"Good heavens yes" she cried "and I've stockings and shoes to get for our little nervous case, the martyr."
At this she went up to Philip, kissed him with fervour and they both left.
AT THE same time on the identical day Mary Pomfret sat with her father in their living room.
"What would you say if your devoted parent married a second time?" he asked.
"Oh Daddy how thrilling for you. Who?"
"I don't know wonderful, I was only wondering."
"Are you sure?"
"You seem very certain someone would agree."
"Of course!"
"And you wouldn't mind?"
"But is it Miss Jennings?"
"Now wait a minute Mary. I wasn't even making up my mind to ask anyone. Mine is just an idle question."
"Well are you very discontented as you are then, Daddy?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I can't see, why any man ever marries his girl" she said. He laughed.
"You're dead right" he answered. "It often comes as a great surprise."
"Not to the man; he has to ask."
"To both" he insisted.
She considered this. Then she said "Why did you want to know whether I minded?"
"Surely nothing could be more natural dear? Of course I'd have to know first."
"Don't I still look after you and the fiat all right then?"
"But you are perfect, absolutely perfect."
"I thought perhaps you might wish for a change." Her face expressed embarrassment. He yawned.
"My dear" he said gently "one doesn't remarry to get a change of housekeeping. Not yet at all events."
"That's what will happen when that happens in case you don't realize."
"Oh Mary no. Not at my age!"
"But of course I'd have to go" she said in a distressed tone of voice. "I couldn't stay to witness you and your bride."
"My dear" he objected "it would not be so romantic and after all there's room in plenty in the flat for three people."
Her blue eyes filled with tears and she was so young.
"Liz wouldn't like it" she insisted.
"Now Mary" he said and seemed alarmed "I told you there was no one. I just thought I'd ask to get your reactions. Good Lord you'll be going off one day and wouldn't expect me to stay on here alone."
"I don't see why not. I mean you can invite in anyone you want can't you?"
"I could be lonely" he explained with what appeared to be a false voice as he selected a cigarette.
"I'm always here now" she said.
"But you ought to go out more Mary."
"How shall I when nobody asks me?"
"They will. I say, let's give an entertainment. Why not? Lots of young men for you and hang the expense!"
"Oh I don't want anyone."
"Nonsense, that's because you don't know them. You, leave it to me darling."
"No honestly, you have your own friends in if you're dull."
"Who says I'm dull?"
"Well you've just explained that you'll remarry, haven't you Daddy?"
"But good Lord one doesn't go through all that again simply because one's dull."
"Don't you?"
"No" he said, reached up a hand to where she stood by his chair and pulled her down to kiss an ear. She sat on the arm.
"Anyway I never shall" she laughed.
"You will" he said. They lapsed into easy silence.
"It's dark. Wouldn't you like me to put the light on?" she asked.
"No. Let's save money for our party. This fiendish rain!" he commented.
"You must miss your mother?" he said at last.
He asked the question once a year and each time got different answer. On this occasion she replied "I don't know. I can't remember her."
"It must be very dull for you here alone with me."
She ignored this. "Who was her best woman friend?" she murmured.
"Jane."
"Mrs Weatherby?" she exclaimed in great surprise. "You never told."
"Oh they were always together" he assured his daughter. He laughed. "Never out of each other's pockets at one time."
"I had no idea, not in the least. Well that does make a bit of difference!"
"How d'you mean darling?"
"I'll look at her quite differently" Miss Pomfret said in an altered voice.
"She's very nice" her father assured her.
"You aren't thinking of marrying Mrs Weatherby then, Daddy?"
"Now listen, I told you didn't I? There's not a soul, there really is no one. I'm sorry I spoke. It was just a stupid thing one says glibly, then regrets."
"But marriage might be right for you."
"There isn't time" he wailed in his affected voice. He twisted round to smile on her face. "All this work! We none of us have the leisure to wed! It's too frightful!"
"Oh by the way, talking of her" she mumbled "I told Philip to come round to tea."
"Not Saturday!"
She frowned. "No, no" she said. "But he seems rather blue at home."
Mr Pomfret opened wide eyes. He had a question wandering round his mouth. But he shut his lips. Then he asked with indifference "How's little Pen?"
"Oh she's all right. She's just spoiled" the daughter said. "Why did you never tell me about Mrs Weatherby, Daddy?"
"What about her?"
"That she was Mummy's best friend."
"Oh I must have often." He yawned.
"No. Never before. And I wonder why?"
"Well I don't say often enough what a wonder you are do I? I suppose the obvious soon gets forgotten. I forgot you didn't know and in case I forget again I'll say this once more, you're wonderful, love, and no man could have a nicer daughter." He yawned again.
It was too dark to see the expression on her face.
"Don't get all woolly, stupid" was what she replied. There was a pause.
"How's the job going?" he drowsily inquired.
"Oh much the same."
"Still scissors and paste?"
"Some of the girls have gone out and bought their own to cut with" she answered. "The ones they issue now are quite hopeless. Yes we snip bits out of the newspapers, stick them on folio sheets, and it's still all cabled out to Japan where the press people hardly use any of what we send. It'll go on like that forever."
"See much of Philip?" His voice came even lower. She looked down but could make out no more than the dark top of his head. She glanced up at the framed reproductions and in this light they were no more than blurs in frames.
"See him?" she murmured.
"What's that? he mumbled.
"He's in C Department" she softly answered, beginning to space out the words, stroking his hair so the tips of her fingers barely touched his head. "In C Department" she repeated even softer, as if to sing them both to sleep. "But yes I see him. Sometimes" she whispered. "Sometimes but not often." A small silence fell. "Not often" she went on at last so low she could hardly be heard. Her father began to snore. "But I do sometimes" she ended almost under her breath, got up and left him slumbering.
THE next day was Sunday. John Pomfret sat over luncheon at the usual table looking out on the park, with Miss Jennings.
"So I asked her right out" he was saying in his pleasantly affected party manner. "I said 'Would it matter to you if I married again?'"
Miss Jennings appeared to listen with care.
"Oh Liz" he cried and spread his arms out over two dirty plates on which were soiled knives and forks, two glasses of red wine, and a bottle in its gay straw jacket, "she made a picture, you know she's a remarkable girl. Mary stood there like an angel, just a Botticelli angel framed in my lovely Matisse over the fireplace, those lozenges of colour perfect as a background for that pretty head. When I think how she's carried on for years without a woman to talk with i feel ashamed and proud, Liz!"
"What did Mary say then?"
A faint shade of embarrassment seemed to come over his handsome features.
"Not much" he replied.
"How d'you mean?" she anxiously asked.