Marking Time (42 page)

He smiled then, and said, ‘I could see that destroyers are not your subject.’

‘Oh
no
! How could they be anybody’s?’

‘Well, here I must tell you that they have to be mine because I’m in one.’

‘Oh!’ What traps there were when you knew nothing about the person! ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Tell me
your
subject.’

‘Well, I’m learning to be an actress. At least I was – but the school closed down because of the Blitz,’ And after that it was easy: she told him all about how she had
auditioned for repertory companies, but without success; how the school
might
be going to evacuate to the country somewhere where there was a free theatre and continue as a student rep;
how she had always wanted to play the men’s parts in Shakespeare; and how her family were against all this, and felt she should do something useful for the war. By now they had reached the
chocolate mousse.

‘Don’t you want your pudding? It’s absolutely delicious.’

‘I don’t really care for puddings,’ she said untruthfully, but it sounded grown up not to care about them.

‘Don’t you? I adore them. The stodgier the better. My favourite was suet roll with treacle at school.’

She was rather taken aback by this. ‘Well, I do like some. It’s just that I’ve eaten rather a lot of everything else.’

‘Well, you are probably very wise.’

Somebody claimed him then, and she ate a few spoonfuls of the chocolate mousse not to seem rude. She looked up and Hermione gave her a marvellously reassuring smile. She had earlier introduced
Louise saying, ‘This is my new daughter.’ I wish she
was
my mother, Louise thought. She’d be perfect as a mother. She looked unbelievably glamorous in a scarlet silk
dress that clung everywhere to her with a long slit up the side so that she could walk, and red satin shoes that matched. She smelled of gardenias. Louise only knew this because she had asked. The
whole flat had this faint perfume, as though she only had to walk through a room to scent it. ‘It’s Caron’s Bellodgia,’ she had said. This had been before people arrived,
when she had walked round the dining-room table, putting knives and forks completely straight, twitching napkins, tweaking the roses in the middle of the table, telling the waiter to change the
claret glasses. Everything seemed to be made perfect by her in a few moments, and Louise had noticed that the waiters did not seem to mind her drawling, imperious voice telling them how wrong
something was at all. ‘I really cannot bear glass butter dishes,’ she had said, ‘do change them. White china is what I said I wanted. And not a speck of parsley in sight,
please.’ And they all said, yes, m’lady, and rushed off to do what she wanted.

After dinner, they repaired to Hermione’s drawing room, which had fat chairs with gilded arms – reminding her of Stella’s home a bit – and there was coffee with the
proper coloured sugar to put into it. The man who had admired her sat himself down next to her – she remembered that he was called Michael something, but she felt shy about asking him what
else he was called because she’d been told when they were introduced and hadn’t remembered.

But then, Marion said, ‘What about the famous picture? Is it finished? May we see it?’

And the man said, ‘I left it in the hall. It’s Hermione’s picture.’

‘I’d adore you to see it. Do bring it in, Michael.’

It was a full-length portrait of Hermione in a dark grey satin dress standing by a white marble fireplace with one arm lying on its shelf. Behind her on the other side of the fireplace, was a
very dark, rather dirtyish yellow velvet curtain. It was tremendously well painted, Louise thought: you would know immediately that it was Hermione, because her hair, her features, all seemed to be
right, but at the same time it didn’t give you much idea of what Hermione was actually
like
. The satin of the dress, the heavy folds of the velvet curtain, the white veined marble
were immaculately painted. It seemed to her a brilliant picture, but somehow not really a good portrait of
her
. She didn’t have to say anything about it, because everybody else was
exclaiming, ‘Fabulous!
So like
you! Jolly good! I was afraid it was going to be one of those modern jobs when you don’t know what’s going on, let alone whether it’s
meant to be any particular person.’

Hermione said, ‘It flatters me, but I expect I should have been cross if it hadn’t.’

People ran out of things to say about it quite quickly, but she noticed that Michael went on looking at it in a serious way, almost as though it was new to him.

Soon after that, a night club was proposed. ‘There’s been a warning,’ someone said, and somebody else retorted, ‘There’s always a warning. I don’t intend to
have my night life disturbed by Herr Goering.’

Marion said, ‘I honestly think I’ll opt out. I’m on duty tomorrow night, and I’m frightfully short of sleep. But do go, Frank, if you want to.’

‘No. I’ll take you home, and then I’ll repair to the old bunker. I may be chairborne, but there’s a hell of a lot of work at the moment.’

In the end, it was just four of them: Hermione, the silent John, Michael and herself who went to the Astor in Berkeley Street in John’s car.

The place seemed very dark when they went into it, but Louise found that one soon got used to that. It was fairly full, but they knew Hermione and a table was quickly found for them. Champagne
was ordered and Michael said that he would like some soda water as well. Hermione asked Michael to dance with her and, slightly disappointed, Louise was left with John, who also seemed
disappointed.

‘Shall we?’ was all he said.

But he was easy to dance with: the small floor was very crowded and he was skilful at avoiding other dancers.

‘Did you like the portrait?’ she ventured, to break the silence.

‘Don’t know anything about pictures,’ he answered. ‘But I should think
anyone
could make a good picture of Hermione.’

‘She’s the most glamorous person I’ve ever met.’

This animated him. ‘
Isn’t
she? Tremendously bright with it, too. In fact, she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life. Have you known her
long?’

‘Well, she’s a very old friend of my mother’s. So, in a sort of way, I have. Although, you know, you don’t ever
know
your parents’ friends.’

‘I suppose not.’ After a while, he said, ‘Do you know Michael?’

‘Never met him before. What’s his other name?’

‘You don’t know that?’ For some reason this pleased him. ‘He’s supposed to be famous. A famous portrait painter. His pictures cost the earth. Hermione would never
have afforded to be painted by him. Someone gave it to her, but she won’t say who.’ He was depressed again.

‘How did he paint it if he’s in the Navy – he said in a destroyer?’

‘He’s been on sick leave. Got appendicitis. Ship’s doctor had to take it out. Made a bit of a hash of it, so he’s been on leave for about six weeks.’ At this point,
the dance came to an end, and they went back to their table.

When it became her turn to dance with Michael she discovered that he was an almost frighteningly good dancer. It was a quickstep, and he whirled her into all kinds of elaborate decorations. She
became tense with the effort to keep up with him.

‘Just relax and follow me,’ he said, but these directions seemed incompatible to her.

‘Sorry. I’m not good enough for you.’

‘Nonsense! I’ve just had more practice. I used to go to the Hammersmith Palais every week. See? When I turn your shoulder, you just go the only way you
can
go.’

But it didn’t seem to be like that at all for her.

‘The others are dancing,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back and talk. My subject is only beginning to be destroyers. What it has been up till now is faces. And you have the most
extraordinarily beautiful face. I can’t wait to draw it. Lots of people think my paintings are rather vulgar, and I expect they are right, but I draw rather well. When can I draw
you?’

‘I don’t know.’ She was overwhelmed by his description of her face and longed to go away and look at it to see how it had changed. ‘I’m only up for one night. My
parents are sticky about me staying in London.’

‘I’m sure they’re right. Well, perhaps you could—’

But at that moment something so extraordinary happened that it seemed as though everything stopped. There was a dull, very loud explosion, and the next second it felt as though the whole room
lurched, as though the walls were stumbling to stay upright; the large dimmed chandeliers shook with an uneven chinking sound, the little red-shaded lamps on each table quivered, and their
champagne swayed in the glasses. There was a gasp in the room and she heard one woman cry out, ‘
Oh!
’ in an unnaturally high voice, but all this seemed to happen at once. Then,
very slowly, a small piece of plaster fell from the ceiling on to their table beside their glasses. Through it, she had sat bolt upright, motionless.

Michael took her hand. ‘What a brave girl,’ he said. ‘I had been going to say, come down to Wiltshire for a weekend, my mother would like to meet you. Now I am sure that she
would.’

‘A bomb?’ she said.

‘A bomb fairly near, I should think.’

Hermione and John returned to the table at this point.

‘They really are the
limit
!’ Hermione drawled. ‘One can’t even have a little innocent exercise and fun without them trying to spoil it. Let’s have another
bottle of delicious champagne to cheer us up.’

When the waiter came for the order, he said that
they said
the church in Piccadilly had been hit. Some people were leaving, but Hermione said they should stay. ‘It isn’t as
though they’re
raining
down on us.’ She looked at Louise. ‘Are you all right, my pet?’

Louise nodded. Now, after being called brave, she was feeling rather shaky.

A long time later, when she and Hermione had been deposited at Hermione’s flat and were taking off their wraps in the hall, Hermione remarked, ‘You were a great hit with Michael
Hadleigh. Did you have a good time?’

‘Oh, it was a wonderful evening. It was terribly kind of you to ask me.’

Louise kissed her sculptured, scented face; Hermione gave her a little pat, and said, ‘I warn you, he’s a great breaker of hearts. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him again,
but don’t get
too
taken with him, will you, darling?’

‘No, I won’t.’ She said that because she felt it was expected of her, but privately she wondered whether he could, or would break her heart.

Hermione eyed her, looked as though she was going to say something, and changed her mind.

Then, when Louise had undressed and was brushing her teeth, she knocked softly on the door. ‘Forgot to tell you, darling, I’ll be off early in the morning, so I shan’t see
you.’

‘Are you going to your factory?’

‘I’m off to my very own factory. Yes. You sleep as late as you like, and ring for Yvonne when you want your breakfast. And be a good girl and catch your train back to Sussex before
lunch, or your mother will never let me have you again.
Compris
?’ And she was gone.

As she got into bed, the All Clear went. It was twenty past four. It would hardly be worth poor Hermione going to bed, she thought, as her head touched the pillow and sleep overcame her.

The next morning she was awoken by Yvonne who said there was a gentleman on the telephone.

‘This is Michael,’ he said, ‘Michael Hadleigh.’

‘Hallo.’

‘Have I woken you up?’

She looked at her watch: it said ten. ‘Not really.’

‘I’ve rung my mother, and she says it would be lovely if you came down next weekend.’

‘Well – I don’t think—’ She had planned to see Stella then.

‘The thing is that it is my last weekend before I rejoin my ship. So it is rather then, or heaven knows when.
Do
come; I shall be unspeakably sad if you don’t.’

So, she said that she would see if she could rearrange her plans and, of course, she could.

‘Michael Hadleigh? The one who paints those Academy-type portraits? Why on earth do you want to see him?’ This was Stella at her most spiky. ‘I know,’ she added. ‘I
bet he told you you were unbearably beautiful and you couldn’t resist the bait.’

She could be maddening as well. ‘And his mother’s the daughter of an earl. It’ll all be frightfully grand.’

‘How do you
know
all that?’

‘Mutti reads all the sort of papers that tell you that kind of thing. She’s always hoping to spot someone eligible for me – at least, that’s her ostensible reason when we
tease her about it, but actually she’s a straightforward snob. She loves reading about high life.’

‘Well, come and stay with us the weekend after, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘All right, I’ll come, but
not
because I want to hear all about
that.
And, Louise, for goodness sake don’t fall for him because it’ll ruin your life.
You’re far too young to get all tied up with anybody.’

The being far too young rankled. Stella could be very bossy.
She
wouldn’t think
she
was too young for anything, and nineteen was not that much older; it was a bit much
having one’s best friend treat one as a child.

‘I have no intention of getting tied up with anybody,’ she said as loftily as she could manage.