That was Wednesday; on Thursday Tony felt well again. He had a meeting of the county council in the morning. In the afternoon he went down to the home farm and discussed a new kind of tractor with his agent. From then onwards he was able to say to himself, ‘This time to-morrow Brenda and Jock will be here.’ He dined in front of the fire in the library. He had given up the diet some weeks ago. (‘Ambrose, when I’m alone I don’t really need a long dinner. In future I’ll just have two courses.’) He looked over some accounts his agent had left for him and then went to bed, saying to himself, ‘When I wake up it will be the week-end.’

But there was a telegram for him next morning from Jock, saying, Week end impossible have to go to constituency how about one after next . He wired back, Delighted any time always here . ‘I suppose he’s made it up with that girl,’ Tony reflected.

There was also a note from Brenda, written in pencil:

Coming Sat. with Polly and a friend of Polly’s called Veronica in P.’s car. Perhaps Daisy Maids and luggage on 3.18. Will you tell Ambrose and Mrs Mossop. We had better open Lyonesse for Polly you know what she is about comfort. Veronica can go anywhere—not Galahad. Polly says she’s v. amusing. Also Mrs Beaver coming, please don’t mind it is only on business, she thinks she can do something to morning-room. Polly bringing chauffeur. By the way I’m leaving Grimshawe at Hetton next week tell Mrs Mossop. It’s a bore and expense boarding her out in London. In fact I think I might do without her altogether, what do you think; except she’s useful for sewing. Longing to see John again. All going back Sunday evening. Keep sober , darling. Try. x x x x x x

B.

Tony found very little to occupy his time on Friday. His letters were all finished by ten o’clock. He went down to the farm but they had no business for him there. The duties which before had seemed so multifarious, now took up a very small part of his day; he had not realized how many hours he used to waste with Brenda. He watched John riding in the paddock. The boy clearly bore him ill will for their quarrel on Wednesday; when he applauded a jump, John said, ‘She usually does better than this.’ Later, ‘When’s mummy coming down?’

‘Not till to-morrow.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ve got to go over to Little Bayton this afternoon. Would you like to come too and perhaps we could see the kennels?’

John had for weeks past been praying for this expedition. ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I want to finish a picture I’m painting.’

‘You can do that any time.’

‘I want to do it this afternoon.’

When Tony had left them, Ben said, ‘Whatever made you speak to your dad like that for? You’ve been going on about seeing the kennels since Christmas.’

‘Not with him ,’ said John.

‘You ungrateful little bastard, that’s a lousy way to speak of your dad.’

‘And you ought not to say bastard or lousy in front of me, nanny says not.’

So Tony went over alone to Little Bayton, where he had some business to discuss with Colonel Brink. He hoped they would ask him to stay on, but the Colonel and his wife were themselves going out to tea, so he drove back in the dusk to Hetton.

A thin mist lay breast-high over the park; the turrets and battlements of the abbey stood grey and flat; the boiler man was hauling down the flag on the main tower.



‘My poor Brenda, it’s an appalling room,’ said Mrs Beaver.

‘It’s not one we use a great deal,’ said Tony very coldly.

‘I should think not,’ said the one they called Veronica.

‘I can’t see much wrong with it,’ said Polly, ‘except it’s a bit mouldy.’

‘You see,’ Brenda explained, not looking at Tony. ‘What I thought was that I must have one habitable room downstairs. At present there’s only the smoking-room and the library. The drawing-room is vast and quite out of the question. I thought what I needed was a small sitting-room more or less to myself. Don’t you think it has possibilities?’

‘But, my angel, the shape’s all wrong,’ said Daisy, ‘and that chimney-piece—what is it made of, pink granite, and all the plaster work and the dado. Everything’s horrible. It’s so dark .’

‘I know exactly what Brenda wants,’ said Mrs Beaver more moderately. ‘I don’t think it will be impossible. I must think about it. As Veronica says, the structure does rather limit one ... you know, I think the only thing to do would be to disregard it altogether and find some treatment so definite that it carried the room, if you see what I mean ... supposing we covered the walls with white chromium plating and had natural sheepskin carpet ... I wonder if that would be running you in for more than you meant to spend?’

‘I’d blow the whole thing sky-high,’ said Veronica.

Tony left them to their discussion.



‘D’you really want Mrs Beaver to do up the morning-room?’

‘Not if you don’t, sweet.’

‘But can you imagine it—white chromium plating?’

‘Oh, that was just an idea.’

Tony walked in and out between Morgan le Fay and Guinevere as he always did while they were dressing. ‘I say,’ he said, returning with his waistcoat. ‘You aren’t going away to-morrow too, are you?’

‘Must.’

He went back to Morgan le Fay for his tie and bringing it to Brenda’s room again, sat by her side at the dressing table to fasten it.

‘By the way,’ said Brenda, ‘what did you think about keeping on Grimshawe?—it seems rather a waste.’

‘You used always to say you couldn’t get on without her.’

‘Yes, but now I’m living at the flat everything’s so simple.’

‘ Living? Darling, you talk as though you had settled there for good.’

‘D’you mind moving a second, sweet? I can’t see properly.’

‘Brenda, how long are you going on with this course of economics?’

‘Me? I don’t know.’

‘But you must have some idea?’

‘Oh, it’s surprising what a lot there is to learn ... I was so backward when I started ...’

‘Brenda ...’

‘Now run and put on your coat. They’ll all be downstairs waiting for us.’

That evening Polly and Mrs Beaver played backgammon. Brenda and Veronica sat together on the sofa sewing and talking about their needlework; occasionally there were bursts of general conversation between the women; they had the habit of lapsing into a jargon of their own which Tony did not understand; it was a thieves’ slang, by which the syllables of each word were transposed. Tony sat just outside the circle reading under another lamp.

That night when they went upstairs, the guests came to sit in Brenda’s room and talk to her while she went to bed. Tony could hear their low laughter through the dressing-room door. They had boiled water in an electric kettle and were drinking Sedobrol together.

Presently, still laughing, they left, and Tony went into Brenda’s room. It was in darkness but hearing him come and seeing the square of light in the doorway she turned on the little lamp by the bedside.

‘Why, Tony,’ she said.

She was lying on the dais with her head deep back in the pillow; her face was shining with the grease she used for cleaning it; one bare arm on the quilted eiderdown, left there from turning the switch. ‘Why, Tony,’ she said, ‘I was almost asleep.’

‘Very tired?’

‘Mm.’

‘Want to be left alone?’

‘So tired ... and I’ve just drunk a lot of that stuff of Polly’s.’

‘I see ... well, good night.’

‘Good night ... don’t mind, do you? ... so tired.’

He crossed to the bed and kissed her; she lay quite still, with closed eyes. Then he turned out the light and went back to the dressing-room.



‘Lady Brenda not ill, I hope?’

‘No, nothing serious, thank you very much. She gets rather done up in London, you know, during the week, and likes to take Sunday quietly.’

‘And how are the great studies progressing?’

‘Very well, I gather. She seems keen on it still.’

‘Splendid. We shall all be coming to her soon to solve our economic problems. But I daresay you and John miss her?’

‘Yes, we do rather.’

‘Well, please give her my kindest regards.’

‘I will indeed. Thank you so much.’

Tony left the church porch and made his accustomed way to the hothouses; a gardenia for himself; some almost black carnations for the ladies. When he reached the room where they were sitting there was a burst of laughter. He paused on the threshold, rather bewildered.

‘Come in, darling, it isn’t anything. It’s only we had a bet on what coloured buttonhole you’d be wearing and none of us won.’

They still giggled a little as they pinned on the flowers he had brought them; all except Mrs Beaver, who said, ‘Any time you are buying cuttings or seeds do get them through me. I’ve made quite a little business of it, perhaps you didn’t know ... all kinds of rather unusual flowers. I do everything like that for Sylvia Newport and all sorts of people.’

‘You must talk to my head man about it.’

‘Well, to tell you the truth I have —this morning while you were in church. He seems quite to understand.’

They left early, so as to reach London in time for dinner. In the car Daisy said, ‘Golly, what a house.’

‘Now you can see what I’ve been through all these years.’

‘My poor Brenda,’ said Veronica, unpinning her carnation and throwing it from the window into the side of the road.

‘You know,’ Brenda confided next day, ‘I’m not absolutely happy about Tony.’

‘What’s the old boy been up to?’ asked Polly.

‘Nothing much yet, but I do see it’s pretty boring for him at Hetton all this time.’

‘I shouldn’t worry.’

‘Oh, I’m not worrying . It’s only, supposing he took to drink or something. It would make everything very difficult.’

‘I shouldn’t have said that was his thing ... We must get him interested in a girl.’

‘If only we could ... Who is there?’

‘There’s always old Sybil.’

‘Darling, he’s known her all his life.’

‘Or Souki de Foucauld-Esterhazy.’

‘He isn’t his best with Americans.’

‘Well, we’ll find him someone.’

‘The trouble is that I’ve become such a habit with him—he won’t take easily to a new one ... ought she to be like me, or quite different?’

‘I’d say different, but it’s hard to tell.’

They discussed this problem in all its aspects.