Forty is Beginning (Timeless Classics Collection)

by Ursula Bloom

  In exchange for his confidences she told him of her win in the pools, and her visit here in the face of all warnings, and the exasperation of her headmistress which had been more than she now cared to admit. She had a pretty good idea that she would have to cope with the father and mother of all rows when she got back.

  ‘Why go back?’ he asked.

  But of course she would have to go back, she explained; term time would begin again and this would end. Anyway it was only a dream and could not last.

  As she talked a certain beauty crept into her eyes. He realised that in spite of the cheap cotton dress and impossible shoes, she had some claim to charm. He thought, ‘Poor dear, she’s never had anything in life. What a shame it is!’ and he warmed to her.

  ‘Of course you’re going to the casino?’ he enquired.

  ‘Oh no, I shall be very quiet here. I have got to be careful to make my money last, you see, and the francs puzzle me.’

  He said, ‘Of course you’ll come to the casino. You must see that, it’s such fun. I’ll act as your escort if you’ll allow me. I’ll take you along tonight if you like; about nine?’

  She said ‘Yes’ before she really thought about the offer. It was one of those surprising things that suddenly happen in the life of women. He would call for her, he told her, sharp on nine, in his car, and he promised that she would enjoy herself. She had better ask Madame for a key (not the only key, she mentally noted), then she would not wake Madame up if she was late, and people were late at the casino. Madame was the touchy kind; she came from Lyon and was really a stranger in these parts; anyway she was so mean that the whole place loathed her. They parted much later than Miss Marvin would have expected, and what was more the tea had cost a sum far greater than she would have believed possible, for those rhum babas which had been so delicious had worked out at four times what they would have cost in England.

  ‘Like this the money won’t last,’ she told herself, ‘it simply can’t.’

  Perhaps Colonel Hewlitt could advise her, for he had seemed to be the helpful kind, and she was now searching for help to tell her how to retrench.

  She went to the bedroom that had no key, and when she returned to the office to ask for it, Madame raised her thin gothic eyebrows and suggested that only the people who had secrets to lock away desired keys! However, she volunteered the information that the Bella Vista was open till two a.m., and that she would be able to return up till two a.m. without causing any trouble, but one thing was certain, no keys of any kind were forthcoming!

  Miss Marvin changed into the beige lace frock bought three terms ago for speech day. At home it had looked rather nice, ‘elegant’ was the term she would have chosen for it, ladylike and in excellent taste; but here something had gone wrong with it, and she could not for the life of her say what it was. Maybe it was too long; maybe it was too tight; and one most certain thing was that it was the wrong colour.

  She had already observed that the brilliant sunshine and rare atmosphere had a little habit of drenching all colour out of clothes, so that one looked shabby when one was not really so. She pinned a pink artificial rose on to the bosom, hoping to inspire the frock with that hallmark she desired to give it. The rose was a mistake. Now she knew that she was a trifle ashamed of herself. She had not realised that the French dressed beautifully, even Madame, still gowned in black, but oh what chicness as she bustled her way into the salle à manger!

  ‘I am hungry,’ thought Miss Marvin when the bell sounded for dinner, and she came out into the hall.

  The lighting in the salle à manger was discreet; there were a few sweet-smelling stocks admirably arranged in a large gilt basket. The room gave the kindly appearance of one about to impart good food, but the unfortunate part was that the good food never arrived. First of all there was some fish laid on a fish-shaped plate, with a trail of shredded pale green lettuce, and a little aspic. In all there was one mouthful. Delicious but inadequate was the right term for it. The fish plate disappearing back into the kitchen, Jeanne returned with enquiries about the taking of Evians! They noticeably disliked serving water, and intended to try for Evians at each meal.

  The next course appeared; it was aubergines, a perplexing dish for the uninitiated. Miss Marvin had not the faintest idea what the aubergine was, but had always believed it to be some sort of a bird, a pigeon perhaps. Now it seemed to be a long, dark, boat-shaped affair the colour of a prune and containing a welter of over-spiced stuffing. Did one eat the dark part? Probably not. Did one eat the over-spiced inside and then taste it all night? Most probably! She played with this one, deciding that she would eat little as she suspected it, and she would wait for the main course, which must be the next one. Fish first, though really it was very little more than an hors d’oeuvres; a vegetable entrée; now for the main dish.

  Her horror when she saw a charlotte Russe approaching was complete. The charlotte Russe was beautifully made and looked most attractive, but nothing could make it filling. To a woman used to plum duff and North of England puddings, charlotte Russe is not a suitable substitute. Coffee followed; the cups were tiny, the cream liberal.

  ‘I am still remarkably hungry,’ thought poor Miss Marvin, ‘and I don’t know what to do, because if this goes on I shall start to rumble!’

  She waited in the lounge where the old ladies were knitting, whilst four people played Canasta in a corner, and the girl who had worn the strip bras and tiny trunks, now all dressed up in satin, came in and talked with another girl about the Salle privée. Presently a young man called for her in a car that had no silencer and was known affectionately to them both as Bloody Mary. They made a lot of noise starting off, disappearing to the accompaniment of screams of girlish laughter. A little while later Colonel Hewlitt arrived.

  Now he had changed and wore an immaculate dinner jacket, looking very well brushed and charming. Apparently Madame knew him well, offering him a drink, smirking to encourage him, and being at her most alluring. She was somewhat surprised to find that he knew Miss Marvin, and to make matters easier he explained, ‘We are old friends,’ and later when they went along he said, ‘It was the simplest way.’

  Miss Marvin and the Colonel went out together to his car, which was a quiet closed saloon and bore no relationship to Bloody Mary. It was very comfortable with its grey plush cushions and silent engine, and he was the most attentive escort.

  ‘I do hope you’re going to like this,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure I am.’ She clutched the little velvet bag that had been given to her by one of the girls at Christmas. It had a collapsible gilt handle, and she hoped that it went with the beige rig-out; it should have been beige satin of course, but it wasn’t; anyhow, it was the best that she could do, and she didn’t suppose it would matter very much.

  They turned away from the plage towards the glittering building like a fairy palace, its brilliant lights marking the magic word above it ‒ Casino. Miss Marvin had a sudden inspiration that real adventure was here at last, something that she had never known in Manchester and its environment, and that would be utterly lovely. Blood and Fire had nothing on this! The scruples of the worthy but somewhat narrow Minister with his chapel lads’ outing, the smugness of Mrs. Bunce, and the autocracy of Miss Halifax spending that clerical holiday of hers at Ripon, all faded into nothing, and Miss Marvin knew that her whole world was changing.

  ‘Oh, this is so delightful!’ she said.

  ‘I’m awfully glad. I think you’ll like it.’ He eyed her dubiously, avoiding dwelling on the beige frock, which he honestly though was dreadful.

  He parked the car under the banyan tree, which was most intriguing, and they went inside, he paying the fees, which seemed exorbitant. Miss Marvin looked excitedly about her. The dome was very high, and from it hung glittering glass chandeliers catching the light in bewildering prisms of colour. There was the general air of excitement and thrill, one could feel it eddying about the place, and privately Miss Marvin thought that the Derby must be ve
ry much like this, though she didn’t know why.

  There were gilt chairs with crimson velvet seats, sofas along the walls, a superfluity of mirrors, framed also in gilt, extensive flowers, and attendants looking, she imagined, like those in Buckingham Palace, with red velvet tail coats and a lot of gold braid on the lapels.

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ she gasped, and to herself, This-can’t-be-me!

  They strolled round the tables in a leisurely fashion, watching what was afoot. She saw a bleak-looking woman watch the wheel stopping, then grab in so many ‘chips’ that the whole of Miss Marvin’s inside turned over with amazement. She saw a sour-looking little man stake his last franc, turn with an oath and blunder out of the casino, not even looking where he was going, so bemused was he.

  ‘He will shoot himself?’ she asked her companion in horror.

  ‘Lord, no! There are moneylenders round the corner; they make a business of it and do well. He is probably going to pop his cuff links, they were rather good ones, I thought!’ and the Colonel laughed pleasantly at his own observation.

  Men are never so dramatic as women! They accept the details of life much more prosaically, and they are never so prone to fly to extremes in their conclusions.

  ‘Now what about having a go?’ enquired the Colonel, in an amused voice.

  ‘Oh no, no, indeed, I couldn’t do that.’ She shrank back dismayed at the idea.

  ‘Have you got scruples?’

  ‘No, it isn’t that; after all, I won the money to come here in the pools. It is that I have spent rather more already than I anticipated. You wouldn’t realise how expensive the Bella Vista works out. And now I am a little alarmed that I shan’t be able to eke out my cash for the whole of my stay.’ She spoke the truth in a faltering voice, for she had always been taught that financial discussions were rather rude.

  ‘Please let me advance a bit, they say it’s lucky. You can’t come here and not have one little flutter. Look, sit down and tell me what you fancy.’

  She eyed the table with complete horror. The croupier was a man with a face like the sphinx who apparently didn’t care who won or lost. He was provided with a peculiar-looking wooden rake of the kind bought by parents for children on a visit to the seaside, and supposed to be excellent for sand castles; but these were not sand castles, they were castles in Spain, collapsing rapidly. The chips kept romping about the table, here, there and everywhere, whilst the looks on the faces of the players were positively alarming.

  The Colonel slipped some francs into her hand. ‘Now then, have a go! You’ll probably get beginners’ luck, you never know.’

  She obtained some chips and cautiously she laid down a few of them on a number, disliking the venture. That number came up. She would never have believed that the ecstasy of winning a handful could thrill her so much. Winning on the pools was nothing compared to the exhilaration of this moment in the red velvet and gilt-mirrored casino. Suddenly she had three times the number of chips lying in a pile beside her. (‘Certainly this can’t be me,’ she told herself.) None of the others seemed interested. Nobody noticed.

  ‘Go on, try again!’ suggested the Colonel, ‘maybe your beginners’ luck will hold and you’ll win a packet. It has been known to happen.’

  She tried again with great care, advancing the same sum of money out of the pile she had already won, and again her number came up! Now she was sitting here in the beige lace frock which had been originally intended for church meetings and end-of-term parties, and she was literally raking in the money! It lay in a growing heap beside her; she had to put her bag on top of it to hold it down, and the time was last approaching when the bag wouldn’t hold it down any longer. A Mont Blanc was appearing. ‘It can’t be happening to me!’ was the only thing which kept recurring to her.

  ‘Try putting on a bit more,’ the Colonel said, ‘you’ve got it to spare. You’re well in on this already.’

  She was counting out the money to pay him back his loan. ‘Oh no, I daren’t be rash, in case I lose it.’

  ‘I bet you don’t lose it!’ and he shuffled the chips forward. ‘Which number do you want?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Your age?’

  The moment he had said it, he knew that it was a mistake. Rather pitifully she said, ‘I’m forty.’

  ‘You don’t look it, and you could look quite different. You ought to go to Maison Avions down the road.’

  Miss Marvin made a mental note of it. It was ridiculous, of course, because undoubtedly Maison Avions would be absurdly expensive and she would never have sufficient money to go there, yet for some unknown reason she jotted it down in her mind and could not forget it. The Colonel put the chips down on the table and the awful thing started to spin. She could not look; she was completely tensed, pleasurably so, but she felt as if she was taut. The ball settled down in a number, and it was her number. Now she could hardly pull the wad of chips towards her, shovelled in her direction by a croupier with a deadpan face. She could not believe that this was happening.

  ‘It can’t be true!’ she gasped.

  Her luck was really in. She had read about such things, of course, and had never realised that it actually happened, but here it was, and happening to her. She played for still higher stakes, and in the end, towards two in the morning she had a lap full and a bag full, and the Colonel had several pockets full, for little Miss Marvin in her cheap beige lace frock had won something approaching a fortune.

  ‘You must come again tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Cash in on this luck while it lasts.’

  ‘Oh no. I daresay it sounds very unsporting, but not again. Most certainly not again. You see, I want to keep what I’ve got.’

  ‘There’s rather a lot here, I don’t know if you gather how much.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He said, ‘Miss Marvin, do you realise that there will never be any need for you to work again? Tonight you have made a little fortune.’

  Miss Marvin fainted.

  At three in the morning they were sitting in a restaurant where there were girls dancing, and not wearing very much, but somehow she did not care. There were other girls who sold attractive favours, some being of a slightly rude nature! They had fancy trays tied by wreaths of flowers round their necks, and as far as eye could see ‒ it is true Miss Marvin did not look too closely ‒ that was about all they did wear; but somehow in her new mood she found it all very amusing and good fun. A new Miss Marvin had been born.

  They drank champagne, which Miss Marvin had never tasted before, and she thought that it was like the best lemonade, only nicer.

  They had to knock up the Bella Vista at five in the morning and Madame was not at all pleased. She said nothing, but she looked a lot and her gothic eyebrows went into norman arches of disfavour. Miss Marvin went to her room, and now she knew that she was just a little drunk. She arranged innumerable notes under the sheet and lay on them, because even if drunk she was still a cautious woman.

  When she woke it was hours later.

  The one thing that Miss Marvin remembered ‒ and it stuck out prominently from last night’s somewhat confused experiences ‒ was the mention of the Maison Avions.

  She got up feeling limp, she drank a lot of coffee, which was helpful, and putting on her striped cotton frock went off to find the Maison Avions.

  It was apparently well known in the neighbourhood for everyone was ready to direct her, and when she arrived she found it to be a choice-looking little place of peach and turquoise with Becaiti written all over it in letters of gold. There were festoons of peach-coloured nylon curtain, over-frilled but luxurious, against glossy turquoise paint, and an abundance of pink stocks stood everywhere in soft blue bowls. There was certainly everything to recommend the Maison Avions, but as Miss Marvin would have said, ‘It isn’t me.’

  Inside was Monsieur Gaston. Monsieur Gaston wore corsets to keep his figure superb. He was very much silk-shirt-and-tight-trousering. His hair, delicately crimped, was worn brushed back
from the brow, and his hands were elegantly manicured, and they gesticulated every emotion of his. His face suggested make-up. Taking one look at Miss Marvin, he sized her up as having pas d’argent, and would have dismissed her brusquely, save for the fact that there was something about her that he did not quite grasp.

  ‘I am English,’ said Miss Marvin, believing this explanation to be highly necessary.

  ‘I understand.’ He had of course known this from the first moment when he had seen her approaching. None but the unimaginative English, so sporting and so pathetic, wore brogues with cotton frocks, and let their necks wither into parchment documents, well and truly creased marking the years for all to see.

  ‘I won a lot of money in the casino last night,’ said Miss Marvin, who had come prepared to tell the truth. ‘I don’t like the look of myself and have been advised to come here. Could you make me look better?’

  ‘Certainly, madam,’ said he.

  The thought of having won a lot of money at the casino cheered Monsieur Gaston, to whom Midas was a god. ‘But why not?’ he would say, ‘it is the golden latchkey, the Open Sesame. It is the beginning. No money, and you are a pauper. C’est triste! Money, and you are a king. C’est magnifique!’ That was his creed, and none ever contradicted it, for logic supported it.

  He escorted Miss Marvin into a delightful cubicle which smelt pungently of lilies-of-the-valley. He wrapped her in a peach-coloured robe, nestling her down into a capacious chair that was made of pigskin. He called up M’lle. Josette. M’lle. Josette was clever. She was piquante, and quick. What commitments entered her private life, none dared think. She took one look at Miss Marvin’s face, said that she liked the hair and admired the colour, but the skin … Oh la la!

  In the next two hours, everything happened to Miss Marvin in the capacious pigskin chair. Her eyelashes, true mouse on arrival at Maison Avions, changed to dark brown, and somehow or other managed to curl at the ends. Her skin, the skin she had never bothered with, had an intensive treatment and came out looking velvet-soft as a young girl’s. Her hands were petted up and emerged serenely white with nails like pink pearls. She was made up to look charming, doe-eyed and dewy. During the process Josette gave her lessons as to what she must do with regard to lipstick, face cream and the right shade of powder; another assistant made up a bundle of the correct cosmetics for her to take away with her.