Before the Fact (7 page)

Sympathy, at first silent and then gradually more and more outspoken, was entirely with Lina and Johnnie. It was felt that anyone who arrived at a tennis party wearing a great fat diamond thoroughly deserved to go away without it. But this sentiment, reasonable though it might be, did not blind those who voiced it to the extremely delicate position in which their host and hostess found themselves. For unless Johnnie was right in saying that Lady Fortnum would find the thing when she undressed, it certainly was very difficult to see how it could have disappeared, in that very small space, altogether of its own volition.

Martin Caddis did, in fact, try to get Lina’s suggestion taken seriously that the men should turn out their pockets; but Johnnie, obviously distressed, would not hear of it. The utmost that could be permitted was that they should examine the turn-ups of their trousers; but these yielded nothing but fluff.

When at last Lina, with a rather high-pitched laugh, insisted an hour later in calling the search off, the diamond had not been found.

“And now it’s gone for good,” observed Joyce, as they watched the last of the cars swing round the circular drive and out of the gates. “I wonder which of them had it.”

“Joyce, I won’t believe it,” Lina said stoutly. “It must have got trodden into the ground. We shall find it tomorrow morning.”

“Of course we shall, darling,” said Johnnie confidently, and put an arm round his wife’s waist. “Don’t you bother your little monkey head any more about it.”

“Well, I wish I had your simple faith,” Joyce retorted. “I invariably believe the worst of people.”

“My dear, you are so right,” said Cecil, sadly smoothing his beard.

Lina gave the hand on her waist a little quick squeeze. “Well, anyhow,” she said, “let’s go in and get ready for dinner.”

“I’ll just let down the net and collect the balls,” said Johnnie. “You can have first bath, monkeyface, if you jump to it.”

Actually the diamond was found, that same evening.

Lina found it, in a pocket of Johnnie’s white trousers.

Johnnie had gone down to mix the cocktails (in spite of having second bath, Johnnie was always dressed first), and Lina, when she was ready, had just looked into Johnnie’s dressing room to see that everything was in order. Johnnie’s flannels lay sprawling on the floor where he had flung them, as he always did; not even Lina had been able to induce him ever to put anything away. She picked them up mechanically, and noticed a long green smudge on one knee, where Johnnie had slipped. Obviously they could not be worn again, and Lina felt in the pockets before putting the trousers in the washing basket. In the left-hand pocket was nothing, in the right-hand one was the diamond pendant. Lina almost cried with relief.

“Johnnie,” she burst out as soon as she got inside the drawing room, where the other three were already sipping their cocktails. “Johnnie, you really are the limit. Why didn’t you tell me you’d found that wretched diamond?”

Johnnie, bringing her cocktail to meet her, stopped dead. “What?” he said, almost stupidly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you found that diamond when you went back to let the net down?” Lina repeated quite crossly. “You knew how worried I was.” She took the cocktail and finished it at a gulp. Johnnie really was very exasperating sometimes.

“What’s that?” said Joyce. “The diamond found?”

“Yes. Johnnie found it when he went back to let the net down. It was in the pocket of his white trousers.”

“She searches my pockets, you see,” Johnnie threw over his shoulder to Cecil. “Does yours?”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” Lina persisted.

Johnnie looked at her with his most mischievous smile. “I thought it would give the hag a lesson if we pretended for a day or two that we couldn’t find it. Of course I didn’t tell you, monkeyface. You’d have given the show away in two minutes.” He laughed.

“I don’t think it’s at all funny,” Lina said coldly. “Give me another cocktail, please.”

Lina had not a very good sense of humour.

All through dinner Johnnie was in the most uproarious spirits and teased Cecil unmercifully.

Oddly enough it was, in the end, Lina herself and not Lady Fortnum who lost a piece of valuable jewelry.

About a week after Cecil and Joyce had gone, Lina became aware that a diamond-and-emerald ring was missing from her jewel case. It was not a ring she wore very much, for the setting was old-fashioned and cumbersome, and she had never had it reset, but the stones were good. She had worn it, she remembered, one evening towards the end of Joyce’s visit, and was almost sure she had put it back in the little suede case in which she kept her jewels and trinkets, and which always lay, unlocked, in the top left-hand drawer of her dressing table; but in the case the ring certainly was not.

Her room, and the whole house, was searched, and searched again and again; for, apart from the ring’s value, Lina had a strong sense of possession, and the mere feeling of loss in itself distressed her. However, no sign was ever found of it.

Johnnie was most sympathetic and pointed out with evident glee that, on his own recommendation, all Lina’s jewels had been insured for their full value, only six months or so ago; she would therefore suffer no monetary loss. He helped her make out the claim to the insurance company, and the money duly arrived.

Johnnie was rather urgent that she should lend it to him, for some scheme of his which he assured her would be of immense profit to both of them but about whose details he was a little vague when pressed; but Lina, who could be very obstinate where her own money was concerned, distrusted such nebulousness and bought another and more modern ring.

She remained, however, not a little uneasy about the way in which her old ring had disappeared; and since it boiled down to the fact that nobody but Ella, the house-parlourmaid, could possibly have stolen it if it had been stolen at all, she played for safety by getting rid of Ella. She was the more ready to do so, as she had noticed that the girl had been getting a little pert with her of late, and seemed to resent the very mild and almost smiling reprimands which were all that Lina ever dealt out to her maids.

“I can’t understand what’s happened to her,” Lina complained to Johnnie when they talked it over. “She used to be so good-natured. I suppose really she’s too pretty. She must have had her head turned by some man in the village. Whether she took my ring or not, it’s quite time she did go.”

And Johnnie agreed that it was quite time Ella did go.

So Ella went; and very soon was as completely forgotten as the loss of the ring for which she came to be held responsible.

One of the incidents in her married life which Lina always remembered afterwards was the first visit of Mr. Thwaite.

“Mr. Thwaite,” announced Ethel, the new parlourmaid, and left it at that.

Mr. Thwaite was very tall. His nose was large and curved, and his hair sat in little tight curls round his head.

“Hullo,” said Mr. Thwaite loudly. “Hullo, hullo. What?” Mr. Thwaite seemed to think that he had now explained himself.

“Hullo,” said Lina, trying not to laugh and feeling that her visitor must have escaped from the pages of Mr. P. G. Wodehouse.

“So you’re old Johnnie’s wife?” accused Mr. Thwaite, shaking hands.

“I am, yes.”

“Poor old bird, what?” said Mr. Thwaite surprisingly, and then laughed with much amusement. “Didn’t mean that. Putting my foot in it as usual, what? I mean – well, how is the old bean?”

Lina rang for tea and with some difficulty induced her visitor to seat himself. She replied that Johnnie’s health was excellent. He was not in at the moment, but she expected him back for tea.

“Still mugging it in that estate office, eh? Hates it as much as ever, I suppose. What?”

“Yes, he still works there. Do you live near here, Mr. Thwaite?” Lina asked politely.

For some reason Mr. Thwaite seemed to consider this an admirable joke. He laughed heartily. “Good God, no! What? I mean ... Near here? My goodness, no. My place is in Yorkshire. Oh, I see what you mean. No, I was at school with Johnnie. Shared a study. Bosom pals and all that sort of rot. Only seen him about twice since we left. Ran into him at Newbury last year. He’d dropped a packet. Still following the gees, I expect?”

“Johnnie?” said Lina. “No, I don’t think he ever goes racing now.” She thought idly that it was odd that she should not have heard of this visit to Newbury.

“What? Oh, rot. Fact? Good God, poor old bean. Must have changed a bit, what? Marriage, I expect, eh? Told me he was married last time I saw him. ‘Oh, rot,’ I said. ‘Not come down to that, old bean, have you?’ ‘Don’t you worry,’ he said. ‘She’ll be worth a packet one day.’ ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘that’s different.’ Hullo! P’raps I ought not to have said that. What? Putting my foot in it, was I?”

“Not in the least,” Lina said, concealing her surprise. “Johnnie and I quite understand one another.” But she did not think it very nice that Johnnie should have boasted of the money that would come to her.

“That’s the scheme,” Mr. Thwaite said with enthusiasm. “Makes marriage almost bearable if you can do that, what? I remember Johnnie said what a topper you were, too. What ho! Well, how is the old bean, anyhow? Estate agent, or something equally ghastly, isn’t he? Good God! What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Lina said faintly.

“No, of course you didn’t. Expect I said ‘what,’ what? Always saying ‘what.’ God knows why. Silly habit, really. Well, anyhow, how is the old bean? Fit and hearty? I haven’t seen him for ages. Oh, I told you that. Yes, I was passing through, or as near as dash it, so thought I’d get off and give the old bean a call. I say, I’m not butting in or anything, am I? You haven’t got a tea fight on, or a bazaar to open, or what not, what? What?”

“Of course not,” Lina said, as brightly as she could manage. “I’m always delighted to see any of Johnnie’s old friends. Tea will be coming in a minute. Of course you must stop and see him. I know he’ll be back for it to-day.”

“Will he, by Jove! Same old slacker, I’ll bet. What?”

Ethel, entering with the tea tray, saved Lina from replying. The interruption did not, however, disconcert Mr. Thwaite. He boomed away through the clatter as merrily as any bittern.

Lina had hardly poured out the tea when she heard Johnnie’s key in the front door. Excusing herself, she ran out to intercept him.

“Johnnie, I thought I’d better warn you. There’s a most extraordinary man here called Thwaite, who says he was at school with you.”

“What, old Beaky Thwaite? Whatever brought him here?”

“He says he was passing, so got off to see you,” Lina explained. “Is he quite mad?”

“Not quite,” Johnnie grinned. “Pretty nearly, perhaps. Won’t say a word, eh?”

“Won’t say a word? Won’t he! Come and listen to him.”

“That’s funny. He used to be painfully shy, as a boy. He stayed with us once or twice in the holidays, and my people used to say he never uttered a word from the moment he entered the house to the moment he left it.”

“Well, he’s making up for lost time now,” Lina giggled. “Hurry up and wash, darling, and help me out. I can’t
bear
it any longer alone.”

Johnnie looked back at her over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs. “Be kind to him, monkeyface, anyhow.”

“I have been. Why particularly?”

“He’s got more money than he knows what to do with. I always feel one should be kind to people like that.”

“He might get you a better job,” Lina said, promptly and hopefully.

Johnnie shrugged his shoulders and went on upstairs.

Three minutes later Lina was witnessing the hearty meeting of two old school friends. An American film producer would have been disappointed. Instead of putting an arm round each other’s necks and massaging the middle of each other’s backs, they merely hit each other violently in the chest.

“Well, Beaky, you old sinner, this is great. How the devil are you, and all that kind of thing?”

“You’re getting fat, old bean,” pronounced Mr. Thwaite in return. “Deuced fat. What? You’ll have to knock his oats off a bit, Mrs. Aysgarth. Here, what’s your wife’s name, old bean? Can’t go on calling her ‘Mrs. Aysgarth,’ I mean. Sounds too damned formal, and all that sort of rot. What?”

Lina stifled an insane request to be called Mrs. Old Bean.

“Her name’s Lina.”

“Lina, what? Damned good name, too,” adjudged Mr. Thwaite loudly. “Call you ‘Lina’ then, may I?”

“Of course,” Lina said, producing a rather forced smile. She had ideas about whom she permitted to use her Christian name and how long they must have known her first.

She dispensed tea and listened, with wandering interest, to the reminiscences of the two men.

For some time these were confined to old This and old That, and what had happened to old Thing. Then Mr. Thwaite’s memories took a more personal turn.

“Remember how you won the Isaiah prize, what? Good God, I shan’t forget that in a hurry. I’ll bet he hasn’t told you about that, Lina, what?”

“No.” Lina roused herself from the worried consideration of a possible menu should unexpected Mr. Thwaite stay to dinner, as Johnnie, most hospitable of men and untroubled by a larder outlook, would certainly invite him to do. “No, I don’t believe he has. What was that?”

“Why, the Chief was deuced keen on Isaiah, and all that sort of rot, and he offered a special prize one term when the Sixth were mugging it up. This old bean, being a school-pre., was in his study one day and saw the paper on the Chief’s desk. So he took a copy of it. Never done a stroke of work, of course. Never did. But he got the prize all right. What about that?”

“Really, Johnnie.” Lina laughed, but her strict code made her amusement sound forced. The incident reminded her dimly of something that had happened in Paris, on their honeymoon: something to do with a waiter and wrong change, and not by any means creditable to Johnnie. “But of course he didn’t keep the prize, Mr. Thwaite?”

“Didn’t he just! I see you don’t know Johnnie yet. And the dirty old dog never told me till afterwards that he knew what the questions were going to be.” Mr. Thwaite laughed hugely.