Soames had forgotten the horses.
‘Fancy driving up like that, at this time of day!’ he muttered.
‘I think it’s so amusing!’ said Winifred. ‘Shall we go to the paddock, too?’
Soames, who had not intended to lose sight of his daughter, followed her towards whatever the paddock might be.
It was one of those days when nobody could tell whether it was going to rain, so that he was disappointed by the dresses and the women’s looks. He saw nothing to equal his daughter and was about to make a disparaging remark when a voice behind him said:
‘Look, Jon! There’s Fleur Mont!’
Placing his foot on Winifred’s, Soames stood still. There, and wearing a grey top hat, too, was that young chap between his wife and his sister. A memory of tea at Robin Hill with his cousin Jolyon, that boy’s father, twenty-seven years ago, assailed Soames – and of how Holly and Val had come in and sat looking at him as if he were a new kind of bird. There they went, those three, into a ring of people who were staring at nothing so far as he could see. And there, close to them, were those other three, Jack Cardigan, Fleur and Imogen.
‘My dear,’ said Winifred, ‘you did tread on my toe.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ muttered Soames. ‘Come over to the other side – there’s more room.’
It seemed horses were being led around; but it was at his daughter that Soames wanted to gaze from behind Winifred’s shoulder. She had not yet seen the young man, but was evidently looking for him – her eyes were hardly ever on the horses – no great wonder in that, perhaps, for they all seemed alike to Soames, shining and snakey, quiet as sheep, with boys holding on to their heads. Ah! A stab went through his chest, for Fleur had suddenly come to life; and, as suddenly, seemed to hide her resurrection even from herself! How still she stood – ever so still – gazing at that young fellow talking to his wife.
‘That’s the favourite, Soames. At least, Jack said he would be. What do you think of him?’
‘Much like the others – got four legs.’
Winifred laughed. Soames was so amusing!
‘Jack’s moving; if we’re going to have a bet, I think we’d better go back, dear. I know what I fancy.’
‘I don’t fancy anything,’ said Soames. ‘Weak-minded, I call it; as if they could tell one horse from another!’
‘Oh! but you’d be surprised,’ said Winifred; ‘you must get Jack to –’
‘No, thank you.’
He had seen Fleur move and join those three. But faithful to his resolve to show no sign, he walked glumly back into the grandstand. What a monstrous noise they were making now in the ring down there! And what a pack of people in this great stand! Up there, on the top of it, he could see what looked like half a dozen lunatics frantically gesticulating – some kind of signalling, he supposed. Suddenly, beyond the railings at the bottom of the lawn, a flash of colour passed. Horses – one, two, three; a dozen or more – all labelled wtih numbers, and with little bright men sitting on their necks like monkeys. Down they went – and soon they’d come back, he supposed; and a lot of money would change hands. And then they’d do it again, and the money would change back. And what satisfaction they all got out of it, he didn’t know! There were men who went on like that all their lives, he believed – thousands of them: must be lots of time and money to waste in the country! What was it Timothy had said: ‘Consols are going up!’ They hadn’t; on the contrary, they were down a point, at least, and would go lower before the Coal Strike was over. Jack Cardigan’s voice said in his ear:
‘What are you going to back, Uncle Soames?’
‘How should I know?’
‘You must back something, to give you an interest.’
‘Put something on for Fleur, and leave me alone,’ said Soames; ‘I’m too old to begin.’
And, opening the handle of his racing-stick, he sat down on it. ‘Going to rain,’ he added gloomily. He sat there alone; Winifred and Imogen had joined Fleur down by the rails with Holly and her party – Fleur and that young man side by side. And he remembered how, when Bosinney had been hanging round Irene, he, as now, had made no sign, hoping against hope that by ignoring the depths beneath him he could walk upon the waters. Treacherously they had given way then and engulfed him; would they again – would they again? His lip twitched; and he put out his hand. A little drizzle fell on the back of it.
‘They’re off!’
Thank goodness – the racket had ceased! Funny change from din to hush. The whole thing funny – a lot of grown-up children! Somebody called out shrilly at the top of his voice – there was a laugh – then noise began swelling from the stand; heads were craning round him. ‘The favourite wins!’ ‘Not he!’ More noise; a thudding – a flashing past of colour! And Soames thought: ‘Well, that’s over!’ Perhaps everything was like that really. A hush – a din – a flashing past – a hush! All life a race, a spectacle – only you couldn’t see it! A venture and a paying-up! And beneath his new hat he passed his hand down over one flat cheek, and then the other. A paying-up! He didn’t care who paid up, so long as it wasn’t Fleur! But there it was – some debts could not be paid by proxy! What on earth was Nature about when she made the human heart!