The Dangerous Years (10 page)

“We shall be rather out of it, don't you think? I wonder what we are doing here, after all.”

“You mean …?”

“I don't know what I mean. That's the maddening thing about the whole situation. There is neither rhyme nor reason in it. Why can't life go on in a normal sort of way?”

“Well, dear, perhaps it is like the weather. And to-day is a perfect pleasure. Let us enjoy it, and leave the future to good fortune.”

“Mother, what has come over you! You sound as though you are determined to become irresponsible!”

Mary laughed, and relieved her daughter of some of the parcels. They took the Metro at Concorde, and alighted at Notre Dame des Champs. Walking up the road, they saw the children coming out of the Ecole Alsacienne.

“Look! There are the Batten youngsters,” said Joan. The boy had seen them, and breaking away from the governess and his sister, he ran across the road, shouting in English, “There you are! There you are!” He seized Joan by the belt of her coat, and reached up, his face eager with excitement. She realised that he wanted to kiss her. Shyness overcame her.

“My dear boy,” she said. “Please help me with my parcels.” And she put two of them into his hands.

He still looked earnestly at her, and she felt the attraction of his almost over-eloquent eyes.

“Why, is it school to-day?” she asked.

“No; but we've had an assembly, and certificates. I've got one for French literature, and Jeannette's mad because she hasn't. But she has won a sugar pig in the bran-tub.”

By this time the governess, with Jeannette, had joined the party, and introduced the baby girl afresh to the two
English ladies. They shook hands with the still rather sulky infant, and with the French girl, Joan engaging her in conversation, and carefully extricating herself from contact with the boy, though she could not account for this access of reserve.

He would not be repulsed, however, and carefully stowing his two parcels within the crook of one arm, he insisted on taking Joan's hand, and walking with her and the governess, while Mrs. Winterbourne followed, busily engaged in cheering the small sister, who quickly forgot her lack of a certificate, and chattered with increasing sang-froid as she gradually discovered that she could impose on a willing listener. Mary meanwhile began to suspect that it was the younger of the doctor's children who possessed a precocious temperament. Jeannette was full of confidences, and Mary learned much about the family and its internal politics. Adrian was not ignored in this prospectus; but the odd thing was that Jeannette made no allusion whatever to his musical ability. A conspiracy of silence obviously engaged the whole household on this delicate and seemingly embarrassing matter.

Colonel Batten opened the door to them. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and wore a pair of vivid-green carpet slippers, the kind that are loaded in piles outside the big stores, for people to buy on the pavement. Some paper-chains lay draped over one shoulder, which he held hitched up for the purpose. Even so disguised, or half-disguised, he looked British, and military.

“Mrs. Winterbourne,” he said, quietly, significantly quietly, while looking with admiration. She had the sensation that his hands were itching to take her coat, to smooth her down, to groom her so that she might shine like a cavalryman's mount. A corresponding warmth of feeling touched her. After all, it was comforting to be assured at her age. All was not lost. She was glad that the new coat and skirt fitted so superbly. Her parcels were
surrendered graciously. He took them from her, making a major operation of the process. Then her coat was taken off her, and one paper-chain became attached to her sleeve, requiring the combined attention of both of them. They laughed gently, looking at each other indistinctly under the artificial light.

Joan meanwhile had to submit to the attention of both children, who almost fought over her. Young Adrian would allow no trespassing, and Jeannette had finally to give way, standing there contemplating the situation gravely, while her brother took Joan's remaining parcels, and led her by the hand into the drawing-room where the Christmas tree stood waiting, heavily loaded. She was again conscious of a touch of shyness as she felt the small, hard and cool hand in hers, grasping her fingers with the tenacity of a bird's claw. “Strong little brute,” she said to herself, and her heart turned over.

The sunshine flooded through the three french windows of the room, making the interior almost unseasonable, and the decorations garish. Joan stood alone with Adrian for a few moments, while he demonstrated the riches of the heap round the bole of the tree. He was determined to make her share his excitement, and there was nothing to do but submit to that violent little personality; violent, yet quiet, like that of the father.

Fortunately, as she told herself instantly, almost with a sigh as though being rescued from an unknown peril, Mrs. Batten came in, sailing blandly from the middle room, her face warm and smiling. Her broken English greeted the young woman, veiling the French dignity with a touch of comic relief.

The room filled up, Dr. Batten having followed his wife. He wore a velvet coat of nut-brown, and rich blue trousers. This lively costume emphasised the cool grey eyes, and the serene character of his face, indeed his whole bearing. He greeted his guests without a word, taking each by the hand
and contriving to give the impression that they were being drawn into the bosom of the family. It was most reassuring to two women out of their home setting at this disturbing time of year.

Joan had hitherto ignored the colonel. She did not know why. Perhaps her attention had been wholly occupied by the emphatic overtures from the small boy. Then the doctor had made his silent demand. In return, the colonel made no effort to pronounce himself toward her. He too was otherwise concerned, and with some profit, for Mary Winterbourne found herself being swept along, happily bewildered by her own acquiescence.

Guests began to arrive, all of them English. The occasion caused most of them to adopt a desert-island
bonhomie
toward each other, as though they were the sole survivors of the English-speaking race, brought together for a festival whose secrets and ritual were limited to the religious faith which, like their language, was also practically extinct.

The Ambassador sent his regrets and a suave third secretary with an exquisite young wife and two children, scruffy little ruffians who attached themselves instantly to the buffet. The commercial minister came in person, a gentle but permanently disillusioned man of some bulk, his eyes hidden behind heavy spectacles, which he sometimes replaced by a monocle. He was extremely popular, went the rounds, engaging all comers, and prodding the children, with touches of horseplay that delighted them, and set the party fermenting nicely. Mary, of course, was quickly attractive to him, and during the conversation she learned that he was also a writer whose novels she knew and had appreciated for their gracious ironic style. Her pleasure in meeting so distinguished a man warmed him, and he paid her attentions for the rest of the day; a gesture which was observed by Colonel Batten with some distaste.

Young women from the Embassy, and one or two private persons, male and female, completed the party, with two more children whose affiliation Joan and her mother never ascertained. They might have been either boy or girl, so rampagious did they become in the course of the excitement. They wore trousers; but that did not signify. No doubt their parents allowed them to appear in this guise for fear that they might be mistaken for French children.

The uproar grew, and the aperitifs went round. Then, just as the great meal was announced, a belated guest arrived. He was American. He came blindly into the room, an elderly man, portly and genial. Staring round almost shyly, he spotted the colonel, and approached him. Mary, standing with the commercial minister, sipping a glass of sherry, saw the colonel take him by the arm and introduce him to his brother. Obviously he was a stranger, unknown to the host and hostess, for Mrs. Batten was also introduced. The American bowed over her hand, apeing the cosmopolitan, and Mary heard him speaking, his voice carrying over the din.

“This gives me great pleasure, ma'am, I can assure you. And you, Dr. Batten, it is an honour to meet you. I have formed a very good opinion of all this household, I may say, from my friend the colonel. Is that not so, Colonel? Wherever I go in Paris I hear of your good work, and you may be sure that …”

The surge of human voices rolled in and drowned the rest of the compliments.

“Take a look at that,” whispered the minister to Mrs. Winterbourne. “I wonder what he's doing here. It's like the story of Red Riding Hood. Whom does he want to eat, I wonder?”

“You know him, then? He looks benevolent enough.”

“He's a very active business man, an impresario who is always worrying us for licences to import and export professionals
of one kind and another, usually musicians. Sometimes it will be a juggler or a prize-fighter. You realise that currency is involved in all these transactions.”

“I had not realised it. I am woefully insular.”

The minister looked at her pleadingly.

“Please remain so, dear lady. You are perfect that way.”

Then he became serious.

“I hope he has no sinister motive in gate-crashing like this.”

“But surely the doctor's brother has invited him. That is what it looks like.”

“Maybe. But that would not hamper him in any way.”

“Really, you quite frighten me.…”

This conversation was interrupted by the call to dinner. The guests began to flow through to the dining-room, carrying their laughter and chatter with them like martial music in a procession. It was discovered, to the relief of most people, that the six children were seated at a separate table headed by the governess-factotum, whose obvious talent was a gift for imperturbability.

Mary found herself placed on the right of the host. On her right sat the minister, and opposite him the colonel. Face to face with her was the lovely young wife of the secretary from the Embassy, the Honourable Millicent Somebody, whose name never quite came through, but whose two boys nobody could overlook. She had no need to do anything but sit, eat and drink. From time to time she looked frankly into Mary's eyes, and Mary saw a stupid but socially adroit woman. Nobody, she thought, would ever get past that; and I don't propose to try.

A place had been found for the American, Mr. Aloysius Sturm. Some re-disposition of plates, glasses and cutlery had been made, by Mrs. Batten's own hands, with a minimum of notice. He was placed at her right hand, the eleventh-hour guest. From that position of advantage, he
began to shine like a warm September sun, beaming good-humour and the Christmas spirit. A load of parcels which he had left in the hall was carried by mistake into the dining-room.

“Now I call that a great embarrassment for me, Dr. Batten,” he cried along the table to his host. “I had hoped that this modest contribution could be dropped alongside the rest without observation. The stranger within thy gates would not want …” He waved a fat hand, turned and bowed in miniature to Mrs. Batten, and whispered loudly, to the maid, “Now be a good soul and take those parcels to the Christmas tree.”

The meal was now in progress, both the doctor and his brother having left the table and got to work carving two turkeys. This division of labour ensured that the guests were quickly served with everything English; the turkey, the roast and mashed potatoes, the sprouts and creamed swedes, the chestnut and sausage stuffing, the bread sauce and gravy. The only un-English addition to the feast was the excellent 1928 Chambertin, appreciated by the commercial minister who rolled his eyes as he sipped his first glass. Mary thought it rather heavy, but did not dare to say so to so emphatic a connoisseur.

“Only two years old!” he exclaimed, reverently. “Wonderful!”

The colonel was watching him, a dangerous glint in his blue eyes. The exertions of carving had not ruffled the military figure: but the sight of this diplomat hovering like a full-bodied moth over Mrs. Winterbourne was disturbing.

The minister had observed it. A mischievous gleam shone in his eyes. He took off his heavy-rimmed spectacles, and assumed his monocle, thereby shedding ten years of his age. Peering at his handsome neighbour, he whispered:

“Ah! I see I have a rival, dear lady. I am expecting a challenge later in the day!”

“Too late in the day, I fear,” said Mary, who for the
second time in Paris was warmed by wine. “I shall have to remain in the company of my married daughter, if I am to be safe, and to do no harm.”

“A marked contrast, if I may say so without being rude.”

Mary felt that this was a little too gallant.

“I don't understand you,” she said. Then she had to look up over her shoulder at the colonel, who had come round behind her and asked if he could refill her plate with turkey. He stood between her and the minister. His firm hand touched hers as he reached for her plate, ignoring her refusal. The gesture was possessive, but she did not resent it.

The feast lasted until well into the afternoon, the company gradually sinking into the rising débris from crackers, and all the odds and ends that accumulate round a meal-table when the diners are many and the pleasure prolonged. The children withdrew first, to be prepared for the coming distribution. Colonel Batten also had drifted away; but the cross-table talk and laughter, toasting and replies, had made all strict observation impossible. Mary Winterbourne floated along on the full tide of sheer physical well-being, all the more appreciated after her recent indisposition. She had not felt so young for years. She was not sure that she could distinguish her own daughter somewhere down the table. But that did not matter. Even Joan must be enjoying herself. Nobody could do otherwise.

Then little Adrian entered alone, looking about him anxiously, so adult indeed that someone chaffed him about it. But he took no notice. He was intent on one thing, and that could be instantly observed, for he made straight for Joan Boys, pushing his way between her and her neighbour, and taking her arm.