The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(134)
‘No,’ said Lady Mont, ‘I won’t.’
‘What, Aunt Em?’
‘Drink champagne on Wednesday, nasty bubbly stuff!’
‘Must we have it at all, dear?’
‘I’m afraid of Blore. He’s so used. I might tell him not, but it’d be there.’
‘Have you heard of Hallorsen lately, Dinny?’ asked Hubert suddenly.
‘Not since Uncle Adrian came back. I believe he’s in Central America.’
‘He was large,’ said Lady Mont. ‘Hilary’s two girls, Sheila, Celia, and little Anne, five – I’m glad you’re not to be, Dinny. It’s superstition, of course.’
Dinny leaned back and the light fell on her throat.
‘To be a bridesmaid once is quite enough, Aunt Em…’
When next morning she met Wilfrid at the Wallace Collection, she said:
‘Would you by any chance like to be at Clare’s wedding tomorrow?’
‘No hat and no black tails; I gave them to Stack.’
‘I remember how you looked, perfectly. You had a grey cravat and a gardenia.’
‘And you had on sea-green.’
‘Eau-de-nil. I’d like you to have seen my family, though, they’ll all be there; and we could have discussed them afterwards.’
‘I’ll turn up among the “also ran” and keep out of sight.’
‘Not from me,’ thought Dinny. So she would not have to go a whole day without seeing him!
With every meeting he seemed less, as it were, divided against himself; and sometimes would look at her so intently that her heart would beat. When she looked at him, which was seldom, except when he wasn’t aware, she was very careful to keep her gaze limpid. How fortunate that one always had that pull over men, knew when they were looking at one, and was able to look at them without their knowing!
When they parted this time, he said: ‘Come down to Richmond again on Thursday. I’ll pick you up at Foch – two o’clock as before.’
And she said: ‘Yes.’
Chapter Six
CLARE CHERRELL’S wedding, in Hanover Square, was ‘fashionable’ and would occupy with a list of names a quarter of a column in the traditional prints. As Dinny said:
‘So delightful for them!’
With her father and mother Clare came to Mount Street from Condaford overnight. Busy with her younger sister to the last, and feeling an emotion humorously disguised, Dinny arrived with Lady Cherrell at the church not long before the bride. She lingered to speak to an old retainer at the bottom of the aisle, and caught sight of Wilfrid. He was on the bride’s side, far back, gazing at her. She gave him a swift smile, then passed up the aisle to join her mother in the left front pew. Michael whispered as she went by:
‘People have rolled up, haven’t they?’
They had. Clare was well known and popular, Jerry Corven even better known, if not so popular. Dinny looked round at the ‘audience’ – one could never credit a wedding with the word congregation. Irregular and with a good deal of character, their faces refused generalization. They looked like people with convictions and views of their own. The men conformed to no particular type, having none of that depressing sameness which used to characterize the German officer caste. With herself and her mother in the front pew were Hubert and Jean, Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Em; in the pew behind sat Adrian with Diana, Mrs Hilary, and Lady Alison. Dinny caught sight of Jack Muskham at the end of two or three rows back, tall, well-dressed, rather bored-looking. He nodded to her, and she thought: Odd, his remembering me!
On the Corven side of the aisle were people of quite as much diversity of face and figure. Except Jack Muskham, the bridegroom, and his best man, hardly a man gave the impression of being well dressed or of having thought about his clothes. But from their faces Dinny received the impression that they were all safe in the acceptance of a certain creed. Not one gave her the same feeling that Wilfrid’s face brought of spiritual struggle and disharmony, of dreaming, suffering, and discovery. ‘I’m fanciful,’ she thought. And her eyes came to rest on Adrian, who was just behind her. He was smiling quietly above that goatee beard of his, which lengthened his thin brown visage. ‘He has a dear face,’ she thought, ‘not conceited, like the men who wear those pointed beards as a rule. He always will be the nicest man in the world.’ And she whispered: ‘Fine collection of bones here, Uncle.’
‘I should like your skeleton, Dinny.’
‘I mean to be burned and scattered. H’ssh!’
The choir was coming in, followed by the officiating priests. Jerry Corven turned. Those lips smiling like a cat’s beneath that thin-cut moustache, those hardwood features and daring, searching eyes! Dinny thought with sudden dismay: ‘How could Clare! But after all I’d think the same of any face but one, just now. I’m going potty.’ Then Clare came swaying up the aisle on her father’s arm! ‘Looking a treat! Bless her!’ A gush of emotion caught Dinny by the throat, and she slipped her hand into her mother’s. Poor mother! She was awfully pale! Really the whole thing was stupid! People would make it long and trying and emotional. Thank goodness Dad’s old black tail-coat really looked quite decent – she had taken out the stains with ammonia; and he stood as she had seen him when reviewing troops. If Uncle Hilary happened to have a button wrong, Dad would notice it. Only there wouldn’t be any buttons. She longed fervently to be beside Wilfrid away at the back. He would have nice unorthodox thoughts, and they would soothe each other with private smiles.