The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(163)

Mr Settlewhite’s lips tightened.

‘Really, Mr Forsyte, if you have come to offer an apology and a substantial sum in settlement, we can talk. Otherwise –’

‘As a sensible man,’ said Soames, ‘you know that these Society scandals are always dead sea fruit – nothing but costs and vexations, and a feast for all the gossips about town. I’m prepared to offer you a thousand pounds to settle the whole thing, but an apology I can’t look at. A mutual expression of regret – perhaps; but an apology’s out of the question.’

‘Fifteen hundred I might accept – the insults have had wide currency. But an apology is essential.’

Soames sat silent, chewing the injustice of it all. Fifteen hundred! Monstrous! Still he would pay even that to keep Fleur out of Court. But humble-pie! She wouldn’t eat it, and he couldn’t make her, and he didn’t know that he wanted to. He got up.

‘Look here, Mr Settlewhite, if you take this into Court, you will find yourself up against more than you think. But the whole thing is so offensive to me, that I’m prepared to meet you over the money, though I tell you frankly I don’t believe a jury would award a penny piece. As to an apology, a “formula” could be found perhaps’ – why the deuce was the fellow smiling? – ‘Something like this: “We regret that we have said hasty things about each other”, to be signed by both parties.’

Mr Settlewhite caressed his chin.

‘Well, I’ll put your proposition before my client. I join with you in wishing to see the matter settled, not because I’m afraid of the result’ – ‘Oh, no!’ thought Soames – ‘but because these cases, as you say, are not edifying.’ He held out his hand.

Soames gave it a cold touch.

‘You understand that this is entirely “without prejudice”,’ he said, and went out. ‘She’ll take it!’ he thought. Fifteen hundred pounds of his money thrown away on that baggage, just because for once she had been labelled what she was; and all his trouble to get evidence wasted! For a moment he resented his devotion to Fleur. Really it was fatuous to be so fond as that! Then his heart rebounded. Thank God! He had settled it.

Christmas was at hand. It did not alarm him, therefore, that he received no answering communication. Fleur and Michael were at Lippinghall with the ninth and eleventh baronets. He and Annette had Winifred and the Cardigans down at ‘The Shelter’. Not till the 6th of January did he receive a letter from Messrs Settlewhite and Stark.

DEAR SIB,

In reference to your call of the 17th ultimo, your proposition was duly placed before our client, and we are instructed to say that she will accept the sum of £1,500 – fifteen hundred pounds – and an apology, duly signed by your client, copy of which we enclose.

We are, dear Sir,

Faithfully yours,

SETTLE WHITE AND STARK

Soames turned to the enclosure. It ran thus:

I, Mrs Michael Mont, withdraw the words concerning Miss Marjorie Ferrar contained in my letters to Mrs Ralph Ppynrryn and Mrs Edward Maltese of October 4th last, and hereby tender a full and free apology for having written them.

(SIGNED)

Pushing back the breakfast-table, so violently that it groaned, Soames got up.

‘What is it, Soames?’ said Annette. ‘Have you broken your plate again? You should not bite so hard.’

‘Read that!’

Annette read.

‘You would give that woman fifteen hundred pounds? I think you are mad, Soames. I would not give her fifteen hundred pence! Pay this woman, and she tells her friends. That is fifteen hundred apologies in all their minds. Really, Soames – I am surprised. A man of business, a clever man! Do you not know the world better than that? With every pound you pay, Fleur eats her words!’

Soames flushed. It was so French, and yet somehow it was so true. He walked to the window. The French – they had no sense of compromise, and every sense of money!

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that ends it anyway. She won’t sign. And I shall withdraw my offer.’

‘I should hope so. Fleur has a good head. She will look very pretty in Court. I think that woman will be sorry she ever lived! Why don’t you have her what you call shadowed? It is no good to be delicate with women like that.’

In a weak moment he had told Annette about the book and the play; for, unable to speak of them to Fleur and Michael, he had really had to tell someone; indeed, he had shown her Cantkar, with the words: ‘I don’t advise you to read it, it’s very French.’

Annette had returned it to him two days later, saying: ‘It is not French at all; it is disgusting. You English are so coarse. It has no wit. It is only nasty. A serious nasty book – that is the limit. You are so old-fashioned, Soames. Why do you say this book is French?’