Something Light (14 page)

“If you're thinking of Enid—” began Freddy again.

What a thought was
there!
For a moment, fascinated, Louisa contemplated its full beauty: pin money, settlement, even in a sense a man at the top—the very booty Enid had described, and all looted from that experienced trapper's own trap!

“I don't see anything to laugh at,” said Freddy stiffly. “As I was saying, if you're thinking about Enid, she'll be as pleased as I shall. She told me to tell you—”

“You mean she
agrees?”
asked Louisa, startled.

“Of course. I may not know much about women,” said F. Pennon complacently, “but I always knew you and she'd get on. Naturally Enid agrees.”

Louisa thought rapidly. Her first astonishment over, it struck her that Enid was an experienced trapper indeed; it struck her also that Mrs. Anstruther was gambling on a certainty. To Mrs. Anstruther's mind, if such a proposal could tempt Louisa at all she'd have grabbed at it already—when it included absolute matrimony. Mrs. Anstruther was evidently gambling on the certainty that she, Louisa, was still a damned fool.

3

“As perhaps I was,” thought Louisa, “when I hadn't found Jimmy again …”

She admitted it to herself: she had been over-chivalrous, a female Quixote, that night at Bournemouth. (Or say she had behaved too much like a gentleman; always Louisa's weakness.) It was easy enough, now, not to be tempted, since she so genuinely preferred what Jimmy Brown could offer; but Enid would have run more risk than she knew, if Louisa had found him already preempted by that dewy-eyed fiancée!

As it was, she had only to spare Freddy's feelings.

“Dear Freddy, I'm sorry,” said Louisa. “I like you so very much—and Enid too,” she lied. “I hope you'll tell her from me I haven't words to express what I think of her.” (There was a pleasing ambiguity about this; Louisa hoped Freddy'd get it right.) “But the fact is—”

She paused. She had learned so much discretion, she wouldn't say she was going to get married. Instead—

“I'd miss photographing dogs,” explained Louisa.

The conclusion was weak, and she knew it. Was it
fair
to Freddy, to be so discreet?—As the lounge door swung open, how much Louisa would have given to see Jimmy himself advancing towards her, to make all plain by his earnest, devoted looks! But it was only Admiral Colley.

“If that's all, we'll buy a few,” said Freddy readily. “Buy as many as you like! I'm fond of a dog myself.”

Louisa saw she must be blunter. (The Admiral, reconnoitering Miss Wilbraham's card table, dropped anchor. Miss Wilbraham gently hiccoughed.)

“Dear Freddy, it just wouldn't be the life to suit me,” said Louisa. “Fond of you as I am—and of Enid too—I can't think of anything likelier to send me up the wall.”

“You might at least think it over.”

“I don't need to, and it's much better to have it settled.”

He paused in turn. Then he did something very nice. He refrained from offering her more money.

“If that's your last word, I suppose I must just take another knock,” said Freddy sadly.

Louisa offered all the consolation she could. It wasn't much.

“At any rate stay and have dinner, Freddy.”

“Thank you, I'll just be getting along,” said F. Pennon.

“As far as the grub goes, you're probably right,” agreed Louisa heartily.—But she was now feeling almost as sad as he was; she cast desperately about for some fresh, some gayer topic to carry them over the mournful moment.—It was a relief to catch Admiral Colley's eye; though the Admiral wasn't looking particularly cheerful either, the mere presence of a third might help …

“Who's that poor old feller?” asked Freddy.

“Admiral Colley,” said Louisa.—“Admiral, this is Mr. Pennon.”

“Have a glass of champagne,” said Freddy gloomily.

4

Two hours later, what a change!

What a party!

It was an evening such as Broydon Court had never known before and never would again. Freddy's carte blanche for champagne all round released every inhibition.—What extraordinary experiences Miss Wilbraham related, of the siege of Lucknow!—No doubt her grandmother's experiences; to Miss Wilbraham nonetheless so vivid, she absolutely cowered behind a sofa, out of the way of sepoy bullets. No one thought this in the least surprising; Mr. Wright was extinguishing fire bombs on the dome of St. Paul's, Mr. Wray fighting bulls at Malaga. As for the lesser fry of residents, returning one by one to find practically an orgy going on, it was remarkable how quickly they forgot their surprise and entered into the spirit. Only Mr. McAndrew held slightly aloof: the two typists actually nipped upstairs and changed into evening dress—this after Mrs. Brent began to play the piano.

Who let in Ivor and Ivan Cracarovitch? There they were too, getting between people's legs, nosing into the champagne buckets. Mrs. Brent played the piano, old Albert was run off his feet, jest and jollity burgeoned; while at the calm center of this happy whirlwind F. Pennon and the Admiral were swearing an eternal friendship based on the Admiral's luckless devotion to a dear little woman at Malta.

“She'd the most charmin' profile—” mourned the Admiral.

“You don't say so!” exclaimed Freddy. “My dear chap, this is amazin'!—So's Enid's.”

“Not Enid; Marion—and a way of peeping up at one that made one feel about eight feet high.”

“Protective?”

“Exactly. A chap felt he wanted to lay down his life in her defense.”

With happy astonishment, Louisa heard Freddy reply that this described Enid to a T.—It might be the champagne in him speaking, but couldn't he always afford champagne?

Who turned the lights out in the middle of a Paul Jones? The lid was off Broydon Court with a vengeance! From the amount of giggling that ensued Louisa guessed that the typists were being kissed; and the next moment was kissed herself. The lights went up again, she encountered on one side an extremely dour look from Mr. McAndrew, on the other the over-innocent gaze of Mr. Wray. “He must have stood on his toes!” thought Louisa kindly, and allowed him to lead her into a tango. (That Mrs. Brent was playing a waltz was neither here nor there; Mr. Wray had learned to tango in Spain, and tango he would.) Mr. Wright cut in, stately exponent of the slow fox trot; one of the young men took over from Mrs. Brent and launched a cha-cha. (No one had any thought of dinner—indeed there was no dinner, that night, at Broydon Court; Freddy's bounty overflowed, via Albert, to the cook.) More than once it crossed Louisa's mind to telephone and summon Jimmy, it seemed a shame he was missing such a good party; but the thought of his aching tooth restrained her; he was probably in bed. Actually the hour was no more than about nine, but Louisa, like everyone else, had lost count of time …

Freddy and the Admiral at least, however, followed the classic rhythm of party time. About halfway, they began to get sad. Admiral Colley was the sadder—as he had reason to be: not for him, as for Freddy, reunion at last with his little woman!

“Don't think I grudge it you,” said the Admiral earnestly, “but by God, it's hard!”

“It's leaving the old Mansions
I
'm going to feel,” mourned Freddy. (Not on champagne now; brandy.)

“I'm in the sunset of my days,” stated the Admiral, “and what's it look like?—You've heard of a D.B.S.?”

“Distressed British Seaman,” supplied Louisa, who had paused beside them in sympathy.

“That's right. Consuls have to send 'em home. Well, I'm a Distressed British Admiral,” stated Admiral Colley, “and no consul will ever send
me
home, because I haven't got one. I lie rotting in this unspeakable crab-infested dock—”

“Morgue,” corrected Freddy. “Run in and out on slabs.”

“—waiting to die in my damned uncomfortable bed. How's that for a bloody sunset?”

“Horrible.”

“But what else can I do? Isn't one damned lodginghouse just like another damned lodginghouse? A wife—don't think I grudge you, old chap, I don't. Let the best man go in and win!” exclaimed Admiral Colley, a trifle obscurely—“a wife sees to things. Goes to the butcher and gets a nice cut. Whereas here I lie rotting—”

It was at this moment that Louisa had the inspiration destined to be so valuable all round.

5

The air outside struck fresh and cool; bright moonlight lent Freddy's Rolls an almost supernatural beauty. Behind its wheel sat Hallam the chauffeur.

—Louisa spared a moment to admire him. A custom-built, Rolls chauffeur, after three hours waiting he had but removed his cap and permitted himself a cigarette—and was obviously ready to don the one and extinguish the other at a moment's notice. Even at Louisa's (not his boss's) approach, he performed both these actions simultaneously. It was a real pleasure to be recognized by him.

“Nice to see you again, madam,” he said kindly.

Louisa hesitated. She was feeling extraordinarily clearheaded, only the moonlight on the bonnet slightly dazzled her.

“Look,” said Louisa, “are you really driving straight back to Bournemouth?”

“If Mr. Pennon so decides, madam. The roads will be nice and clear.”

“Look,” said Louisa again, “it's just possible Mr. Pennon may have someone with him.”

“There are plenty of rugs, madam.”

“The difficulty may be the pagoda. Would it go in the boot?”

“How large a pagoda, madam?”

“About five foot.”

“In sections?”

“I don't know,” confessed Louisa. “Maybe you could lash it to the roof?”

“In any case, just leave it to me, madam.”

“Thank you very much,” said Louisa warmly; and hastened back into the lounge.

6

Most fortunately, the Admiral had just been called upon to steady Miss Wilbraham with news from Delhi. (Though not Army, he was eminently Service.) Louisa dropped into the vacant chair beside Freddy's, and refused a brandy.

“Honestly, isn't he tragic?” sighed Louisa.—Freddy had no doubt of whom she spoke; they were both of them gazing in the same direction, the eyes of Freddy at least practically filled with tears.

“You know what, Louisa?” said Freddy solemnly. “My heart bleeds for him. He tells me he ain't had a decent glass of claret in years.”

“And how he'd appreciate one!” sighed Louisa.

“Not a doubt of it.—You weren't here, Louisa, but on claret he's sound as a bell. We could have gone on talking, just about claret—we never even touched on hock—for hours and hours … What I'd give,” exclaimed Freddy pathetically, “to have a chap like him at Bournemouth!”

There it was, in solution, the whole beautiful answer to Freddy's need for a buffer, the Admiral's need for a home, Louisa's need to see them both happy. She stopped sighing and precipitated it.

“Well, why not?” said Louisa. “Why don't you take him,” asked Louisa explicitly, “back with you?”

7

From which moment things moved so fast that even she, their instigator, was slightly astonished. (“What about Enid?” suggested Freddy. “Won't Enid
love
an Admiral?” countered Louisa. “By George, you're right!” agreed Freddy; and that settled Enid.) Admiral Colley received the proposition with enthusiasm, also sailor-like readiness.—As Louisa had foreseen, his one anxiety was for his pagoda. “Either in the boot or lashed on top,” Louisa reassured him. A dozen willing hands helped him pack, while Freddy settled the bill. (It was so enormous, the slight sum due from Admiral Colley Mrs. Brent just slipped in. Louisa genuinely admired her, she had never liked Mrs. Brent so well, as the latter downed a hasty cup of coffee and proved she could still add. She might regret the loss of a resident later, but at the moment twelve five-pound notes rejoiced her heart.) Then the whole party went out to see Freddy and the Admiral off.

Of course they had all had a great deal of champagne.

The pagoda had to be lashed onto the roof after all; but Hallam swathed it carefully in a rug. An unexpected detritus of Oriental bric-a-brac cumbered the floor space; there was still ample room, in a Rolls, for Freddy and the Admiral. Hallam imperturbably lapped them too in rugs, as Freddy stuck his head out of the window for a last farewell.

“Sure you won't come with us, Louisa?” called Freddy.

But Louisa, thinking of Jimmy Brown, was quite sure.

Chapter Fifteen

1

Breakfast next day was a rather subdued meal, at Broydon Court. Mr. McAndrew, who had left the party early, was the only guest who showed any appetite, except of course Louisa. Like the two survivors of a rough Atlantic crossing they ate in competitive silence—as Mr. McAndrew took a second slice of ham (there was no cooked breakfast, that morning, at Broydon Court), so did Louisa; as Louisa took a third, so did Mr. McAndrew. On toast and marmalade Louisa won hands down, if only because Mr. McAndrew's client came to pick him up; but she would probably have done so in any case, since nothing gave her such an appetite as having done good.

For once, a morning after brought no regrets, no misgivings. The more Louisa considered it, the more the shanghaiing of Admiral Colley rejoiced her. A villa at Bournemouth was the very place for him, a setting as appropriate and congenial—good quarters, first-rate messing, Air-Sea Rescue base at Poole—as could well be imagined; while as for his pagoda, Louisa already visualized it in position looking like a million dollars at the head of the Pines' broad stair …

And for old Freddy too, what a break! He wouldn't even have to make a settlement. As the third in a
ménage à trois
(which Louisa felt confident was what would result), almost any Admiral would have filled the bill—flattering to Enid's snobbishness yet no rival to her, sending up Freddy's local stock while still acting as Prisoner's Friend. Admiral Colley was in addition a man after Freddy's own heart. What sessions they'd have together, thought Louisa gladly, over the claret! With what sympathetic enthusiasm—and with what alacrity—would they embark upon the lighter topic of hock!—While after dinner Enid, in pretty profile, listened to the tale of the little woman at Malta, agreeably conscious of a transferred devotion …