The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford

by Nancy Mitford

  Of course Mockbar duly informed the world that Envoy’s Sons had left Eton because the headmaster had threatened to thrash them and were now employed by the London firm of such-and-such in their packing department. Mockbar hardly annoyed me any more nor even extracted a wry laugh; I was getting used to his style and the observations which punctuated all our doings. His paragraphs no longer made me tremble for Alfred’s career. Six million people read them, so one was told, and evidently regarded them as enjoyable fiction. He was too often obliged, by the solicitors of some victim, to withdraw a statement for the public to place much reliance in his word.

  A few days later Charles-Edouard left hurriedly for London. To my secret rage and disgust he returned that same evening with Master Sigismond in tow. Grace informed me of this, adding, ‘He cracked the whip, darling. Thank God I married a Frenchman. Whatever you may say, they do have some authority in the family!’

  ‘The thing is, Alfred can’t go over just now; I don’t feel I ought to worry him by suggesting that he should. He’s having a difficult time, he’s busy.’

  ‘He must be. The English! Words can’t express what I feel! They are being quite simply too awful. I’m sure Sir Alfred can’t approve. Having that Niam on an official visit! Fanny, it’s the limit. He has eaten simply hundreds of Frenchmen and now he’s got a loan from Stalin – yes, I know, but they’re all Stalin to me, I can’t keep learning their new names – so that he can catch and eat hundreds more.’

  ‘Nonsense, Grace. In a profile of Dr Niam I read somewhere, they said he is a vegetarian and very pro-French at heart.’

  ‘At stomach they mean. Oh good, I’ve made a joke, I must tell Charles-Edouard. I’ve been too pregnant, lately.’

  ‘They say he’s firmly attached to the Western World and has a great sense of humour.’

  ‘Oh, do shut up. Are the English our allies or are they not?’

  How I wished I knew what whip, cracked by his father, had brought Sigismond to heel. Cracking whips seemed to be something of which neither Alfred nor I was capable. When our boys refused to listen to reason we were done for. It was beginning to be borne in on me that as parents we were a resounding failure. While all three boys had been in full revolt I could just bear it; now that Sigi had returned to parental authority, the evil conduct of our two was stressed. Surely we, too, ought to be able to find some way of mastering them?

  ‘Hot news!’ said Northey. ‘Guess why Sigi is here?’

  ‘I thought M. de Valhubert went over and cracked a whip?’

  ‘Yes, well, if you really want to know, he went over because Sigi was in bad with the police. He was caught nicking shavers.’

  ‘Doing what, dearest?’

  ‘They were packing shavers – you knew that, didn’t you? And were getting £9 a week, which, incidentally, makes skilled secretarial work in embassies seem rather underpaid but let that pass. Clever Sigi discovered that if you nick a few every day (no, Fanny, don’t keep asking what things mean, sharpen your wits and listen) you can bump up the screw to quite a pound more. But as he’s not used to stealing, so far, he was caught and there was a fearful rumpus. Charles-Edouard had to go and buy him off or he’d have gone to a remand home or something. Can you beat it!’

  I felt a glow of superiority. ‘Poor Grace,’ I said, ‘how dreadful.’

  ‘By the way, the old foreign lady is not to be told.’

  ‘Ah! Quite right – of course she mustn’t be. So is Charles-Edouard furious?’

  ‘Not a bit. He thinks it’s most frightfully funny and he’s delighted to have Sigi delivered into his hands. Now he’ll be obliged to go to the strict Jesuits after all?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think even the strictest Jesuits will do that boy much good – he’ll come to a bad end all right.’

  Northey bashed me out of my complacency with: ‘Charlie and Fabrice have got the knack of it now.’

  ‘The knack of nicking?’

  ‘Yes. Sigi says he invented a foolproof method on the way over and rang them up to tell, very kindly. They’ll get lovely and rich, he says, in no time.’

  19

  Holy David had been looking decidedly better since Docteur Lecœur took him in hand, even slightly cleaner. His interest in secular or non-Zen affairs seemed to be reviving; he came with me to the Louvre one day and saw one or two plays with Dawn. I had become devoted to her, which shows that speech is not an essential factor in human understanding. (Northey said who ever thought it was? Think of creatures and how well we get on with them in silence.) I was very hopeful that if the improvement in David continued at this rate he would go back to his university and resume his career.

  Then he told me, casually, one day, that he and Dawn were about to resume their journey to the East. I was sorry, indeed, that it should be East rather than West but to tell the truth I felt such a surge of relief that at first I hardly cared which direction they were taking. David’s presence in the house was not convenient. The servants and the whole of Alfred’s staff disliked him. English statesmen and important officials who came and went in a fairly steady stream cannot have relished the sight of his gowned form and naked feet at breakfast. He was on his father’s nerves. Whenever Mockbar was short of a story he fell back on Envoy’s Son for some spiteful little paragraph. How heavenly to think that the Zen family was on the move at last! Concealing joy, I said, ‘You’ll tell me when you would like Jérôme to take you to the station?’

  ‘Not the station, the road. Send us to Provins; after that we will fend for ourselves.’

  ‘With Dawn in her present condition? Oh no, David, that’s not possible.’

  ‘Pregnant women have astonishing powers of survival. That has been proved in every great exodus of history. All the same, I think I will leave little ’Chang here.’

  The surge of relief subsided, the joy was extinguished. I might have guessed there would be a snag somewhere. ‘No, you can’t,’ I said, putting up what I really knew would be a perfectly ineffectual resistance. ‘Who’s going to look after him?’

  ‘Mrs Trott and Katie simply love him.’

  ‘We all simply love him; that’s not the point. Neither Mrs Trott nor anybody else here has time to nurse little ’Chang. He’s your responsibility; you adopted him; nobody asked you to! Why did you, anyway?’

  ‘We wanted a brother for our baby so that they can be brought up together. It was very bad for my young psychology to be three years older than Basil; Dawn and I don’t intend to repeat that mistake of yours.’

  ‘But if he’s here and your baby is in the East?’

  ‘As soon as our baby is born it must join little ’Chang. I shall send it to you at once so that they can unfold their consciousness together.’

  ‘So I’ve got to bring up your family?’

  ‘It will be a boon to you. Middle-aged women with nothing to do are one of the worst problems that face the modern psychologist.’

  ‘But I’ve got far, far more to do than I can manage already.’

  ‘Cocktail parties – trying on clothes – nothing to get your teeth into. You must try not to be so selfish. Think of poor Dawn, you really can’t ask her to carry half the cradle like she used to. ’Chang has put on pounds and pounds and she doesn’t feel very well.’

  ‘Leave her here. I’d love to keep her. Then she can have her baby under proper conditions, poor duck.’

  ‘I didn’t marry Dawn in order to leave her. I need her company all the time.’

  She now appeared with the World Citizen, making furious Chinese noises, in her arms. I thought she looked very frail.

  ‘Dawnie, David has just told me he is on the move again. Why don’t you stay comfortably here with little ’Chang and all of us, at any rate until after the baby?’

  I had forgotten about the dumbness; her huge eyes projected their gaze on her husband’s face and he spoke for her. ‘You see she has no desire whatever to stay comfortably her
e. Dawn has never had such a bourgeois reaction in her life.’

  I went to my bedroom and rang up Davey. I begged him to come and save the situation. He was uncooperative and unsympathetic; said that it was impossible for him to move for the present. ‘My drawing-room curtains have gone wrong – much too short and skimpy. They must all be made again and I must be here to see to it. That’s the sort of thing your Aunt Emily used to do – everything in the house was perfect when she was alive. I do hate being a widower; it really was too bad of her to die.’

  ‘Davey, you haven’t understood how serious it is about David.’

  ‘My dear Fanny, I think you are being rather ungrateful to me. You asked me to get rid of him; he is going, is he not?’

  ‘I know – but –’

  ‘If he is going East and not West that is entirely your own fault for not insisting on Dr Jore. I told you that a psychiatrist was needed in conjunction with a physician. Docteur Lecœur strengthened his will-power by working on his glands and correcting his inertia. Dr Jore would have altered the trend of his thought. By rejecting Jore you abandoned him to the Zen Master – the Temple Bells are calling and the flying-fishes play. Another time perhaps you will allow me to know best.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for Dawnie. I think he’ll kill her, poor little thing.’

  ‘Oh no he won’t. Women are practically indestructible, you know.’

  ‘Then think of Alfred and me beginning nurseries all over again. Chinese ones at that.’

  ‘Very tiring for you,’ said Davey. ‘I must go now or I shall miss the Archers.’ He rang off.

  David and Dawn left that afternoon. The Rolls-Royce took them to Bar-le-Duc and only returned the next day. David had borrowed money from every single person in the Embassy; all, pitying the plight of Dawn and probably confident of being paid back by me (as of course they were), had produced as much as they had available. It amounted to quite a tidy sum. Mrs Trott found a solid peasant girl from Brittany to look after ’Chang.

  ‘Hot news!’ Northey said to Alfred. ‘Faithful Amy has had orders from Lord Grumpy to give you treatment number one.’

  ‘Oh, indeed?’ Falsetto. ‘And how does this differ from that which I have been receiving?’

  ‘Differ? So far you have only had number three, watered down at that by precious Amy on account of loving us all so much.’

  ‘He loves me?’

  ‘Oh yes – he’s always saying I like that man. He reveres you. It’s very distressing for him to be obliged to write all these horrid and not quite true things about us here when he would give his eyes to be part of the family.’

  ‘Part of the family? In what capacity, may I ask?’

  ‘Perhaps you could adopt him?’

  ‘Thank you. We’ve got ’Chang and the badger, I don’t think we want any more pets.’

  ‘Poor soul.’

  FAILURE

  It is no secret that Sir Alfred Wincham has proved a failure in Paris and that Whitehall now wishes to replace him with a more dynamic personality. Sir Alfred’s well-known aptitude for university intrigue has not carried him very far along the twisting paths of French foreign policy. More professional talent, it is felt, is needed at a time when Anglo-French relations have never been worse.

  FRIENDSHIP

  In view of M. Bouche-Bontemps’ old friendship with Lady Wincham’s mother (first revealed in this column) French political circles feel that the Embassy has an unfortunate preference for his party, the L.U.N.A.I.R. Members of opposition parties are never received there any more. Sir Alfred is out of touch with French public opinion.

  RANGOON

  Well-informed circles are speculating on Sir Alfred’s future, and rumour has it that he may shortly be posted to Rangoon.

  Northey and Philip raced each other to my bedroom the morning these delightful paragraphs appeared. She dumped ’Chang on my bed. I always had him for a bit after breakfast and found him delightful company; a contented, healthy baby, easily amused and anxious to please. I thought, when I was with him, that his generation may be on the way to rejecting the anti-charm which is the fashion now, may even develop a sense of humour and seek to attract rather than repel. If my grandchild turned out to be half as nice as the World Citizen I would not be at all sorry to have the two of them for keeps.

  ‘At last Mockbar has overreached himself,’ Philip said. ‘I think it’s actionable; Alfred must speak to his lawyer and we might even get rid of him, who knows?’

  ‘Then the poor little soul will starve,’ said Northey.

  ‘No matter.’

  ‘Fanny, you brute. What about his babies?’

  ‘They’ll survive,’ I said. ‘Are Anglo-French relations really so bad, Philip?’

  ‘That part I’m afraid is true. Not Alfred’s fault (quite the contrary) but boiling up for a first-class crisis. We are determined to get those bloody islands and to help the Americans re-arm the Germans.’

  ‘Seems mad, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not if we really need them as allies.’

  Northey said, ‘I wish I knew why people want the Germans on their side. I have yet to hear of them winning a war.’

  ‘They’d be all right with French generals.’

  ‘I wish the whole thing could be settled. The Bourse is strongly disconcerted by all these elements.’

  ‘You can’t wish it more than I do,’ said Philip.

  ‘I must dree my weird. Shall I leave ’Chang? I’ve got a lot of work.’

  ‘Yes, leave him. Your work has been very satisfactory of late; you’re a good girl and I’m pleased with you.’

  ‘It’s the well-known cure for a broken heart,’ she said with a tragic look at Philip.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘I like it.’

  I asked her, ‘Darling, what are you up to tonight?’

  ‘Docteur Lecœur.’

  ‘Lecœur soupire la nuit le jour, qui peut me dire si c’est l’amour?’ said Philip.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And I suppose,’ he went on, ‘that every time you pass the Palais Bourbon, the statues of Sully and l’Hôpital get up and bow to you?’

  ‘Yes, they do. It’s the English who don’t appreciate me. Good-bye all.’

  We looked at each other when she had gone, laughing. ‘Northey!’

  He said, ‘The diplomatic hostesses here are furious with Mees because she has got Tony de Lambesc in tow – yes, Fanny – that small, fair chap one sees everywhere. They regard him and me as the only sortable bachelors in this town – we have to do all their dinner parties. There are hundreds of unattached Frenchmen who would like to be asked, but you know what those women are, too timid to try anybody new. They might have to deal with unexpected dialogue and that would never do. The conversation must run on familiar lines, according to some well-worn old formula. Suppose somebody mentions Prince Pierre – of course the correct move is, he simply worships his daughter-in-law! Now a stranger might say do you mean the explorer? or worse still, Prince Pierre in War and Peace? and the whole party would feel a wrong turn had been taken – they might even have to begin using their brains. That would never do. They like a gentle game of pat-ball and have no desire for clever young polytechnicians hitting boundaries. Lambesc and I know the right answers in our sleep. But now he’s always either taking Mees out or hoping to. He waits till the last moment, praying she’ll be chucked; it’s no use asking him a week ahead. The only hope is to ring him up at half-past eight and get him to come round, disgruntled, there and then. It has upset social life dreadfully. Time Mees got married, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Yes, but to whom?’

  ‘Who is there? Bouche-Bontemps is a bit old – that Chef de Cabinet (always forget his name) is too ugly – Cruas is said to be poor –’

  ‘Would that matter?’

  ‘With Mees? She would ruin a poor man in no tim
e.’

  ‘Does Cruas exist? I’ve still never seen him, have you?’

  ‘Somebody has taught her French; she rattles away at a hundred miles an hour. Then Lecoeur is too busy – Charles-Edouard too much married (worse luck) – the Ambassador to the Channel Islands has a fort des balles he adores – Amyas now, what about him? An eligible widower –’

  ‘I’m against,’ I said, ‘though I may be prejudiced.’

  ‘Then there’s Lambesc, but he has his scutcheon to gild.’

  I said boldly, ‘Why don’t you marry her?’

  ‘Well, you know, I might. In spite of the carry-on, I can’t imagine life without Mees, now I’m used to her. I suppose she is the last of the charmers. The horsetail girls don’t seem to be interested in any of the things I like, least of all sex. They join up with the Teds and the Beats and wander about Europe with them, sharing beds if it happens to suit; three in a bed if it’s cheaper like that (shades of Sir Charles Dilke) and probably nothing happens! Sex is quite accidental. Is there a baby on the way or isn’t there? They hardly seem to notice. Now Northey is a wicked little thing but at least she is out to please and my word how she succeeds!’

  ‘She’s not wicked at all. I even think she is virtuous.’

  ‘Anyway, she’s a human being. Very likely I shall end by proposing to her.’

  ‘Only, Philip, don’t leave it too long or she’ll fall in love with somebody else, you know!’

  20

  Sir Harald Hardrada now came to give his lecture. It was very brilliant and a great success, Sir Harald being one of the few living Englishmen who, even the French allow, has a perfect mastery of their language. As they detest hearing it massacred and really do not like listening to any other, foreign lecturers are more often flattered than praised at the end of their performance (not that they know the difference). We all went to the Sorbonne where the lecture took place and then Mildred Jungfleisch gave a dinner party. The company was: Sir Harald, M. Bouche-Bontemps, the Valhuberts, the Hector Dexters, an American couple called Jorgmann, Philip and Northey, Alfred, and me. The Dexters had been given a clean bill by the State Department, to the enormous relief of their compatriots in Paris. Having had enough, it seemed, of political activities, Mr Dexter was now acting as liaison between leading French and American art dealers.