Rather more than half Reggie St. Cloud's time and income was spent abroad in modest archaeological expeditions. His house in London was full of their fruit--fragmentary amphoras, corroded bronze axe-heads, little splinters of bone and charred stick, a Graeco-Roman head in marble, its features obliterated and ground smooth with time. He had written two little monographs about his work, privately printed and both dedicated to members of the royal family. When he came to London he was regular in attendance at the House of Lords; all his friends were well over forty and for some years now he had established himself as a member of their generation; few mothers still regarded him as a possible son-in-law.
``This whole business of Brenda is very unfortunate,'' said Reggie St. Cloud.
Tony agreed.
``My mother is extremely upset about it, naturally. I'm upset myself. I don't mind admitting, perfectly frankly, that I think she has behaved very foolishly, foolishly and wrongly. I can quite understand your being upset about it too.''
``Yes,'' said Tony.
``But all the same, making every allowance for your feelings, I do think that you are behaving rather vindictively in the matter.''
``I'm doing exactly what Brenda wanted.''
``My dear fellow, she doesn't know what she wants. I saw this chap Beaver yesterday. I didn't like him at all. Do you?''
``I hardly know him.''
``Well I can assure you I didn't like him. Now you're just throwing Brenda into his arms. That's what it amounts to, as I see it, and I call it vindictive. Of course at the moment Brenda's got the idea that she's in love with him. But it won't last. It couldn't with a chap like Beaver. She'll want to come back in a year, just you see. Allan says the same.''
``I've told Allan. I don't want her back.''
``Well, that's vindictive.''
``No, I just couldn't feel the same about her again.''
``Well, why feel the same? One has to change as one gets older. Why, ten years ago I couldn't be interested in anything later than the Sumerian age and I assure you that now I find even the Christian era full of significance.''
For some time he spoke about some tabulae execrationum that he had lately unearthed. ``Almost every grave had them,'' he said, ``mostly referring to the circus factions, scratched on lead. They used to be dropped in through a funnel. We had found forty-three up to date, before this wretched business happened, and I had to come back. Naturally I'm upset.''
He sat for a little eating silently. This last observation had brought the conversation back to its point of departure. He clearly had more to say on the subject and was meditating the most convenient approach. He ate in a ruthless manner, champing his food (it was his habit, often, without noticing it, to consume things that others usually left on their plates, the heads and tails of whiting, whole mouthfuls of chicken bone, peach stones and apple cores, cheese rinds and the fibrous parts of the artichoke). ``Besides, you know,'' he said, ``it isn't as though it was all Brenda's fault.''
``I haven't been thinking particularly whose fault it is.''
``Well that's all very well but you seem rather to be taking the line of the injured husband--saying you can't feel the same again, and all that. I mean to say, it takes two to make a quarrel and I gather things had been going wrong for some time. For instance you'd been drinking a lot--have some more burgundy by the way.''
``Did Brenda say that?''
``Yes. And then you'd been going round a bit with other girls yourself. There was some woman with a Moorish name you had to stay at Hetton while Brenda was there. Well that's a bit thick you know. I'm all for people going their own way but if they do, they can't blame others, if you see what I mean.''
``Did Brenda say that?''
``Yes. Don't think I'm trying to lecture you or anything, but all I feel is that you haven't any right to be vindictive to Brenda, as things are.''
``She said I drank and was having an affair with the woman with a Moorish name.''
``Well I don't know she actually said that, but she said you'd been getting tight lately and that you were certainly interested in that girl.''
The fat young man opposite Tony ordered prunes and cream. Tony said he had finished dinner.
He had imagined during the preceding week-end that nothing could now surprise him.
``So that really explains what I want to say,'' continued Reggie blandly. ``It's about money. I understand that when Brenda was in a very agitated state just after the death of her child, she consented to some verbal arrangement with you about settlements.''
``Yes, I'm allowing her five hundred a year.''
``Well you know I don't think that you have any right to take advantage of her generosity in that way. It was most imprudent of her to consider your proposal--she admits now that she was not really herself when she did so.''
``What does she suggest instead?''
``Let's go outside and have coffee.''
When they were settled in front of the fire in the empty smoking room, he answered, ``Well I've discussed it with the lawyers and with the family and we decided that the sum should be increased to two thousand.''
``That's quite out of the question. I couldn't begin to afford it.''
``Well, you know, I have to consider Brenda's interests. She has very little of her own and there will be no more coming to her. My mother's income is an allowance which I pay under my father's will. I shan't be able to give her anything. I am trying to raise everything I can for an expedition to one of the oases in the Lybian desert. This chap Beaver has got practically nothing and doesn't look like earning any. So you see--''
``But, my dear Reggie, you know as well as I do that it's out of the question.''
``It's rather less than a third of your income.''
``Yes but almost every penny goes on the estate. Do you realize that Brenda and I together haven't spent half the amount a year on our personal expenses. It's all I can do to keep things going as it is.''
``I didn't expect you'd take this line, Tony. I think its extremely unreasonable of you. After all it's absurd to pretend in these days that a single man can't be perfectly comfortable on four thousand a year. It's more than I've ever had.''
``It would mean giving up Hetton.''
``Well I gave up Brakeleigh, and I assure you, my dear fellow, I never regret it. It was a nasty wrench at the time of course, old association and everything like that, but I can tell you this, that when the sale was finally through I felt a different man, free to go where I liked ...''
``But I don't happen to want to go anywhere else except Hetton.''
``There's a lot in what these labour fellows say, you know. Big houses are a thing of the past in England I'm afraid.''
``Tell me, did Brenda realize when she agreed to this proposal that it meant my leaving Hetton.''
``Yes, it was mentioned I think. I daresay you'll find it quite easy to sell to a school or something like that. I remember the agent said when I was trying to get rid of Brakeleigh that it was a pity it wasn't Gothic because schools and convents always go for Gothic. I daresay you'll get a very comfortable price and find yourself better off in the end than you are now.''
``No. It's impossible,'' said Tony.
``You're making things extremely awkward for everyone,'' said Reggie. ``I can't understand why you are taking up this attitude.''
``What is more I don't believe that Brenda ever expected or wanted me to agree.''
``Oh yes, she did, my dear fellow. I assure you of that.''
``It's inconceivable.''
``Well, said Reggie, puffing at his cigar. ``There's more to it than just money. Perhaps I'd better tell you everything. I hadn't meant to. The truth is that Beaver is cutting up nasty. He says he can't marry Brenda unless she's properly provided for. Not fair on her, he says. I quite see his point on a way.''
``Yes, I see his point,'' said Tony. ``So what your proposal really amounts to is that I should give up Hetton in order to buy Beaver for Brenda.''
``It's not how I should have put it,'' said Reggie.
``Well I'm not going to and that's the end of it. If that's all you wanted to say, I may as well leave you.''
``No, it isn't quite all I wanted to say. In fact I think I must have put things rather badly. It comes from trying to respect people's feelings too much. You see I wasn't so much asking you to agree to anything as explaining what our side propose to do. I've tried to keep everything on a friendly basis but I see it's not possible. Brenda will ask for alimony of two thousand a year from the Court and on our evidence we shall get it. I'm sorry you oblige me to put it so bluntly.''
``I hadn't thought of that.''
``No, nor had we to be quite frank. It was Beaver's idea.''
``You seem to have got me in a fairly hopeless position.''
``It's not how I should have put it.''
``I should like to make absolutely sure that Brenda is in on this. D'you mind if I ring her up.''
``Not at all, my dear fellow. I happen to know she's at Marjorie's tonight.''
``Brenda, this is Tony ... I've just been dining with Reggie.''
``Yes, he said something about it.''
``He tells me that you are going to sue for alimony. Is that so?''
``Tony, don't be so bullying. The lawyers are doing everything. It's no use coming to me.''
``But did you know that they proposed to ask for two thousand?''
``Yes. They did say that. I know it sounds a lot but ...''
``And you know exactly how my money stands don't you? You know it means selling Hetton, don't you? ... hullo, are you still there?''
``Yes, I'm here.''
``You know it means that?''
``Tony, don't make me feel a beast. Everything has been so difficult.''
``You do know just what you are asking?''
``Yes ... I suppose so.''
``All right, that's all I wanted to know.''
``Tony, how odd you sound ... don't ring off.''
He hung up the receiver and went back to the smoking room. His mind had suddenly become clearer on many points that had puzzled him. A whole Gothic world had come to grief ... there was now no armour, glittering in the forest glades, no embroidered feet on the greensward; the cream and dappled unicorns had fled ...
Reggie sat expanded in his chair. ``Well?''
``I got on to her. You were quite right. I'm sorry I didn't believe you. It seemed so unlikely at first.''
``That's all right, my dear fellow.''
``I've decided exactly what's going to happen.''
``Good.''
``Brenda is not going to get her divorce. The evidence I provided at Brighton isn't worth anything. There happens to have been a child there all the time. She slept both nights in the room I am supposed to have occupied. If you care to bring the case I shall defend it and win, but I think when you have seen my evidence you will drop it. I am going away for six months or so. When I come back, if she wishes it, I shall divorce Brenda without settlements of any kind. Is that clear?''
``But look here, my dear fellow.''
``Goodnight. Thank you for dinner. Good luck to the excavations.''
On his way out of the club he noticed that John Beaver of Brat's Club was up for election.
``Who on earth would have expected the old boy to turn up like that?'' asked Polly Cockpurse.
``Now I understand why they keep going on in the papers about divorce law reform,'' said Veronica. ``It's too monstrous that be should be allowed to get away with it.''
``The mistake they made was in telling him first,'' said Souki.
``It's so like Brenda to trust everyone,'' said Jenny.
``I do think Tony comes out of this pretty poorly,'' said Marjorie.
``Oh I don't know,'' said Allan. ``I expect your ass of a brother put the thing wrong.''