Awaiting the pleasure of your instructions,
We beg to remain, dear sir,
Your obedient servants,
—
It was perhaps five hours later that my memory again responded, and I turned to Adèle.
“The dam burst,” said I, “at the very moment when you were going to tell me what you had been about to say when the first tyre went outside Bidache. Sounds like ‘The House that Jack built,’ doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I know,” said Adèle, laughing. “But it’s no good now. I was going to say—”
The door opened, and Falcon came in with a wire.
I picked up the form and weighed it thoughtfully.
“Wonderfully quick,” I said. “It was half past two when I was at the Bank, and I couldn’t have been at the Post Office before a quarter to three. I looked at my watch. Just under four hours.”
“The Bank?” said Adèle, staring. “But you said you were going to the Club.”
I nodded.
“I know. I was anxious to raise no false hopes. All the same, I couldn’t help feeling that half a million francs were worth a tenpenny wire. Therefore I telegraphed to Jonah. His answer will show whether that tenpenny wire was worth half a million francs.”
My wife snatched the form from my hand and tore it open.
It was very short.
Bonds repurchased Jonah.
But my memory never recovered from the two-fold slight.
To this day I cannot remember to ask Adèle what it was that she had been about to say when the first tyre burst outside Bidache.
How Berry Sought Comfort in Vain,
and Nobby Slept Upon a Queen’s Bed
Time was getting on.
The season at Pau was approaching the end of its course. Already villas and flats and servants were being engaged for the winter to come. We had been asked definitely whether we proposed to return and, if so, whether we wished again to occupy the excellent villa we had. Not knowing what answer to make to the first question, we had passed to the second – somewhat illogically. The second had proved more heatedly disputable than the first. Finally Jill had looked up from a letter to Piers and put in her oar with a splash.
“The villa’s all right,” she announced. “Everyone says it’s the best, and so should we, if we didn’t live in it. It’s what’s inside that’s so awful. Even one decent sofa would make all the difference.”
In silence we pondered her words.
At length —
“I confess,” said Berry, “that the idea of having a few chairs about in which you can sit continuously for ten minutes, not so much in comfort as without fear of contracting a bed-sore or necrosis of the coccyx, appeals to me. Compared with most of the ‘sitzplatz’ in this here villa, an ordinary church pew is almost voluptuous. The beastly things seem designed to promote myalgia.”
“Yet they do know,” said I. “The French, I mean. Look at their beds.”
“Exactly,” replied my brother-in-law. “That’s the maddening part of it. Every French bed is an idyll – a poem of repose. The upholsterer puts his soul into its creation. A born genius, he expresses himself in beds. The rest of the junk he turns out…” He broke off and glanced about the room. His eye lighted upon a couch, lozenge-shaped, hog-backed, featuring the Greek-Key pattern in brown upon a brick-red ground and surrounded on three sides by a white balustrade some three inches high. “Just consider that throne. Does it or does it not suggest collusion between a private-school workshop, a bricklayer’s labourer, and the Berlin branch of the YWCA?”
“If,” said Daphne, “it was only the chairs, I wouldn’t mind. But it’s everything. The sideboard, for instance—”
“Ah,” said her husband, “my favourite piece. The idea of a double cabin-washstand is very beautifully carried out. I’m always expecting Falcon to press something and a couple of basins to appear. Then we can wash directly after the asparagus.”
“The truth is,” said Adèle, “these villas are furnished to be let. And when you’ve said that, you’ve said everything.”
“I agree,” said I. “And if we liked Pau enough to come back next autumn, the best thing to do is to have a villa of our own. I’m quite ready to face another three winters here, and, if everyone else is, it ’d be worth while. As for furniture, we can easily pick out enough from Cholmondely Street and White Ladies.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Then —
“I’m on,” said Jonah, who had caught three splendid salmon in the last two days. “This place suits me.”
“And me,” said Adèle warmly.
My sister turned to her husband.
“What d’you think, old chap?”
Berry smiled beatifically. A far-away look came into his eyes.
“I shall personally superintend,” he announced, “the removal and destruction of the geyser.”
Amid some excitement the matter was then and there decided.
The more we thought upon it, the sounder seemed the idea. The place suited us all. To have our things about us would be wholly delightful. Provided we meant for the future to winter abroad, we should save money.
Pleasedly we proceeded to lunch.
Throughout the meal we discussed what manner of house ours must be, situation, dimensions, aspect. We argued amiably about its garden and curtilage. We determined to insist upon two bathrooms. By the time the cheese was served, we had selected most of the furniture and were bickering good-temperedly about the style of the wallpapers.
Then we rang up a house-agent, to learn that he had no unfurnished villa “to let” upon his books. He added gratuitously that, except for a ruined château upon the other side of Tarbes, he had nothing “for sale” either.
So soon as we had recovered, we returned to the charge…
The third agent we addressed was not quite certain. There was, he said, a house in the town –
très solide, très serieuse, dans un quartier chic
. It would, he thought, be to our liking. It had, for instance,
une salle defête superbe
. He was not sure, however, that it was still available. A French gentleman was much attracted, and had visited it three times.
We were greatly disgusted and said so. We did not want a house in the town. We wanted…
Finally we succumbed to his entreaties and promised to view the villa, if it was still in the market. He was to ring us up in ten minutes’ time…
So it happened that half an hour later we were standing curiously before the great iron gates of a broad shuttered mansion in the Rue Mazagran, Pau, while the agent was alternately pealing the bell for the caretaker and making encouraging gestures in our direction.
Viewed from without, the villa was not unpleasing. It looked extremely well-built, it stood back from the pavement, it had plenty of elbow room. The street itself was as silent as the tomb. Perhaps, if we could find nothing else… We began to wonder whether you could see the mountains from the second floor.
At last a caretaker appeared, I whistled to Nobby, and we passed up a short well-kept drive.
A moment later we had left the sunlight behind and had entered a huge dim hall.
“Damp,” said Berry instantly, sniffing the air. “Damp for a monkey. I can smell the good red earth.”
Daphne sniffed thoughtfully.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “When a house has been shut up like this, it’s bound to—”
“It’s wonderful,” said her husband, “what you can’t smell when you don’t want to. Never mind. If you want to live over water, I don’t care. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Besides, it’ll save us money. We can grow moss on the floors instead of carpets.”
“It does smell damp,” said Adèle, “but there’s central heating. See?” She pointed to a huge radiator. “If that works as it should, it’ll make your carpets fade.”
Berry shrugged his shoulders.
“I see what it is,” he said. “You two girls have scented cupboards. I never yet knew a woman who could resist cupboards. In a woman’s eyes a superfluity of cupboards can transform the most poisonous habitation into a desirable residence. If you asked a woman what was the use of a staircase, she’d say, ‘To put cupboards under.’”
By now the shutters had been opened, and we were able to see about us. As we were glancing round, the caretaker shuffled to a door beneath the stairs.
“Here is a magnificent cupboard,” she announced. “There are many others.”
As we passed through the house, we proved the truth of her words. I have never seen so many cupboards to the square mile in all my life.
My wife and my sister strove to dissemble their delight. At length Cousin Jill, however, spoke frankly enough.
“They really are beautiful. Think of the room they give. You’ll be able to put everything away.”
Berry turned to me.
“Isn’t it enough to induce a blood-clot? ‘Beautiful.’ Evil-smelling recesses walled up with painted wood. Birthplaces of mice. Impregnable hot-beds of vermin. And who wants to ‘put everything away’?”
“Hush,” said I. “They can’t help it. Besides – Hullo! Here’s another bathroom.”
“Without a bath,” observed my brother-in-law. “How very convenient! Of course, you’re up much quicker, aren’t you? I suppose the idea is not to keep people waiting. Come along.” We passed into a bedroom. “Oh, what a dream of a paper! ‘Who Won the Boat-race, or The Battle of the Blues.’ Fancy waking up here after a heavy night. I suppose the designer was found ‘guilty, but insane.’ Another two cupboards? Thanks. That’s fifty-nine. And yet another? Oh, no. The backstairs, of course. As before, approached by a door which slides to and fro with a gentle rumbling noise, instead of swinging. The same warranted to jam if opened hastily. Can’t you hear Falcon on the wrong side with a butler’s tray full of glass, wondering why he was born? Oh, and the bijou spiral leads to the box-room, does it? I see. Adèle’s American trunks, especially the five-foot cube, will go up there beautifully. Falcon will like this house, won’t he?”
“I wish to goodness you’d be quiet,” said Daphne. “I want to think.”
“It’s not me,” said her husband. “It’s that Inter-University wallpaper. And now where’s the tower? I suppose that’s approached by a wire rope with knots in it?”
“What tower?” said Adèle.
“
The
tower. The feature of the house. Or was it a ballroom?”
“Ah,” I cried, “the ballroom! I’d quite forgotten.” I turned to the agent. “Didn’t you say there was a ballroom?”
“But yes,
Monsieur
. On the ground-floor. I will show it to you at once.”
We followed him downstairs in single file, and so across the hall to where two tall oak doors were suggesting a picture-gallery. For a moment the fellow fumbled at their lock. Then he pushed the two open.
I did not know that, outside a palace, there was such a chamber in all France. Of superb proportions, the room was panelled from floor to ceiling with oak – richly carved oak – and every handsome panel was outlined with gold. The ceiling was all of oak, fretted with gold. The floor was of polished oak, inlaid with ebony. At the end of the room three lovely pillars upheld a minstrels’ gallery, while opposite a stately oriel yawned a tremendous fireplace, with two stone seraphim for jambs.
In answer to our bewildered inquiries, the agent explained excitedly that the villa had been built upon the remains of a much older house, and that, while the other portions of the original mansion had disappeared, this great chamber and the basement were still surviving. But that was all. Beyond that it was once a residence of note, he could tell us nothing.
Rather naturally, we devoted more time to the ballroom than to all the rest of the house. Against our saner judgment, the possession of the apartment attracted us greatly. It was too vast to be used with comfort as a sitting-room. The occasions upon which we should enjoy it as
‘une salle de fête,
’ would be comparatively few. Four ordinary salons would require less service and fuel. Yet, in spite of everything, we wanted it very much.
The rest of the house was convenient. The parlours were fine and airy; there were two bathrooms; the bedrooms were good; the offices were admirable. As for the basement, we lost our way there. It was profound. It was also indubitably damp. There the dank smell upon which Berry had remarked was most compelling. In the garden stood a garage which would take both the cars.
After a final inspection of the ballroom, we tipped the caretaker, promised to let the agent know our decision, and, to the great inconvenience of other pedestrians, strolled talkatively through the streets towards the Boulevard.
“I suppose,” said Adèle, “those were the other people.”
“Who were the other people?” I demanded.
“The two men standing in the hall as we came downstairs.”
“I never saw them,” said I. “But if you mean that one of them was the fellow who’s after the house, I fancy you’re wrong, because the agent told me he’d gone to Bordeaux.”
“Well. I don’t know who they were, then,” replied my wife. “They were talking to the caretaker. I saw them through the banisters. By the time we’d got down, they’d disappeared. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Only, if it was them, it looks as if they were thinking pretty seriously about it. You don’t go to see a house four times out of curiosity.”
“You mean,” said Berry, “that if we’re fools enough to take it, we’d better get a move on.”
“Exactly. Let’s go and have tea at Bouzom’s, and thrash it out there.”
No one of us, I imagine, will ever forget that tea.
Crowded about a table intended to accommodate four, we alternately disputed and insulted one another for the better part of two hours. Not once, but twice of her agitation my sister replenished the teapot with Jill’s chocolate, and twice fresh tea had to be brought. Berry burned his mouth and dropped an apricot tartlet on to his shoe. Until my disgust was excited by a nauseous taste, I continued to drink from a cup in which Jonah had extinguished a cigarette.
Finally Berry pushed back his chair and looked at his watch.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we came here this memorable afternoon to discuss the advisability of taking a certain messuage – to wit, the Villa Buichi – for the space of three years. As a result of that discussion I have formed certain conclusions. In the first place, I am satisfied that to dwell with you or any of you in the Villa Buichi or any other habitation for the space of three years presents a prospect so horrifying as to belittle Death itself. Secondly, while my main object in visiting the said messuage was to insure, if possible, against the future contraction of some complaint or disease of the hams, I have, I fear, already defeated that object by sitting for upwards of ninety minutes upon a chair which is rather harder than the living rock, and whose surface I have reason to believe is studded with barbs. Thirdly, whilst we are all agreed that a rent of fourteen thousand francs is grotesque, I’d rather pay twice that sum out of my own pocket than continue an argument which threatens to affect my mind. Fourthly, the house is not what we want, or where we want it. The prospect of wassailing in your own comic banqueting-hall is alluring, but the French cook believes in oil, and, to us, living in the town, every passing breeze will offer indisputable evidence, not only of the lengths to which this belief will go, but of the Pentateuchal effects which can be obtained by a fearless application of heat to rancid blubber. Fifthly, since we can get nothing else, and the thought of another winter in England is almost as soul-shaking as that of living again amid French furniture, I suppose we’d better take it, always provided they fill up the basement, put on a Mansard roof, add a few cupboards, and reduce the rent. Sixthly, I wish to heaven I’d never seen the blasted place. Lastly, I now propose to repair to the
Cercle Anglais
, or English Club, there in the privacy of the
lavabo
to remove the traces of the preserved apricot recently adhering to my right shoe, and afterwards to ascertain whether a dry Martini, cupped in the mouth, will do something to relieve the agony I am suffering as the direct result of concentrating on this rotten scheme to the exclusion of my bodily needs. But there you are. When the happiness of others is at stake, I forget that I exist.”