The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(228)

‘I must absolutely have a drink,’ he thought. The Club seemed possible again now, even inviting, and he made towards it. ‘ “Farewell, Piccadilly! Good-bye, Leicester Square!” ’ Marvellous that scene, where those Tommies marched up in a spiral through the dark mist, whistling; while in the lighted front of the stage three painted girls rattled out: ‘ “We don’t want to lose you, but we think you ought to go.” ’ And from the boxes on the stage at the sides people looked down and clapped! The whole thing there! The gaiety on those girls’ painted faces getting more and more put-on and heart-breaking! He must go again with Clare! Would it move her? And suddenly he perceived that he didn’t know. What did one know about anyone, even the woman one loved? His cigarette was scorching his lip, and he spat out the butt. That scene with the honeymooning couple leaning over the side of the Titanic, everything before them, and nothing before them but the cold deep sea! Did that couple know anything except that they desired each other? Life was damned queer, when you thought about it! He turned up the Coffee House steps, feeling as if he had lived long since he went down them….

It was just six o’clock when he rang the bell at Mount Street on the following day.

A butler, with slightly raised eyebrows, opened the door.

‘Is Sir Lawrence Mont at home?’

‘No, sir. Lady Mont is in, sir.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know Lady Mont. I wonder if I could see Lady Corven for a moment?’

One of the butler’s eyebrows rose still higher. ‘Ah!’ he seemed to be thinking.

‘If you’ll give me your name, sir.’

Young Croom produced a card.

‘ “Mr James Bernard Croom,” ’ chanted the butler.

‘Mr Tony Croom, tell her, please.’

‘Quite! If you’ll wait in here a moment. Oh! here is Lady Corven.’

A voice from the stairs said:

‘Tony? What punctuality! Come up and meet my Aunt.’

She was leaning over the stair-rail, and the butler had disappeared.

‘Put your hand down. How can you go about without a coat? I shiver all the time.’

Young Croom came close below her.

‘Darling!’ he murmured.

She placed one finger to her lips, then stretched it down to him, so that he could just reach it with his own.

‘Come along!’ She had opened a door when he reached the top, and was saying: ‘This is a shipmate, Aunt Em. He’s come to see Uncle Lawrence. Mr Croom, my Aunt, Lady Mont.’

Young Croom was aware of a presence slightly swaying towards him. A voice said: ‘Ah! Ships! Of course! How d’you do?’

Young Croom, aware that he had been ‘placed’, saw Clare regarding him with a slightly mocking smile. If only they could be alone five minutes, he would kiss that smile off her face! He would – !

‘Tell me about Ceylon, Mr Craven.’

‘Croom, Auntie. Tony Croom. Better call him Tony. It isn’t his name, but everybody does.’

‘Tony! Always heroes. I don’t know why.’

‘This Tony is quite ordinary.’

‘Ceylon. Did you know her there, Mr – Tony?’

‘No. We only met on the ship.’

‘Ah! Lawrence and I used to sleep on deck. That was in the “naughty nineties”. The river here used to be full of punts, I remember.’

‘It still is, Aunt Em.’

Young Croom had a sudden vision of Clare and himself in a punt up a quiet backwater. He roused himself and said:

‘I went to Cavalcade last night. Great!’

‘Ah!’ said Lady Mont. ‘That reminds me.’ She left the room.

Young Croom sprang up.

‘Tony! Behave!’

‘But surely that’s what she went for!’

‘Aunt Em is extraordinarily kind, and I’m not going to abuse her kindness.’

‘But, Clare, you don’t know what –’

‘Yes, I do. Sit down again.’

Young Croom obeyed.

‘Now listen, Tony! I’ve had enough physiology to last me a long time. If you and I are going to be pals, it’s got to be platonic.’

‘Oh, God!’ said young Croom.

‘But it’s got to; or else – we simply aren’t going to see each other.’

Young Croom sat very still with his eyes fixed on hers, and there passed through her the thought : ‘It’s going to torture him. He looks too nice for that. I don’t believe we ought to see each other.’

‘Look!’ she said, gently, ‘you want to help me, don’t you? There’s lots of time, you know. Some day – perhaps.’

Young Croom grasped the arms of his chair. His eyes had a look of pain.