The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(101)
‘It makes it all the worse. Payin’ attention to foreigners! The other day I was sittin’ in the window at Lippin’hall, and there were three starlin’s on the terrace, and I sneezed twice. D’you think they paid any attention? Where is Bolivia?’
‘In South America Aunt Em.’
‘I never could learn geography. My maps were the worst ever made at my school, Dinny. Once they asked me where Livin’stone kissed Stanley, and I answered: “Niagara Falls.” And it wasn’t.’
‘You were only a continent wrong there, Auntie.’
‘Yes. I’ve never seen anybody laugh as my schoolmistress laughed when I said that. Excessive – she was fat. I thought Hubert lookin’ thin.’
‘He’s always thin, but he’s looking much less “tucked up” since his marriage.’
‘Jean’s fatter, that’s natural. You ought, Dinny, you know.’
‘You never used to be so keen on people getting married, Auntie.’
‘What happened on the tiger the other day?’
‘I can’t possibly tell you that, Aunt Em.’
‘It must have been pretty bad, then.’
‘Or do you mean good?’
‘You’re laughin’ at me.’
‘Did you ever know me disrespectful, Auntie?’
‘Yes. I perfectly well remember you writin’ a poem about
I do not care for Auntie Em,
She says I cannot sew or hem.
Does she? Well! I can sew a dem
Sight better than my Auntie Em.
I kept it. I thought it showed character.’
‘Was I such a little demon?’
‘Yes. There’s no way, is there, of shortenin’ dogs?’ And she pointed to the golden retriever lying on a rug. ‘Bonzo’s middle is really too long.’
‘I told you that, Aunt Em, when he was a puppy.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t notice it till he began to scratch for rabbits. He can’t get over the hole properly. It makes him look so weak. Well! If we’re not goin’ to cry, Dinny, what shall we do?’
‘Laugh?’ murmured Dinny.
Chapter Thirty-three
HER father and Sir Lawrence not coming back to dinner, and her mother remaining in bed, Dinny dined alone with her aunt, for Clare was staying with friends.
‘Aunt Em,’ she said, when they had finished, ‘do you mind if I go round to Michael’s? Fleur has had a hunch.’
‘Why?’ said Lady Mont: ‘It’s too early for that – not till March.’
‘You’re thinking of the hump, Auntie. A “hunch” means an idea.’
‘Then why didn’t she say so?’ And, with that simple dismissal of the more fashionable forms of speech, Lady Mont rang the bell.
‘Blore, a taxi for Miss Dinny. And, Blore, when Sir Lawrence comes in, let me know; I’m goin’ to have a hot bath, and wash my hair.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Do you wash your hair when you’re sad, Dinny?’
Driving through the misty dark evening to South Square, Dinny experienced melancholy beyond all she had felt yet. The thought of Hubert actually in a prison cell, torn from a wife not more than three weeks married, facing separation that might be permanent, and a fate that would not beat thinking of; and all because they were too scrupulous to stretch a point and take his word, caused fear and rage to bank up in her spirit, as unspent heat before a storm.
She found Fleur and her Aunt Lady Alison discussing ways and means. The Bolivian Minister, it appeared, was away convalescing after an illness, and a subordinate was in charge. This in Lady Alison’s opinion made it more difficult, for he would probably not take any responsibility. She would, however, arrange a luncheon to which Fleur and Michael should be bidden, and Dinny, too, if she wished; but Dinny shook her head – she had lost faith in her power of manipulating public men.
‘If you and Fleur can’t manage it, Aunt Alison, I certainly can’t. But Jean is singularly attractive when she likes.’
‘Jean telephoned just now, Dinny. If you came in tonight, would you go round and see her at their flat; otherwise she was writing to you.’
Dinny stood up. ‘I’ll go at once.’
She hurried through the mist along the Embankment and turned down towards the block of workmen’s flats where Jean had found her lodgment. At the corner boys were crying the more sanguinary tidings of the day; she bought a paper to see if Hubert’s case was mentioned, and opened it beneath a lamp. Yes! There it was! ‘British officer committed. Extradition on shooting charge.’ How little attention she would have given to that, if it had not concerned her! This, that was agony to her and hers, was to the Public just a little pleasurable excitement. The misfortunes of others were a distraction; and the papers made their living out of it! The man who had sold the paper to her had a thin face, dirty clothes, and was lame; and, throwing a libationary drop out of her bitter cup, she gave him back the paper and a shilling. His eyes widened in a puzzled stare, his mouth remained a little open. Had she backed the winner – that one?