Berry Scene (33 page)

Nearly six months had gone by, and, after a very quiet summer we were spending a week in Town. People were very kind. ‘Dine with us very quietly and say who you’d like to be there. Or, if you would rather not, may we come and see you?’ Of such is understanding. That we should take sherry in Charles Street was natural enough. Punch and Athalia Fairfax asked some of our oldest friends.

“Of course I’ll come to White Ladies,” cried Lady Plague. “For a long weekend this autumn. Soon it will be too late, for, when I become a nuisance, I shall stay put.”

“Nuisances,” said Berry, “are born. Like fools and bores. You can’t become a nuisance.”

“I can physically. Dribbling and diets and being helped out of chairs.”

“When Lady Plague dribbles,” said Berry, “one listens for Drake’s Drum. And England will be in peril, when you are helped out of your chair.”

“Very specious,” said Lady Plague. “But I’m getting on. Mr Forsyth, of course, is ageless. Thirty years ago he looked exactly the same.”

“There are times,” said Forsyth, “when I feel full of years. I’m growing tired of progress. It was rather fun at first, but now it has gathered speed. Our standard of living is growing absurdly high. But the finer arts are dying. If you are to cultivate them, you get left behind.”

“He’s right,” said Berry. “Who ever found him wrong? We went to a play last night that had run for over a year. I was not only bored, but shocked. Thirty years ago that play would have been shouted down.”

“Can’t have it both ways,” said Jonah. “And England is looking up.”

“That’s true,” said Elizabeth Larch. “Contentment is coming back.’

“I quite agree,” said Simon. “I haven’t been here for six months, and I notice a very big change.”

“The slow belly is less obtrusive?”

“Yes,” said Forsyth, “it is. And Lady Larch is right. Contentment is lifting its head. That is beyond all price. I’d sooner see England content than England great. We are great still, of course. But not so great as we were. I think we’re less – exacting. Perhaps it’s as well.”

“We’re getting tired,” said Berry. “Our reign has been very long. We’ve taught every other nation how to behave, and, as a result, are hated as no other power has been hated since Time began.”

“And trusted,” said Lady Plague. “Let’s drink our health.”

We did so cordially.

“And White Ladies?” said Punch.

“Stands where it did,” said Berry. “You must come and see for yourself.”

“Some Sunday?” said Athalia.

“Make it a weekend,” said Daphne.

“A Sunday would be better,” said Punch. “Just now I’m up to the neck.”

“Foreign affairs?” said Jonah.

Punch nodded.

“Dear, dear,” said Berry. “So much for the Zoo at Geneva. Never mind. Think of the unemployment, if they were to close it down. Thousands of blue-based baboons, all short of a job.”

“I knew there was something,” said Lady Plague. “What’s all this about psychology?”

“The wonder of the age,” said Berry. “Like halma and chewing-gum. No more inhibitions, no more hydrophobia, no more surplusage. The elixir of life at three or five guineas a time. It used to be ninepence a bottle at all the principal fairs; but now it’s gone up.”

“But is there anything in it?”

“There’s a lot of money in it,” said Berry. “I’ve a very good mind to have a stab myself. Look in my eyes, Lady Plague.”

Lady Plague complied.

“Just as I thought,” said Berry. “Your reflexes are turbulent. But that’s not all. The chiasmic pollux is fluting, and that we must check. You see, that leads to arthritis. Let me explain. Turbulence is a condition occasioned by failure to relax. If the turbulence is permitted to become constant, the chiasmic pollux balloons, because it is overworked. That affects the diaphragm costive, and, after a little, fluting is bound to set in. Now you don’t want arthritis, do you? So I should advise twelve treatments at seven guineas a time.”

“And the treatments?”

“You learn to relax,” said Berry. “You lie on a couch in a dark room, while I go out and get my hair cut.”

“Thank you,” said Lady Plague. “Mr Forsyth, what do you say?”

The lawyer raised his eyebrows.

“There are plenty of rogues,” he said, “in every walk of life. The practice of psychology, which I have seen defined as the science of the nature of the soul, offers a fair field to the impostor. I mean, he mayn’t come off, but he can’t be caught out. My personal feeling is that the professional psychologist should be superfluous. The village priest, the family lawyer, the general practitioner – if they are not psychologists, they are no good at their jobs. You can extend the list indefinitely. ‘The study of mankind is man.’ Of course it’s a sign of the times. If we go on like this, we shall have professional sympathizers.”

“That’s right,” said Berry. “Your aunt leaves all she’s got to the Barley Water Boys, and you take a course of comfort at two guineas a time.”

“My dears,” said Daphne, “listen. Elizabeth’s got great news. She and Dick are building the perfect house.”

“Gorgeous,” said Berry. “I’ve always wanted to build. Something quite slight, you know, with a couple of priest’s holes and a hectic tank.”

“Tell them, Elizabeth,” said Daphne.

“Well, it’s down in Wiltshire,” said the lady. “The thing is this. Uncle George has sold Bay Morreys for what he could get. But, before he sold, he gave Dick and me five acres – five acres of the park. Now the mansion is being pulled down, and we’ve bought enough material to build a very small house. Of course we’re frightfully lucky. The man who bought it ’s a builder and terribly nice. He could easily sting us, but he doesn’t. And it does save transport, because we are on the spot. There are times when I feel quite ashamed, but he only laughs. Walls of beautiful stone, flags for the terrace – you never saw such things, a perfectly lovely staircase and parquet floors. The ballroom will easily floor the whole of the house.”

“What a dream,” said Jonah.

“It’s like a dream,” said Elizabeth. “Beautiful old stuff for nothing at all. And it’s all because we’re only five minutes’ run. But the builder’s a lamb – he picks out the best for us.”

“Can’t we come and see it?” said Daphne. “It must be wonderful.”

“It is rather,” said Elizabeth. “I mean, every room is panelled, and so’s the hall. It’s very tiny, of course: but it’s really old. And we’ve got the stable clock – he made us a present of that,”

“I’m consumed with envy,” said Forsyth. “It’s often occurred to me that a perfect modern house could be born of one of the monsters of other days.”

“Then, why didn’t you say so?” said Lady Plague. “I shall write to Valerie to-night. It is the perfect solution. A new Bell Hammer rising out of the old. By Isabella Plantation, facing South.”

“Oh, very good,” said Berry. “Prejudice apart, Bell Hammer’s too big today. Pull it down and build a dower house. Talk about picking and choosing – they’ll have a showplace.”

“I feel quite old-fashioned,” said Athalia.

“Oh, come,” said Simon Beaulieu. “Lullaby is superb.”

“I know. But a smaller house…”

“You’re telling me,” said Berry. “But what can one do?”

“The spacious days,” said Forsyth, “are over and gone. And I, for one, regret them. They were – magnificent. I know it’s the fashion to condemn them; but the men they produced in every walk of life were finer men than those we produce today. But that’s by the way. With comparatively few exceptions, the mansions of those great days are now but monuments. Some, like White Ladies, are so lovely that we can only hope that they will see out Time. But many serve no purpose, except to impoverish those who endeavour to keep them up. It would be so very much better if these were taken down and smaller, modern houses were built in their stead. As in Lady Larch’s case, much of their stuff could be used to great effect; and the park would become a recognized building estate.”

“There’s a big chance there,” said Simon.

“If,” said Jonah, “the work was carefully done, the country would not be spoiled and England would be enriched.”

“Homes worth having,” said Berry. “Perhaps we shall see it yet.” He turned to Elizabeth. “When may we come and see Bay Morreys’ son?”

“Whenever you like, of course. But don’t expect too much. I suppose you couldn’t think of a name.”

“
The Minor House
,” said Berry. “No, that won’t do. And somebody’s got
Clovelly
. What about
Renaissance
?”

“Too grand,” said Elizabeth.

“I must think it over,” said Berry. “What’s Bay Morreys mean?”

“We can’t find out. Years and years ago it used to be called Hare Hall.”

“Well, there you are,” said Berry. “Leveret Lodge.”

“Full marks,” said everyone.

Athalia Fairfax was speaking.

“You’re terribly lucky, Simon, to live in France.”

“You are indeed,” said Berry. “Not that I’m mad about the French. Certain of their shortcomings are painfully short. And I wouldn’t reside in Paris for thirty thousand a year. But much of the country offers what England has lost today – the spirit and manner of an old-fashioned age. Of course they’re behind the times – but that’s what’s so valuable. Take any French market: it might be a market in England sixty years ago. And Husbandry is still Husbandry. It mayn’t be economic, but it’s devilish picturesque. Then again, look at the service you get in France.”

“We are very lucky,” said Simon. “I realize that. And all Berry says is true. Our staff is proud of being part of our home. Our interests are theirs. If a tradesman puts a foot wrong, they’re more angry than we. They work very well and they clearly enjoy their work. In their eyes it isn’t degrading to run our home. Their one idea is to have their parents to tea and show them round. Pat, of course, always sees them before they go, and they always thank her for taking such care of their girl. It’s the old outlook, you know; and good or bad, it makes for happiness.”

“Company?” said Forsyth.

“We live our own lives,” said Simon. “With certain exceptions, the French upper classes don’t appeal to us. Our doctor, in fact, is a perfectly charming man: speaks perfect English, of course, and holds two English degrees. He dines with us and we go to lunch with him. But ‘his betters’ won’t have him at their table. He’s worth ten of them any day; but, because he works for his living, he is outside their pale. But lots of English people are round about, and we’re not very far from Biarritz – for what that is worth.”

“Unemployment?” said Punch.

Simon shook his head.

“None that I know of,” he said.

“Of course there’s none,” said Berry. “Because they’re behind the times. Unemployment goes with progress. Are a scythe and a yoke of oxen such false economy?”

“Taxation?” said Lady Plague.

“Largely indirect and half the rest evaded. How the country goes on, I do not know.”

“Paradise,” said Berry. “But…in a foreign field.”

“There’s the rub,” said Jonah.

“I quite agree,” said Simon. “Many a time we’ve thought of coming back. But when we go into the matter… I mean, it isn’t one thing: it’s one thing after another.” He touched his cuff. “This shirt is five years old. Linen lasts in France, because it is properly washed.”

“Exactly,” said Berry. “By hand. ‘As it was in the beginning.’ What’s France compared with us? As copper is to gold. But we have refined our gold. ‘
Gold
is good: but if the
gold
have lost his
virtue
…’ But the copper’s not lost its virtue, for France is behind the times.”

“And now cheer us up,” said Athalia. “You promised once to tell me a fairy-tale.”

“Oh, dear,” said Berry. “I’m sure I must have been tight.”

“Off you go,” said Punch, refilling his glass.

“There was once,” said Berry, “a king, who was full of beans. Everything possible was done about it, without result: and at last his physicians declared that magic alone could relieve his unfortunate state. So a Council was held.

“‘Well, what about it?’ said the King. ‘I mean, these blasted beans are getting me down.’

“There was an awkward silence.

“Then the Comptroller swallowed.

“‘I told you not to,’ he said. ‘I remember it perfectly.’

“‘Of course,’ said the King, ‘there’s something coming to you. I didn’t summon you to remember my shortcomings. What I want is a reliable witch.’

“‘Exactly,’ said the Comptroller. ‘And eighteen months ago you fired all the witches out. Twenty-four hours to leave the kingdom.’

“‘If you ask me,’ said the Chancellor, ‘that’s why you’re full of beans.’

“The King frowned.

“‘We all make mistakes,’ he said. ‘Besides, I had every right. What about that invisible cloak? That I got for the servants’ ball? Invisible, my foot. I never felt such a fool in all my life.’

“‘I know of one,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘As a matter of fact, she’s my aunt. She isn’t really a witch, but she does a bit of sorcery on the side.’

“‘Is she any good?’ said the King.

“‘On her day,’ said the Master of the Horse, ‘she’s not too bad. I’ve seen her change my uncle into a jug of milk.’

“‘Have you, indeed?’ said the King, wiping his face. ‘Is the marriage still a success?’

“‘Dissolved,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘She forgot to tell the maids, and they gave him to the cat.’

“The King looked round uneasily.

“‘We don’t want any mistakes,’ he said. ‘All I want her to do is to spill my beans. Supposing you sounded her?’

“‘OK,’ said the Master of the Horse; and so it was left.

“The next day, at another Council, the King received his report.

“‘My aunt will do it,’ he said, ‘but she wants a very long price.’

“‘That’s absurd,’ said the King. ‘As one of my subjects – . Besides, I shall, er, recognize her services in the usual way. After all, I’m the fountain of honour.’

“‘And a widower,’ said the other. ‘She wants to be Queen.’

“As soon as he could speak—

“‘Are you being funny?’ said the King.

“The Master of the Horse shook his head.

“‘That’s treason,’ said the Comptroller, who didn’t like the idea.