by Simon Raven
Terence, meanwhile, had been fairly moderate, but wasn't used to champagne by the quart. He was getting very red and very talkative, and giving Maisie a series of looks, totally without sentiment, which threatened to clap horns on Uncle Bill before the next time he attended to his wave. For Maisie was anything but unresponsive; a mouth of soapsuds both in the bath and out of it had made a straight look doubly welcome; and Esme, whose legs were rather long, found himself mixed up, uninvited, in a little game under the table.
They began to get very noisy.
'This is a swell party I'll say,' roared Uncle Bill as the next bottle appeared, 'what d'ye say, little girl, a swell party?'
'Sure is,' said Maisie, warding off a grapple. 'What d'ye say, Terry, a toast all round?' 'A tes beaux yeux,' said Terence, with undeniable presence of mind.
'Yeah,' said Uncle Bill, 'to the prettiest little eyes, in the prettiest little head, on the prettiest little body, over the prettiest little legs in France.'
His free hand disappeared to give point to the observation.
'And another toast,' said Esme, 'to the great success of Ten Dahlias in a Window Box.'
This was a terrific hit.
'Gee but that's swell of you,' said Uncle Bill, 'that's mighty nice,' he said, flinging his glass over his shoulder to alight with a crash on an occupied table.
'Say, where did that pitch up?' he asked after the tinkle had penetrated his fuddled wits. 'I must say sorry.' He heaved himself up and waddled to the wrong table.
'You folks must pardon me,' he said, 'it's th' excitement of having the young folks around.' He made his point with a burp. They had finished eating, but another bottle had just arrived, and he swam back to his place. You could almost see the steam rise from him. Uncle Bill was stinking.
And the noise from the Duke's table was piercing.
'Aw, Bessy,' screamed a woman at the Duchess, 'who's that cute little boy over there, I could just crunch him up.'
'I don't know,' yelled the Duchess, 'but we'll get Bill to watch the fireworks with us later, and we'll all get cosy.'
'And there's a young man with a dandy forelock that makes my mouth water.'
'You just hold on till after the dessert,' screeched the Duchess. The band, who played more or less directly at the Duke's table, struck up with 'Under my Skin'.
'I've just gotch you under my skin,' sang Uncle Bill, pouring his brandy down and choking till he went purple. 'Great stuff this, it just makes me wanna put l'il Maisie's head in my mouth and suck it like a sweetie.' Even he noticed the simile was somehow inappropriate.
'Waal, jush shuck it,' he said.
Later on they joined up with the Duke's party and went on to the terrace to watch the fireworks. These consisted in a display of the most magnificent rockets, fired singly and in shoals for an unbroken half-hour. Some of the effects were beautiful, others vulgar, and all striking.
But no one paid much attention to the fireworks. They happened every Gala night, and any night which wasn't a Festival night was a Gala night. A whole lot more champagne was ordered by Esme and the Duke (the evening was letting Sandra in for about 30,000 francs), everyone got into a confused and friendly huddle, and no one made the slightest attempt to conceal what they were doing, even when the largest rocket burst right over their heads like an indication of heavenly wrath.
Uncle Bill still had his head above water, and was sitting on one side and slightly in front of Maisie. On her other side and slightly behind her (he was learning fast) was Terence. Uncle Bill, then, was unable to see what Maisie was doing, but Esme could see only too well. He pointed it out to the Duchess's voracious guest, who took the hint: Terence was not for her but it was plain that Esme was. And as she told everyone afterwards, she might have happened worse. Esme was glad Terence was too well occupied to want any more champagne, because it would not have done him any good.
Shortly afterwards Uncle Bill, who was getting off his scat to reach for the bottle, fell flat and stayed put. No one took any notice for some time, till Maisie, who seemed to have dealt with this situation before, called up a pair of waiters.
'O.K., boys,' she said, 'pick up this lump of dirt and cart it off to bed. And keep your hands out of his pockets. That's my perk,' she told everyone without a blush.
'And now, darling,' she said with a lunge at Terence, 'we can settle in for a lovely evening. Rip van Winkle'll wake up in the morning and see the same world as ever.'
Terence found the new Maisie very exhilarating.
'How often docs he fade out like this?' Esme called across.
'Four nights in seven since I've known him,' answered Maisie, 'it gives a girl a chance to lead her life. "L'il lonely one." I'm as lonely as the horns on his head.'
Esme looked up at the final cluster of rockets as they hovered to burst. It seemed to him that Uncle Bill must have had a very drastic change of life since he first received Sandra's confidences. A little liquor should do quite a bit with him. Item, he was a sot, item, he was an uxorious old billycock. If only he could make
Uncle Bill see what was up, he might trade an offer of assistance. Anyhow it was something to go on.
He steered his partner deftly off along the terrace.
'O.K.,' he said to Terence, 'you're on your own. But clear the decks before your uncle wants those dear l'il busy hands to mix his Alka-Seltzer.'
XV
The next morning when he awoke Esme was not feeling quite at his best. But a little reflexion told him he had every reason for satisfaction. It was to be presumed that Terence had learned a few useful lessons on the previous night, and, which was more important, he had given Esme the lead for a possibly valuable line of action. Esme gave him till half past ten, and then went along to see him.
Terence was pale but pleased with himself.
'Well?' said Esme.
'It's even more fun than I thought,' said Terence.
This was excellent. None of Uncle Bill's nonsense about pure, cool lakes. Even temporary remorse on Terence's part would have been a harmful obstacle to what Esme had in mind.
'All well-brought-up boys have feelings of guilt and disgust,' said Esme heavily.
'They can keep their upbringing and their feelings.'
'Your problem,' said Esme, 'is to keep your girlfriend. I hope you'll take my advice.'
'Happen I shall.'
'Well then: the first thing you've got to do is to show a continued interest, looks and a bit of tickle. Got that?'
'Yes.'
'Then a certain amount of consideration is always a good thing. So here's 3,000 francs to be considerate with.' He tossed the notes over.
'Now then,' Esme continued, 'from principle to practice. Everyone in Biarritz spends the morning bathing. For this purpose there's a selection of three smart beaches. Do you know which one Maisie goes to?'
'She said the Chambre d'Amour.'
'A pretty name and the smartest beach of the lot. They tell me there's a sea-water swimming-pool there. Which is her — beach or swimming-pool?'
'Uncle Bill's got a chalet inside the swimming-pool compound. They have an awning in front with table and chairs, and there's a bar there too. So I guess that's where they'll be.
'Good enough,' said Esme. 'Uncle Bill's chalet will be a great convenience, I've no doubt his awning's a heavenly colour, and he owes us a few drinks after last night at the Chambre d'Amour bar. I shall take a book, you must go full of interest and consideration. Right?'
'Right,' said Terence.
'Then there's equipment. From a natural point of view you pass well enough, but in Biarritz a little artificiality is always a good thing. I should think a pair of dark glasses would help with the patches under your eyes and a pair of new bathing-trunks can do no harm. Money you've got — I have it — a present, you must give her a present at all costs. So we'll go to Cartier, you and I, and invest some of your mother's money in a simple but valuable object which Maisie's sharp eyes will know how to appreciate. But have the tact to g
ive it her when Uncle Bill's not about. Right?'
'Right,' said Terence.
'Lastly,' said Esme, 'something to give you a bit of colour. So I'll thank you to get up while I summon two restoring drinks. Did you eat your breakfast?'
'Most of it.'
'Then you'd better have a sandwich as well. You may not know it, but you got rid of a lot of vitamins last night.'
'I don't doubt it,' said Terence happily.
When they arrived at Uncle Bill's chalet by the Chambre d'Amour swimming-pool, they were welcomed by looks as healthy as they were hearty. Uncle Bill looked positively radiant.
'It was a great party,' he said. 'Gee, but I'm sorry to have gone dead on you — I do that sometimes. My analyst says my reflexes are apt to give out if I get a bit excited.'
'That's all right,' they said.
'Now what about a drink?' said Uncle Bill (who to do him justice was the most generous of men). 'A little welcome to Chambre d'Amour for our friends Terence and Esme.'
'I'll just have a nice citron with some sugar,' said Maisie, who was definitely on duty again.
'What about you boys?' said Uncle Bill: 'I'll tell you what. We'll have a nice bottle of hock. It's the A1 morning drink.' Uncle Bill had his moments of appositeness it appeared. The hock came, and they settled peacefully down to lie still and say nothing. That was one of the charms of Biarritz. No one thought it odd if you spent the entire day out of the sun and on your back. After a bit Terence and Maisie went off to bathe.
'They make a swell pair,' said Uncle Bill, 'pretty little things. Innocence. That's what I like about kids. Innocence.'
'I gather that's the theme of one of your best-known books,' said Esme — 'The Cheese in the Trap.'
'Yes,' said Uncle Bill wistfully, 'there's all of me in that book. L'il Ebenezer Coote who believed in fairies, and one day he comes up against the dirt of the world. It just finished Ebenezer, like it finished me. And ever since we've both of us been looking for something pure and cool to drown ourselves in, like I drown myself in Maisie.' He emptied his glass with a suck.
'Yes,' he said, refilling, 'innocence. And what a host of disillusions! Mr Sa Foy, Esme, what a host of disillusions! I'll tell you what I'm going to do, sir. Maisie an' I have been together a month now, an' I'm going in to San Sebastian 'cross the border to get her a big surprise this afternoon. It's an anniversary'! So I'm going in to San Sebastian an' I'm going to get her a shawl we saw' the other day. She said, "Nuncle Bill, I'm crazy about that shawl." And I said, "You shall have it, little potato, one day you shall have it." So this afternoon I'll go and get that shawl and bring it back as a big surprise. Then I'm going to order a swell dinner in my room with all the things she likes, and before we sit down I'll give her the shawl, and we'll have our anniversary feast.'
'You'll leave her alone for the afternoon?'
'Aw, she'll be a bit lonely maybe, but it's not for long. I've got to go alone to get the surprise.'
'You can leave her alone with confidence?'
'Sure. I don't ordinarily leave her, but l'il Maisie'd do nothing to get her Uncle Bill sore.'
'You know best, I suppose,' said Esme.
'Say, what's eating you, Esme? You don't have to be so sour.'
'It's never occurred to you that Biarritz might hold — temptations — for a young and attractive girl?'
'But Maisie's just a kid,' said Uncle Bill.
'So's Terence. He has ideas just the same.'
'Aw they're just a couple of sweet kids,' said Uncle Bill.
At that moment they came round the bath. Maisie stooped to examine her foot, and Terence made a neat pass from behind. Now surely, thought Esme, just what he'd been hoping for.
'Get a look at that,' said Uncle Bill, 'don't it make you feel good seeing those kids playing together — like two little pixies,' said the great booby, almost with a sob: 'I hope Maisie an' Terry'll see a lot of each other from now on.'
Of course it had been too much to suppose that Uncle Bill would fly into immediate tantrums of jealousy. What Esme had hoped was that he might perhaps be able to plant the seed. It now looked, however, as though Uncle Bill was really too crude a person to be dealt with by innuendo at all. There were such people, Esme knew, and they were incapable of seeing anything they didn't want to. On the whole he wasn't sorry Uncle Bill happened to be one. His progress by innuendo would have been a very slow and painstaking business however fertile the soil: as it was, there was nothing for it but to employ explosive tactics: and these might just as well be employed immediately, once granted the necessity for them was plain. It was hit or miss, of course; but he was now to be spared an agony of waiting.
And indeed there was a lot to be said in favour of that particular evening for what he had in mind. Uncle Bill was going sentimentally off into Spain to pick up Maisie's surprise: he would return prepared for an endearing little dinner d deux; and the contrast of what he had expected with what he was going to find should have a swift and laxative effect.
At lunch Esme said to Terence:
'There's a thing called the Grand Guignol showing at the theatre in the little Casino. It's just your thing I should imagine — lewdness alternating with beastliness.'
'It sounds good enough.'
'Now I'm going to get you a couple of tickets for this evening. But you're not to mention it to Maisie till I give the word.'
'Maisie says they're having a special dinner tonight to celebrate their first month's anniversary'.'
'That's just the point. But I'll square it all for you provided you get Maisie out of the hotel this afternoon. Uncle Bill's going in to Spain at about three o'clock After that get her out — take her to Bayonne or somewhere and spend some money on her — and bring her back in time to change and have an early dinner. The show starts at eight. But don't say anything about it till you get her back and see me.'
Now in point of fact San Sebastian, where Uncle Bill was going, wasn't very' far, certainly not more than thirty miles. But the roads were narrow and dangerous, and so the journey might take as much as an hour and a half either way. Then it would take Uncle Bill some time to make his purchase; and there were formalities (passport, currency, customs) to be gone through at the border, both ways. Even so it was hardly likely that Uncle Bill would be home much later than seven. Mercifully, however, there was something wrong with his own car, and he was hiring one of the hotel fleet. It was not difficult to find the driver allotted to Uncle Bill: a thousand francs down, and the promise of a further thousand when Uncle Bill was safely delivered not earlier than eight-fifteen nor later than nine made the man quite cheerful at the thought of spending an hour or so lying under his engine pretending to look at the works. Somewhere isolated must be chosen, Esme emphasized — there would be no bonus if Monsieur Gomery started plaguing them all with telephone calls.
So far so good. Uncle Bill went happily off at three. Shortly afterwards Maisie and Terence got into another hotel car and vanished towards Bayonne. Esme retired for a siesta. There was now nothing to be done till Terence brought Maisie back.
This happened just after six. Esme was waiting for them in the hall.
'Uncle Bill's just rung up,' he told them, 'they've had a smash — nothing serious luckily, but the car's done in and Uncle Bill's a bit shaken, he say's. They're giving him a few stitches and something to make him sleep, and he wants you, Maisie, to ring up tomorrow morning when he's himself again. He'll come back then.'
'He certainly does the right thing every now and again,' said Maisie, 'but I hope he doesn't breathe his last before he gets my "surprise" back. Now what do you say we do this evening, Terry?'
Esme nodded at Terence.
'Well, let's change and get some dinner,' said Terence, 'and then we might look in at the Grand Guignol for a start. O.K.?'
'O.K.,' said Maisie, 'half an hour and I'll see you in the bar. I'm going to miss Uncle Bill something fierce,' she said and flew towards the lift.
'Nice work,' said Esme, when
Terence was changing. 'Now listen to me. Have you given her that bracelet yet?'
'No, I thought this even—'
'Right,' said Esme. 'Now I'm going to leave you to have dinner with her alone. Give her something to drink and then take her along to the theatre. Keep her going in the intervals, and then, when you come out, suggest a breath of fresh air and take her down to the beach just in front of the little Casino. It's supposed,' he said, 'to be a lucky spot for lovers. Tell her that, give her the bracelet, and then kiss her — don't just pick, go into a real clinch and use the two hands heaven gave you for the purpose. Then take her off to a cafe with an orchestra. Whatever you do, don't bring her home till late, really late. If you try and get home early, she'll think you just want her and not her company. And that makes women savage — even women like Maisie, who've no reason to expect anything else.' That was a bit sour, he knew, but, whatever happened, he mustn't suddenly find himself organizing a grande passion.
'Now have you got all that? Beach — present — grapple — cafe?'
'Yes,' said the grateful Terence. To do Esme justice his previous recommendations had resulted in the most satisfactory' afternoon.
'Good,' said Esme; 'Well here are the tickets and I'll see you tomorrow. There's some more cash for you on the table. And don't forget — no hurrying home.'
At eight o'clock Esme settled down in the entrance hall to wait for Uncle Bill. He could only pray that Terence did what he was told and that Uncle Bill swallowed the hook. There was going to be a row in any case and he only hoped he was going to get his money's worth — literally as well as figuratively, for it had all been very expensive. In the circumstances it probably wouldn't — indeed it mustn't — get back to Sandra. On the whole, he thought, Uncle Bill was not likely to send in complaints if.it meant explaining about Maisie.
At half past eight, a rather bedraggled Uncle Bill appeared in the doorway.
'Engine trouble,' he said disagreeably when he saw Esme.
'Come and have a drink,' suggested Esme.
