The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(212)

‘Oh, Val, how nice! Isn’t this strike absurd?’

‘Silly asses! I say: we’re coming up.’

‘Really, dear. But why? You’ll be so much more comfortable in the country.’

‘Holly says we’ve got to do things. Who d’you think turned up last night? – her brother – young Jon Forsyte. Left his wife and mother in Paris – said he’d missed the war and couldn’t afford to miss this. Been travelling all the winter – Egypt, Italy, and that – chucked America, I gather. Says he wants to do something dirty – going to stoke an engine. We’re driving up to the “Bristol” this afternoon.’

‘Oh, but why not come to me, dear, I’ve got plenty of everything?’

‘Well, there’s young Jon – I don’t think –’

‘But he’s a nice boy, isn’t he?’

‘Uncle Soames isn’t with you, is he?’

‘No, dear. He’s at Mapledurham. Oh, and by the way, Val, someone has just rung up for you – a Mr Stainford.’

‘Stainford? What! Aubrey Stainford – I haven’t seen him since Oxford.’

‘He said he would ring up again or take his chance of finding you here.’

‘Oh, I’d love to see old Stainford again. Well, if you don’t mind putting us up, Mother. Can’t leave young Jon out, you know – he and Holly are very thick after six years; but I expect he’ll be out all the time.’

‘Oh, that’ll be quite all right, dear; and how is Holly?’

‘Topping.’

‘And the horses?’

‘All right. I’ve got a snorting two-year-old, rather backward. Shan’t run him till Goodwood, but he ought to win then.’

‘That’ll be delightful. Well, dear boy, I’ll expect you. But you won’t be doing anything rash, with your leg?’

‘No; just drive a bus, perhaps. Won’t last, you know. The Government’s all ready. Pretty hot stuff. We’ve got’em this time.’

‘I’m so glad. It’ll be such a good thing to have it over; it’s dreadfully bad for the season. Your uncle will be very upset.’

An indistinguishable sound; then Val’s voice again:

‘I say, Holly says she’ll want a job – you might ask young Mont. He’s in with people. See you soon, then – good-bye!’

Replacing the receiver, Winifred had scarcely risen from the satinwood chair on which she had been seated, when the bell rang again.

‘Mrs Dartie?… That you, Winifred? Soames speaking. What did I tell you?’

‘Yes; it’s very annoying, dear. But Val says it’ll soon be over.’

‘What’s he know about it?’

‘He’s very shrewd.’

‘Shrewd? H’m! I’m coming up to Fleur’s.’

‘But why, Soames? I should have thought –’

‘Must be on the spot, in case of – accidents. Besides, the car’ll be eating its head off down here – may as well be useful. Do that fellow Riggs good to be sworn in. This thing may lead to something.’

‘Oh! Do you think –’

‘Think? It’s no joke. Comes of playing about with subsidies.’

‘But you told me last summer –’

‘They don’t look ahead. They’ve got no more nous than a tom-cat. Annette wants to go to her mother’s in France. I shan’t stop her. She can’t gad about while this is on. I shall take her to Dover with the car today, and come up tomorrow.’

‘Ought one to sell anything, Soames?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘People seem dreadfully busy about it all. Val’s going to drive a bus. Oh! and, Soames – that young Jon Forsyte is back. He’s left his wife and mother in Paris, and come over to be a stoker.’

A deep sound, and then:

‘What’s he want to do that for? Much better keep out of England.’

‘Ye-es. I suppose Fleur –’

‘Don’t you go putting things into her head!’

‘Of course not, Soames. So I shall see you? Good-bye.’

Dear Soames was always so fussy about Fleur! Young Jon Forsyte and she – of course – but that was ages ago! Calf love! And Winifred smiled, sitting very still. This strike was really most ‘intriguing’. So long as they didn’t break any windows – because, of course the milk supply would be all right, the Government always saw to that; and as to the newspapers – well, after all, they were a luxury! It would be very nice to have Val and Holly. The strike was really something to talk about; there had been nothing so exciting since the war. And, obeying an obscure instinct to do something about it, Winifred again took up the receiver. ‘Give me Westminster oooo… Is that Mrs Michael Mont’s? Fleur? Aunt Winifred speaking. How are you, dear?’