Christmas Pudding and Pigeon Pie (26 page)

Amabelle’s love potion had done its work for the moment. Its effect, however, wore off sadly during the night, and the next morning, very early, at about six o’clock, Philadelphia woke up tormented with agonies of self-reproach.

‘Paul, my darling, darling Paul,’ she wept into her pillow. ‘I won’t lose you; they shan’t bribe me like this. I will never give you up, never, as long as I live.’ She flung the offending bracelet, which gleamed beneath her bedside lamp, into the farthest corner of the room, sobbing bitterly. After a while she pulled herself together and began to consider her position. The idea had come to her that if she should stay any longer at Compton Bobbin now that Michael had arrived, she would inevitably
find herself engaged to him. She knew that she was too weak to offer, alone and unsupported, any real resistance; and she dreaded beyond words the idea of those frightful scenes with her mother which would certainly ensue if she did. If she was ever to escape, now and now only, was the time. It would be her last opportunity. She must go, at once, to Paul.

Having taken this decision she began very quickly to dress. Better leave the house before anybody was about. She slipped downstairs, feeling like an escaping criminal, took the key of the garage from the hall table, climbed out of the school-room window into the cold, dark morning air, and by seven o’clock was well on the road to London in her little car. She would be in time to have breakfast with Paul before he left for his office. Poor darling, how he must hate working in such a place; it was wonderful to think of him doing it for her sake. Everything would be all right when she was with him, and she would be safe again. The idea of seeing him so soon filled her with nervous excitement.

Shortly after nine o’clock she drove up to the house in Ebury Street where Paul had rooms. Her heart beat in great thumps as she rang the front door bell. For an eternity there was no answer; at last, however, the door was opened by an elderly woman who held in one hand a bucket of soapy water. She looked at Philadelphia with hostility and said, in reply to her question. ‘Mr. Fotheringay has not been called yet.’ Philadelphia hesitated. She felt cold and dazed after her long drive.

‘I must see him, though,’ she said at last. ‘It is very important. I am his sister. Please will you show me the way to his room?’

The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mr. Fotheringay is on the first floor, but he gave orders that he was not to be called. You must please yourself,’ she said, and falling to her knees she began scrubbing the linoleum on the floor.

Philadelphia went upstairs timidly. She knocked several times on the first door that she came to, and finally, receiving no answer, she turned the handle and walked in. The room was
evidently a sitting-room, and at first sight seemed to be empty, although the electric light was burning. Suddenly, however, it was empty no more, for she realized with a start that Paul himself lay on the sofa, fully dressed.

In certain emergencies the human brain neglects to register such subsidiary emotions as that of surprise. To Philadelphia, overstrung, hysterical, and worn out by her long and fasting drive, it seemed quite natural that Paul should be lying on his sofa instead of in his bed, that he should still be wearing evening dress at nine o’clock in the morning, and that although he was fast asleep the electric light should be turned on, shining full in his face. A person of more experience might have been prepared for what followed; Philadelphia only felt an overpowering relief that she had found him again. Everything must be all right now, it seemed.

‘Paul,’ she said, leaning over him. ‘Darling. Wake up.’

No answer. No movement. No sound in the room but that of his thick, heavy and regular breathing. She touched him rather shyly on the arm. ‘Please wake up, Paul.’ She shook him gently. She shook him really hard. ‘Paul, don’t be so unkind to me. You must wake up. I’ve come so far to see you. Please, please, my darling.’

At last he half-opened his eyes, looked at her as though from a great distance, and said in a thick voice: ‘For God’s sake, leave me alone. I told them not to call me,’ after which he turned over deliberately and once more lay motionless.

‘Paul, you must speak to me,’ she cried, shaking now with angry sobs, and losing all self-control she began to hit him on the chest until he opened his eyes again. This time he seemed to recognize her. He took one of her hands in his and said with a great effort, ‘Go away, darling, I’m drunk.’ After that neither tears nor protestations could move him.

Philadelphia went slowly down the stairs. That was the end. She must get back to Michael, who would never treat her so. She felt sick and faint now, and was blinded by her tears. The woman who had let her in was scrubbing the front door steps. a
Philadelphia passed her quickly, aware of curious looks, got into her car and drove down the street until she thought she must be out of sight. Then, oblivious of passers-by, she stopped and cried until she could cry no more. After that she began to think of what she should do next. In spite of her unhappiness she realized that to drive home at once in her present condition would be impossible; she must have something to eat first, and a rest. Whom did she know in London? Her Aunt Loudie was in Switzerland, Sally was almost certainly still on the Riviera. Amabelle – she would be kind. She started up the engine of the car and, after getting lost several times, for she did not know her way about London, she found herself at last outside Amabelle’s house. She rang the front door bell; there was no answer. She rang again, and presently a red-faced footman appeared still struggling into his coat.

‘Can I see Mrs. Fortescue, please?’

‘Mrs. Fortescue has not been called yet.’

Philadelphia was trying to decide what she should say next when she found that the door had been rudely shut in her face. Such terrible things had happened to her already that this incident, which on any ordinary occasion would have caused her unspeakable mortification, seemed quite unimportant. She even sat in her car this time without bothering to move on while she considered what her next step should be. Sally was her last remaining hope, if she was back from the Riviera all would be well. She drove to Fitzroy Square. ‘Please, God, let her be there please, please.’ This time the door was opened immediately by a fat and smiling charlady.

‘Yes, Mrs. Monteath came back last night. Will you come this way, please.’

‘Thank you, God, thank you, thank you.’

She took Philadelphia up to the first floor flat, opened the door of it with a special key and precipitated her into a large, light bedroom, where Sally and Walter Monteath were sitting up in bed eating their breakfast.

‘A young lady to see you, ma’am.’

‘Philadelphia darling!’ cried Sally in a loud and cheerful voice.

Philadelphia opened her mouth to say something and then fell to the floor in a dead faint.

When she recovered consciousness she was lying in the bed herself, and Sally was sponging her face with cold water while the charwoman looked on. Walter was nowhere to be seen.

‘There, darling,’ said Sally, ‘you lie quite still and don’t worry about anything.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Philadelphia, ‘to be such a bother.’

‘Don’t be silly. Are you feeling all right now?’

‘Yes, perfect. I expect I’m rather hungry really, that’s why I fainted.’

‘Poor sweet. Mrs. Crumpit will make you some breakfast at once. You didn’t motor all the way up this morning, did you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Good gracious. Walter thought you had by the look of the car.’

Philadelphia felt warm, happy and contented. She was in no hurry to tell her story, and Sally did not ask any more questions, but went off to help Mrs. Crumpit in the kitchen. Presently she came back with a most delicious breakfast. While Philadelphia was eating this the telephone bell rang in the next room and Walter’s voice could be heard answering it.

‘Hullo – yes? Oh, hullo, Amabelle – my dear, she’s in our bed, quite all right – she appeared about half-an-hour ago and fainted away. Gave us an awful fright, but she’s eating breakfast now. What? I don’t know. I’ve no idea. Oh, very well, we’ll keep her for the present then. Right you are, Amabelle. Goodbye.’

‘You seem to have caused a perfect uproar,’ he said, coming into the bedroom. ‘Apparently Michael had been telephoning to Amabelle from Compton Bobbin half out of his mind, and she tried to get on to Paul, but there was no answer; and then by a
stroke of luck it occurred to her that we might know something about you. Michael is on his way to London now. I must go and have my bath. See you later.’

‘Do tell me all about it,’ said Sally as he shut the door. ‘I’m eaten with curiosity.’

‘Well, you see, Michael arrived at home last night and gave me a diamond bracelet.’

‘Darling, how gorgeous.’

‘And I simply hadn’t the courage to tell him about Paul. I couldn’t face the scene with mother; you don’t know how terrifying she can be. But I thought that if I went to Paul straight away everything would be all right. I thought it was my only chance. So I got up very early this morning –’

‘You must have.’

‘And drove up here and went straight to Paul’s house, and when I got there,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘he was lying on the sofa looking too awful, and he wouldn’t speak to me or even bother to open his eyes.’

‘Blind, I suppose,’ said Sally with the wisdom of experience.

‘Yes, he was. At last when I had shaken him for ages all he said was, “Go away – I’m drunk.” Sally, I never knew people got drunk in the morning?’

‘I expect he had a jolly old hangover,’ said Sally. ‘What did you do then?’

‘As soon as I realized what was the matter I went to Amabelle’s, because I thought you were still abroad, but she hadn’t been called and the footman was rude to me, so I came here on the chance that I might find you.’

‘You’ve been crying, haven’t you?’

‘Well, of course. It’s so terrible to think that all this time I’ve been in love with a drunkard.’

‘Paul’s not a drunkard, my dear; that’s absurd. All men get blind sometimes, but they don’t expect their girl friends to call at nine in the morning as a rule.’

‘Anyway, it’s all over between us now. I couldn’t bear to see him again after that.’

‘Couldn’t you?’

‘Never. It was too horrible. He could never have done such a thing if he had really loved me. Michael couldn’t behave like that; he does love me, I know, and I shall be frightfully happy with him now.’

‘I never doubted that you would be happy with Michael,’ said Sally in a dry voice. ‘For one thing, you weren’t at any time properly in love with Paul. He was the first person who had ever made love to you and you fell for him; but that doesn’t count.’

‘Oh, Sally, you don’t understand. I adored him right up to this morning more than anybody in the world. You couldn’t go on being in love with somebody after a thing like that had happened, could you?’

‘But of course you could. That sort of thing doesn’t make a scrap of difference if you really love somebody. When I think of all the times I’ve put Walter to bed absolutely paralytic with drink! You weren’t a bit in love with Paul, my sweet, and you’ve realized it, that’s all. And I think it’s a mercy you have, myself, because you are entirely unsuited to each other in every way. You would both have been miserably unhappy. Now, you’ll be able to marry that divine Michael and have a really enviable life. Don’t cry, darling, but have some more coffee and then I’ll lend you some rouge. You mustn’t be looking pale for Michael when he comes.’

Two days later Paul read in
The Times
that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between the Marquis of Lewes and Philadelphia, only daughter of Lady Bobbin and the late Sir Hudson Bobbin, of Compton Bobbin, Gloucestershire.

With a sigh, whether of sadness or relief will never be known, he settled down to write the first chapter of his
Life and Works of Lady Maria Bobbin
.

Pigeon Pie

Sophia Garfield had a clear mental picture of what the outbreak of war was going to be like. There would be a loud bang, succeeded by inky darkness and a cold wind. Stumbling over heaps of rubble and dead bodies, Sophia would search with industry, but without hope, for her husband, her lover and her dog. It was in her mind like the End of the World or the Last Days of Pompeii, and for more than two years now she had been steeling herself to bear with fortitude the hardships, both mental and physical, which must accompany this cataclysm.

However, nothing in life happens as we expect, and the outbreak of the great war against Hitlerism certainly did not happen according to anybody’s schedule except possibly Hitler’s own. In fact, Sophia was driving in her Rolls-Royce through one of those grey and nondescript towns on the border between England and Scotland when, looking out of the window, she saw a man selling newspapers; the poster which he wore as an apron had scrawled upon it in pencil the words WAR BEGUN. As this was on the 31st of August, 1939, the war which had begun was the invasion of Poland by Germany; the real war, indeed, did begin more pompously, if not more in accordance with preconceived ideas, some four days later. There was no loud bang, but Mr Chamberlain said on the wireless what a bitter blow it had been for him, and then did his best to relieve the tension by letting off air-raid sirens. It sounded very nice and dramatic, though a few citizens, having supposed that their last hour was at hand, were slightly annoyed by this curious practical joke.