The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(195)

‘Why?’

‘Because of getting you consecutive before you start.’

‘Anything I have,’ said Lady Mont, ‘is to go to Michael, to be kept for Catherine. And if I’m dead when Kit goes to Harrow, he’s to have my grandfather’s ‘stirrup-cup’ that’s in the armoire in my sitting-room at Lippin’hall. But he’s not to take it to school with him, or they’ll melt it, or drink boiled peppermints out of it, or something. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Then,’ said Lady Mont, ‘get ready and begin at once when Dinny comes.’

‘Quite!’ said Sir Lawrence meekly. ‘But how the deuce am I to put it to Dinny?’

‘Just put it, and don’t invent as you go along.’

Sir Lawrence played a tune with his fingers on the windowpane. His wife stared at the ceiling. They were like that when Dinny came.

‘Keep Miss Dinny’s taxi, Blore.’

At the sight of his niece Sir Lawrence perceived that he had indeed lost touch with feeling. Her face, under its chestnut-coloured hair, was sharpened and blanched, and there was a look in her eyes that he did not like.

‘Begin,’ said Lady Mont.

Sir Lawrence raised one high thin shoulder as if in protection.

‘My dear, your brother has been recalled, and I was asked whether I would go and see young Desert. I went. I told him that if he had a quarrel with himself he would not be fit to live with till he’d made it up. He said nothing and turned off. Afterwards he came up behind me in this street, and said that I was right. Would I tell your family that he was going away. He looked very queer and troubled. I said: “Be careful! You might do her a great injury.” “I shall do her that, anyway,” he said. And he went off. That was about twenty minutes ago.’

Dinny looked from one to the other, covered her lips with her hand, and went out.

A moment later they heard her cab move off.





Chapter Twenty-eight




EXCEPT for receiving a little note in answer to her letter, which relieved her not at all, Dinny had spent these last two days in distress of mind. When Sir Lawrence made his communication, she felt as if all depended on whether she could get to Cork Street before he was back there, and in her taxi she sat with hands screwed tight together in her lap and her eyes fixed on the driver’s back, a back, indeed, so broad that it was not easy to fix them elsewhere. Useless to think of what she was going to say – she must say whatever came into her head when she saw him. His face would give her a lead. She realized that if he once got away from England it would be as if she had never seen him. She stopped the cab in Burlington Street and walked swiftly to his door. If he had come straight home, he must be in! In these last two days she had realized that Stack had perceived some change in Wilfrid and was conforming to it, and when he opened the door she said:

‘You mustn’t put me off, Stack, I must see Mr Desert.’ And, slipping past, she opened the door of the sitting-room. Wilfrid was pacing up and down.

‘Dinny!’

She felt that if she said the wrong thing it might be, then and there, the end; and she only smiled. He put his hands over his eyes; and, while he stood thus blinded, she stole up and put her arms round his neck.

Was Jean right? Ought she to – ?

Then, through the opened door, Foch came in. He slid the velvet of his muzzle under her hand, and she sank on her knees to kiss him. When she looked up, Wilfrid had turned away. Instantly she scrambled up, and stood, as it were, lost. She did not know of what, if of anything, she thought, not even whether she were feeling. All seemed to go blank within her. He had thrown the window open and was leaning there holding his hands to his head. Was he going to throw himself out? She made a violent effort to control her nerves, and said very gently: ‘Wilfrid!’ He turned and looked at her, and she thought: ‘My God! He hates me!’ Then his expression changed, and became the one she knew; and she was aware once more of how at sea one is with wounded pride – so multiple and violent and changing in its moods!

‘Well?’ she said. ‘What do you wish me to do?’

‘I don’t know. The whole thing is mad. I ought to have buried myself in Siam by now.’

‘Would you like me to stay here tonight?’

‘Yes! No! I don’t know.’

‘Wilfrid, why take it so hard? It’s as if love were nothing to you. Is it nothing?’

For answer he took out Jack Muskham’s letter.

‘Read this!’

She read it. ‘I see. It was doubly unfortunate that I came down.’

He threw himself down again on the divan, and sat there looking up at her.