The Little Girls (22 page)

“I walked back into the house, you know, on my own.”

“I know when: I was showing Sheikie the
potager.”
Dinah beamed round on Clare. “Oh, I’m glad!—Drawing-room, did you go into?”

“Where your mother’s clock is? Yes.” Clare paused. “China’s all gone, I suppose?”

“No. Up in my room.”

“Where’s that other needlework stool?”

“Up by my bed: I keep books on it.”

“She’s dead, Dicey?”

“Yes.—You know, we never went back to Feverel Cottage.”

“How should I know? We were gone.—Then where did you go?”

“We stayed on up there. I mean, Cumberland—Cousin Roland made us. He got in a state about leaving us, when the war’d begun, when it didn’t seem going well. Didn’t want us anywhere nearer Germans. ‘What good would it do,’ he said, ‘hearing those guns?’ No, better in Cumberland, he said.—At least I
suppose
he did, I suppose it was that? Anyway, there we stayed. So a house was found.— Where did you go?”

“Mother and I? To my grandmother’s.”

“Oh, Mumbo.”

“Yes, well.—Then all your things went to Cumberland?”

“No. That was a furnished house. They went into store.”

“I cannot imagine her without them.”

“You only have to try for a few years.”

“Then, after Cumberland?”

“There was no after Cumberland. There still was me, of course. There was Cousin Roland.”

“Oh,”
said heavy Clare.

“Don’t be sad,” said Dinah, turning back to the shelves. She went on: “What I don’t understand is, where all this new stuff’s going to go? The shop as it now is seems just enough—won’t all this overcrowd it?”

“Quite half that stuff that’s now out there’s going out.”

“Heavens—to where?”

“Why, another branch. That’s the entire principle: keep things stirring.”

“How do you know all this—how did you find it out? How do you do it?” Dinah, sobered, said: “Clare, how able you are! Aren’t you?—Things, you did always like, but you either would never touch them or always dropped them. Now they’re your living?”

“Now they’re my living. Yes, you are perfectly right: I have great ability. Could have done almost anything. Yes, I mean that—for once, for a wonder.” Clare, giving Dinah her most stoical stare, told her: “I’m not joking.”

“But you were intellectual. Shouldn’t you have been educated, or something?”

“By now, what matter? Who cares!”

“I care.”

“Now don’t start any of that.”

“I’m not starting anything.—And I tell you who is mysterious, and that’s Sheikie. In ways, she’s more fascinating than you are.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. More barnacled over. Far, far more barnacled over than you or I are. Wouldn’t you say? She’s certainly thickly covered with
some
deposit. Thanks to which, she is tremendously ‘the thing’—almost never not, doesn’t one notice? Partly, that chic Southstone set she seems to be in? And Time, of course, also has done its work—it’s so far failed to give coating to you or me. One could say, she’s simply become
more so
(as no doubt you have, and I suppose I have) yet I ask myself whether it’s that only? You wouldn’t say she put up a bit of a front? Well, she always did—but now more than she did, and for more reason? Because, what I’m now coming to is why she’s fascinating: under all that, Sheikie’s
capable de tout
.”

“So are we all,” Clare said somewhat vaguely, “aren’t we?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not
capable de tout
anything like Sheikie. She always was, you would say? And you could be right—all I’d like to point out is, one thing Times does is, make anyone
capable
capable of still more. To my mind, there are various mysteries about Sheikie. What about that dancing, what became of her dancing? And that no-children: does she, or not, care? And I tell you another thing she’s done: she’s invented Trevor—doubtless for some good reason. We all knew Trevor. That ‘Trevor this,’ ‘Trevor that’ she is always quoting is not Trevor.”

“You were not nice about Trevor the other morning,” Clare pointed out, “sitting on that wall. ‘Why marry that house agent?’ you shrieked.”

“Were wildest horses to tell me that
was
Trevor? Her letter had only said she was now an Artworth.”

“Why not? He was in the succession.”

“Was he?—Well, to go on: Sheikie’s certainly dauntless. I bet you she defended Southstone like simply anything, that famous time around 1940—I see her seated up on a cliff, don’t you, lobbing anything-everything back at those poor Germans. No wonder they were too terrified to land. Oh, brave as a lion—but then, so are we all: what’s also outstanding in Sheikie is calm efficiency. Would make an excellent nurse or excellent murderess. You’d agree?”

“Well, that’s quite a thing to be asked.”

“Well, I’m only asking.—Why did she marry so late, too? What happened first? She
could,
I suppose, have not been anything more than ‘a fair but frozen maid,’ but I deeply doubt it. And what made her cut up like that about my advertisements? Went on like a maniac, you told me.”

“I did not.”

“Well, that’s the impression you gave me.”

Clare, having during the discourse unzipped a stylish brief-case and brought out papers (invoices, checked lists, and bills of lading already were tucked under much of the checked stock), now looked at her watch—ostentatiously, in the manner of one who has done so, in vain, before. She put on spectacles. “Sorry, but I’ve now got to—”

“Have a conference?”

“You’re surprisingly right.”

“Well, that’s what you look like.—Who with? Oh,
not
for five minutes more?”

“You’ve talked enough.”

“I only talk when I have something to say,” said Dinah contentedly, lighting a cigarette.

“An excellent rule.—Sorry, but there are matters to be gone into.”

“That means Phyllida in again?”

“No. T’other, this time. T’other’s boss here, if any. Got more sense.”

“Oh, has she?—What’s
her
name?”

“Mrs. Stokes.”

“Why Mrs. Stokes, when the other’s Phyllida?”

“She’s a widow.”

“Well, I am a widow, but you show me no special consideration. Can’t you wait till I’m gone?”

“When are you going?”

“Not for a few minutes, I hadn’t thought?” Dinah started fishing about in her deep handbag—which since it was last resorted to had hung open on its strap from her arm. “Here it is—thought I had itl Engraved on her Azure Bond.” Her next move was made with decision, though no haste.

“Dicey
—what are you doing to my telephone?”

The other began arrangements for what should be a protracted session—hooked a chair from where it was to where it should be, sat on it, saw to it that the “Paul” dish was in position, then, reaching round, removed the telephone bodily from its shelf on to her knee, where it took on the air of a favoured nurseling. So placed, she orientated towards Clare—and facing Clare, it was clear, she planned to remain. Her determination to do so was engaging. “One squeak,” she said, “just one squeak out of Sheikie, wouldn’t it be a triumph to obtain? A Message from Mars? Come on, come on, come on—leave Sheikie out of this?”

“We have sung her praises.”

“Oh, but I don’t feel that’s quite the same!—How do I get Long Distance on
this
telephone?”

Not told, she found out. Southstone then came through, supernaturally soon.

“Oh, hul-lo! Who’s that?—Well it doesn’t matter, but do you think I could speak to Mrs. Artworth? . .. That would be very kind. Tell her it’s urgent. (D’you know who I bet that was? Trevor’s devoted nurse. Bright as a button. She says she
thinks
Sheikie’s there,” said Dinah, wearing a look of awe. “As simple as this, after all these years.)…Oh,
Sheikie
, hullo!…Why yes, of course I am me! (She knew my voice.)…I was just telling Mumbo, you knew my voice…Yes, of course she is here. Or rather, I am with her…In a Mopsie Pye shop…A garden of all delights. (She wants to know what your shop’s like.) … I was telling Mumbo, you want to know what her shop’s like…She’s very well. (You are, aren’t you?) … I am
very
well. But the real point is, how are
you
?
We wondered. Are you
very
well?….Yes, I see. (She’s run off her feet.) .. . But otherwise well?…That is an undertaking, isn’t it? (She’s taken on running the White Elephant stall at some vast bazaar.) … Oh, were you? Well, all the more lucky to have caught you, but we mustn’t keep you. (She was just on the point of dashing out of the house, to get to the White Elephant, when the nurse caught her.) … I was just putting Mumbo in the picture about the White Elephant.
Oh, did you get back all right the other night
?…
Good. We wondered… Oh, dear. (She did, but she was all in.) Well it’s nice to know you are there. We wish you were here… . Well, yes, you easily may be, now I come to think of it. (Will she be seeing us, she wants to know.)…Almost any time. Any evening Mumbo can get away. We are at least going to try.
…I can’t believe there’s no St. Agatha’s
garden
…Yes, but they may not have dug the whole place over… . Well, then don’t, Sheikie. … I know, but we think it’s worth trying a slight probe…I know, but this isn’t a dog. (Let sleeping dogs lie, she says. Rather late in the day, I should have thought?)…I do see. How can you, when you’re so prominent?…Well, if we run into trouble, we run into trouble
…
Yes, but who is to know you know us?
We would never let on. Only if all went well, we would then come round…Well, that’s very nice of you, Sheikie. (Drinks, she says.)…Good: then we’ll let you know.—Oh, one last thing: have you ever killed anyone? … What? … I see … I only wondered… . No, Mumbo thought not. (You did on the whole, didn’t you?) . .. Ha-ha, yes, like anything. You bet. Well you should have been here…Yes you
must
, or your White Elephant will go rogue. See you soon, then…(Mumbo, Sheikie says to wish you all of the best.)…Sheikie, Mumbo says to wish
you
all the best, too…So
long!
”

Dinah put down the receiver slowly, giving it an affectionate look. She remarked to Clare: “The one thing Mother stopped me doing that Sheikie did—and I think your mother was the same?—was saying ‘So long!’ You know, in spite of that old bat Mrs. Beaker, Sheikie always was
avant-garde
.”
The telephone, after its brief good time, had to go back on to the shelf. “I’m glad we did that. She was pleased, I think. It was nice.—Her life is human, you know.”

Clare chose to be stuffy. “What a thing to ask her over the telephone!”

“Why? Her line’s not tapped, is it?—Or is yours? Well, look, since you have that conference on your mind, you had better get started, and I’d better get going. Fair enough; I only asked for five minutes. How far’s London?”

“What
did
she say?”

“You don’t have to know, if you don’t approve. She said, ‘Not exactly’—having thought for a minute. She took it very calmly, in good part. On the whole, she seemed pleased at being asked, I thought. People like to be taken an interest in. Set or no set, I don’t think Sheikie has many friends.”

“And one other thing, Dinah.
What
is this project?”

“Why, what we were in the middle of planning the other afternoon! You know: in the orchard at Applegate, when
Sheikie suddenly dealt us that frightful blow. Oh, it was
a
blow (so much so that I’ve been fighting to put it out of my mind). But not, you know, thinking the matter over, necessarily a blow to our plan. As Sheikie remarked just now—and as I think one would have imagined even if she hadn’t—everywhere there’s been built over with new houses. But new houses, in places with nice views, often have pretty little gardens, don’t they? And to make pretty little gardens, one quite often uses fragments of gardens which have been there. I’ve known of that being done, at least. Haven’t you?”

“I’m damned if we’re going there,” said Clare.

“And I shall be not damned but very much surprised, indeed, if we don’t.” Dinah now looked at her watch. She reiterated: “How far
is
London?”

“What part?”

“Where one has lunch. Oh, and I must tell you who I am having lunch with: Packie! We must, must arrange— that, really he is entitled to! The
least
he is entitled to,” said Dinah firmly. “Then, as I made rather an early start, I think I may go round to William’s and sleep. If I go there, I’ll probably stay the night.”

“William is?”

“My son.” A second search was being made in the bag —car keys?

“I thought you had two?”

“Well, of course I have! Roland lives near Canterbury, William and Annie, though, are in Rutland Gate.—Mumbo, no, don’t come out with me: you’re busy. Oh,
don’t
all of a sudden be so very polite—
aren’t
you? I shall have miles to walk, too: nowhere, nowhere was there to leave my car. Where was the Mini, where had you put the Mini? I looked for it everywhere in vain. This is a very, a very animated town. Are all these places like this, where you have your shops? How do you remember where you are?—I mean, which you’re in? Are you going to another place today?”