As her eye travelled back, she became aware with concern that Freddy Thorpe-Ennington had not so much as taken up his spoon. She kicked Jeremy, but before she could do any more about it Lady Marian was calling down the table.
“Freddy-Freddy, my sweet-the most marvellous soup! Jeremy-that’s your name, isn’t it?-do make him have some!”
Freddy stared at her with glazed eyes. That recourse had been had to the sobering properties of cold water was obvious-his fair hair shone wet under the lamp. That the remedy had been ineffectual was also obvious. He swayed where he sat, and on a repetition of his wife’s appeal pronounced very slowly and distinctly the only two words which anyone had heard him utter:
“Bilge-water-”
It was at this moment that the door opened to admit Al Miller. He had taken time to change out of his porter’s uniform and was wearing the suit in which he had attended at John Taylor’s office. It was also unfortunately apparent that he had taken time to have a few drinks. He was not drunk, but he was definitely exhilarated, and all set to be the life of the party. After hailing Jacob from across the room with a wave of the hand and a “Cheerio, Jake!” he advanced to slap Jeremy on the back, and casting an “Evening, all!” at the rest of the company, steered himself to the vacant place with a hand on the rail of Mildred Taverner’s chair and saluted Florence Duke as “Ducks.” After which he took his soup noisily and with gusto.
Jane said to herself, “It’s going to be the most frightful evening-it really is.” And then all at once she wanted to laugh, because Mildred Taverner was obviously quite petrified at finding herself between Al and Freddy. She sat with her elbows well drawn in and picked at her food with an expression of concentrated gentility.
The soup-plates were removed and Fogarty Castell produced a napkined bottle of champagne with a flourish and filled Lady Marian’s beaker. As he passed round the table, Jane saw Florence Duke lift her glass and drain it, an example quickly followed by Al Miller. Miss Taverner took a birdlike sip and returned to picking at a pea.
“Freddy-” said Marian Thorpe-Ennington in rich poignant tones.
Freddy uttered again. Dividing the words with care, he enquired,
“What’s-marrer?”
“My sweet, you know champagne doesn’t agree with you.”
He shook his head solemnly.
“Absolutely-not.”
“Freddy, you’ll be ill!”
“Absolutely.” He took up the glass with an air of serious purpose and emptied it.
Lady Marian said, “Oh, well, he’ll pass out now,” and apparently ceased to take any further interest.
Jane found herself engaged in a conversation with Geoffrey Taverner. It was a very dull conversation all about the things he travelled in, his dry, precise manner doing nothing to enliven the subject.
“We have a washing-machine which I do not hesitate to say is twenty-five per cent better than any other on the market-gas-controlled eleven pounds seven and six, electrically controlled thirteen pound ten, which, you will realize, is a considerable reduction upon the standard price.”
Here there was a hiatus, because Jane’s attention was diverted to Jacob Taverner, owing to the fact that she had just heard him say to Florence Duke, “Didn’t he tell you where it came out?” The words were spoken in an undertone, and why they should have reached her through the buzz of conversation, she had no idea. But reach her they did. She felt them slipping into her mind like small round lumps of ice, she didn’t know how and she didn’t know why. They gave her a cold, lost feeling.
She came back to Geoffrey Taverner talking about something that did your washing-up for you, by which time Fogarty Castell was going round with more champagne. Her own glass was untasted, and as he came by, she asked if she could have some water.
Geoffrey was saying, “ ‘Halves the labour and doubles the pleasure.’ Would you think that a good slogan? Or perhaps, ‘You give the party, we do the washing-up.’ Which of those would catch your attention and make you look a second time at an advertisement?”
“Well, I think perhaps the one about the party.”
He nodded complacently.
“That was my own opinion. I am glad to find that you agree with me. I have given a good deal of thought to the advertising side of the business, and some of my suggestions have been adopted.”
He embarked upon a full and particular description of the bright ideas which he had put up to Messrs. Hobbs and Curtin and the rather disappointing manner in which most of them had been received. Mr. Hobbs, it appeared, was old-fashioned. “What was good enough for my father is good enough for me- you know the style.” And Mr. Curtin was noncommittal and timid. “The pain of the new idea, if you take me. But as I ventured to submit, a business without new ideas is a business without new customers. I am sure you will agree with me on that.”
Jane was wondering whether it was she or the firm which was to agree, and had just made up her mind that it couldn’t possibly do any harm to say, “Oh, yes,” when the voice of Al Miller came into the conversation with loud irrelevance.
“Where’s Eily?”
Fogarty Castell leaned between him and Florence Duke, champagne bottle poised.
“And where would she be if she wasn’t helping her aunt in the kitchen?”
Al picked up his glass, gulped, and set it down with a bang.
“Prettiest girl anywhere round about,” he said thickly- “prettiest girl anywhere. Oughtn’t to be in a kitchen-ought to be here.” He pushed back his chair. “Going to look for her- going to bring her here-good as anyone-better than half your society ladies.”
By this time everyone was looking and listening. Jacob Taverner said,
“Sit down, Al Miller! If you wish to see Eily you can do so presently.”
There was nothing in the words. The tone had an edge on it.
Whilst Al hesitated, Florence Duke put up a strong hand to pull him down. As he dropped back, she said not at all inaudibly,
“You won’t get your hundred pounds if you don’t behave.”
Fogarty patted him on the shoulder.
“You’ll be seeing her,” he said, and passed on.
The dinner proceeded-turkey stuffed with chestnuts-bread-sauce and vegetables so beautiful that they might have served as a pattern to any chef. One at least of the family could do something supremely well.
Jeremy relaxed so far as to lean across the corner of the table and murmur the word, “Genius! What do you suppose she’s like?”
Jane laughed.
“Let’s go and see, shall we-after dinner? She’s almost an aunt, and we ought to thank her.”
On the other side of her Geoffrey was saying,
“Every hotel in the country ought to have our patent plucker.”
Jane discovered that she was too hungry to care who talked about what.
When the plates had been taken away Jacob Taverner waited a moment, and then got to his feet.
“It is, perhaps, just a little early in the evening for speeches, but I propose to make a short one and to give you a toast. I am sure that you must all have been feeling curious as to why you have been asked here. Well, I am going to explain. It is really all very simple. Here we are, a lot of cousins most of whom have never met before. I thought it would be a good thing if we did meet. In the course of two world wars family ties all over the world have been strained, wrenched, and generally bombed to blazes. Annie Castell and I are the only two left in our generation-the only surviving grandchildren of old Jeremiah Taverner. He had eight sons and daughters, and we two are all that are left of his children. We are the grandchildren, and all the rest of you are great-grandchildren. I have no other kith and kin, and as I can’t take my money with me when I die, I thought I had better get to know you all before I set down what I want to happen to it. I naturally intend to live as long as I can, and as I don’t feel any older than I did twenty years ago, I should say I was good for at least another twenty. That is the first instalment of my speech, and at this point I will ask you to drink to the Family. Fogarty has just filled your glasses. Here is the toast-The Family.”