Did he say you must eat bread and butter and potatoes and cream?’
‘Yes. That’s what I thought you meant when you said you had simple food.’
‘You’ll get simply enormous,’ said Beatrice. Lena laughed gaily.
‘No, I shan’t. You see, nothing ever makes me fat. I’ve always eaten everything I wanted to and it’s never had the slightest effect on me.’
The stony silence that followed this speech was only broken by the entrance of the butler.
‘Mademoiselle est serviei he announced.
They talked the matter over late that night, after Lena had gone to bed, in Frank’s room. During the evening they had been furiously cheerful, and they had chaffed one another with a friendliness that would have taken in the keenest observer. But now they dropped the mask. Beatrice was sullen, Arrow was spiteful and Frank was unmanned.
‘It’s not very nice for me to sit there and see her eat all the things I particularly like,’ said Beatrice plaintively.
‘It’s not very nice for any of us,’ Frank snapped back.
‘You should never have asked her here,’ said Arrow
‘How was I to know?’ cried Frank.
‘I can’t help thinking that if she really cared for her husband she would hardly eat so much.’ said Beatrice. ‘He’s only been buried two months. I mean, I think you ought to show some resect for the dead.’
‘Why can’t she eat the same as we do?’ asked Arrow viciously. ‘She’s a guest.’
‘Well, you heard what she said. The doctor told her she must eat.’
‘Then she ought to go to a sanatorium.’
‘It’s more than flesh and blood can stand, Frank,’ moaned Beatrice. ‘If I can stand it you can stand it.’
‘She’s your cousin, she’s not our cousin,’ said Arrow ‘I’m not going to sit there for fourteen days and watch that woman make a hog of herself.’
‘It’s so vulgar to attach all this importance to food,’ Frank boomed, and her voice was deeper than ever. ‘After all the only thing that counts really is spirit.’
‘Are you calling me vulgar, Frank?’ asked Arrow with flashing eyes. ‘No, of course she isn’t,’ interrupted Beatrice.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you to go down in the kitchen when we’re all in bed and have a good square meal on the sly.’
Frank sprang to her feet.
‘How dare you say that, Arrow! I’d never ask anybody to do what I’m not prepared to do myself Have you known me all these years and do you think me capable of such a mean thing?’
‘How is it you never take off any weight then?’
Frank gave a gasp and burst into a flood of tears.
‘What a cruel thing to say! I’ve lost pounds and pounds.’
She wept like a child. Her vast body shook and great tears splashed on her mountainous bosom.
‘Darling, I didn’t mean it,’ cried Arrow.
She threw herself on her knees and enveloped what she could of Frank in her own plump arms. She wept and the mascara ran down her cheeks. D’you mean to say I don’t look thinner?’ Frank sobbed. ‘After all I’ve gone through.’
‘Yes, dear, of course you do,’ cried Arrow through her tears. ‘Everybody’s noticed it.’
Beatrice, though naturally of a placid disposition, began to cry gently. It was very pathetic. Indeed, it would have been a hard heart that failed to be moved by the sight of Frank, that lion-hearted woman, crying her eyes out. Presently, however, they dried their tears and had a little brandy and water, which every doctor had told them was the least fattening thing they could drink, and then they felt much better. They decided that Lena should have the nourishing food that had been ordered her and they made a solemn resolution not to let it disturb their equanimity. She was certainly a first-rate bridge player and after all it was only for a fortnight. They would do whatever they could to make her stay enjoyable. They kissed one another warmly and separated for the night feeling strangely uplifted. Nothing should interfere with the wonderful friendship that had brought so much happiness into their three lives.
But human nature is weak. You must not ask too much of it. They ate grilled fish while Lena ate macaroni sizzling with cheese and butter; they ate grilled cutlets and boiled spinach while Lena ate pâté de foie gran; twice a week they ate hard-boiled eggs and raw tomatoes, while Lena ate peas swimming in cream and potatoes cooked in all sorts of delicious ways. The chef was a good chef and he leapt at the opportunity afforded him to send up one dish more rich, tasty and succulent than the other.
‘Poor Jim,’ sighed Lena, thinking of her husband, ‘he loved French cooking.’ The butler disclosed the fact that he could make half a dozen kinds of cocktail and Lena informed them that the doctor had recommended her to drink burgundy at luncheon and champagne at dinner. The three fat women persevered. They were gay, chatty and even hilarious (such is the natural gift that women have for deception) but Beatrice grew limp and forlorn, and Arrow’s tender blue eyes acquired a steely glint. Frank’s deep voice grew more raucous. It was when they played bridge that the strain showed itself They had always been fond of talking over their hands, but their discussion had been friendly. Now a distinct bitterness crept in and sometimes one pointed out a mistake to another with quite unnecessary frankness. Discussion turned to argument and argument to altercation. Sometimes the session ended in angry silence. Once Frank accused Arrow of deliberately letting her down. Two or three times Beatrice, the softest of the three, was reduced to tears. On another occasion Arrow flung down her cards and swept out of the room in a pet. Their tempers were getting frayed. Lena was the peacemaker.
‘I think it’s such a pity to quarrel over bridge,’ she said. ‘After all, it’s only a game.’
It was all very well for her. She had had a square meal and half a bottle of champagne. Besides, she had phenomenal luck. She was winning all their money. The score was put down in a book after each session, and hers mounted up day after day with unfailing regularity. Was there no justice in the world? They began to hate one another. And though they hated her too they could not resist confiding in her. Each of them went to her separately and told her how detestable the others were. Arrow said she was sure it was bad for her to see so much of women so much older than herself She had a good mind to sacrifice her share of the lease and go to Venice for the rest of the summer. Frank told Lena that with her masculine mind it was too much to expect that she could be satisfied with anyone so frivolous as Arrow and so frankly stupid as Beatrice.
‘I must have intellectual conversation,’ she boomed. ‘When you have a brain like mine you’ve got to consort with your intellectual equals.’
Beatrice only wanted peace and quiet.
‘Really I hate women,’ she said. ‘They’re so unreliable; they’re so malicious.’ By the time Lena’s fortnight drew to its close the three fat women were barely on speaking terms. They kept up appearances before Lena, but when she was not there made no pretences. They had got past quarrelling. They ignored one another, and when this was not possible treated each other with icy politeness. Lena was going to stay with friends on the Italian Riviera and Frank saw her off by the same train as that by which she had arrived. She was taking away with her a lot of their money.
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she said, as she got into the carriage. ‘I’ve had a wonderful visit.’
If there was one thing that Frank Hickson prided herself on more than on being a match for any man it was that she was a gentlewoman, and her reply was perfect in its combination of majesty and graciousness.
‘We’ve all enjoyed having you here, Lena,’ she said. ‘It’s been a real treat.’
But when she turned away from the departing train she heaved such a vast sigh of relief that the platform shook beneath her. She flung back her massive shoulders and strode home to the villa.
‘Oufl’ she roared at intervals. ‘Oufl’
She changed into her one-piece bathing-suit, put on her espadrilles
and a man’s dressing-gown (no nonsense about it), and went to Eden Roc. There was still time for a bathe before luncheon. She passed through the Monkey House, looking about her to say good morning to anyone she knew, for she felt on a sudden at peace with mankind, and then stopped dead still. She could not believe her eyes. Beatrice was sitting at one of the tables, by herself; she wore the pyjamas she had bought at Molyneux’s a day or two before, she had a string of pearls round her neck, and Frank’s quick eyes saw that she had just had her hair waved; her cheeks, her eyes, her lips were made up. Fat, nay vast, as she was, none could deny that she was an extremely handsome woman. But what was she doing? With the slouching gait of the Neanderthal man which was Frank’s characteristic walk she went up to Beatrice. In her black bathing-dress Frank looked like the huge cetacean which the Japanese catch in the Tones Straits and which the vulgar call a sea-cow.
‘Beatrice, what are you doing?’ she cried in her deep voice.
It was like the roll of thunder in the distant mountains. Beatrice looked at her coolly.
‘Eating,’ she answered.
‘Damn it, I can see you’re eating.’
In front of Beatrice was a plate of croissants and a plate of butter, a pot of strawberry jam, coffee, and a jug of cream. Beatrice was spreading butter thick on the delicious hot bread, covering this with jam, and then pouring the thick cream over all.
‘You’ll kill yourself,’ said Frank.
‘I don’t care,’ mumbled Beatrice with her mouth full.
‘You’ll put on pounds and pounds.’
‘Go to hell!’
She actually laughed in Frank’s face. My God, how good those croissants smelt!
‘I’m disappointed in you, Beatrice. I thought you had more character.’
‘It’s your fault. That blasted woman. You would have her down. For a fortnight I’ve watched her gorge like a hog. It’s more than flesh and blood can stand. I’m going to have one square meal if I bust.’
The tears welled up to Frank’s eyes. Suddenly she felt very weak and womanly. She would have liked a strong man to take her on his knee and pet her and cuddle her and call her little baby names. Speechless she sank down on a chair by Beatrice’s side. A waiter came up. With a pathetic gesture she waved towards the coffee and croissants.
‘I’ll have the same,’ she sighed.
She listlessly reached out her hand to take a roll, but Beatrice snatched away the plate.
‘No, you don’t,’ she said. ‘You wait till you get your own.’
Frank called her a name which ladies seldom apply to one another in affection. In a moment the waiter brought her croissants, butter, jam, and coffee.
‘Where’s the cream, you fool?’ she roared like a lioness at bay.
She began to eat. She ate gluttonously. The place was beginning to fill up with bathers coming to enjoy a cocktail or two after having done their duty by the sun and the sea. Presently Arrow strolled along with Prince Roccamare. She had on a beautiful silk wrap which she held tightly round her with one hand in order to look as slim as possible and she bore her head high so that he should not see her double chin. She was laughing gaily. She felt like a girl. He had just told her (in Italian) that her eyes made the blue of the Mediterranean look like pea-soup. He left her to go into the men’s room to brush his sleek black hair and they arranged to meet in five minutes for a drink. Arrow walked on to the women’s room to put a little more rouge on her cheeks and a little more red on her lips. On her way she caught sight of Frank and Beatrice. She stopped. She could hardly believe her eyes.
‘My God!’ she cried. ‘You beasts. You hogs.’ She seized a chair. ‘Waiter.’
Her appointment went clean out of her head. In the twinkling of an eye the waiter was at her side.
‘Bring me what these ladies are having,’ she ordered.
Frank lifted her great heavy head from her plate.
‘Bring me some pâté de foie Bras, she boomed.
‘Frank!’ cried Beatrice.
‘Shut up.’
‘All right. I’ll have some too.’
The coffee was brought and the hot rolls and cream and the pâté de foie gran and they set to. They spread the cream on the pâté and they ate it. They devoured great spoonfuls of jam. They crunched the delicious crisp bread voluptuously. What was love to Arrow then? Let the Prince keep his palace in Rome and his castle in the Apennines. They did not speak. What they were about was much too serious. They ate with solemn, ecstatic fervour.
‘I haven’t eaten potatoes for twenty-five years,’ said Frank in a far-off brooding tone.
‘Waiter,’ cried Beatrice, ‘bring fried potatoes for three.’
Tres bien, Madame.’
The potatoes were brought. Not all the perfumes of Arabia smelt so sweet. They ate them with their fingers.
‘Bring me a dry Martini,’ said Arrow.
‘You can’t have a dry Martini in the middle of a meal, Arrow,’ said Frank. ‘Can’t I? You wait and see.’
‘All right then. Bring me a double dry Martini,’ said Frank.
‘Bring three double dry Martinis,’ said Beatrice.
They were brought and drunk at a gulp. The women looked at one another and sighed. The misunderstandings of the last fortnight dissolved and the sincere affection each had for the others welled up again in their hearts. They could hardly believe that they had ever contemplated the possibility of severing a friendship that had brought them so much solid satisfaction. They finished the potatoes.
‘I wonder if they’ve got any chocolate éclairs,’ said Beatrice.
‘Of course they have.’
And of course they had. Frank thrust one whole into her huge mouth, swallowed it and seized another, but before she ate it she looked at the other two and plunged a vindictive dagger into the heart of the monstrous Lena.
‘You can say what you like, but the truth is she played a damned rotten game of bridge, really.’
‘Lousy,’ agreed Arrow.
But Beatrice suddenly thought she would like a meringue.
THE FACTS OF LIFE
♦
It was Henry Garnet’s habit on leaving the city of an afternoon to drop in at his club and play bridge before going home to dinner. He was a pleasant man to play with. He knew the game well and you could be sure that he would make the best of his cards. He was a good loser; and when he won was more inclined to ascribe his success to his luck than to his skill. He was indulgent, and if his partner made a mistake could be trusted to find an excuse for him. It was surprising then on this occasion to hear him telling his partner with unnecessary sharpness that he had never seen a hand worse played; and it was more surprising still to see him not only make a grave error himself, an error of which you would never have thought him capable, but when his partner, not unwilling to get a little of his own back, pointed it out, insist against all reason and with considerable heat that he was perfectly right. But they were all old friends, the men he was playing with, and none of them took his ill-humour very seriously. Henry Garnet was a broker, a partner in a firm of repute, and it occurred to one of them that something had gone wrong with some stock he was interested in.
‘How’s the market today?’ he asked.
‘Booming. Even the suckers are making money.’
It was evident that stocks and shares had nothing to do with Henry Garnet’s vexation; but something was the matter; that was evident too. He was a hearty fellow, who enjoyed excellent health; he had plenty of money; he was fond of his wife, and devoted to his children. As a rule he had high spirits, and he laughed easily at the nonsense they were apt to talk while they played; but today he sat glum and silent. His brows were crossly puckered and there was a sulky look about his mouth. Presently, to ease the tension, one of the others mentioned a subject upon which they all knew Henry Garnet was glad to speak.
‘How’s your boy, Henry? I see he’s done pretty well in the tournament.’ Henry Garnet’s frown grew darker.
‘He’s done no better than I expected him to.’
‘When does he come back from Monte?’
‘He got back last night’
Did he enjoy himself?’
‘I suppose so; all I know is that he made a damned fool of himself.’
‘Oh. How?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.’
The three men looked at him with curiosity. Henry Garnet scowled at the green baize.
‘Sorry, old boy. You call.’
The game proceeded in a strained silence. Garnet got his bid, and when he played his cards so badly that he went three down not a word was said. Another rubber was begun and in the second game Garnet denied a suit. ‘Having none?’ his partner asked him.
Garnet’s irritability was such that he did not even reply, and when at the end of the hand it appeared that he had revoked, and that his revoke cost the rubber, it was not to be expected that his partner should let his carelessness go without remark.
‘What’s the devil’s the matter with you, Henry?’ he said. ‘You’re playing like a fool.’
Garnet was disconcerted. He did not so much mind losing a big rubber himself, but he was sore that his inattention should have made his partner lose too. He pulled himself together.
‘I’d better not play any more. I thought a few rubbers would calm me, but the fact is I can’t give my mind to the game. To tell you the truth I’m in a hell of a temper.’
They all burst out laughing.
‘You don’t have to tell us that, old boy. It’s obvious.’
Garnet gave them a rueful smile.
Well, I bet you’d be in a temper if what’s happened to me had happened to you. As a matter of fact I’m in a damned awkward situation, and if any of you fellows can give me any advice how to deal with it I’d be grateful.’
‘Let’s have a drink and you tell us all about it. With a K.C., a Home Office official and an eminent surgeon-if we can’t tell you how to deal with a situation, nobody can.’
The K.C. got up and rang the bell for a waiter.
65 Short Stories Page 22
