with my new life - the poor don't really know how the rich live and the rich don't know how the poor live, and to find out is really enchanting to both of them. Once I said uneasily:
“Look here, Ellie, is there going to be an awful schemozzle over all this, over our marriage, I mean?”
Ellie considered without, I noticed, very much interest.
“Oh yes,” she said, “they'll probably be awful.” And she added, “I hope you won't mind too much.”
“I won't mind - why should I? - But you, will they bully you over it?”
“I expect so,” said Ellie, “but one needn't listen. The point is that they can't do anything.”
“But they'll try?”
“Oh yes,” said Ellie. “They'll try.” Then she added thoughtfully, “They'll probably try and buy you off.”
“Buy me off?”
“Don't look so shocked,” said Ellie, and she smiled, a rather happy little girl's smile. “It isn't put exactly like that.” Then she added, “They bought off Minnie Thompson's first, you know.”
“Minnie Thompson? Is that the one they always call the oil heiress?”
“Yes, that's right. She ran off and married a Life Guard off the beach.”
“Look here, Ellie,” I said uneasily, “I was a Life Guard at Littlehampton once.”
“Oh, were you? What fun! Permanently?”
“No, of course not. Just one summer, that's all.”
“I wish you wouldn't worry,” said Ellie.
“What happened about Minnie Thompson?”
“They had to go up to 200,000 dollars, I think,” said Ellie. “He wouldn't take less. Minnie was man-mad and really a half-wit,” she added.
“You take my breath away, Ellie,” I said. “I've not only acquired a wife, I've got something I can trade for solid cash at any time.”
“That's right,” said Ellie. “Send for a high powered lawyer and tell him you're willing to talk turkey. Then he fixes up the divorce, and the amount of alimony,” said Ellie, continuing my education. “My stepmother's been married four times,” she added, “and she's made quite a lot out of it.” And then she said, “Oh, Mike, don't look so shocked.”
The funny thing is that I was shocked. I felt a priggish distaste for the corruption of modern society in its richer phases. There had been something so little girl-like about Ellie, so simple, almost touching in her attitude that I was astonished to find how well up she was in worldly affairs and how much she took for granted. And yet I knew that I was right about her fundamentally. I knew quite well the kind of creature that Ellie was. Her simplicity, her affection, her natural sweetness. That didn't mean she had to be ignorant of things. What she did know and took for granted was a fairly limited slice of humanity. She didn't know much about my world, the world of scrounging for jobs, of race-course gangs and dope gangs, the rough and tumble dangers of life, the sharp-aleck flashy type that I knew so well from living amongst them all my life. She didn't know what it was to be brought up decent and respectable but always hard up for money, with a mother who worked her fingers to the bone in the name of respectability, determining that her son should do well in life. Every penny scrimped for and saved, and the bitterness when your gay carefree son threw away his chances or gambled his all on a good tip for the 3:30.
She enjoyed hearing about my life as much as I enjoyed hearing about hers. Both of us were exploring a foreign country.
Looking back I see what a wonderfully happy life it was, those early days with Ellie. At the time I took them for granted and so did she. We were married in a registry office in Plymouth. Guteman is not an uncommon name. Nobody, reporters or otherwise, knew the Guteman heiress was in England. There had been vague paragraphs in papers occasionally, describing her as in Italy or on someone's yacht. We were married in the Registrar's Office with his clerk and a middle-aged typist as witnesses. He gave us a serious little harangue on the
“Look here, Ellie, is there going to be an awful schemozzle over all this, over our marriage, I mean?”
Ellie considered without, I noticed, very much interest.
“Oh yes,” she said, “they'll probably be awful.” And she added, “I hope you won't mind too much.”
“I won't mind - why should I? - But you, will they bully you over it?”
“I expect so,” said Ellie, “but one needn't listen. The point is that they can't do anything.”
“But they'll try?”
“Oh yes,” said Ellie. “They'll try.” Then she added thoughtfully, “They'll probably try and buy you off.”
“Buy me off?”
“Don't look so shocked,” said Ellie, and she smiled, a rather happy little girl's smile. “It isn't put exactly like that.” Then she added, “They bought off Minnie Thompson's first, you know.”
“Minnie Thompson? Is that the one they always call the oil heiress?”
“Yes, that's right. She ran off and married a Life Guard off the beach.”
“Look here, Ellie,” I said uneasily, “I was a Life Guard at Littlehampton once.”
“Oh, were you? What fun! Permanently?”
“No, of course not. Just one summer, that's all.”
“I wish you wouldn't worry,” said Ellie.
“What happened about Minnie Thompson?”
“They had to go up to 200,000 dollars, I think,” said Ellie. “He wouldn't take less. Minnie was man-mad and really a half-wit,” she added.
“You take my breath away, Ellie,” I said. “I've not only acquired a wife, I've got something I can trade for solid cash at any time.”
“That's right,” said Ellie. “Send for a high powered lawyer and tell him you're willing to talk turkey. Then he fixes up the divorce, and the amount of alimony,” said Ellie, continuing my education. “My stepmother's been married four times,” she added, “and she's made quite a lot out of it.” And then she said, “Oh, Mike, don't look so shocked.”
The funny thing is that I was shocked. I felt a priggish distaste for the corruption of modern society in its richer phases. There had been something so little girl-like about Ellie, so simple, almost touching in her attitude that I was astonished to find how well up she was in worldly affairs and how much she took for granted. And yet I knew that I was right about her fundamentally. I knew quite well the kind of creature that Ellie was. Her simplicity, her affection, her natural sweetness. That didn't mean she had to be ignorant of things. What she did know and took for granted was a fairly limited slice of humanity. She didn't know much about my world, the world of scrounging for jobs, of race-course gangs and dope gangs, the rough and tumble dangers of life, the sharp-aleck flashy type that I knew so well from living amongst them all my life. She didn't know what it was to be brought up decent and respectable but always hard up for money, with a mother who worked her fingers to the bone in the name of respectability, determining that her son should do well in life. Every penny scrimped for and saved, and the bitterness when your gay carefree son threw away his chances or gambled his all on a good tip for the 3:30.
She enjoyed hearing about my life as much as I enjoyed hearing about hers. Both of us were exploring a foreign country.
Looking back I see what a wonderfully happy life it was, those early days with Ellie. At the time I took them for granted and so did she. We were married in a registry office in Plymouth. Guteman is not an uncommon name. Nobody, reporters or otherwise, knew the Guteman heiress was in England. There had been vague paragraphs in papers occasionally, describing her as in Italy or on someone's yacht. We were married in the Registrar's Office with his clerk and a middle-aged typist as witnesses. He gave us a serious little harangue on the
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