“Now you can see what I've been through all these years.”
“My poor Brenda,” said Veronica, unpinning her carnation and throwing it from the window into the side of the road.
“You know,” Brenda confided next day, “I'm not absolutely happy about Tony.”
“What's the old boy been up to?” asked Polly.
“Nothing much yet, but I do see it's pretty boring for him at Hetton all this time.”
“I shouldn't worry.”
“Oh, I'm not worrying. It's only, supposing he took to drink or something. It would make everything very difficult.”
“I shouldn't have said that was his thing … We must get him interested in a girl.”
“If only we could … Who is there?”
“There's always old Sybil.”
“Darling, he's known her all his life.”
“Or Souki de Foucauld-Esterhazy.”
“He isn't his best with Americans.”
“Well we'll find him someone.”
“The trouble is that I've become such a habit with him — he won't take easily to a new one … ought she to be like me, or quite different?”
“I'd say, different, but it's hard to tell.”
They discussed this problem in all its aspects.
Three
Brenda wrote:
Darling Tony,
Sorry not to have written or rung up but I've had such a busy time with bimetallism. v. complicated.
Coming down Saturday with Polly again. Good her coming twice — Lyonesse can't be as beastly as most of the rooms can it.
Also charming girl I have taken up with who I want us to be kind to. She'd had a terrible life and she lives in one of these flats called Jenny Abdul Akbar. Not black but married one. Get her to tell you. She'll come by train 3.18 I expect. Must stop now and go to lecture.
Keep away from the Demon Rum.
xxxxx
Brenda.
Saw Jock last night at Café de Paris with shameless blonde. Who?
Cin no Djinn how? has rheumatism and Marjorie is v. put out about it. She thinks his pelvis is out of place and Cruttwell won't do him which is pretty mean considering all the people she has brought there.
“Are you certain Jenny will be Tony's tea?”
“You can't ever be certain,” said Polly. “She bores my pants off, but she's a good trier.”
“Is mummy coming down today, daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“Someone called Abdul Akbar.”
“What a silly name. Is she foreign?”
“I don't know.”
“Sounds foreign, doesn't she, daddy? D'you think she won't be able to talk any English? Is she black?”
“Mummy says not.”
“Oh … who else?”
“Lady Cockpurse.”
“The monkey woman. You know she wasn't a bit like a monkey except perhaps her face and I don't think she had a tail because I looked as close as anything … unless perhaps she has it rolled up between her legs. D'you think she has, daddy?”
“I shouldn't be surprised.”
“Very uncomfortable.”
Tony and John were friends again; but it had been a leaden week.
It was part of Polly Cockpurse's plan to arrive late at Hetton. “Give the girl a chance to get down to it,” she said. So she and Brenda did not leave London until Jenny was already on her way from the station. It was a day of bitter cold and occasional rain. The resolute little figure huddled herself in the rugs until they reached the gates. Then she opened her bag, tucked up her veil, shook out her powder puff and put her face to rights. She licked the rouge from her finger with a sharp red tongue.
Tony was in the smoking room when she was announced; the library was now too noisy during the daytime for there were men at work on the walls of the morning room next door, tearing down the plaster tracery.
“Princess Abdul Akbar.”
He rose to greet her. She was preceded by a heavy odour of musk.
“Oh, Mr. Last,” she said, “what a sweet old place this is.”
“I'm afraid it's been restored a great deal,” said Tony.
“Ah, but its atmosphere. I always think that's what counts in a house. Such dignity, and repose, but of course you're used to it. When you've been very unhappy as I have, you appreciate these things.”
Tony said, “I'm afraid Brenda hasn't arrived yet. She's coming by car with Lady Cockpurse.”
“Brenda's been such a friend to me.” The Princess took off her furs and sat down on the stool before the fire, looking up at Tony. “D'you mind if I take off my hat?”
“No, no … of course.”
She threw it on to the sofa and shook out her hair, which was dead black and curled. “D'you know, Mr. Last, I'm going to call you Teddy right away. You don't think that very fresh of me? And you must call me Jenny. Princess is so formal, isn't it, and suggests tight trousers and gold braid … Of course,” she went on, stretching out her hands to the fire and letting her hair fall forwards a little across her face, “my husband was not called `Prince' in Morocco; his title was Moulay — but there's no proper equivalent for a woman so I've always called myself Princess in Europe … Moulay is far higher really … my husband was a descendant of the Prophet. Are you interested in the East?”
“No … yes. I mean I know very little about it.”
“It has an uncanny fascination for me. You must go there, Teddy. I know you'd like it. I've been saying the same to Brenda.”
“I expect you'd like to see your room,” said Tony. “They'll bring tea soon.”
“No, I'll stay here. I like just to curl up like a cat in front of the fire, and if you're nice to me I'll purr, and if you're cruel I shall pretend not to notice — just like a cat … Shall I purr, Teddy?”
“Er… yes … do, please, if that's what you like doing.”
“Englishmen are so gentle and considerate. It's wonderful to be back among them … mine own people. Sometimes when I look back at my life, especially at times like this among lovely old English things and kind people, I think the whole thing must be a frightful nightmare … then I remember my scars …”
“Brenda tells me you've taken one of the flats in the same house as hers. They must be very convenient.”
“How English you are, Teddy — so shy of talking about personal things, intimate things … I like you for that, you know. I love everything that's solid and homely and good after … after all I've been through.”
“You're not studying economics too, are you, like Brenda?”
“No; is Brenda? She never told me. What a wonderful person she is. When does she find the time?”
“Ah, here comes tea at last,” said Tony. “I hope you allow yourself to eat muffins. So many of our guests nowadays are on a diet. I think muffins one of the few things that make the English winter endurable.”
“Muffins stand for so much,” said Jenny.
She ate heartily; often she ran her tongue over her lips, collecting crumbs that had become embedded there and melted butter from the muffin. One drop of butter fell on her chin and glittered there unobserved except by Tony. It was a relief to him when John Andrew was brought in. “Come and be introduced to Princess Abdul Akbar.”