The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(219)

And second thoughts began. Michael, Kit, her father; the solid security of virtue and possessions; the peace of mind into which she had passed of late! All jeopardized for the sake of a smile, and a scent of honeysuckle! No! The account was closed. To reopen it was to tempt Providence. And if to tempt Providence was the practice of Modernity, she wasn’t sure whether she was modern. Besides, who knew whether she could reopen that account? And she was seized by a gust of curiosity to see that wife of his – that substitute for herself. Was she in England? Was she dark, like her brother Francis? Fleur took up her list of purchases for the morrow. With so much to do, it was idiotic even to think about such things! The telephone! All day its bell had been ringing; since nine o’clock that morning she had been dancing to its pipe.

‘Yes… ? Mrs Mont speaking. What? But I’ve ordered them… . Oh! But really I must give them bacon and eggs in the morning. They can’t start on cocoa only…. How? The Company can’t afford?… Well! Do you want an effective service or not?… Come round to see you about it? I really haven’t time… . Yes, yes… now please do be nice to me and tell the manager that they simply must be properly fed. They look so tired. He’ll understand… Yes… . Thank you ever so!’ She hung up the receiver. ‘Damn!’

Someone laughed. ‘Oh! it’s you, Holly! Cheeseparing and red tape as usual! This is the fourth time today. Well, I don’t care – I’m going ahead. Look! Here’s Harridge’s list for tomorrow. It’s terrific, but it’s got to be. Buy it all; I’ll take the risk, if I have to go round and slobber on him.’ And beyond the ironic sympathy on Holly’s face she seemed to see Jon’s smile. He should be properly fed – all of them should! And, without looking at her cousin, she said:

‘I saw Jon in there. Where has he dropped from?’

‘Paris. He’s putting up with us in Green Street.’

Fleur stuck her chin forward, and gave a little laugh.

‘Quaint to see him again, all smudgy like that! His wife with him?’

‘Not yet,’ said Holly; ‘she’s in Paris still, with his mother.’

‘Oh! It’d be fun to see him some time!’

‘He’s stoking an engine on the local service – goes out at six, and doesn’t get in till about midnight.’

‘Of course; I meant after, if the strike ever ends.’

Holly nodded. ‘His wife wants to come over and help; would you like her in the canteen?’

‘If she’s the right sort.’

‘Jon says: Very much so.’

‘I don’t see why an American should worry herself. Are they going to live in England?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh! Well, we’re both over the measles.’

‘If you get them again grown-up, Fleur, they’re pretty bad.’

Fleur laughed. ‘No fear!’ And her eyes, hazel, clear, glancing, met her cousin’s eyes, deep, steady, grey.

‘Michael’s waiting for you with the car,’ said Holly.

‘All right! Can you carry on till they’ve finished? Norah Curfew’s on duty at five tomorrow morning. I shall be round at nine, before you start for Harridge’s. If you think of anything else, stick it on the list – I’ll make them stump up somehow. Good night, Holly.’

‘Good night, my dear.’

Was there a gleam of pity in those grey eyes? Pity, indeed!

‘Give Jon my love. I do wonder how he likes stoking! We must get some more wash-basins in.’

Sitting beside Michael, who was driving their car, she saw again, as it were, Jon’s smile in the glass of the windscreen, and in the dark her lips pouted as if reaching for it. Measles – they spotted you, and raised your temperature! How empty the streets were, now that the taxis were on strike! Michael looked round at her.

‘Well, how’s it going?’

‘The beetle-man was a caution, Michael. He had a face like a ravaged wedge, a wave of black hair, and the eyes of a lost soul; but he was frightfully efficient.’

‘Look! There’s a tank; I was told of them. They’re going down to the docks. Rather provocative! Just as well there are no papers for them to get into.’

Fleur laughed.

‘Father’ll be at home. He’s come up to protect me. If there really was shooting, I wonder what he’d do – take his umbrella?’

‘Instinct. How about you and Kit? It’s the same thing.’

Fleur did not answer. And when, after seeing her father, she went upstairs, she stood at the nursery door. The tune that had excited Soames’s surprise made a whiffling sound in the empty passage. ‘L’amour est enfant de Bohême; il n’a jamais jamais connu de loi; si tu ne m’aimes pas, jet’aime, et si je t’aime, prends garde à toil’ Spain, and the heartache of her honeymoon! ‘Voice in the night crying!’ Close the shutters, muffle the ears – keep it out! She entered her bedroom and turned up the light. It had never seemed to her so pretty, with its many mirrors, its lilac and green, its shining silver. She stood looking at her face, into which had come two patches of red, one in each cheek. Why wasn’t she Norah Curfew – dutiful, uncomplicated, selfless, who would give Jon eggs and bacon at half-past five tomorrow morning – Jon with a clean face! Quickly she undressed. Was that wife of his her equal undressed? To which would he award the golden apple if she stood side by side with Anne? And the red spots deepened in her cheeks. Overtired – she knew that feeling! She would not sleep! But the sheets were cool. Yes, she preferred the old smooth Irish linen to that new rough French grass-bleached stuff. Ah! Here was Michael coming in, coming up to her! Well! No use to be unkind to him – poor old Michael! And in his arms, she saw – Jon’s smile.