Black Mischief (11 page)

‘It’s
the first time Her Grace’s youngest daughter has been to dinner?’

‘Yes, I
think it is. The child looked very well, I thought, and talked all the time.’

Lady
Seal sipped the hot milk, her thoughts still wandering innocently in the soft
places where Sir Joseph had set them. She saw Basil hurrying to work in the
morning, by bus at first, later — when he had proved his sincerity — he should
have a two-seater car; he would be soberly but smartly dressed and carry some
kind of business-like attaché-case or leather satchel with him. He would
generally have papers to go through before changing for dinner. They would dine
together and afterwards often go out to the theatre or cinema. He would eat
with good appetite, having lunched quickly and economically at some place near
his work. Quite often she would entertain for him, small young people’s parties
of six or eight — intelligent, presentable men of his own age, pretty, well-bred
girls. During the season he would go to two dances a week, and leave them early
…

‘Bradshawe,
where is the spoon? It’s forming a skin again.

…
Later she went to tea with him in his rooms in Lincoln’s Inn. He lifted a pile
of books from the armchair before she sat down. ‘I’ve brought you a
looking-glass.’

‘Oh,
Mother, how sweet of you.’

‘I saw
it in Helena’s shop this morning and thought it just the thing to go over your
fire. It will lighten the room. It’s got a piece chipped off in one place but
it is a good one.’

‘I
must
try it at once.’

‘It’s
down in the car, dear. Tell Andrews to bring it up …‘

A knock
at the door.

‘What
can they want at this time? See who it is, Bradshawe.’

‘Mr
Basil, my lady.’

‘Oh,
dear.’

Basil
came in, so unlike the barrister of her dream that it required an effort to
recognize him.

‘I’ll
.ring for you in a few minutes, Bradshawe … Basil, I really can’t talk to you
now. I have a great deal to say and I am very tired. Where have you been?’

‘Different
places.’

‘You
might have let me know. I expected you at dinner.’

‘Had to
go and dine with Alastair and Sonia. Was the party a success?’

‘Yes, I
think so, so far as can be expected. I had to ask poor Toby Cruttwell. Who else
was
there I
could
ask at the last moment? I do wish you wouldn’t
fiddle with things. Shut the jewel case like a good boy.’

‘By the
way, I’ve given up politics; did you know?’

‘Yes, I
am most distressed about the whole business —vexed and distressed, but I can’t
discuss it now. I’m so tired. It’s all arranged. You are to lunch with Sir
Joseph Mannering at his club and he will explain everything. You are to meet some
new girls and later have tea — I mean rooms — in Lincoln’s Inn. You’ll like
that, won’t you, dear? Only you mustn’t ask about it now.’

‘What I
came to say is that I’m just off to Azania.’

‘No,
no, dear boy. You are to lunch with Jo at The Travellers’.’

‘And I shall
need some money.’

‘It’s
all decided.’

‘You
see I’m fed up with London and English politics. I want to get away. Azania is
the obvious place. I had the Emperor to hunch once at Oxford. Amusing chap. The
thing is this,’ said Basil, scratching in his pipe with a delicate pair of gold
manicure scissors from the dressing-table. ‘Every year or so there’s
one
place
in the globe worth going to where things are happening. The secret is to find
out where and be on the spot in time.’

‘Basil
dear,
not
with the scissors.’

‘History
doesn’t happen everywhere at once. Azania is going to be terrific. Anyway, I’m
off thereto-morrow. Flying to Marseilles and catching the Messageries ship.
Only I must raise at least five hundred before I start. Barbara wanted to give
it to me but I thought the simplest thing was to compound for my year’s
allowance. There may be a few debts that’ll want settling while I’m away. I
thought of giving you a power of attorney …‘

‘Dear
boy, you are talking nonsense. When you’ve had luncheon with Sir Joseph you’ll
understand. We’ll get into touch with him first thing in the morning. Meanwhile
run along and get a good night’s sleep. You aren’t looking at all well, you
know.’

‘I must
have at least three hundred.’

‘There.
I’ve rung for Bradshawe. You’ll forget all about this place in the morning.
Good night, darling boy. The servants have gone up. Don’t leave the lights
burning downstairs, will you?’

So Lady
Seal undressed and sank at last luxuriously into bed. Bradshawe softly paddled
round the room performing the last offices; she picked up the evening gown, the
underclothes, and the stockings, and carried them outside to her workroom; she
straightened the things on the dressing-table, shut the drawers, wiped the
points of the nail scissors with a wad of cotton; she opened the windows four
inches at the top, banked up the fire with a shovelful of small coal, hitched
on the wire guard, set a bottle of Vichy water and a glass on the chamber
cupboard beside the bed and stood at the door, one hand holding the milk tray,
the other on the electric switch.

‘Is
that everything for the night, my lady?’

‘That’s
all, Bradshawe. I’ll ring in the morning. Good night.’

‘Good
night, my lady.’

Basil went back to the
telephone and called Mrs Lyne. A soft, slightly impatient voice answered him.
‘Yes, who is it?’

‘Basil.’

A
pause.

‘Hullo,
are you there, Angela? Basil speaking.’

‘Yes,
darling, I heard. Only I didn’t quite know what to say … I’ve just got in …
Such a dull evening … I rang you up today … couldn’t get on to you.’

‘How
odd you sound.’

‘Well,
yes … why did you ring up? It’s late.’

‘I’m
coming round to see you.’

‘My
dear, you can’t possibly.’

‘I was
going to say good-bye — I’m going away ‘for some time.’

‘Yes, I
suppose that’s a good thing.’

‘Well,
don’t you want me to come?’

‘You’ll
have to be sweet to me. You see I’ve been in rather a muddle lately. You will
be sweet, darling, won’t you? I don’t think I could bear it if you weren’t.’

And
later, as they lay on their backs smoking, her foot just touching his under the
sheets, Angela interrupted him to say: ‘How would it be if, just for a little,
we didn’t talk about this island? … I’m going to find things different when
you’ve gone.’

‘I’m
mad for it.’

‘I
know, ‘ said Angela. ‘I’m not kidding myself.’

‘You’re
a grand girl.’

‘It’s
time you went away … shall I tell you something?’

‘What?’

‘I’m
going to give you some money.’

‘Well,
that is nice.’

‘You
see, when you rang up I knew that was what you wanted. And you’ve been sweet
tonight really, though you were boring about that island. So I thought that
just for tonight I’d like to have you not asking for money. Before, I’ve
enjoyed making it awkward for you. Did you know?

Well I
had to have
some
fun, hadn’t I? — and I think I used to embarrass even
you sometimes. And I used to watch you steering the conversation round. I knew
that anxious look in your eye so well …
I had to have something to
cheer me up all these weeks, hadn’t I? You don’t do much for a girl. But
tonight I thought it would be a treat just to let you be nice and no bother and
I’ve enjoyed myself. I made out a cheque before you came … on the
dressing-table. It’s for rather a lot.’

‘You’re
a grand girl.’

‘When d’you
start?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘I’ll
miss you. Have a good time.’

Next
morning at twenty to ten Lady Seal rang her bell. Bradshawe drew the curtains
and shut the windows, brought in the orange juice, the letters and the daily
papers.

‘Thank
you, Bradshawe. I had a very good night. I only woke up once and then was
asleep again almost directly. Is it raining?’

‘I’m
afraid so, my lady.’

‘I
shall ‘want to see Mr Basil before he goes out.’

‘Mr
Basil has gone already.’

‘So
early. Did he say where?’

‘He did
say, my lady, but I am not sure of the name. Somewhere in Africa.’.

‘How
very provoking. I know there was something I wanted him to do today.’

At
eleven o’clock a box of flowers arrived from Sir Joseph Mannering and at twelve
Lady Seal attended a committee meeting; it was four days before she discovered
the loss of her emerald bracelet and by that time Basil was on the sea.

Croydon, Le Bourget,
Lyons, Marseilles; colourless, gusty weather, cloud-spray dripping and
trickling on the windows; late in the afternoon, stillness from the roar of the
propellers; sodden turf; the road from the aerodrome to the harbour heavily
scented with damp shrub; wind-swept sheds on the quay; an Annamite boy swabbing
the decks; a surly steward, the ship does not sail until tomorrow, the commissaire
knows of the allotment of the cabins, he is onshore, it is not known when he
will return, there is nowhere to leave the baggage, the baggage-room is shut
and the commissaire has the key, anyone might take it if it were left on deck —
twenty francs — the luggage could go in one of the cabins, it will be safe
there, the steward has the key, he will see to it. Dinner at the restaurant de
Verdun. Basil alone with a bottle of fine ‘burgundy.

Next
afternoon they sailed. She was an ugly old ship snatched from Germany after the
war as part of the reparations; at most hours of the day two little men in
alpaca coats played a fiddle and piano in the deck bar; luncheon at twelve,
dinner at seven red Algerian wine; shrivelled, blotchy dessert; a small saloon
full of children; a smoking-room full of French officials and planters playing
cards. The big ships do not stop at Matodi. Basil at table talking excellent
French ceaselessly, in the evenings paying attention to a woman of mixed blood
from Madagascar, getting bored with her and with the ship, sitting sulkily at
meals with a book, complaining to the captain about the inadequacy of the wireless
bulletins, lying alone in his bunk for hours at a time, smoking cheroots and
gazing blankly at the pipes on the ceiling.

At Port
Said he sent lewd postcards to Sonia, disposed of his mother’s bracelet at a
fifth of its value to an Indian jeweller, made friends with a Welsh engineer
in the bar of the Eastern Exchange, got drunk with him, fought him, to the
embarrassment of the Egyptian policeman, and returned to the ship next morning
a few minutes before the companionway was raised, much refreshed by his
racket.

A
breathless day in the canal; the woman from Madagascar exhausted with
invitation. The Red Sea, the third-class passengers limp as corpses on the
lower deck; fiddle and piano indefatigable; dirty ice swimming in the dregs of
lemon juice; Basil in his bunk sullenly consuming cheroots, undeterred by the
distress of his cabin-companion. Jibuti; portholes closed to keep out the dust,
coolies jogging up the planks with baskets of coal; contemptuous savages in the
streets scraping their teeth with twigs; an Abyssinian noblewoman in a green
veil shopping at the French Emporium; an ill-intentioned black monkey in an
acacia tree near the post office. Basil took up with a Dutch South African;
they dined on the pavement of the hotel and drove later in a horse-cab to the
Somali quarter where in a lamp-lit mud hut Basil began to talk of the monetary
systems of the world until the Boer fell asleep on a couch of plaited hide and
the four dancing girls huddled together in the corner like chimpanzees and
chattered resentfully among themselves.

The
ship was sailing for Azania at midnight. She lay far out in the bay, three
lines of lights reflected in the still water; the sound of fiddle and piano was
borne through the darkness, harshly broken by her siren intermittently warning
passengers to embark. Basil sat in the stern of the little boat, one hand
trailing in the sea; half-way to the ship the boatmen shipped their oars and
tried to sell him a basket of limes; they argued for a little in broken French,
then splashed on irregularly towards the liner; an oil lantern bobbed in the
bows. Basil climbed up the companion-way and went below; his companion was
asleep and turned over angrily as the light went up; the porthole had been shut
all day and the air was gross; Basil lit a cheroot and lay for some time
reading. Presently the old ship began to vibrate and later, as she drew clear
of the bay, to pitch very slightly in the Indian Ocean. Basil turned out the
light and lay happily smoking in the darkness.