The library windows were open and the clock, striking the hour, high over head among its crockets and finials, was clearly audible in the quiet room. It was some time since they had spoken. Mrs Rattery sat with her back to Tony; she had spread out her intricate four-pack patience on a card table; he was in front of the fire, in the chair he had taken after lunch.

‘Only four o’clock?’ he said.

‘I thought you were asleep.’

‘No, just thinking ... Jock will be more than half-way there by now, about Aylesbury or Tring.’

‘It’s a slow way to travel.’

‘It’s less than four hours ago that it happened ... it’s odd to think that this is the same day; that it’s only five hours ago they were all here at the meet having drinks.’ There was a pause in which Mrs Rattery swept up the cards and began to deal them again. ‘It was twenty-eight minutes past twelve when I heard. I looked at my watch ... It was ten to one when they brought John in ... just over three hours ago ... It’s almost incredible, isn’t it, everything becoming absolutely different, suddenly like that?’

‘It’s always that way,’ said Mrs Rattery.

‘Brenda will hear in an hour now ... if Jock finds her in. Of course she may very likely be out. He won’t know where to find her, because there’s no one else in the flat. She leaves it locked up, empty, when she goes out ... and she’s out half the day. I know because I sometimes ring up and can’t get an answer. He may not find her for hours ... It may be as long again as the time since it happened. That would only make it eight o’clock. It’s quite likely she won’t come in until eight ... Think of it, all the time between now and when it happened, before Brenda hears. It’s scarcely credible, is it? And then she’s got to get down here. There’s a train that leaves at nine something. She might get that. I wonder if I ought to have gone up too ... I didn’t like to leave John.’

(Mrs Rattery sat intent over her game, moving little groups of cards adroitly backwards and forwards about the table like shuttles across a loom; under her fingers order grew out of chaos; she established sequence and precedence; the symbols before her became coherent, interrelated.)

‘... Of course she may be at home when he arrives. In that case she can get the evening train she used always to come by, when she went to London for the day, before she got the flat ... I’m trying to see it all, as it’s going to happen, Jock coming and her surprise at seeing him, and then his telling her ... It’s awful for Jock ... She may know at half-past five or a bit earlier.’

‘It’s a pity you don’t play patience,’ said Mrs Rattery.

‘In a way I shall feel happier when she knows ... it feels all wrong as it is at present, having it as a secret that Brenda doesn’t know ... I’m not sure how she fits in her day. I suppose her last lecture is over at about five ... I wonder if she goes home first to change if she’s going out to tea or cocktails. She can’t sit about much in the flat, it’s so small.’

Mrs Rattery brooded over her chequer of cards and then drew them towards her into a heap, haphazard once more and without meaning; it had nearly come to a solution that time, but for a six of diamonds out of place, and a stubbornly congested patch at one corner, where nothing could be made to move. ‘It’s a heart-breaking game,’ she said.

The clock struck again.

‘Is that only a quarter-past? ... You know, I think I should have gone off my head if I were alone. It’s nice of you to stay with me.’

‘Do you play bezique?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Or piquet?’

‘No. I’ve never been able to learn any card game except animal snap.’

‘Pity.’

‘There’s Marjorie and several people I ought to wire to, but I’d better wait until I know that Jock has seen Brenda. Suppose she was with Marjorie when the telegram arrived.’

‘You’ve got to try and stop thinking about things. Can you throw craps?’

‘No.’

‘That’s easy; I’ll show you. There’ll be some dice in the backgammon board.’

‘I’m all right, really. I’d sooner not play.’

‘You get the dice and sit up here at the table. We’ve got six hours to get through.’

She showed him how to throw craps. He said, ‘I’ve seen it on the cinema—pullman porters and taxi men.’

‘Of course you have, it’s easy ... there you see you’ve won, you take all.’

Presently Tony said, ‘I’ve just thought of something.’

‘Don’t you ever take a rest from thinking?’

‘Suppose the evening papers have got hold of it already. Brenda may see it on a placard, or just pick up a paper casually and there it will be ... perhaps with a photograph.’

‘Yes, I thought of that just now, when you were talking about telegraphing.’

‘But it’s quite likely, isn’t it? They get hold of everything so quickly. What can we do about it?’

‘There isn’t anything we can do. We’ve just got to wait ... Come on, boy, throw up.’

‘I don’t want to play any more. I’m worried.’

‘I know you’re worried. You don’t have to tell me ... you aren’t going to give up playing just when the luck’s running your way?’

‘I’m sorry ... it isn’t any good.’

He walked about the room, first to the window, then to the fireplace. He began to fill his pipe. ‘At least we can find out whether the evening papers have got it in. We can ring up and ask the hall porter at my club.’

‘That’s not going to prevent your wife reading it. We’ve just got to wait. What was the game you said you knew? Animal something?’

‘Snap.’

‘I’ll buy it.’

‘It’s just a child’s game. It would be ridiculous with two.’

‘Show me.’

‘Well each of us chooses an animal.’

‘All right, I’m a dog and you’re a hen. Now what?’

Tony explained.

‘I’d say it was one of those games that you have to feel pretty good first, before you can enjoy them,’ said Mrs Rattery. ‘But I’ll try anything.’

They each took a pack and began dealing. Soon a pair of eights appeared. ‘Bow-wow,’ said Mrs Rattery, scooping in the cards.

Another pair, ‘Bow-wow,’ said Mrs Rattery. ‘You know you aren’t putting your heart into this.’

‘Oh,’ said Tony. ‘Coop-coop-coop.’

Presently he said again, ‘Coop-coop-coop.’

‘Don’t be dumb,’ said Mrs Rattery, ‘that isn’t a pair ...’

They were still playing when Albert came in to draw the curtains. Tony had only two cards left which he turned over regularly; Mrs Rattery was obliged to divide hers, they were too many to hold. They stopped playing when they found that Albert was in the room.

‘What must that man have thought?’ said Tony, when he had gone out.

(‘Sitting there clucking like a ’en,’ Albert reported, ‘and the little fellow lying dead upstairs.’)

‘We’d better stop.’

‘It wasn’t a very good game. And to think it’s the only one you know.’

She collected the cards and began to deal them into their proper packs. Ambrose and Albert brought in tea. Tony looked at his watch. ‘Five o’clock. Now that the shutters are up we shan’t hear the chimes. Jock must be in London by now.’

Mrs Rattery said, ‘I’d rather like some whisky.’



Jock had not seen Brenda’s flat. It was in a large, featureless house, typical of the district. Mrs Beaver deplored the space wasted by the well staircase and empty, paved hall. There was no porter; a woman came three mornings a week with bucket and mop. A board painted with the names of the tenants informed Jock that Brenda was IN. But he put little reliance on this information, knowing that Brenda was not one to remember, as she came in and out, to change the indicator. He found her front door on the second floor. After the first flight the staircase changed from marble to a faded carpet that had been there before Mrs Beaver undertook the reconstruction. Jock pressed the bell and heard it ringing just inside the door. Nobody came to open it. It was past five, and he had not expected to find Brenda at home. He had decided on the road up that after trying the flat, he would go to his club and ring up various friends of Brenda’s who might know where she was. He rang again, from habit, and waited a little; then turned to go. But at that moment the door next to Brenda’s opened and a dark lady in a dress of crimson velvet looked out at him; she wore very large earrings of oriental filigree, set with bosses of opaque, valueless stone.

‘Are you looking for Lady Brenda Last?’

‘I am. Is she a friend of yours?’

‘Oh, such a friend,’ said Princess Abdul Akbar.

‘Then perhaps you can tell me where I can find her?’

‘I think she’s bound to be at Lady Cockpurse’s. I’m just going there myself. Can I give her any message?’

‘I had better come and see her.’

‘Well, wait five minutes and you can go with me. Come inside.’

The Princess’s single room was furnished promiscuously and with truly Eastern disregard of the right properties of things; swords meant to adorn the state robes of a Moorish caid were swung from the picture rail; mats made for prayer were strewn on the divan; the carpet on the floor had been made in Bokhara as a wall covering; while over the dressing table was draped a shawl made in Yokohama for sale to cruise-passengers; an octagonal table from Port Said held a Tibetan Buddha of pale soapstone; six ivory elephants from Bombay stood along the top of the radiator. Other cultures, too, were represented by a set of Lalique bottles and powder boxes, a phallic fetish from Senegal, a Dutch copper bowl, a waste-paper basket made of varnished aquatint, a golliwog presented at the gala dinner of a seaside hotel, a dozen or so framed photographs of the Princess, a garden scene ingeniously constructed in pieces of coloured wood, and a radio set in fumed oak, Tudor style. In so small a room the effect was distracting. The Princess sat at the looking-glass, Jock behind her on the divan.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked over her shoulder. He told her. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard them mention you. I was at Hetton the week-end before last ... such a quaint old place.’

‘I’d better tell you. There’s been a frightful accident there this morning.’

Jenny Abdul Akbar spun round on the leather stool; her eyes were wide with alarm, her hand pressed to her heart.

‘Quick,’ she whispered, ‘ tell me . I can’t bear it. Is it death ?’

Jock nodded. ‘Their little boy ... kicked by a horse.’

‘ Little Jimmy. ’

‘John.’

‘John ... dead . It’s too horrible.’

‘It wasn’t anybody’s fault.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Jenny. ‘It was. It was my fault. I ought never to have gone there ... a terrible curse hangs over me. Wherever I go I bring nothing but sorrow ... if only it was I that was dead ... I shall never be able to face them again. I feel like a murderess ... that brave little life snuffed out.’

‘I say, you know, really, I shouldn’t take that line about it.’

‘It isn’t the first time it’s happened ... always, anywhere, I am hunted down ... without remorse. O God,’ said Jenny Abdul Akbar. ‘What have I done to deserve it?’

She rose to leave him; there was nowhere she could go except the bathroom. Jock said, through the door, ‘Well, I must go along to Polly’s and see Brenda.’

‘Wait a minute and I’ll come too.’ She had brightened a little when she emerged. ‘Have you got a car here,’ she asked, ‘or shall I ring up a taxi?’



After tea Mr Tendril called. Tony saw him in his study and was away half an hour. When he returned he went to the tray, which, on Mrs Rattery’s instructions, had been left in the library, and poured himself out whisky and ginger ale. Mrs Rattery had resumed her patience. ‘Bad interview?’ she asked, without looking up.

‘Awful.’ He drank the whisky quickly and poured out some more.

‘Bring me one too, will you?’

Tony said, ‘I only wanted to see him about arrangements. He tried to be comforting. It was very painful ... after all the last thing one wants to talk about at a time like this is religion.’

‘Some like it,’ said Mrs Rattery.

‘Of course,’ Tony began, after a pause, ‘when you haven’t got children yourself—’

‘I’ve got two sons,’ said Mrs Rattery.

‘Have you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize ... we know each other so little. How very impertinent of me.’

‘That’s all right. People are always surprised. I don’t see them often. They’re at school somewhere. I took them to the cinema last summer. They’re getting quite big. One’s going to be good-looking, I think. His father is.’

‘Quarter-past six,’ said Tony. ‘He’s bound to have told her by now.’



There was a little party at Lady Cockpurse’s, Veronica and Daisy and Sybil, Souki de Foucald-Esterhazy, and four or five others, all women. They were there to consult a new fortune-teller called Mrs Northcote. Mrs Beaver had discovered her and for every five guineas that she earned at her introduction Mrs Beaver took a commission of two pounds twelve and sixpence. She told fortunes in a new way, by reading the soles of the feet. They waited their turn impatiently. ‘What a time she is taking over Daisy.’

‘She is very thorough,’ said Polly, ‘and it tickles rather.’

Presently Daisy emerged. ‘What was she like?’ they asked.

‘I mustn’t tell or it spoils it all,’ said Daisy.

They had dealt cards for precedence. It was Brenda’s turn now. She went next door to Mrs Northcote, who was sitting at a stool beside an armchair. She was a dowdy, middle-aged woman with a slightly genteel accent. Brenda sat down and took off her shoe and stocking. Mrs Northcote laid the foot on her knee and gazed at it with great solemnity; then she picked it up and began tracing the small creases of the sole with the point of a silver pencil case. Brenda wriggled her toes luxuriously and settled down to listen.

Next door they said, ‘Where’s Mr Beaver to-day?’

‘He’s flown over to France with his mother to see some new wallpapers. She’s been worrying all day thinking he’s had an accident.’

‘It’s all very touching, isn’t it? Though I can’t see his point myself ...’

‘You must never do anything on Thursdays,’ said Mrs Northcote.

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing important. You are intellectual, imaginative, sympathetic, easily led by others, impulsive, affectionate. You are highly artistic and are not giving full scope to your capabilities.’

‘Isn’t there anything about love?’

‘I am coming to love. All these lines from the great toe to the instep represent lovers.’

‘Yes, go on some more about that ...’

Princess Abdul Akbar was announced. ‘Where’s Brenda?’ she said. ‘I thought she’d be here.’

‘Mrs Northcote’s doing her now.’

‘Jock Menzies wants to see her. He’s downstairs.’

‘Darling Jock ... Why on earth didn’t you bring him up?’

‘No, it’s something terribly important. He’s got to see Brenda alone.’

‘My dear, how mysterious. Well, she won’t be long now. We can’t disturb them. It would upset Mrs Northcote.’

Jenny told them the news.

On the other side of the door, Brenda’s leg was beginning to feel slightly chilly. ‘Four men dominate your fate,’ Mrs Northcote was saying, ‘one is loyal and tender but he has not yet disclosed his love, one is passionate and overpowering, you are a little afraid of him.’

‘Dear me,’ said Brenda. ‘How very exciting. Who can they be?’

‘One you must avoid; he bodes no good for you, he is steely hearted and rapacious.’

‘I bet that’s my Mr Beaver, bless him.’

Downstairs Jock was waiting in the small front room where Polly’s guests usually assembled before luncheon. It was five past six.

Soon Brenda pulled on her stocking, stepped into her shoe and joined the ladies. ‘ Most enjoyable,’ she pronounced. ‘Why, how odd you all look.’

‘Jock Grant-Menzies wants to see you downstairs.’

‘Jock? How very extraordinary. It isn’t anything awful, is it?’

‘You’d better go and see him.’

Suddenly Brenda became frightened by the strange air of the room and the unfamiliar expression in her friends’ faces. She ran downstairs to the room where Jock was waiting.

‘What is it, Jock? Tell me quickly, I’m scared. It’s nothing awful, is it?’

‘I’m afraid it is. There’s been a very serious accident.’

‘John?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dead?’

He nodded.

She sat down on a hard little Empire chair against the wall, perfectly still with her hands folded in her lap, like a small well-brought-up child introduced into a room full of grown-ups. She said, ‘Tell me what happened. Why do you know about it first?’

‘I’ve been down at Hetton since the week-end.’

‘Hetton?’

‘Don’t you remember? John was going hunting to-day.’

She frowned, not at once taking in what he was saying. ‘John ... John Andrew ... I ... oh, thank God ...’ Then she burst into tears.

She wept helplessly, turning round in the chair and pressing her forehead against its gilt back.

Upstairs Mrs Northcote had Souki Foucauld-Esterhazy by the foot and was saying, ‘There are four men dominating your fate. One is loyal and tender but has not yet disclosed his love ...’