‘By the way,’ he said, ‘Mont’s written a book. I’ve taken a copy.’
Not a blink! A little more show of teeth, perhaps – false, no doubt!
‘I’ve taken two – poor, dear Mont!’
Soames had a sense of defeat. This chap was armoured like a crab, varnished like a Spanish table.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I must go.’
The manager held out his hand.
‘Good-bye, Mr Forsyte. I’m so grateful to you.’
The fellow was actually squeezing his hand. Soames went out confused. To have his hand squeezed was so rare! It undermined him. And yet, it might be the crown of a consummate bit of acting. He couldn’t tell. He had, however, less intention even than before of moving for a meeting of the shareholders. No, no! That had just been a shot to get a rise; and it had failed. But the Butterfield shot had gone home, surely! If innocent, Elderson must certainly have alluded to the impudence of the young man’s call. And yet such a cool card was capable of failing to rise, just to tease you! No! nothing doing – as they said nowadays. He was as far as ever from a proof of guilt; and to speak truth, glad of it. Such a scandal could serve no purpose save that of blackening the whole concern, directors and all. People were so careless, they never stopped to think, or apportion blame where it was due. Keep a sharp eye open, and go on as they were! No good stirring hornets’ nests! He had got so far in thought and progress, when a voice said:
‘Well met, Forsyte! Are you going my way?’
‘Old Mont’, coming down the steps of ‘Snooks’!
‘I don’t know,’ said Soames.
‘I’m off to the Aeroplane for lunch.’
‘That new-fangled place?’
‘Rising, you know, Forsyte – rising.’
‘I’ve just been seeing Elderson. He’s bought two copies of your book.’
‘Dear me! Poor fellow!’
Soames smiled faintly. ‘That’s what he said of you! And who d’you think sold them to him? Young Butterfield.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘He was this morning.’
Sir Lawrence’s face took on a twist:
‘I’ve been thinking, Forsyte. They tell me Elderson keeps two women.’
Soames stared. The idea was attractive; would account for everything.
‘My wife says it’s one too many, Forsyte. What do you say?’
‘I?’ said Soames. ‘I only know the chap’s as cool as a cucumber. I’m going in here. Good-bye!’
One could get no help from that baronet fellow; he couldn’t take anything seriously. Two women! At Elderson’s age! What a life! There were always men like that, not content with one thing at a time – living dangerously. It was mysterious to him. You might look and look into chaps like that, and see nothing. And yet, there they were! He crossed the hall, and went into the room where connoisseurs were lunching. Taking down the menu at the service table, he ordered himself a dozen oysters; but, suddenly remembering that the month contained no ‘r’, changed them to a fried sole.
Chapter Eight
LEVANTED
‘No, dear heart, Nature’s “off”!’
‘How d’you mean, Michael?’
‘Well, look at the Nature novels we get. Sedulous stuff pitched on Cornish cliffs or Yorkshire moors – ever been on a Yorkshire moor? – it comes off on you; and the Dartmoor brand. Gosh! Dartmoor, where the passions come from – ever been on Dart-moor? Well, they don’t, you know. And the South Sea bunch! Oh, la la! And the poets, the splash-and-splutter school don’t get within miles of Nature. The village idiot school is a bit better, certainly. After all, old Wordsworth made Nature, and she’s a bromide. Of course, there’s raw nature with the small “n”; but if you come up against that, it takes you all your time to keep alive – the Nature we gas about is licensed, nicely blended and bottled. She’s not modern enough for contemporary style.’
‘Oh! well, let’s go on the river, anyway, Michael. We can have tea at “The Shelter”.’
They were just reaching what Michael always called ‘this desirable residence’, when Fleur leaned forward, and, touching his knee, said:
‘I’m not half as nice to you as you deserve, Michael.’
‘Good Lord, darling! I thought you were.’
‘I know I’m selfish; especially just now.’
‘It’s only the eleventh baronet.’
‘Yes; it’s a great responsibility. I only hope he’ll be like you.’
Michael slid in to the landing-stage, shipped his sculls, and sat down beside her.
‘If he’s like me, I shall disown him. But sons take after their mothers.’