Her thoughts became more and more misty, and chased each other through her head in the most inconsequent way until they were nonsense and she was on the edge of sleep – ‘When the rain is falling thickly there should be long white hands waving in it.’
Walter, finding her fast asleep on the floor, her head buried in a cushion, wondered whose were the empty cocktail glasses. He found a thimbleful of cocktail left in the shaker which he drank, and then woke up Sally by kissing her.
‘It’s no good, darling,’ he said, ‘I cannot dig, and to write gossip I’m ashamed, but I’ve borrowed ten pounds from Albert, and I love you dreadfully, and I’ll write some articles for the Sunday papers. We’ll get rich somehow. Meanwhile, I’m going to take you out to dinner at Quaglino’s because you haven’t been there and it might amuse you. And who’s been drinking out of my cocktail glasses, I should like to know?’
‘I made a hundred pounds while you were out, my angel, by letting the flat to an American friend of Ralph’s from tomorrow, and Ralph says we can go and live in Gower Street while it’s let; he’s got a bedroom all ready for us. So what d’you think of that, sweetest?’
‘Well, I think that beggars can’t be choosers. If it’s a load off your mind, I’m glad and, of course, it’s divine of Ralph. Still, of course, really it’s too bloody, because we shall never have a single minute to ourselves. You know what it is in Ralph’s flat – one long party.’
‘I know, darling, but it’s only for six weeks, and it will be such a saving. Also, I didn’t like to hurt his feelings by refusing, it was so sweet of him to think of it. As a matter of fact, we could go for some of the time to my family: they’re always asking us to stay with them.’
‘I believe it would be cheaper in the end,’ said Walter crossly, ‘to stay on here. Couldn’t you telephone to Ralph and say that we’ve changed our minds?’
‘No, darling, I couldn’t. If you can’t support me, somebody must, you know, and as we’re both devoted to Ralph why not let it be he? We needn’t really go to the family, of course; I only said that to annoy you, although I shall have to go sometime. By the way, too, remind me to tell mother about Morris-Minerva. I’m sure I ought to have told her ages ago, because it’s the sort of thing it drives her mad to hear from somebody else.
‘Darling Walter. And I’m sorry I said all that about supporting me because I know you would like to be able to. And anyway, we’re so much happier like this than if you had some horrid sort of job which you hated. And if we’re really going to Quaglino’s hadn’t you better telephone for a table, my sweet?’
Twenty
Albert had decided that the private view of his pictures should take the form of a giant cocktail-party at the Chelsea Galleries, where they were being exhibited, the afternoon before they were to be opened to the public. Guests were invited from half-past three to seven, and at three o’clock Albert and Jane, supported by the Monteaths and Mr Buggins, with whom they had all been lunching, arrived at the Galleries in a state of some trepidation.
Walter and Sally, who had not seen the pictures before, gasped with amazement as they entered the room, and for several moments were left quite speechless. The pictures were indeed, at first sight, most peculiar and Albert appeared to have employed any medium but the usual. Some of them stood right out like bas reliefs, while various objects such as hair, beards, buttons and spectacles were stuck on to them. Others were executed entirely in string, newspaper and bits of coloured glass.
The first picture – Child with Doll – had a real doll stuck across it. The child also had real hair tied up with blue ribbons. The next on the catalogue, ‘No 2. Fire irons, formal design,’ represented a poker and tongs and was executed in small pearl buttons, varying in shade from dead white to smoke-grey. This was framed in empty cotton-reels.
The most important picture in the exhibition was ‘No. 15. The Absinthe Drinker’. This was tremendously built out, the central figure – that of a woman – being in a very high relief. On her head was perched half a straw hat with black ostrich feathers. In one hand was a glass filled with real absinthe. This was felt by Albert himself to be his masterpiece.
The only painting in the ordinary sense of the word, was his portrait of Sally, which, hung between two huge still-lifes with surgical limbs, stuffed birds and ukuleles stuck all over them, hardly showed up to its best advantage.
Mr Buggins was rather shocked at this travesty of painting, but was nevertheless obliged to admit that there was a great deal of force in the pictures, while the Monteaths, when the first sensation of surprise had left them, pronounced themselves in raptures.
Albert was evidently in a state of nerves and hardly listened to what was said, but went from picture to picture, adjusting the feathers of The Absinthe Drinker at a slightly less-tipsy angle, retying one of Child with Doll’s hair-ribbons and borrowing Jane’s comb with which to tidy its hair. Finally, he ran round combing all the hair and beards that he could find.
The others stood about rather gloomily wishing that the party would begin. Albert’s nervousness had imparted itself to them and especially to Jane, who was terrified that the pictures (much as she personally admired them) might be a most dreadful failure.
If this happened, she thought selfishly, a gloom would certainly be cast over their whole wedding.
Albert, from having always before been perfectly indifferent as to what people might think of his work, now that the pictures were about to be exhibited had become almost childishly anxious for them to have a success.
The first guest appeared in the shape of Ralph, who was received with exaggerated cries of joy.
‘Ralph dear, how nice of you to come so early! We were hoping someone would come soon. You will try and make the party go, Ralph, won’t you? We’re all simply terrified, and it’s sure to be sticky at first, so promise to help?’
Ralph smiled sadly.
‘So these are your pictures, Albert,’ he said, and very slowly walked round the Gallery, carefully examining each one from various angles. Having completed the tour he went up to Albert and said earnestly, ‘Go on painting, Albert. I mean that. Go on with it and one day you will be a very considerable artist indeed. Goodbye, my dears, I must go home to bed.’
‘Don’t go!’ they cried in disappointed voices; but he took no notice of their protestations and left the Gallery.
Albert wiped his eyes. He was more than touched and flattered by this attitude of Ralph’s, and followed his friend out into the street to tell him so.
Jane broke rather an awkward silence by wondering who the next visitor would be. It was felt that Ralph had not exactly proved the life and soul of the party.
‘I think this is quite awful,’ said Walter. ‘I’m not easily frightened myself, but the beginning of a party is always apt to upset me; and now in addition to the social fear I’m suffering, there is this enormous empty room with Albert’s terrifying pictures. The whole atmosphere is painful to a degree. Not that I don’t think the pictures very clever, mind you, Jane, because I do, and they will certainly cause a great sensation, but you must admit that they are terrifying, specially for that child. Sally, darling, I beg you won’t look at it for too long, because if Morris-Minerva even faintly resembles it I shall commit infanticide on the spot.’
Sally now had a brainwave.
‘Why don’t we begin the cocktails?’
This brilliant idea was immediately acted upon, and when Albert came back a more cheerful atmosphere was pervading the whole place. He felt glad of a drink himself after an emotional scene with Ralph in the street.
The next arrival was Admiral Wenceslaus, who came in rather jauntily, saying:
‘And don’t offer me a cocktail; I never touch the things. How are you? How are you all?’
He took the cocktail which Albert was rather diffidently holding out towards him and drank it off at a single gulp.
‘My dear Gates, I have brought back your trousers which I have had well pressed for you. They
needed it. And also a little wedding present in the shape of a book which I thought you might read on your honeymoon. It is by an old friend of my own, Admiral Sir Bartelmass Jenks, and is entitled The Prize Courts and Their Functions or The Truth About Blockade. The prize courts, my dear Gates, as you know, investigate the case of ships captured in times of war.…’
At this moment, as so often happens at parties, about twenty people all came in a lump together and the admiral, deprived of his audience, settled down to some more cocktails.
Soon the room was buzzing and humming with talk. The pictures, as Walter had foreseen, were causing a real sensation. People were, for the most part, very guarded in their criticism, asking each other rather anxiously what they thought about them.
Not so, however, Lady Prague, who, imposing but dowdy in a coat of Paisley pattern with brown fur, was accompanied by General Murgatroyd and Lady Brenda Chadlington.
She walked round the Gallery rather flat-footedly, pausing here and there to inspect the more outstanding pictures rather closely with her nose almost touching them, and then at an exaggerated distance (a trick she had learnt while visiting the Royal Academy).
When she had completed this tour she turned to Lady Brenda.
‘Of course, Brenda, I expect it’s my own fault, but I really think these pictures are very ugly. Not the sort of thing I should care to have in a drawing-room at all. In fact, I don’t see that you could call this Art. I mean, when you think of those wonderful Dutch pictures we saw last year. These are so terribly out of drawing. And then, all that hair! Well, I suppose they’re very clever, but –’
Lady Brenda said, ‘Ssh! they will hear you,’ and General Murgatroyd said loudly and angrily that it was another art hoax and that he was not the least taken in by it.
‘If you want to see some really good pictures,’ he said, ‘go to the Army and Navy stores. There’s one I saw yesterday – some sheep going into a little birch wood with a mist – early morning, I should say. I think of buying it for Craig’s silver wedding – silver birches, you know; makes it rather suitable.’
‘Personally, I’m glad I have a sense of humour,’ went on Lady Prague, warming to her subject. ‘That controversy about Rima now: what I said was, “Why be angry? Every time you want a good laugh in future you only have to go into Hyde Park and there it is!” Killing! A perfect scream!
‘Ah! here’s Jane. Well, my dear, congratulations on your engagement. We are just admiring your fiancé’s pictures – quite pretty, aren’t they? No cocktail, thank you, dear, I’m not very modern, I’m afraid.’
The Gallery was suddenly and surprisingly invaded by a large crowd of people dressed in the deepest mourning and carrying wreaths; among others, Jasper Spengal, who rushed up to Albert saying breathlessly:
‘Such heaven, my dear! We’ve just been having a mock funeral. We bought a plot at the London Necropolis and we drove for miles and miles through the streets in carriages with black horses, and all the time Julius was in the coffin in grave-clothes which we bought at Harrods. And, did you know that one has grave-stockings, too? Then, when we reached our plot in the Necrop, he just pushed up the lid and walked out, and we all picked up the wreaths and ran for dear life.
‘Oh, I wish you could have seen the gravediggers’ faces! It was a really beautiful moment. Then we all packed into my car and Rosie’s car and came on here, and we’ve brought the flowers for you and Jane because you are engaged. So suitable, we think,’ and he laid his wreath at Albert’s feet. An enormous card was tied to it, bearing the inscription:
‘Sweets to the Sweet. In memory of a noble life.
RIP’
Lady Prague, who had been drinking in every word of all this, said loudly and angrily, ‘Those are the Bright Young People, no doubt. How very disgusting! Come along, Brenda, I’m going. Can I drop you anywhere, Mowbray?’
‘Yes, if you happen to be passing the Marlborough.…’
‘Oh, darling!’ cried Jasper. ‘Did you hear what she called us? What a name! Bright Young People! Oh, how unkind to suggest that we are bright – horrid word – I see nothing bright about a funeral, anyway, do you? What a nasty old woman! I’m so – so glad she’s gone!
‘Now, darling, I must telephone – may I? – to the Daily Runner and tell them all about it: they’ll just have nice time to write it up. We had six photographers and a cinematograph at the graveside, and the light has been very good today, luckily. Would you like to be photographed among the wreaths, darling? It might give quite a good boost to the exhibition.’
‘I think not, Jasper, thank you so much. The press people were here this morning and this is by way of being serious, you know, not a “freak party,” ’ said Albert rather crossly. His nerves were on edge, and the mock funeral, which would at any other time have amused him a lot, struck him as being a painfully stupid idea.
He was thankful when they all dashed away to hear the will read at Jasper’s house, leaving the wreaths piled up underneath The Absinthe Drinker, especially as Jane’s father and mother came in a moment later.
The Dacres, of course, thought Albert’s pictures perfectly raving mad, although they were too polite to say so. They had come with every intention of buying one, but decided in whispers that they were too dreadful – even for a lavatory, so they ordered copies of ‘Recent Finds at Dalloch Castle’ instead. While they were doing this, they noticed that Mrs Fairfax had arrived, and Lady Dacre, remarking that she refused to shake hands with that woman, left the Gallery, taking Sir Hubert in tow.
‘My dear!’ said Mrs Fairfax to Albert,’I had to come round for a moment to support you, but I am most frightfully busy. Have you heard the news? Well, I’m going to marry Cosmo again, which is lovely, because I do enjoy being a duchess when all’s said and done, and now, with any luck, I shall be one for the rest of my life. You can’t think what a difference it makes in shops and trains. Aren’t your pictures divine? Especially the one of Florence in tweed.
‘Ralph and I were furious to miss the fire, but it was lucky I went to Gleneagles, because that’s where I met Cosmo again – in the swimming-bath – and we got on so well comparing notes about our various husbands and wives that we fixed it up there and then; so I must fly now and get on with my trousseau. If I have another baby, what relation will it be to Bellingham? Goodbye, darling, then. I really have to go.’
Isaac Manuel, the art critic and collector, now put in an appearance, and Albert spent nearly an hour going round the pictures with him. He was greatly soothed and comforted by the older man’s intelligent appreciation of his work.
‘You are very young,’ he said to Albert as he was leaving, ‘and your style is often crude and bombastic, but all the same, Mr Gates, I must admit that I am very favourably impressed. I have not enjoyed an afternoon so much for some time. I predict a future for you if you realize, as I can see you do, that these methods are, in themselves, far from satisfactory and only a means to an end. Keep the end always in view and you may become a very good artist indeed. I shall certainly see that you have an excellent notice in my paper, and shall most probably present one of your pictures to the nation. Good day.’
When Albert returned to the Gallery from seeing Mr Manuel into the street, he found that everyone had gone except Jane, Sally, Walter and the admiral who appeared to have fallen asleep among the funeral wreaths, a terrifying sight as his glass eye remained open, fixed upon the ceiling in a fearful stare.
‘What do you think that horrid old admiral has done?’ cried Jane. ‘To start with he drank so many cocktails that there weren’t nearly enough to go round, and then when they were finished he got a straw from one of the wreaths and drank all the absinthe out of the glass in your picture. Sally actually saw him do it.’
‘No, really that’s too much,’ said Albert, who couldn’t help laughing all the same. ‘I suppose in future I shall be obliged to fill that glass with coloured water, otherwise people will make a habit of drinking it, and you can see for yourselves how ter
ribly the colour values are disturbed when the glass is empty.’
‘Well, my dear Albert, I congratulate you,’ said Walter warmly. ‘The whole thing was a great success, a really good party. And everyone thought the pictures quite brilliant. Manuel was very much impressed. I heard him tell Mr Buggins that he intends to buy one for his collection, and most probably one for the nation.’
‘Clever Albert,’ said Jane. ‘Darling, I’m so pleased, aren’t you? What’s the time, by the way?’
‘Past seven. We’d better go, I think. No one’s likely to come now, and we’ll have to be rather quick if we’re really dining at eight.’
They picked up their bags, hats and other belongings and began to move towards the door, when Walter said:
‘Look here! What about the admiral? He seems to have passed out completely among those lilies. We can’t very well leave him like that, can we?’
Albert considered.
‘No, I suppose we can’t. Hadn’t we better put him into a taxi and send him home? I expect we could carry him between us, Walter; or if he’s too heavy I’ll call the commissionaire to help.’
They advanced upon the admiral, Walter taking his shoulders and Albert his legs, and half-carried, half-dragged him to the street. Jane hailed a taxi into which they bundled him and shut the door.
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Oh! Walter, where does he live?’
‘How should I know? I haven’t an idea.’
‘Well, where shall we send him?’
Silence.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Walter. ‘Isn’t there a special place somewhere for admirals? Now what is it called? Oh, yes! I remember, of course.’
He gave the taxi-driver half-a-crown and said:
‘Take this gentleman to the Admiralty, please.’
Twenty One
The front page of next morning’s Daily Runner was full of interest to members of the recent house-party at Dalloch Castle. Jane read it, as she always did, while breakfasting in bed; and for once in her life she pored over its columns with absolutely breathless attention, reading every word, instead of merely skimming down the more sensational columns and then turning over to see if she was mentioned in the gossip page, which I regret to say was her usual method. Today, the first paragraph which met her eye was:
Highland Fling Page 17
