Doves of Venus

by Olivia Manning

  7

  Maxine came down late to breakfast: Ellie and Nancy were finishing their meal. She did not serve herself from the row of silver tureens on the hot-plate but rang for Fitton, then sank into her place at the table as though exhausted by the effort of descending from bedroom to breakfast-room. She pressed to her nostrils the lace edge of her handkerchief.

  When Fitton entered, she pleaded: ‘Oh, Fitton, just give me a little piece of bacon. A very little piece. I seldom touch breakfast.’

  Letting the bacon grow cold before her, she gazed out at the cedar trees. She seemed upon some remote verge of tears.

  With a raucous cheerfulness, Nancy asked: ‘Got a splitter?’

  ‘No,’ Maxine murmured vaguely, ‘no.’ Some moments passed before she was capable of saying more, then she spoke in a small voice, occasionally sniffing: ‘I’ve been so touched.’

  She had kept her right hand in the pocket of her quilted dressing-gown; now she drew it out and placed on the table a small fob-watch of enamel and gold.

  ‘Isn’t it exquisite? French, I believe. I have never seen anything so lovely as that tiny scene painted on the face. And the pink enamel bow, and all those little diamonds! I’m afraid it’s valuable, too.’ Her voice failed with emotion.

  Ellie looked at Nancy. Nancy’s eyes were fixed on the watch. She said nothing.

  After another pause, Maxine said hoarsely: ‘I’ve always admired it. It belonged to Tom’s mother. Last night, when he came into my room to say good-night, he put it on my bedside table and kissed me on the forehead and said: “This is for you, my dear.” I was so touched! I couldn’t speak. I just started to cry.’

  Nancy stood up: ‘We’re going out,’ she said.

  Ellie followed her from the room. Outside the house, Nancy said: ‘What did you think of that?’

  Ellie felt bound to say: ‘I think, you know, she’d quite forgotten Tom’s mother was your grandmother.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nancy angrily, ‘she had forgotten. That’s just the point. She’s displaced me so completely, she’s quite forgotten that I have any rights here at all. And Tom – he’s forgotten, too.’

  ‘Oh no . . .’

  ‘If he hasn’t, would he have given it to her while I was in the house? Or, if he did, wouldn’t he have had the decency to say: “Don’t tell Nancy anything about it”? My father would be hopping mad if he knew. As for Aunt Isobel and Aunt Mabel . . . well!’

  ‘How did Tom get the watch?’

  ‘He went home for the funeral. I suppose he asked for some of his mother’s things: he was very fond of her.’ Nancy brooded for a time, then added bitterly: ‘Yes: so fond he gave her watch away to the first little bitch who sucked up to him.’

  ‘Is she really a bitch?’

  ‘I can jolly well tell you, if he knew as much about her private life as I do, she wouldn’t be queening it here. But she’d better look out. She’s had it all her own way so far: now I think he’s pretty taken with you.’

  ‘I don’t really think so.’

  ‘He is. I know he is.’

  Nancy, smiling again, turned on Ellie the full stare of her mischievous fox-brown eyes. For the first time Ellie realised she had been invited here not entirely from friendship. She was here as Nancy’s candidate for Tom’s favour: a candidate who was required, in return for hospitality, to prove herself Nancy’s champion and support. Out of the muddled emotions formed about this knowledge the thought came clearly: ‘I am Nancy’s friend.’

  She put her hand through Nancy’s arm and said: ‘You never told Tom anything about Maxine?’

  ‘Lord, no. She knows too much about me.’

  Ellie said: ‘We’re free. We could hardly accuse her of freedom.’

  The sun was shining. When the girls returned to the house they found Maxine had had chairs brought out to the terrace. Still in her pink satin dressing-gown, her black hair tied with a pink ribbon, she lay in a sheltered corner where the sun was warm. She made a lazy gesture towards the girls. As though defending an eccentricity, she said: ‘I love the sun.’ Lifting her face to the light, her look acquisitive rather than appreciative, she stretched and relaxed and moaned a little. She said: ‘Do you think Mrs Fitton would bring me some pineapple juice?’

  ‘I’m sure she would, if you asked her.’

  As Nancy walked past her into the drawing-room, Maxine made a murmur of hurt protest.

  Ellie asked: ‘Does she do nothing but lie around all day?’

  ‘Nothing but that.’

  ‘But in London? I suppose she has a job?’

  ‘Yes, a wonderful job. She’s art editor at Topham’s. Tom got her in, of course, but I must say it for her, she’s a brilliant draughtsman.’

  ‘I suppose she’s well paid?’

  ‘I’ll say: and she has private money. She’s a South African: terrifically snob family – so she says. You should hear her going on about the natives. I bet she had a Kaffir grandmother, or something.’

  ‘She’s clever,’ said Ellie unwillingly.

  ‘She’s no fool,’ Nancy bleakly agreed.

  At luncheon Tom asked: ‘Who’s coming to Erica’s for tea?’

  Ellie and Nancy looked blank.

  ‘Hasn’t Maxine told you we’re going there?’

  ‘We are,’ said Maxine, ‘but not the girls. We couldn’t expect Erica to ask everyone. It wouldn’t be fair to her.’

  ‘She knows they’re staying here.’ Tom looked displeased: he thrust out his lower lip, then said: ‘Supposing I give her a ring?’

  ‘Oh no, it would make such a crowd. And it’s Sunday. She can’t get extra cakes or anything.’

  ‘We might take a cake with us.’

  ‘We can’t ask her, Tom. She has other guests coming and her drawing-room isn’t very large.’

  Ellie and Nancy sat in silence, looking at Tom, wondering if another victory was about to be theirs. Tom looked at their bright eyes, then said: ‘I’m not over-eager to go myself.’

  ‘But, Tom,’ Maxine broke in sorrowfully, ‘Erica will be so disappointed. She has invited that new friend of hers, Lady Roberts, who so much wants to meet you. You promised. We must go: but we won’t stay late. Anyway, I have to catch an early train.’

  By the time the car was at the door Tom had been persuaded. When the car had driven off, Nancy said: ‘Did you hear that? She’s going on an early train. And I bet I know why she’s going early.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She must have a date with that fellow of hers.’ Nancy paused, then said with an accusing intensity: ‘A married man.’

  Ellie’s lips parted. She blushed so deeply she wanted to cover her face with her hands. She said: ‘But Quintin is a married man.’

  ‘This one lives with his wife. The poor, stupid woman is being deceived.’

  Ellie, growing pale with relief, said: ‘That’s different.’

  When Tom and Maxine returned, the house seethed with Maxine’s departure. She ran repeatedly up and down stairs. She tore through the drawing-room and went out through the french windows murmuring something about ‘Mrs Partridge.’ Soon she was back and hurrying to the kitchen, her colour heightened, her glance inward.

  Tom seemed distracted and concerned for her. He said: ‘A glass of sherry, my dear, before you go?’

  ‘No, no, Tom dear: I’m sorry. No time.’ She brushed past him, speaking lightly, scarcely aware of him now. She hurried out to the hall, where she could be heard making her demands on Mrs Fitton. A little later she called to Tom to join them. Her voice, animated and appealing with an ornamental appeal – for who could refuse her anything! – was begging for some of the more valuable plants in the hot-house.

  Ellie, feeling Maxine’s intense excitement, could not doubt she was about to meet a lover. Ellie recognised the key of her anticipation. Dashing about, too eager even to be cautious with Tom, she left upon the air the scent of her desire.

  Her voice rose: ‘But I must have an amaryllis, Tom darling. I love them so. I wo
n’t let this one die, I promise you. I’m having a few friends in tonight. I want the flat to look pretty.’

  Nancy’s eyebrows went up. She glared at Ellie, whispering: ‘Listen.’

  ‘I am listening,’ whispered Ellie.

  When, at last, Maxine was standing in the porch, on the point of departure, her voluptuous vitality sparked from her like electricity. In her high-heeled shoes, taller than the girls, much taller than Tom, she cast about her an atmosphere disturbing and dominating. She held in her arms a sheaf of flowers and beech-leaves. Partridge was packing into the car, beside her small piece of aeroplane luggage, a basketful of home-made jams, curds and pickles, a box of geranium plants, some flowering shrubs and plants, and a canvas bag, well packed, from the top of which protruded part of a plucked chicken.

  Ellie asked innocently: ‘How ever will you carry all this when you get to London?’

  Maxine gave a short laugh of naked contempt. ‘I won’t carry it. A porter will carry it for me.’ As she glanced at Ellie her contempt took on for a moment the quality of cool and contemptuous enmity. It was gone in a moment. It left Ellie chilled, but Maxine had melted into smiles for Nancy and Tom. She flicked a commanding finger at Nancy:

  ‘Ring me up sometime and come to supper.’

  Nancy, as though hypnotised, took a step forward and said eagerly: ‘I’d love to.’

  Maxine lowered her cheek to Tom’s lips. How could he not sense, as Ellie did, the aura of her desire for someone else? But he smiled as before, seeming only fearful that he might not fulfil all her needs.

  ‘Have you everything you want, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, Tom, I think so. You’ve been so kind, as usual. Good-bye, my dear.’

  She entered the car among the plants and flowers, then smiled out with such evident happiness that Ellie was shot through with envy of her: ‘Oh, Quintin! Oh, Quintin!’

  The car drove off. Ellie scarcely saw it go. As she followed the others into the house, she caught her breath and stood still, transported by memory so that Quintin’s presence seemed tangible. She almost lifted her arms to curve them about him: she raised her face and smiled into the empty air.

  Ahead of her, Nancy was turning back from the drawing-room door. Ellie quickly covered her rapture with a question: ‘What did she want with the geraniums?’

  ‘Window-boxes. From now on Clopals keeps her supplied.’

  Ellie made some excuse to go up to her room. As she went, she heard Tom asking: ‘Where is Ellie?’ She ran to her balcony to think of Quintin, but the thought had emptied itself. She felt only cold and lonely. Soon she went downstairs again. Tom said: ‘Ah, here she is!’ and took her hand and led her to the fire. Now his attention was all for Ellie. He sought to draw her back from the remote place to which memory had taken her. He rubbed her cold hands and said: ‘Brr!’, shivering through all his old bones: ‘Cold outside. What will you girls have? How about a martini? Warm you up.’

  Ellie smiled wanly, not certain Tom would not change suddenly into the old man of guarded looks and worried manners who was under Maxine’s spell. He took the seat beside her and held her hands while Fitton mixed the drinks.

  Ellie’s martini tasted like fire: ‘Goodness!’ she said.

  Nancy’s cheeks grew very pink and her eyes danced madly. Ellie gave a spurt of laughter. Nancy lay back in her chair in a state of incipient giggles. Tom, delighted by these results, began to make mild fun of Erica’s tea-party and Erica’s husband, Peter.

  ‘After tea,’ he said, ‘Peter, doing the heavy, produced a bottle of cooking sherry. When I’d tasted it, he said: ‘What do you think of it, sir?’ I said: ‘Rum! Very rum!’ ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘it’s sherry.’

  The girls collapsed: ‘Oh, Tom, you are funny!’ They laughed helplessly, wiping their eyes. Ellie said: ‘Really, you are wonderful!’ and Tom smiled his satisfaction.

  ‘What does Peter do?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘He’s a Civil Servant: one of those fellows in bowlerhats who catch the 8.55 every morning. But that’s merely his bread and butter. By inclination he’s a numismatist. I dare say you girls don’t know what that means? He collects coins. He comes sidling up to you and slips you something that looks like a bad halfpenny and says: “Babylonian: tenth century”.’

  ‘Babylonian!’ squealed Ellie, as though the word itself were born of Tom’s wit.

  When their laughter subsided, Tom said: ‘Dear me, the world would be a dull place if it were peopled by numismatists.’

  ‘Do you often see Erica and Peter?’ Nancy asked.

  Tom answered dryly: ‘Erica is always on the telephone.’

  Nancy and Ellie exchanged glances. They saw again the possibility of victory.

  At dinner Nancy, sighing that next morning she must return to work, began complaining of the fact she was paid less than Denis and Bertie. She was as much use as Bertie and much more use than Denis, who now spent his days doing nothing at all. Recently she had spoken to Daze, the chief of staff, and had been told that there was one wage scale for men and another for women.

  Tom nodded his approval: ‘Men need more money.’

  ‘They don’t need more,’ said Nancy crossly, ‘they just get more, that’s all. Prices aren’t reduced for me because I’m a woman. You bet they’re not.’

  ‘Surely, my dear girl, you’ve discovered by now that you’re living in a man’s world. You must try to gain things by your charms. We men are delighted to reward you, but we won’t disarm ourselves in your favour. Why should we? Eh?’

  They were uncertain whether or not he was laughing at them. Nancy said: ‘What happens to women who have no charms? They have to live.’

  Tom smiled and shrugged his shoulders as though the answer must be obvious. After some moments, he said: ‘I believe in the male heir. Let money and the power of money pass from father to son. We’d be a nice pack of fools, wouldn’t we, to put power into the hands of you giddy girls!’

  The girls did not find this funny. Ellie said in support of Nancy: ‘If we have no money, how are we to live?’

  ‘You’d manage all right. The world is different for you.’

  ‘Different, perhaps, in some ways, but just as hard.’

  ‘Harder,’ said Nancy. ‘For instance, because I’m a woman they give me smaller portions in restaurants. They don’t charge me less.’

  Tom laughed and looked over her head: ‘You should lodge a complaint,’ he said. It was obvious he found these wrongs too remote and finical to be taken seriously. He turned to Ellie and smilingly filled her glass, as though to say: ‘There, that will make everything all right.’

  Realising how easily they could bore him, Ellie glanced a warning at Nancy and received her acknowledgement. They knew themselves a penniless feminine combine, in no position to quarrel with benefits received. Ellie leant coaxingly towards Tom: ‘You wouldn’t really want to deprive us of money, would you?’

  ‘I once thought that way, I must admit: but age has mellowed me.’

  Fixing him with a brilliant, mock-offended, flattering stare, Ellie said: ‘Men are dreadful. They’ve imposed on women for centuries, pretending to be strong and superior. In fact, they’re weak: they’re positively fragile. They’re – they’re over-sensitive.’ Two martinis and three glasses of wine had made Ellie slightly hilarious. She ended on a high, accusing note: ‘They’re neurotic.’

  Tom smiled with a mild shrewdness, his lips turning down. ‘But you do not wholly disapprove of us? I mean, you would let us exist?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’re quite necessary, of course.’ Through a mist of wine, Ellie remembered a need for caution. Her mouth stretched in a smile, broad, innocent and admiring: ‘As Nancy said, you have more money than us. Besides, you’re rather nice.’

  Tom’s smile widened: his old sunken cheeks grew warm: his stiff, elderly body and his face, dark, monkeyish, that could never have been handsome, seemed imbued with so complete a certainty of masculine ascendancy, disputation could only be in joke. Whateve
r Ellie might think she was talking, he knew she was talking nonsense. Aware of this, she became more daring: ‘And all this about men being terribly promiscuous and needing lots of women – that’s just to flatter themselves. I think polyandry is much more natural than polygamy. Don’t you, Nancy?’

  Nancy’s lips parted in terror. Her eyes signalled wildly.

  ‘The fact is,’ Ellie concluded, having recently read a book by Wyndham Lewis, ‘the fact is, man is revolting against his inferior rôle: he’s becoming feminine.’

  ‘Dear me!’ Tom examined his hands as though the change might even then be manifesting itself. ‘I wonder if you’re right?’

  Ellie lay back in her chair, convulsed with laughter, and Tom, setting his lips, half-hid his gratification at her amusement.

  As the girls rose to retire, Ellie caught Fitton’s eye and as he smiled, subservient in his look of indulgent good-cheer, she knew Mrs Fitton would hear all that had passed.

  In the drawing-room, she gasped: ‘Oh dear, did I say too much?’

  ‘I think he loved it, really – but do be careful. Do be careful!’

  Ellie dried her eyes and powdered her nose. ‘How wonderful to have such an uncle,’ she said. ‘Almost as good as having a father.’

  ‘My father,’ said Nancy, ‘is the world’s most excruciating bore.’

  When Tom came into the drawing-room he gave Nancy a ten-shilling note. ‘Take a taxi from the station.’

  Nancy looked doubtfully at the money. ‘It’s a long way to Chelsea,’ she said, ‘and I’ll have to give the man a tip.’

  ‘You want to give him a tip and he’s paid more than you are!’ Tom sounded on edge with ridicule. With a scoffing gesture, he added five shillings to the note.

  As they sat waiting for Partridge to bring round the car, Ellie felt Tom withdraw from the absurdity of their youth, poverty and femininity. Her own excitement had fallen. They were leaving the shelter of Clopals, the secure centre of comfort. She saw them journeying out again to their precarious perimeter. Looking ahead, she saw the smallness, chill and discomfort of her Chelsea room. For the first time she wondered if the step that had taken her there from Eastsea had been much of a step after all. She fingered her purse, to find if she had a shilling for the gas-meter.