The Complete Mapp & Lucia (147 page)

For the first time for many nights she slept beautifully till she was called, and woke fresh and eager for the day. There on her dressing-table lay the three half-crowns which she had taken from Elizabeth the evening before. They had seemed then but joyless and negligible tokens; now they gleamed with their accustomed splendour. “And to think that I won all that without really enjoying it,” thought Diva, as she performed a few of those salubrious flexes and jerks which Lucia had taught her. Just glancing at the
Financial Post
she saw that Siriami had gone up another sixpence, but she did not falter in her prudent determination to secure some part of her profits.

The same crisis which, for Diva, had sucked all the sweetness out of life but supplied Lucia with grist for the Imitation of Dame Catherine Winterglass. Georgie, with a white pointed beard (that clever Foljambe had trimmed it for him, as neatly as if she had been a barber all her life) came down to breakfast for the first time this morning, and pounced on the
Financial Post.

“My dear, another sixpence up!” he exclaimed. “What shall I do?”

Lucia already knew that: she had taken a swift glance at the paper before he came down, and had replaced it as if undisturbed. She shook a finger at him.

“Now, Georgie, what about my rule that we have no business talk at meals? How are you? That’s much more important.”

“Beautiful night,” said Georgie, “except that I dreamt about a gold mine and the bottom fell out of it, and all the ore slid down to the centre of the earth.”

“That will never do, Georgie. You must not let money get on your mind. I’ll attend to your interests when I get to work after breakfast. And are your face and neck better?”

“Terribly sore still. I don’t know when I shall be able to shave.”

Lucia gave him a glance with head a little tilted, as if he was a landscape she proposed to paint. That neat beard gave character and distinction to his face. It hid his plump second chin and concealed the slightly receding shape of the first: another week’s growth would give it a greater solidity. There was something Stuart-like, something Vandyckish about his face. To be sure the colour of his beard contrasted rather strangely with his auburn hair and moustache, in which not the faintest hint of grey was manifest, but that could be remedied. It was not time, however, to say anything about that yet.

“Don’t think about it then,” she said. “And now for to-day. I really think you ought to get some air. It’s so mild and sunny. Wrap up well and come for a drive with me before lunch.”

“But they’ll see me,” said Georgie.

“Not if you lean well back till we’re out of the town. I shall walk up there when I’ve gone into my affairs and yours, for I’m sure to have a telegram to send, and the car shall take you and Foljambe straight up to your house. I shall join you, so that we shall appear to be starting from there. Now I must get to work. I see there’s a letter from my broker.”

Lucia’s voice had assumed that firm tone which Georgie knew well to betoken that she meant to have her way, and that all protest was merely a waste of nervous force. Off she went to the little room once known as the library, but now more properly to be called the Office. This was an inviolable sanctuary: Grosvenor had orders that she must never be disturbed there except under stress of some great emergency, such as a trunk-call from London. The table where Lucia used to sit with her Greek and Latin dictionaries and the plays of Aristophanes and the Odes of Horace with their English translations was now swept clean of its classical lore, and a ledger stood there, a bundle of prospectuses, some notes of purchase and a clip of communications from her broker. She opened the letter she had received this morning, and read it with great care. The rise in gold (and in consequence in gold mines) he thought had gone far enough and he repeated his suggestion that home-rails and silver merited attention. There lay the annual report of Burma Corporation, and a very confusing document she found it, for it dealt with rupees and annas instead of pounds and shillings, and she did not know the value of an anna or what relation it bore to a rupee: they might as well have been drachmas and obols. Then there was a statement about the earnings of the Great Western Railway (Lucia had no idea how many people went by train), and another about the Southern Railway shewing much improved traffics. Once more she referred to her broker’s last two letters, and then, with the dash and decision of Dame Catherine, made up her mind. She would sell out her entire holding in Siriami, and Burma Corporation and Southern Rails Preferred should enact a judgment of Solomon on the proceeds and each take half. She felt that she was slighting that excellent line, the Great Western, but it must get on without her support. Then she wrote out the necessary telegram to her broker, and touched the bell on her table. Grosvenor, according to orders, only opened the door an inch or two, and Lucia sent for Georgie.

Like a client he pulled a high chair up to the table.

“Georgie, I’ve gone very carefully into the monetary situation,” she said, “and I am selling all my Siriami. As you and others in Tilling followed me in your little purchases, I feel it my duty to tell you all what I am doing.”

Georgie gave a sigh of relief, as when a very rapid movement in a piano duet came to an end.

“I shall sell, too, then,” he said. “I’m very glad. I’m not up to the excitement after my shingles. It’s been very pleasant because I’ve made fifty pounds, but I’ve had enough. Will you take a telegram for me when you go?”

Lucia closed her ledger, put a paper-weight on her prospectuses, and clipped Mammoncash’s letter into its sheaf.

“I think—I say I think—that you’re right, Georgie,” she said. “The situation is becoming too difficult for me to advise about, and I am glad you have settled to clear out, so that I have no further responsibility. Now I shall walk up to Tilling—I find these great decisions very stimulating—and a quarter of an hour later, you will start in the car with Foljambe. I think—I say I think—that Mammoncash, my broker you know, telegraphic address, will approve my decision.”

As he had already strongly recommended this course, it was probable he would do so, and Lucia walked briskly up to the High Street. Then, seeing Benjy and Elizabeth hanging about outside the post-office, she assumed a slower gait and a rapt, financial face.

“
Bon jour, chérie,”
said Elizabeth, observing that she took two telegrams out of her bag. “Those sweet Siriamis. Up another sixpence.”

Lucia seemed to recall her consciousness from an immense distance, and broke the transition in Italian.

“Ah, si, si! Buono piccolo Siriami!…
So glad, dear Elizabeth and Major Benjy that my little pet has done well for you. But I’ve been puzzling over it this morning and I think the price of gold is high enough. That’s my impression—”

Diva whizzed across the road from the greengrocer’s. All her zest and brightness had come back to her.

“Such a relief to have made up my mind, Lucia,” she said. “I’ve telegraphed to sell two-thirds of my Siriami shares, and I shall keep the rest.”

“Very likely you’re right, dear,” said Lucia. “Very likely I’m wrong, but I’m selling all my little portfolio of them.”

Diva’s sunny face clouded over.

“Oh, but that’s terribly upsetting,” she said. “I wonder if I’m too greedy. Do tell me what you think.”

Lucia had now come completely out of her remote financial abstraction, and addressed the meeting.

“Far be it from me to advise anybody,” she said. “The monetary situation is too complicated for me to take the responsibility. But my broker admits—I must say I was flattered—that there is a great deal to be said for my view, and since you all followed my lead in your little purchases of Siriami, I feel bound to tell you what I am doing to-day. Not one share of Siriami am I keeping, and I’m reinvesting the whole—I beg of you all
not
to consider this advice in any way—in Burma Corporation and Southern Railway Preferred, Prefs as we call them. I have given some study to the matter, and while I don’t think anyone would go far wrong in buying them, I should be sorry if any of you followed me blindly, without going into the matter for yourselves—”

Elizabeth simply could not stand it a moment longer.

“Sweet of you to tell us, dear,” she said, “but pray don’t make yourself uneasy about any responsibility for us. My Benjy and I have been studying too, and we’ve made up our minds to buy some more Siriami. So set your mind at ease.”

Diva moaned.

“Oh, dear me! Must begin thinking about it all over again,” she said, as Lucia, at this interruption from the meeting, went into the post-office.

Elizabeth waited till the swing-door had shut.

“I’m more and more convinced,” she said, “that the dear thing has no more idea what she’s talking about than when she makes psychic bids. I shall do the opposite of whatever she recommends.”

“Most confusing,” moaned Diva again. “I wish I hadn’t begun to make money at all.”

Elizabeth followed Lucia into the post-office, and Benjy went to catch the tram, while Diva, with ploughed and furrowed face, walked up and down the pavement in an agony of indecision as to whether to follow Lucia’s example and sell her three remaining shares or to back Elizabeth and repurchase her two.

“Whatever I do is sure to be wrong,” she thought to herself, and then her attention was switched off finance altogether. Along the High Street came Lucia’s motor. Cadman turned to go up the street leading to the church and Mallards Cottage, but had to back again to let Susan’s Royce come down. Foljambe was sitting by her husband on the box, and for an instant there appeared at the window of the car the face of a man curiously like Georgie. Yet it couldn’t be he, for he had a neat white beard. Perhaps Lucia had a friend staying with her, but, if so, it was very odd that nobody had heard about him. “Most extraordinary,” thought Diva. “Who can it possibly be?”

She got no second glimpse for the head was withdrawn in a great hurry, and Lucia came out of the post-office as calm as if she had been buying a penny stamp instead of conducting these vast operations.

“So that’s done!” she said lightly, “and now I must go and see whether I can persuade Georgie to come out for a drive.”

“Your car has just gone by,” said Diva.

“
Tante grazie.
I must hurry.”

Lucia went up to Mallards Cottage, and found Georgie had gone into his house, for fear that Elizabeth might peer into the car if she saw it standing there.

“And I was a little imprudent,” he said, “for I simply couldn’t resist looking out as we turned up from the High Street to see what was going on, and there was Diva standing quite close. But I don’t think she could have recognised me.”

In view of this contingency, however, the re-embarkation was delayed for a few minutes, and then conducted with great caution. This was lucky, for Diva had told Elizabeth of that puzzling apparition at the window of the car, and Elizabeth, after a brilliant and sarcastic suggestion that it was Mr. Montagu Norman who had come down to consult Lucia as to the right policy of the Bank of England in this world crisis, decided that the matter must be looked into at once. So the two ladies separated and Diva hurried up to the Church Square in case the car left Georgie’s house by that route, while Elizabeth went up to Mallards, where, from the window of the garden-room she could command the other road of exit… So, before Georgie entered the car again, Foljambe reconnoitred this way and that, and came back with the alarming intelligence that Diva was lurking in Church Square, and that Elizabeth was in her usual lair behind the curtains. Cadman and Foljambe therefore stood as a screen on each side of Georgie’s doorstep while he, bending double, stole into the car. They passed under the window of the garden-room, and Lucia, leaning far forward to conceal Georgie, kissed and waved her hand to the half-drawn curtains to show Elizabeth that she was perfectly aware who was in ambush behind them.

“That’s thwarted them,” she said, as she put down the window when danger-points were passed. “Poor Elizabeth couldn’t have seen you, and Diva may hide in Church Square till Doomsday. Let’s drive out past the golf links along the road by the sea and let the breeze blow away all these pettinesses.”

She sighed.

“Georgie, how glad I am that I’ve taken up finance seriously,” she said. “It gives me real work to do at last. It’s time I had some, for I’m fifty next week. Of course I shall give a birthday party, and I shall have a cake with fifty-one candles on it, so as to prepare me for my next birthday. After all, it isn’t the years that give the measure of one’s age, but energy and capacity for enterprise. Achievement. Adventure.”

“I’m sure you were as busy as any woman could be,” said Georgie.

“Possibly, but about paltry things, scoring off Elizabeth when she was pushing and that
genus omne.
I shall give all that up. I shall dissociate myself from all the petty gossip of the place. I shall—”

“Oh, look,” interrupted Georgie. “There’s Benjy playing golf with the Padre. There! He missed the ball completely, and he’s stamping with rage.”

“No! So it is!” cried Lucia, wildly interested. “Pull up a minute, Cadman. There now he’s hit it again into a sandpit, and the Padre’s arguing with him. I wonder what language he’s talking.”

“That’s the best of Tilling,” cried Georgie enthusiastically, throwing prudence to the sea-winds, and leaning out of the window. “There’s always something exciting going on. If it isn’t one thing it’s another, and very often both!”

Benjy dealt the sandpit one or two frightful biffs and Lucia suddenly remembered that she had done with such paltry trifles.

“Drive on, Cadman,” she said. “Georgie, I’m afraid Major Benjy’s nature has not been broadened and enriched by marriage. Marriage, one hoped, might have brought that about, but I don’t see the faintest sign of it. Indeed I can’t make up my mind about their marriage at all. They dab and stroke each other, and they’re Benjy-boy and Girlie, but is it more than lip-service and finger-tips? Some women, I know, have had their greatest triumphs when youth was long, long past: Diane de Poictiers was fifty, was she not, when she became the King’s mistress, but she was an enchantress, and you could not reasonably call Elizabeth an enchantress. Of course you haven’t seen them together yet, but you will at my birthday party.”