And he said to his sister’s parakeet: ‘Not fair, Polly, is it?’
The parakeet, who was used to him, came out of its open cage on to his shoulder and tweaked his ear.
‘You don’t approve, do you?’
The green bird emitted a faint chattering sound and clutched its way on to his waistcoat. Adrian scratched its poll.
‘Who’s going to scratch her poll? Poor Dinny!’
His sister’s voice startled him:
‘I can’t have Dinny scratched again.’
‘Em,’ said Adrian, ‘did any of us worry about the others?’
‘In large families you don’t. I was the nearest – gettin’ Lionel married, and now he’s a judge – depressin’. Dornford – have you seen him?’
‘Never.’
‘He’s got a face like a portrait. They say he won the long jump at Oxford. Is that any good?’
‘It’s what you call desirable.’
‘Very well made,’ said Lady Mont. ‘I looked him over at Condaford.’
‘My dear Em!’
‘For Dinny, of course. What do you do with a gardener who will roll the stone terrace?’
‘Tell him not to.’
‘Whenever I look out at Lippin’hall, he’s at it, takin’ the roller somewhere else. There’s the gong, and here’s Dinny; we’ll go in.’
Sir Lawrence was at the sideboard in the dining-room, extracting a crumbled cork.
‘Lafite ’65. Goodness knows what it’ll be like. Decant it very gently, Blore. What do you say, Adrian, warm it a little or no?’
‘I should say no, if it’s that age.’
‘I agree.’
Dinner began in silence. Adrian was thinking of Dinny, Dinny of Clare, and Sir Lawrence of the claret.
‘French art,’ said Lady Mont.
‘Ah!’ said Sir Lawrence: ‘that reminds me, Em; some of old Forsyte’s pictures are going to be lent. Considering he died saving them, they owe it to him.’
Dinny looked up.
‘Fleur’s father? Was he a nice man, Uncle?’
‘Nice?’ repeated Sir Lawrence: ‘It’s not the word. Straight, yes: careful, yes – too careful for these times. He got a picture on his head, you know, in the fire – poor old chap. He knew something about French art, though. This exhibition that’s coming would have pleased him.’
‘There’ll be nothing in it to touch “The Birth of Venus”,’ said Adrian.
Dinny gave him a pleased look.
‘That was divine,’ she said.
Sir Lawrence cocked his eyebrow.
‘I’ve often thought of going into the question: Why a nation ceases to be poetic. The old Italians – and look at them now!’
‘Isn’t poetry an effervescence, Uncle? Doesn’t it mean youth, or at least enthusiasm?’
‘The Italians were never young, and they’re enthusiastic enough now. When we were in Italy last May you should have seen the trouble they took over our passports.’
‘Touchin’!’ agreed Lady Mont.
‘It’s only a question,’ said Adrian, ‘of the means of expression. In the fourteenth century the Italians were expressing themselves in daggers and verse, in the fifteenth and sixteenth in poison, sculpture and painting, in the seventeenth in music, in the eighteenth in intrigue, in the nineteenth in rebellion, and in the twentieth their poetry is spelled in wireless and rules.’
‘I did get so tired,’ murmured Lady Mont, ‘of seein’ rules I couldn’t read.’
‘You were fortunate, my dear; I could.’
‘There’s one thing about the Italians,’ continued Adrian; ‘century by century they throw up really great men of one sort or another. Is that climate, blood, or scenery, Lawrence?’
Sir Lawrence shrugged. ‘What do you think of the claret? Put your nose to it. Dinny. Sixty years ago, you two young women wouldn’t be here, and Adrian and I would be soppy about it. It’s as near perfect as makes no matter.’
Adrian sipped and nodded.
‘Absolutely prime!’
‘Well, Dinny?’
‘I’m sure it’s perfect, dear – wasted on me.’
‘Old Forsyte would have appreciated this; he had wonderful sherry. Do you get the bouquet, Em?’
Lady Mont, who was holding her glass with her elbow on the table, moved her nostrils delicately.
‘Such nonsense,’ she murmured, ‘almost any flower beats it.’
The remark caused complete silence.
Dinny’s eyes were the first to come to the level.
‘How are Boswell and Johnson, Auntie?’
‘I was tellin’ Adrian: Boswell’s taken to rollin’ the stone terrace, and Johnson’s lost his wife – poor thing. He’s a different man. Whistles all the time. His tunes ought to be collected.’