The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(232)

‘Yes; he’s the only early bird. Will you all come to lunch with us to-morrow?’

‘If you think it’ll be wise, Fleur.’

‘I think it’ll be pleasant.’

She met the search of the grey eyes steadily, and with secret anger. No one should see into her – no one should interfere!

‘All right then, we’ll expect you all four at one-thirty. I must run now.’

She did run; but since she really had no appointment with any ‘official ass’, she went back into the Green Park and sat down.

So that was Jon – now! Terribly like Jon – then! His eyes deeper, his chin more obstinate – that perhaps was all the difference. He still had his sunny look; he still believed in things. He still – admired her. Ye-es! A little wind talked above her in a tree. The day was surprisingly fine – the first really fine day since Easter! What should she give them for lunch? How should she deal with Dad? He must not be there! To have perfect command of oneself was all very well; to have perfect command of one’s father was not so easy. A pattern of leaves covered her short skirt, the sun warmed her knees; she crossed them and leaned back. Eve’s first costume – a pattern of leaves…. ‘Wise?’ Holly had said. Who knew? Shrimp cocktails? No! English food. Pancakes – certainly!… To get rid of Dad, she must propose herself with Kit at Mapledurham for the day after; then he would go, to prepare for them. Her mother was still in France. The others would be gone to Wansdon. Nothing to wait for in town. A nice warm sun on her neck. A scent of grass – of honeysuckle! Oh! dear!





Chapter Ten



AFTER LUNCH



THAT the most pregnant function of human life is the meal, will be admitted by all who take part in these recurrent crises. The impossibility of getting down from table renders it the most formidable of human activities among people civilized to the point of swallowing not only their food but their feelings.

Such a conclusion at least was present to Fleur during that lunch. That her room was Spanish, reminded her that it was not with Jon that she had spent her honeymoon in Spain. There had been a curious moment, too, before lunch; for, the first words Jon had spoken on seeing Michael had been:

‘Hallo! This is queer! Was Fleur with you that day at Mount Vernon?’

What was this? Had she been kept in the dark?

Then Michael had said:

‘You remember, Fleur? The young Englishman I met at Mount Vernon.’

‘ “Ships that pass in the night!”’said Fleur.

Mount Vernon! So they had met there! And she had not!

‘Mount Vernon is lovely. But you ought to see Richmond, Anne. We could go after lunch. You haven’t been to Richmond for ages, I expect, Aunt Winifred. We could take Robin Hill on the way home, Jon.’

‘Your old home, Jon? Oh! Do let’s!’

At that moment she hated the girl’s eager face at which Jon was looking.

‘There’s the potentate,’ he said.

‘Oh!’ said Fleur, quickly, ‘he’s at Monte Carlo. I read it yesterday. Could you come, Michael?’

‘Afraid I’ve got a Committee. And the car can only manage five.’

‘It would be just too lovely!’

Oh! that American enthusiasm! It was comforting to hear her aunt’s flat voice opining that it would be a nice little run – the chestnuts would be out in the Park.

Had Michael really a Committee? She often knew what Michael really had, she generally knew more or less what he was thinking, but now she did not seem to know. In telling him last night of this invitation to lunch, she had carefully obliterated the impression by an embrace warmer than usual – he must not get any nonsense into his head about Jon! When, too, to her father she had said:

‘Couldn’t Kit and I come down to you the day after tomorrow: but you’ll want a day there first, I’m afraid, if Mother’s not there,’ how carefully she had listened to the tone of his reply:

‘H’m! Ye – es! I’ll go down to-morrow morning.’

Had he scented anything: had Michael scented anything? She turned to Jon.

‘Well, Jon, what d’you think of my house?’

‘It’s very like you.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘To the house? Of course.’

‘Francis didn’t exaggerate then?’

‘Not a bit.’

‘You haven’t seen Kit yet. We’ll have him down. Coaker, please ask Nurse to bring Kit down, unless he’s asleep…. He’ll be three in July; quite a good walker already. It makes one frightfully old!’

The entrance of Kit and his silver dog caused a sort of cooing sound, speedily checked, for three of the women were of Forsyte stock, and the Forsytes did not coo. He stood there, blue and rather Dutch, with a slight frown and his hair bright, staring at the company.