A number of the packets containing whole newspapers, often with marked passages. Glancing at one of these, Edwin suddenly rose, and saying to Mrs Hatch ‘Excuse me. Something rather unexpected,’ bore it round the table to Mr Leech, pointed out the significant passage, and said something quietly in Mr Leech’s left ear. The Prime Minister, who had apparently sunk into a light coma (he had not even finished his egg), stirred very slightly and began to read. After some time had passed with Mr Leech staring unwinkingly at the paper, Edwin spoke again in his ear.
At last Mr Leech slowly nodded twice. ‘I suppose there’s no help for it,’ he said.
‘I imagine that a couple of divisions would suffice, sir,’ said Edwin. His voice was still low, but this time fully audible. All of them could appreciate the urgency of the matter.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Mr Leech, still without blinking.
‘Better make it three, perhaps,’ said Edwin as before.
‘I’ll consult Mr Barnes,’ said Mr Leech almost in the tone of one nearing a decision. ‘Can’t be swayed by the press, you know,’ he added roguishly.
Edwin returned to his place, looking as if a weight had been lifted off his mind. ‘Sorry Mrs Hatch,’ he said. ‘So many things happen at the most inconvenient moment.’ He began to assault his fourth egg.
‘Melanie,’ said George Goss. ‘Could I have a drink?’ He was still less than half way through the prodigious letter. Mrs Hatch passed him the bottle. He looked round for a tumbler, and, when Monk had brought him one, filled it liberally, passing back the bottle. He resumed reading the love letter, belching every now and then as food reached his empty stomach.
‘Do have some more to eat, Griselda?’ said Mrs Hatch.
‘No thank you very much.’
‘How is Barnes this morning, Mrs Hatch?’ enquired Mr Leech.
Mrs Hatch looked at Monk.
‘Mr Barnes asked for his breakfast to be taken to his room as you know, madam. Also his letters. Beyond that I know nothing, madam. Shall Stainer ask Mullet?’
The parlour-maid glowered. Mrs Hatch turned to the Prime Minister.
‘Would you like that to be done, Mr Leech?’
‘Please do not go to any trouble,’ replied Mr Leech. ‘I’ll find my way to his room and enquire myself later. I must consult him on some business; urgent, alas!’
George Gobs looked up. ‘Never could see why Austin gave his time to politics at all. Should have thought he had too much red blood in his veins if you know what I mean.’
Mr Leech stared at him. ‘That is just why, Mr Goss,’ he said with unusual fire. ‘I believe you once painted Barnes’s portrait. You cannot have overlooked the main fact about your sitter: that he is a patriot.’
George Goss chuckled gutturally. ‘Poor old Austin,’ he said.
‘Austin Barnes is also a magnificent administrator,’ said Edwin reprovingly. ‘A first class man to put in charge of any Department in the Government; is he not, Mr Prime Minister?’
‘A leader,’ replied Mr Leech, ‘Certainly a natural leader of men.’ He discarded the remains of his egg and began to look round for the marmalade.
Pamela arrived. She was wearing a simple white silk nightdress and a lilac satin wrapper. The large yawn with which she entered suggested, however, that this costume implied less of coquetry than of the possibility that she had only just awakened. Then Griselda noticed that Pamela was made up with her usual time-consuming elaboration. At her entrance George Goss had actually dropped the letter (he was still far from having completed reading it). Mrs Hatch was also staring at Pamela, though less noticeably.
‘Don’t want anything to eat. Just a cup of coffee.’
Mrs Hatch seemed alarmed. ‘Are you ill?’
‘Slept too long. I’m always doing it.’
George Goss guffawed.
‘Sit in your place,’ said Mrs Hatch, ‘and see what you can manage.’
Pamela subsided into her seat and silence. Monk brought her the usual bowl of cocoa. Edwin began to converse with her on subjects suitable to one who has overslept.
There was a knock at the door which gave access to the kitchen, and the head was poked in of the housemaid who had awakened Griselda.
‘What is it, Mullet?’
‘Maghull waiting for ’is orders.’
‘Good gracious!’ cried Mr Leech. ‘It’s no business of mine, I know, but I do think it rash of you still to retain in your employ a man who played such a catastrophic part in the Irish disorders. You will recall that I thought it my duty to warn you on a previous occasion.’
Edwin tried to indicate that this topic should perhaps be left until the servants were absent.
‘Common enough knowledge,’ muttered Mr Leech, subsiding considerably, however. ‘But no business of mine, I know.’
‘Tell Maghull,’ said Mrs Hatch, ‘that he is to take Miss de Reptonville to Hodley immediately, to Mr Kynaston’s. Then he is to return for further orders. I expect we shall all be very quiet today, preparing for the dance.’
Mullet went.
George Goss flipped a fragment of eggshell across the table to Pamela, who was looking particularly disagreeable.
VI
It was an unremarkable speculative builder’s two-bedroom bungalow; one of about a dozen lined up along the fiendishly noisy main road through Hodley. Geoffrey Kynaston himself opened the door, explaining that though he called upon a certain amount of casual assistance, it had at the moment all failed him, so that he was alone in the house. He closed the front door, thin, narrow, ugly, and with small panes of glass at the top to light the little hall; and suggested coffee. It was early and Griselda had just swallowed an excessive quantity of cocoa; but she offered to make it. Kynaston thanked her pleasantly, but said that that would be unnecessary as he had some just off the boil awaiting her arrival. This statement did not increase Griselda’s inclination.
‘Come into the studio.’
It was what the builder of the bungalow would have called the lounge: in fact, the only sitting-room. Now the floor was bare; a bar extended round the walls; and there were photographs of Karsavina, Lifar, and Genйe. There was also a rather larger photograph of Doris Ditton in a white shirt and black tie, the walking-out uniform of some women’s organization.
‘It’s not very much,’ said Kynaston, glancing round. ‘I’ll talk about myself over our coffee.’
‘It looks very interesting.’
‘Sit down.’ With his foot he pushed towards her a small round stool covered in scarlet artificial leather. He departed for the coffee.
Griselda soon rose and began to examine the photographs. Lifar, every feather in position as the male Blue Bird, particularly took her fancy. Doris Ditton also, she thought, looked more self-sufficient than at the tea party the previous day. There was a heap of copies of a paper she had not previously heard of. It was called The Dancing Times
‘Do you read poetry?’
This was something Griselda had forgotten about her teacher.
‘Not as much as I should.’
Kynaston had returned with two large mugs and a small dun-coloured book.
‘I don’t know about that. But some of these might amuse you while I fill the jug.’
He departed once more. The book was entitled Days of Delinquency by Geoffrey Kynaston. It contained about thirty short poems. Somewhat to her surprise, Griselda seemed quite able to understand them.
Incubus
Can you hear my feet approaching?
Can you bear my heart encroaching?
No hope to hide when I am coming