Highland Fling (16 page)

‘My spirit is broken,’ said Albert, as they walked downstairs again, ‘or I should certainly bargain with the innkeeper for that exquisite aspidistra. I covet it. But I have no energy left in me for such exertions. Mr Buggins, do tell me, I have always so much wanted to know, who
was
Auld Lang Syne?’

It was past three o’clock when they arrived at the enclosure where the games were taking place. Each member of the party had to pay five shillings to go in.

‘I knew it would be cheaper, in the end, to go to the Lido,’ said Walter bitterly.

There was an enormous crowd in the enclosure consisting of very large strong-looking people; the men mostly wore kilts and the women dull but serviceable tweeds.

Albert bought a programme which he shared with Jane. It was printed on thin pink paper and informed them that they were about to witness:

Albert began explaining this to Jane as they were separated from the others:

‘ “Tossing the caber”. Now that will be worth seeing; the caber is Scottish for a young bull and this ancient sport was introduced into Scotland by the survivors of the Spanish Armada, who settled in many of the islands. “Throwing the
hammer”. Two men, I believe, are given six hammers each to throw and they see who can knock out the other one first. Dangerous, but what is that to these wild clansmen?’

‘How d’you know all this?’ asked Jane suspiciously.

‘My dear, of course I know all about it. Don’t be tiresome, but come and see for yourself.’

As they drew near to the arena their ears were greeted by a curious medley of sounds, the results of two brass bands playing different tunes, a band of bagpipes and a man walking drearily round alone, piping.

‘So like
Le Pas d’Acier
,’ murmured Albert, who had long entertained an unreasonable dislike for that ballet.

The arena, which was railed off from the crowd by ropes, was a large piece of flat ground like a football field. At one side of it there was a raised platform, on which sat several ancient men in kilts.

‘The chieftains,’ Albert explained, ‘of neighbouring clans. Although they look so friendly, each in reality is fingering his dirk; their hearts are black with age-old hatreds of each other. Meanwhile, their brave clansmen are striving with might and main to win the games. Let’s get up closer, I can’t see anything.’

The arena presented an extraordinary spectacle of apparently meaningless activity. People seemed to be doing things quite by themselves in every available corner of the field, while, encircling the whole, about seven skinny little men in shorts were quickly cycling round and round, followed by a crowd of even skinnier little men, running. They mostly looked like Whitechapel Jews. Some girls in Highland dress and long flowing hair were dancing a fling in one corner; in another an enormous giant appeared to be balancing a tree on his chest. The tug-of-war went on the whole time, neither side gaining an inch, and the vaulting also was incessant.

‘I am bitterly disappointed!’ cried Albert, when he had gazed for some time upon this medley of sports. ‘I had imagined that
I was going to see savage Highlanders, in philabeg and bonnet, performing unheard-of feats. And what do I find? Men of more insignificant physique than myself cycling, running, jumping, and doing it rather worse than little boys at their private school sports. As for the noise, I cannot condemn it too heartily. I am suffering real physical pain and, also, I feel most dreadfully sick.’

‘Well, can you wonder?’ said Jane. ‘Personally, I’ve never felt so ill in my life before. What I’m wondering, though, is how we are to account for the picnic-basket being found again.’

‘Oh, easily. We can say that some rough man brought it back.’

‘Yes, but that’s so unlikely; because how is the rough man to know whom it belongs to? Presumably, if there is an address inside, it will be that of the Prague home, as they say in films.’

‘We shall have to advertise for it. Oh! the boredom of these games! I’ve never known anything so oppressive. And as for those
cyclistes
they make me feel positively giddy, round and round like rats in a cage. Can’t we go home soon? There’s Alfred Sprott! Doesn’t he look awfully jolly? Let’s go and embarrass him.’

Albert gracefully approached Lord Alfred, who was standing with a pretty blonde young woman.

‘De-ar Alfred,’ he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘why are you not playing in these delightful games? I remember so well the day you won
all
the sports at Eton.’

Lord Alfred turned scarlet, muttered something, and hurried away into the crowd.

‘Always so
gauche
, the darling boy,’ said Albert sadly. ‘Here comes Mr Buggins.’

Mr Buggins was walking with a tall, oldish man in a kilt, whom he introduced as Sir Alexander McDougal.

‘Sir Alexander,’ he said, ‘is the convener of the games this year. He has just been judging the piping competition.’

‘In other words, I suppose,’ said Albert, ‘the producer. Well, sir, I must congratulate you. Seen as a sort of outdoor ballet
these games must command the highest praise. The music, too, although at first unmelodious, seems now a very fitting background to these fantastic gestures. Charming! Charming!’

Sir Alexander walked quickly away, followed by Mr Buggins.

‘Why did you say that,’ asked Jane (a truthful girl), ‘when you know how bored you are feeling?’

‘Well, darling, I always think that any artistic endeavour, however unsuccessful, should be encouraged. These games do show a certain amount of enterprise; when looked at impartially there is a sort of pattern to be discerned in them. In time they might become most interesting and unique. Meanwhile, they are, of course, far too monotonous.’

‘And do you realize,’ said Walter, who, with Sally, now joined them, ‘that they are still doing the very things that they were doing at ten o’clock this morning?’

‘The same people?’

‘The same, or others so similar to them as to be indistinguishable.’

‘Don’t you think,’ said Sally wearily, ‘that we might go home, as we’re all here?’

This suggestion was felt to meet the situation quite admirably, and Walter was sent off to find Mr Buggins, while the others waited in the car.

‘Sicker,’ said Albert, as they finally bowled off towards Dalloch Castle, ‘I have never felt.’

After dinner that evening the party assembled in the hall to take leave of Captain and Lady Brenda Chadlington, who, to nobody’s very great regret, were leaving the castle for the jolly cosy little lodge where Lord Alfred Sprott and others made such a cheery crowd. When they had gone the butler came up to Lady Prague and informed her that the picnic basket had just been brought back by a rough man.

‘Most peculiar,’ said Lady Prague; but she let the matter rest at that.

Jane sat talking to Sally in her bedroom after tea. Poor Sally had spent most of the day being sick. Morris (or Minerva) was beginning to make his (or her) presence felt in no uncertain way.

‘What is so unfair,’ she said, ‘is that I’m not only sick in the morning, which one expects to be, but sick in the afternoon and evening as well. However, I’m quite pleased we’re going to have him, you know. I think a little squawking baby will be great fun, and Walter’s been divine about it.’

‘Albert and I are going to have four, all boys. One thing I’m
not
looking forward to is telling my family about Albert. Think of their feelings when they hear that he’s an artist, who lives abroad and was sent down from Oxford. They’ll blow up, that’s all. Oh, how I dread it!’

Sally, who knew that Jane enjoyed nothing so much as a scene with her parents, murmured words of sympathy.

‘I expect they’ll be delighted when they see him. Albert gets on very well with older people. Look at Mr Buggins.’

‘Yes, and look at General Murgatroyd,’ said Jane quickly, frowning at the idea that they might approve of Albert. ‘He’s much more like daddy than Mr Buggins is.’

‘My dear Jane, how absurd you are! Two people couldn’t be more different than Sir Herbert and General Murgatroyd. Your father has a great sense of humour, for one thing, and then he’s a very cultivated man. Anyhow, you shouldn’t talk like that: you get all your brains from him.’

‘No, indeed, I don’t. I get them from my maternal
grandmother, Judith Trevor. Brains often skip a generation, you know, and come out in the grandchildren. Poor mummy and daddy are both terribly stupid: darlings, of course, but narrow-minded and completely unintellectual.’

‘I simply don’t understand your attitude towards your parents, and, what’s more, I believe the whole thing is a pose. Why, when you’re at home you always seem to be so fond of them, and anyone can see that they adore you.’

‘Think what you like, my dear Sally, you won’t alter the truth. Of course, I know how charming they are and how grateful I ought to be for everything they’ve done, and so on, and in a way I am fond of them. We have a different outlook and that’s all there is to it.’

The door opened and Walter came in with a telegram in his hand.

‘Too extraordinary,’ he said. ‘Here’s a wire from Ralph to say that he and Mrs Fairfax are coming to dinner. Can you understand it?’

Sally read it out loud:

‘ “May Loudie and I come to dinner today? Will arrive about eight on chance of finding you.

R
ALPH
” ’

‘How very mysterious! Why are they in Scotland?’

‘I know, so peculiar and why together? However, we shall hear all about it this evening. How pleased Albert will be to see Ralph. Do you imagine they’ll be wanting to stay the night?’

‘Certainly, I should think. We’ll get rooms ready in case. Anyway, it’s very exciting. I’m always pleased to see Ralph, myself, and Mrs Fairfax is such heaven. But I’m longing to know what it all means, aren’t you?’

‘What
will
the Murgatroyds think of Mrs Fairfax?’

‘I expect they probably know her already. But I imagine that Ralph will be a bit of a shock to them.’

‘Oh, this is going to be fun!’ said Jane, and she ran off to tell Albert.

Dinner was well advanced before there was any sign of the newcomers.

As Sally had conjectured, Mrs Fairfax was well-known to all the Murgatroyds. A much-married lady, she had in turn been the wife of an English duke, an American millionaire and an Italian prince; and now, in theory, if not in fact, shared the bed of a rather depressing Colonel Fairfax. Lady Prague, in common with many of her contemporaries, still remained on bowing terms with her despite these moral lapses; as the mother of an English marquess, an American heiress and an Italian duke, Mrs Fairfax could always command a certain measure of tolerance even from the most strait-laced dowagers.

Lady Prague was in the middle of explaining to the general that dear Louisa had always been such a high-spirited girl and could, therefore, hardly be blamed for her actions. ‘Not that I approve of her, of course. I don’t, but somehow one forgives things to her that one couldn’t put up with in others’ – when the door opened and Ralph Callendar swayed into the room. He kissed Sally’s hand, blew kisses to Jane and Albert, bowed to the rest of the company, and explained:

‘Loudie is making up her face in the hall. She thinks that she’s looking tired, but that if she is sufficiently
maquillée
everyone will think: “How painted she is!” instead of: “How aged she is!” which is naturally preferable. The angel! Here she comes!’

The door opened again to admit an immensely fat Pekinese, with bulging eyes and a rolling gait, followed by his mistress and human counterpart, Mrs Fairfax. Short and plump, waddling rather than walking, her little round face inches deep in paint, her little fat hands covered with rings, her stout little body enveloped in a sable coat, she resembled nothing so much as a rather prepossessing giant Pekinese. The moment she was
inside the room she let loose a perfect flow of inconsequent chatter:

‘Sally, darling, what
must
you think of us, forcing ourselves on you like this? We heard you were here quite by chance and couldn’t resist coming. Florence, what a surprise! And Mowbray, too, and the admiral, and dear, nice Mr Buggins! Albert such an age since I’ve seen you. Jane – looking so beautiful. What’s happened to you, my dear? In love, I suppose, as usual? Well, I must say this is a delightful party. And the poor Craigdallochs are away, I hear.’

She sat down next to Walter and continued:

‘Of course, I suppose you all think Ralph and I are eloping? Well, no. Though to be frank, this is the first time I’ve made a journey of the sort without eloping. I ran away with all my dear husbands, you know, even with poor Cosmo, though I can’t remember why that was necessary. Oh, yes, of course I know, I was under age and my father said we must wait for three months. Three months! As though anyone could. So we just ran away to Paris: only for a night and it was all most innocent (dear Cosmo – so pompous!); but we were seen by several people – we took care to be, of course – and after that it was plain sailing and we were married in the rue d’Aguesso, I remember. Really, it made a vivid impression on me at the time. The Ambassador was there and poor father gave me away, and poor Cosmo took me away, dear thing, to Rome or somewhere, and it was all very different from what I had expected. And now I’ve shocked Florence. But what was I talking about? Oh, yes, of course. Well, Ralph and I are not eloping: merely escaping.’

‘Escaping?’

‘From Linda May. From the West Coast of Scotland really. You tell them about it, darling, while I get on with my fish.’

‘You see,’ said Ralph, shutting his pained eyes and speaking in a voice which gave the impression that he had lived a thousand tiring lives, ‘Linda, the poppet, seems to have gone mad. It is a
great tragedy. She invited us to go for a cruise in her yacht. She said we would go to the Islands. Naturally thinking that she meant the Greek islands, we accepted, intending to leave her quite soon for the Lido. Two days before we were to start I discovered, to my horror and amazement, that we were being taken to visit some islands on the West Coast of Scotland. Well, you know, Albert, Scotland is all right for you, but it’s not my
period
. So I telephoned to Loudie and told her this agonizing news. I begged her to come straight to the Lido instead. But no, obstinate as a mule. She insisted on going with Linda. Imagine my mental sufferings faced with the prospect either of not seeing Loudie for weeks, or of facing these ghastly hardships in her company. I begged, I implored her to change her mind; and when, at last, I realized that she was absolutely bent upon going, I made the great sacrifice and accompanied her. But I did beg, didn’t I, Loudie?’