‘Who’s the little Chinese boy upstairs?’
‘Son of a former Mandarin, who left his family here because of the ructions out there – quaint little image. A likeable people, the Chinese. When does Hubert arrive?’
‘Next week. They’re flying from Italy. Jean flies a lot, you know.’
‘What’s become of her brother?’ And again he looked at Dinny.
‘Alan? He’s out on the China station.’
‘Your aunt never ceases to bemoan your not clicking there.’
‘Dear Uncle, almost anything to oblige Aunt Em; but, feeling like a sister to him, the prayer-book was against me.’
‘I don’t want you to marry,’ said Sir Lawrence, ‘and go out to some Barbary or other.’
Through Dinny flashed the thought: ‘Uncle Lawrence is uncanny,’ and her eyes became more limpid than ever.
‘This confounded officialism,’ he continued, ‘seems to absorb all our kith and kin. My two daughters, Celia in China, Flora in India; your brother Hubert in the Soudan; your sister Clare off as soon as she’s spliced – Jerry Corven’s been given a post in Ceylon. I hear Charlie Muskham’s got attached to Government House, Cape Town; Hilary’s eldest boy’s going into the Indian Civil, and his youngest into the Navy. Dash it all, Dinny, you and Jack Muskham seem to be the only pelicans in my wilderness. Of course there’s Michael.’
‘Do you see much of Mr Muskham, then, Uncle?’
‘Quite a lot at “Burton’s”, and he comes to me at “The Coffee House”; we play piquet – we’re the only two left. That’s in the illegitimate season – from now on I shall hardly see him till after the Cambridgeshire.’
‘Is he a terribly good judge of a horse?’
‘Yes. Of anything else, Dinny – no. They seldom are. The horse is an animal that seems to close the pores of the spirit. He makes you too watchful. You don’t only have to watch him, but everybody connected with him. How was young Desert looking?’
‘Oh!’ said Dinny, almost taken aback: ‘a sort of dark yellow.’
‘That’s the glare of the sand. He’s a kind of Bedouin, you know. His father’s a recluse, so it’s a bit in his blood. The best thing I know about him is that Michael likes him, in spite of that business.’
‘His poetry?’ said Dinny.
‘Disharmonic stuff, he destroys with one hand what he gives with the other.’
‘Perhaps he’s never found his home. His eyes are rather beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘It’s his mouth I remember best, sensitive and bitter.’
‘One’s eyes are what one is, one’s mouth what one becomes.’
‘That and the stomach.’
‘He hasn’t any,’ said Dinny. ‘I noticed.’
‘The handful of dates and cup of coffee habit. Not that the Arabs drink coffee – green tea is their weakness, with mint in it. My God! Here’s your aunt. When I said “My God!” I was referring to the tea with mint.’
Lady Mont had removed her paper headdress and recovered her breath.
‘Darling,’ said Dinny, ‘I did forget your birthday, and I haven’t got anything for you.’
‘Then give me a kiss, Dinny. I always say your kisses are the best. Where have you sprung from?’
‘I came up to shop for Clare at the Stores.’
‘Have you got your night things with you?’
‘No.’
‘That doesn’t matter. You can have one of mine. Do you still wear nightdresses?’
‘Yes,’ said Dinny.
‘Good girl! I don’t like pyjamas for women – your uncle doesn’t either. It’s below the waist, you know. You can’t get over it – you try to, but you can’t. Michael and Fleur will be stayin’ on to dinner.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Em; I do want to stay up. I couldn’t get half the things Clare needs today.’
‘I don’t like Clare marryin’ before you, Dinny.’
‘But she naturally would, Auntie.’
‘Fiddle! Clare’s brilliant – they don’t as a rule. I married at twenty-one.’
‘You see, dear!’
‘You’re laughin’ at me. I was only brilliant once. You remember, Lawrence – about that elephant – I wanted it to sit, and it would kneel. All their legs bend one way, Dinny. And I said it would follow its bent.’
‘Aunt Em! Except for that one occasion you’re easily the most brilliant woman I know. Women are so much too consecutive.’
‘Your nose is a comfort, Dinny, I get so tired of beaks, your Aunt Wilmet’s, and Hen Bentworth’s, and my own.’