Wigs on the Green (10 page)

‘T.P.O.F. is expecting you,’ she cried. ‘Hail and farewell, cousin Poppy St Julien.’

‘Hail and farewell, Eugenia,’ said Poppy smiling. A moment later she turned and shouted over her shoulder, ‘Noel is waiting for you on the village green.’

Lady Chalford received her with an almost touching cordiality. ‘Dear child,’ she cried, ‘I have been thinking of you a great deal since Thursday – it is a very happy thing for me that you have come to Chalford. Why, I have not seen one of my relations since our tragedy – sixteen years ago. You must tell me a great deal of news – first of all, how is your dear mother?’

Poppy said that her dear mother was very well. She did not mention the painful fact that they had not been on speaking terms since Poppy’s marriage to Anthony St Julien. Lady Chalford then proceeded to inquire after innumerable collaterals, mentioning
aunts, uncles, and cousins, of whose existence Poppy was, in many cases, hardly herself aware.

‘Dear child,’ Lady Chalford said, when Poppy was unable to throw any light on the health, happiness, or even the whereabouts of two of her own father’s first cousins, ‘you seem to be, as a family, sadly
décousu
, if I may say so.’

The old lady evidently carried in her head a vast family tree, not a birth, a death, or a marriage among the remotest of her connections seemed ever to have escaped her notice. Poppy thought it a sad thing that her extraordinary prejudice against so normal an eventuality as the fact of a divorce should have caused her to be shut away for ever from the world. She was evidently a woman who possessed an unusual capacity for affection and interest in the lives of other people.

They began to talk about the garden party, Lady Chalford producing a list of those neighbours who had been invited to her son’s coming-of-age ball in 1912. ‘I expect it must be a little out of date now,’ she said, smiling. ‘I must try and get it revised before the invitations are sent. There is no hurry really.’ She then suggested a date for the party in about three weeks’ time. ‘Will that give you long enough to get up a little pageant, dear?’

‘Oh! yes,’ said Poppy, ‘if we get to work straight away. Will you settle a subject for the pageant? As soon as that is fixed we can get on with it.’

‘I was thinking about that before you came,’ said Lady Chalford. ‘Now two monarchs, with their wives, are known to have visited Chalford, so we shall be able to repeat actual history itself. They were Charles the First and Henrietta Maria, who came to the Old Manor, and George the Third and Queen Charlotte. They came to see Chalford House when it was finally completed, and I incline myself towards reproducing their visit, for this reason. We still have, in the stables here, George the Third’s own coach, and I thought it would be very interesting to use that for the scene of his arrival. Those acting the parts of King George and Queen Charlotte could get into the coach somewhere behind the kitchen
garden, drive round the park and then up to the house – if you will come to this window, dear, I will show you exactly how it can be arranged.’ She led Poppy forward and began pointing out various landmarks and a route for the coach. Poppy, however, was paying no attention to her. For, standing in the middle of the drive, looking up at Chalford House, were two excessively ordinary men in tweed jackets and grey flannel trousers. Poppy gazed at them for a moment, thunderstruck, then inadvertently cried out, ‘Oh! Anthony, you dirty swine!’ Lady Chalford turned towards her in amazement. Putting an arm round her waist she said, ‘Dear Poppy, you are very white. Come and lie down for a little, it is the heat – you should never have walked all the way from the village. I will send at once for my motor car to take you home again.’

The local beauty looked out of her drawing-room window and saw Jasper Aspect coming towards the house. He ignored the drive, which twisted and turned among rhododendron bushes like a snake in its death agony (a late Victorian arrangement calculated to make the grounds seem more spacious), and strode carelessly over lawn and flower-beds alike, until, reaching the front door, he gave a tremendous peal to the bell. Mrs Lace meanwhile had escaped to her bedroom. She was delighted by this very unexpected turn of circumstance; she thought Jasper far more attractive than the too-obviously infatuated Noel, but had rather given up hope of his conquest since their meeting at the Jolly Roger. Telling her maid that she would be down in a moment, she hastily proceeded to change her clothes, and her face. Anne-Marie Lace was one of those women who alternate in appearance between the very extremes of squalor and smartness; when she was alone she could never be bothered to brush her hair, varnish her nails, or powder her nose; when in company she was always excessively well turned out. Having now arranged herself to her own satisfaction, she came into the drawing-room so quietly that Jasper who, more from habit than interest, was reading a letter he had found on the writing-table, gave a guilty
start. Mercifully, however, Mrs Lace appeared to notice nothing, and greeted him with effusion.

‘This is nice of you,’ she cried,
‘enchantée de vous voir,’
and she proceeded to sweep about the room in a highly theatrical manner, patting up cushions and tidying away books and newspapers with a variety of stunning gestures. These antics put Jasper in mind of some actress who is left alone on the stage for a few moments after the curtain has gone up.

‘That’s better now,’ she said, smiling at him with wide-opened eyes, ‘my little darlings have been romping in here, and you know how children upset everything in a room. Won’t you sit down and have a cigarette?’ She lit one for him, which gave her another excuse for some highly theatrical gestures.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘we can have a nice cosy gossip. There are so many things I have been longing to ask you, but you weren’t very kind to me last time we met.’

‘Ah! but we were talking politics then,’ said Jasper, as though to imply that more personal topics were now about to be broached. ‘But what is it you wanted to ask me?’

‘To begin with, what exactly persuaded you and Noel to come down to poor dead-alive old Chalford? That naughty Noel is always so vague about it when I ask him.’

‘I expect he is,’ said Jasper.

‘You know, Mr Aspect, I am very fond of Noel and I’m afraid he is the tiniest little bit in love with me, but —’

‘But what?’ Jasper thought that in his whole career he had never had sex appeal thrown at his head more deliberately or with less effect. He was profoundly unattracted by Mrs Lace, and decided that it would be a generous and inexpensive gesture if he made a present of her to Noel, lock, stock and barrel.

Mrs Lace continued, ‘Well, I don’t think I could ever fall for someone like Noel, although he’s most awfully sweet, isn’t he?’

‘Why couldn’t you fall for him?’

‘I suppose it’s because he is so – so indefinite.’

‘Perhaps it may be difficult for him, in the circumstances, to be
very definite,’ said Jasper, wrapping up Mrs Lace in a brown paper parcel, as it were, before handing her over, once and for all, to his friend.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Perhaps his position, at the moment, is a bit equivocal.’

Mrs Lace wrinkled her forehead and gazed inquiringly at Jasper.

‘But, of course, you have guessed long ago.’

‘I should very much like to know for certain,’ said Mrs Lace, who naturally had no idea at all of Jasper’s meaning.

‘It is impossible, without a breach of confidence, to tell you everything. The most that I am permitted to say is that if you think you have an idea of whom he really is, you are probably right.’

‘Oh!’ cried Mrs Lace. She said no more; her brain was in a turmoil. After all, she thought with wild exhilaration, Miss Smith was not Miss Smith, neither was Miss Jones Miss Jones; on the contrary, they were both well-known figures in London Society. Why then should not the name of ‘Noel Foster’ also conceal some thrilling identity?

‘I can see that, of course, you know quite well,’ said Jasper, smiling. ‘Those famous features are not so easy to disguise, are they? And now, dear Mrs Lace, one word of warning. Don’t let the – don’t let
HIM
see that you know. He is down here with the express intention of avoiding publicity, formality, and all the tedious attributes of his position, and if his identity were to be found out, even by the lady whom he – (do you mind if I am frank with you?) whom he so passionately admires, he would leave at once. It would be better if neither of us were to speak of this again, even to each other, and, of course, I rely upon your absolute discretion as far as the outside world is concerned. Should his whereabouts be discovered we should have journalists and photographers behind every tree, and these few short weeks of privacy which he so badly needs would be ruined for him.’

‘I will keep his secret locked in my heart for ever,’ whispered Mrs Lace, her eyes shining.

‘And now the time has come for me to fulfil my errand,’ said
Jasper, looking furtively over his shoulder and lowering his voice, ‘where can the – where can my friend see you for a while alone and without fear of interruption.’

Mrs Lace, her colour heightening, considered. At last she said, ‘In Chalford Park, not so very far from the Old Manor, there is a small lake on whose shores a pink and white temple stands. It is almost entirely overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle and amaryllis, and is concealed from view by the wild-rose bushes which surround it. Nobody ever goes there.’

‘Ah! happy Noel,’ cried Jasper gallantly. ‘With how much envy do I contemplate his lot. Will you, then, be there tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock punctually, and when you hear the hooting of an owl answer with the cry of a woodpecker if you are certain that the coast is clear?’

‘Yes, you can count upon it,’ said Mrs Lace. Unversed in ornithology she resolved that at dinner she would learn from Major Lace, who was, the cry of the woodpecker.

Jasper now rose and, with a courtly gesture, he kissed her hand prior to taking his leave. At that moment, however, Major Lace could be heard banging about in the hall, and Anne-Marie, who enjoyed showing off her friends to him, begged Jasper to stay a few moments. ‘He always complains if people leave as soon as he comes in.’

Major Lace, it appeared, had been attending a sale of pedigree cows. His usually good-humoured face was clouded with extreme bad temper, as, he had, during the sale, turned over by mistake two pages of the catalogue instead of one, and had thus been misled as to the cow for which he was bidding. He bought the wrong one for an exorbitant price only to discover that his purchase was totally lacking in that desirable piece of anatomy – the udder.

‘It appears that this brute is well known at sales,’ he cried angrily. ‘They’ve been hawking her round the country for months in the hope of finding some mug who would buy her. Chap next to me said, “Why the hell have you bought that cow, Lace?” I said, “Why not? Good cow, good pedigree, heavy record.” “Some mistake
there, Lace,” he said, “her pedigree is all right, but she’ll never have a record. Brute is bagless.” Then I found out what I’d done, see, turned over two pages of the b—catalogue at once. There was such a glare, you know.’

‘Very easy thing to do,’ said Jasper sympathetically.

‘Damned stupid of me all the same. I should have taken a good look at the brute, then it would never have happened. Bagless she is, absolutely bagless. Have a whisky and soda, Aspect?’

Jasper liked Major Lace. When they had drunk several whiskies he accompanied him round his cow-byres and pigsties and they exchanged dirty stories. Major Lace, who had a jolly, bawdy mind, thought that Jasper was distinctly a cut above Anne-Marie’s usual friends, and was soon restored to a good temper.

As for Mrs Lace she slept but little that night. She was tormented with curiosity to know more about Noel, and quite unable to see how this could be achieved. She racked her brains, trying to recall the physiognomy of some royal person who might remotely resemble him. Then it occurred to her that he was perhaps a film star of enormous fame. In any case, he was clearly not unworthy of her chariot wheels, and this thought did much to restore her peace of mind.

No sooner had Jasper left the Jolly Roger and walked off in the direction of Comberry Manor, than Noel began to fall into a shocking state of restlessness. He cursed himself bitterly for consenting to any arrangement whereby Jasper was to enjoy a prolonged tête-à-tête with Mrs Lace; the full horror of the jealous torments he himself would be condemned to endure had not assailed him until the moment when he saw Jasper swinging jauntily down the village street. Dreadful thoughts now came to discomfort him. Jasper was notorious as a seducer of women, and had never shown himself averse to scoring off an old friend if the occasion presented; moreover, Mrs Lace had already shown an obvious predilection for him. Worst of all, she had by no means succumbed, as yet, to Noel’s own blandishments, and he greatly feared that she found
him uninteresting. He sat gloomily biting his nails, once indeed so desperate did he feel that he started up and made a move to pursue Jasper, but remembering that it was of the utmost importance to find out the motives of the two detectives, and having no wish to cut a jealous figure of fun in the eyes of Jasper and Mrs Lace, he forced himself to remain where he was. He hung about the village in a terrible state of nerves, trying to console himself with the consideration of Jasper’s alleged love for Poppy St Julien and his own slight financial hold over Jasper. Neither of these facts afforded him much reassurance.

Presently Eugenia appeared on the scene and talked to him for a little while, but she seemed disappointed not to have found Jasper, whom she evidently regarded as a more satisfactory Social Unionist than Noel. She then busily set to work arranging an empty cottage, whose key she had wheedled out of her grandfather’s estate agent, as a Union Jackshirt head-quarters for Chalford and district. Exquisite Chippendale furniture, smuggled away from Chalford House, was being pushed and banged into rooms and through doorways several sizes too small for it. Two or three of the Comrades were working like beavers at this task, while Eugenia stood by to encourage and occasionally to lend her own not inconsiderable weight. Her Nanny also hovered round with a duster, flicking at the pieces which were already in place, and muttering to herself about what her ladyship would say if she knew of such goings on. When the head-quarters were ready (that is, when all the furniture had been forced into position, regardless of chips and knocks, and the rooms had been hung with life-size photographs of Hitler, Mussolini, Roosevelt and the Captain), Eugenia mounted a particularly fragile and valuable settee, which bent beneath her weight, and announced that there was to be a public ceremony for the opening of Chalford’s new head-quarters the following Wednesday at 3.30 p.m.