neither French nor Canadian, but peculiar to himself, in which every syllable received rather more emphasis than is given by the ordinary Englishman. Also he spoke, as it were, through his smile, which would fade a little, then flash out again, but which never altogether left his face.

  ‘Won’t you take off your spectacles?’ said Lady Montdore. I should like to see your eyes.’

  ‘Later, dear Lady Montdore, later. When my dreadful, paralysing shyness (a disease with me) has quite worn off. They give me confidence, you see, when I am dreadfully nervous, just as a mask would. In a mask one can face anything –I should like my life to be a perpetual bal masqué, Lady Montdore, don’t you agree ? I long to know who the Man in the Iron Mask was, don’t you, Lord Montdore? Do you remember when Louis XVIII first saw the Duchesse d’Angou-Iême after the Restoration? Before saying anything else you know – wasn’t it all awful or anything, he asked if poor Louis XVI had ever told her who the Man in the Iron Mask was. I love Louis XVIII for that – so like One.’

  Lady Montdore indicated me. ‘This is our cousin – and a distant relation of yours, Cedric – Fanny Wincham.’

  He took my hand and looked long into my face, saying, ‘I am enchanted to meet you’ as if he really was. He turned again to the Montdores, and said, ‘I am so happy to be here.’

  ‘My dear boy, we are so happy to have you. You should have come before – we had no idea – we thought you were always in Nova Scotia, you see.’

  Cedric was gazing at the big French map table. ‘Riesener,’ he said, ‘this is a very strange thing, Lady Montdore, and you will hardly believe it, but where I live in France we have its pair – is that not a coincidence? Only this morning, at Chèvres, I was leaning upon that very table.’

  ‘What is Chèvres?’

  ‘Chèvres-Fontaine, where I live, in the Seine-et-Oise.’

  ‘But it must be quite a large house,’ said Lady Montdore, ‘if that table is in it?’

  ‘A little larger, in every dimension, than the central block at Versailles, and with much more water. At Versailles there only remain seven hundred bouches (what is bouche in English? Jets?). At Chevres we have one thousand five hundred, and they play all the time.’

  Dinner was announced. As we moved towards the dining-room Cedric stopped to examine various objects, touched them lovingly, and murmured,

  ‘Weisweiller – Boulle – Caffieri – Jacob. How is it you come to have these marvels, Lord Montdore, such important pieces ?’

  ‘My great-grandfather (your great-great-grandfather), who was himself half French, collected it all his life. Some of it he bought during the sales of royal furniture after the Revolution and some came to him through his mother’s family, the Montdores.’

  ‘And the boiseries!’ said Cedric, ‘first quality Louis XV. There is nothing to equal this at Chevres, it’s like jewellery when it is so fine.’

  We were now in the little dining-room.

  ‘He brought them over too, and built the house round them.’ Lord Montdore was evidently much pleased by Cedric’s enthusiasm, he loved French furniture himself but seldom found anybody in England to share his taste.

  ‘Porcelain with Marie-Antoinette’s cypher, delightful. At Chèvres we have the Meissen service she brought with her from Vienna. We have many relics of Marie-Antoinette, poor dear, at Chèvres.’

  ‘Who lives there ?’ asked Lady Montdore.

  ‘I do,’ he replied carelessly, ‘when I wish to be in the country. In Paris I have an apartment of all beauty, One’s idea of heaven.’ Cedric made great use of the word one, which he pronounced with peculiar emphasis. Lady Montdore had always been a one for one, but she said it quite differently, ‘w’n’ ‘The first floor of the Hotel Pomponne – you see that? Purest Louis XIV. Tiny, you know, but all one needs, that is to say a bedroom and a bed-ballroom. You must come and stay with me there, dear Lady Montdore, you will live in my bedroom, which has comfort, and I in the bed-ballroom. Promise me that you will come.’

  ‘We shall have to see. Personally, I have never been very fond of France, the people are so frivolous, I greatly prefer the Germans.’

  ‘Germans I’ said Cedric earnestly, leaning across the table and gazing at her through his goggles. ‘The frivolity of the Germans terrifies even One. I have a German friend in Paris and a more frivolous creature, Lady Montdore, does not exist. This frivolity has caused me many a heartache, I must tell you.’

  I hope you will make some suitable English friends now, Cedric.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that is what I long for. But please can my chief English friend be you, dear dearest Lady Montdore?’

  ‘I think you should call us Aunt Sonia and Uncle Montdore.’

  ‘May I really? How charming you are to me, how happy I am to be here – you seem, Aunt Sonia, to shower happiness around you.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I live for others, I suppose that’s why. The sad thing is that people have not always appreciated it, they are so selfish themselves.’

  ‘Oh, yes, aren’t they selfish? I too have been a victim to the selfishness of people all my life. This German friend I mentioned just now, his selfishness passes comprehension. How one does suffer!’

  ‘It’s a he, is it?’ Lady Montdore seemed glad of this.

  ‘A boy called Klugg. I hope to forget all about him while I am here. Now, Lady Montdore – dearest Aunt Sonia �
� after dinner I want you to do me a great great favour. Will you put on your jewels so that I can see you sparkling in them? I do so long for that.’

  ‘Really, my dear boy, they are down in the strong-room. I don’t think they’ve been cleaned for ages.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say no, don’t shake your head! Ever since I set eyes on you I have been thinking of nothing else, you must look so truly glorious in them. Mrs Wincham (you are Mrs I hope, aren’t you, yes, yes, I can tell that you are not a spinster), when did you last see Aunt Sonia laden with jewels ?’

  ‘It was at the ball for –’ I stopped awkwardly, jibbing at the name, which was never now mentioned. But Cedric saved me from embarrassment by exclaiming,

  ‘A ball! Aunt Sonia, how I would love to see you at a ball, I can so well imagine you at all the great English functions, coronations, Lords, balls, Ascot, Henley. What is Henley? No matter – and I can see you, above all, in India, riding on your elephant like a goddess. How they must have worshipped you there.’

  ‘Well, you know, they did,’ said Lady Montdore, delighted, ‘they really worshipped us, it was quite touching. And of course, we deserved it, we did a very great deal for them, I think I may say we put India on the map. Hardly any of one’s friends in England had ever even heard of India before we went there, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure. What a wonderful and fascinating life you lead, Aunt Sonia. Did you keep a journal when you were in the Bast ? Oh! please say yes, I would so love to read it.’

  This was a very lucky shot. They had indeed filled a huge folio, whose morocco label, surmounted by an earl’s coronet, announced ‘Pages from our Indian Diary. M. and S.M.’

  ‘It’s really a sort of scrap-book,’ Lord Montdore said, ‘accounts of our journeys up-country, photographs, sketches by Sonia and our brother-in – that is to say a brother-in-law we had then, letters of appreciation from rajahs –’

  ‘And Indian poetry translated by Montdore – “Prayer of a Widow before Suttee”, “Death of an old Mahout”, and so on, touching, it makes you cry.’

  ‘Oh, I must read it all, every word, I can hardly wait.’

  Lady Montdore was radiant. How many and many a time had she led her guests to ‘Pages from Our Indian Diary’, like horses to water, and watched them straying off after one halfhearted sip. Never before, I guess, had anybody so eagerly demanded to read it.

  ‘Now, you must tell us about your life, my dear boy,’ said Lady Montdore. ‘When did you leave Canada ? Your home is in Nova Scotia, is it not?’

  ‘I lived there until I was eighteen.’

  ‘Montdore and I have never been to Canada – the States, of course, we spent a month once in New York and Washington and we saw Niagara Falls, but then we were obliged to come home, I only wish we could have gone on, they were quite touchingly anxious to have us, but Montdore and I cannot always do as we should like, we have our duties. Of course, that was a long time ago, twenty-five years I should but I daresay Nova Scotia doesn’t alter much ?’

  ‘I am very very happy to say that kindly Nature has allowed a great sea-fog of oblivion to rise between me and Nova Scotia so that I hardly remember one single thing about it.’

  ‘What a strange boy, you are,’ she said indulgently, but she was very well suited by the fact of the sea-fog, since the last thing she wanted would have been long-winded reminiscences of Cedric’s family life in Canada; it was all no doubt much better forgotten, and especially the fact that Cedric had a mother. ‘So you came to Europe when you were eighteen ?’

  ‘Paris. Yes, I was sent to Paris by my guardian, a banker, to learn some horrid sort of job, I quite forget what, as I never had to go near it. It is not necessary to have jobs in Paris, one’s friends are so very very kind.’

  ‘Really, how funny. I always thought the French were so mean.’

  ‘Certainly not to One. My needs are simple, admittedly, but such as they are they have all been satisfied over and over again.’

  ‘What are your needs ?’

  ‘I need a very great deal of beauty round me, beautiful objects wherever I look and beautiful people who see the point of One. And speaking of beautiful people, Aunt Sonia, after dinner the jewels ? Don’t, don’t, please say no !’

  ‘Very well, then,’ she said, ‘but now, Cedric, won’t you take off your glasses ?’

  ‘Perhaps I could. Yes, I really think the last vestige of my shyness has,gone.’

  He took them off, and the eyes which were now disclosed, blinking in the light, were the eyes of Polly, large, blue, and rather blank. They quite startled me, but I do not think the Montdores were specially struck by the resemblance, though Lady Montdore said,

  ‘Anybody can tell that you are a Hampton, Cedric. Please never let’s see those horrid spectacles again.’

  ‘My goggles ? Specially designed by Van Cleef for me?’

  ‘I hate spectacles,’ said Lady Montdore firmly.

  Lady Montdore’s maid was now sent for, given the key of the safe from Lord Montdore’s key-ring and told to bring up all the jewel cases. When dinner was over and we got back to the Long Gallery, leaving Lord Montdore to his port, but accompanied by Cedric, who was evidently unaware of the English custom which keeps the men in the dining-room after dinner and who followed Lady Montdore like a dog, we found the map-table covered with blue velvet trays each of which contained a parure of large and beautiful jewels. Cedric gave a cry of happiness and got down to work at once.

  ‘In the first place, dear Aunt Sonia,’ he said, ‘this dress won’t do. Let me see – ah, yes’ – he took a piece of red brocade off the piano and draped her in it very cleverly, pinning it in place on one shoulder with a huge diamond brooch. ‘Have you some maquillage in this bag, dear? And a comb?’

  Lady Montdore rummaged about and produced a cheap lipstick and a small green comb with a tooth out.

  ‘Naughty, naughty you,’ he said, carefully painting her face, ‘it cakes ! Never mind, that will do for now. Not pulling your hair, am I ? We’ve got to show the bone structure, so beautiful on you. I think you’ll have to find a new coiffeur, Aunt Sonia –we’ll see about that – anyway, it must go up – up – like this. Do you realize what a difference that makes? Now, Mrs Wincham, will you please put out the top lights for me, and bring the lamp from that bureau over here. Thank you.’

  He placed the lamp on the floor at Lady Montdore’s feet and began to hang her with diamonds, so that the brocade was covèred with them to her waist, finally poising the crown of pink diamonds on the top of her head.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Look I’ and he led her to a looking-glass on the wall. She was entranced by the effect, which was indeed very splendid.

  ‘My turn,’ he said.

  Although Lady Montdore seemed to be almost solid with diamonds the cases on the tables still held many huge jewels. He took off his coat, his collar and tie, pulled open his shirt and clasped a great necklace of diamonds and sapphires round his neck, wound up another piece of silk into a turban, stuck a diamond feather in it and put it on his head. He went on talking all the time.

  ‘You really must pat your race more, Aunt Sonia.’

  ‘Pat?’

  ‘With nourishing creams. I’ll show you. Such a wonderful face, but uncultivated, neglected and starved. We must feed it up, exercise it and look after it better from now on. You’ll soon see what a lot can be done. Twice a week you must sleep in a mask.’

  ‘A mask?’

  ‘Yes, back to masks, but this time I mean the sort you paint on at night. It goes quite hard, so that you look like the Com-mandeur in Don Juan, and in the morning you can’t smile, not a glimmer, so you mustn’t telephone until you’ve removed it with the remover, because you know how if you telephone smilelessly you sound cross, and if it happened to be Ont at the other end. One couldn’t bear that.’

  ‘Oh, my dear boy, I don’t know about this mask. What would Griffith say ?’

  ‘If Griffith is your maid she won’t notice a thing, they never do.
We shall notice, though, your great new beauty. Those cruel lines !’

  They were absorbed in each other and themselves, and when Lord Montdore came in from the dining-room they did not even notice. He sat for a while in his usual attitude, the fingers of both hands pressed together, looking into the fire, and very soon crept off to bed. In the months which had passed since Polly’s marriage he had turned into an old man, he was smaller, his clothes hung sadly on him, his voice quavered and complained. Before he went he gave the little book of poems to Cedric, who took it with a charming show of appreciation and looked at it until Lord Montdore was out of sight, when he quickly turned back to the jewels.

  I was pregnant at this time and began to feel sleepy very soon after dinner. I had a look at the picture papers and then followed Lord Montdore’s example.

  ‘Good night,’ I said, making for the door. They hardly bothered to answer. They were now standing each in front of a looking-glass, a lamp at their feet, happily gazing at their own images.

  ‘Do you think it is better like that ?’ one would say.

  ‘Much better,’ the other would reply, without looking.

  From time to time they exchanged a jewel (‘Give me the rubies, dear boy.’ ‘May I have the emeralds if you’ve finished with them?’) and he was now wearing the pink tiara; jewels lay all around them, tumbled on to the chairs and tables, even on the floor.

  ‘I have a confession to make to you, Cedric,’ she said, as I was leaving the room. ‘I really rather like amethysts.’

  ‘Oh, but I love amethysts,’ he replied, ‘so long as they are nice large dark stones set in diamonds. They suit One so well.’