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Authors: Stella Gibbons
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himself; been drinking pearls out of a gold cup, I should think (quoting old Miss Cattyman at the shop). I only said it was a nice day—
Don’t be so disagreeable!
I’ve only come to say
How do you do-dy, do-dy, do-dy
do-dy, do-dy-day!
That old song of Dad’s! I do think death’s awful; it’s like half of you gone away.
P’raps Saxon’s people are rich, and he’s doing it for a joke, she mused, swinging along, kicking at little stones. None of the Withers had mentioned Saxon to her since she had been there. She was surprised to see a new chauffeur at the station when Mrs Wither met her; she had not known that they had one. There had not been the usual exchange of small items of family news, which goes on in most families, between Teddy and his wife and the people at The Eagles. Teddy felt that his parents and sisters disapproved of his marriage with a shopgirl, and he had seen even less of them after his marriage, so they were almost strangers to his wife. An ageing chauffeur, to match the ageing maids, had driven Viola on the few occasions when she had been in the Wither car. Saxon was a new one on her.
No, she thought, he can’t be doing it for fun. No one ’ud come to live at The Eagles for fun.
She recalled her own disagreeable situation; and sighed.
She now wished with all her heart that she had been brave enough to take Shirley’s advice and refuse to live at The Eagles. Good lord, girl, you’ve had one marvellous escape; don’t go and tie yourself up with The Therms again , said Shirley. Besides, you know what old Therm is; it’s your money he wants. Only in this case want must be his master, because you haven’t got any.
But I did have, thought Viola, walking with her head bent and her hair glittering like spun glass, only I spent such a lot. Nearly a hundred pounds. I am awful .
It had not been easy to keep from spending money while staying with Shirley; the Davises had such a good time. They ran a little car, and danced a lot, and went to many parties, and gave them, with much drink, in their pretty little house.
All this was done on what Shirley called The Plain Van system. The Plain Van, said Shirley, was the modern Fairy Godmother. You wished: and whoopee! It was at your door.
Viola could not stand outside the parties, nor could she sponge on Shirley; besides, she welcomed this flow of Greater London’s gaieties; it took her mind away from her grief over her father (and Teddy, of course; she was sorry about poor Teddy). She paid her share; brought a bottle to this party and stood in with the eats for that, bought a new dress for another. She went often to the hairdresser, because her hair must look immaculate, like the hair of all Shirley’s crowd. The Crowd was six or seven young matrons, with jobs, and their husbands; all very smart, all very knowing, all just a little bored with the ones they were married to and wondering just a little what Jim or Roger, Anne or Chrissie, would be like to have a flaming affair with.
In fact, Jim, Roger, Anne and Chrissie would have been exactly like Tom, Archie, Irene and Connie, but as they lived in different bodies, there was at least the promise of Romance. The Crowd, when it spoke of Love over its morning coffee, was cynical. Men – and women, said the husbands over their drinks – were out for what they could get. But in its secret heart, The Crowd was starving for Romance, more and more of it, so that the real world dissolved, and no effort need be made to adjust oneself to the real world. When The Crowd fell, it fell hard.
Viola remained uncorrupted. Was it because, when she was eleven, her father used to declaim to her in his fine voice:
The moon shines bright: in such a night as this
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.
Probably not. She liked to watch
Don’t be so disagreeable!
I’ve only come to say
How do you do-dy, do-dy, do-dy
do-dy, do-dy-day!
That old song of Dad’s! I do think death’s awful; it’s like half of you gone away.
P’raps Saxon’s people are rich, and he’s doing it for a joke, she mused, swinging along, kicking at little stones. None of the Withers had mentioned Saxon to her since she had been there. She was surprised to see a new chauffeur at the station when Mrs Wither met her; she had not known that they had one. There had not been the usual exchange of small items of family news, which goes on in most families, between Teddy and his wife and the people at The Eagles. Teddy felt that his parents and sisters disapproved of his marriage with a shopgirl, and he had seen even less of them after his marriage, so they were almost strangers to his wife. An ageing chauffeur, to match the ageing maids, had driven Viola on the few occasions when she had been in the Wither car. Saxon was a new one on her.
No, she thought, he can’t be doing it for fun. No one ’ud come to live at The Eagles for fun.
She recalled her own disagreeable situation; and sighed.
She now wished with all her heart that she had been brave enough to take Shirley’s advice and refuse to live at The Eagles. Good lord, girl, you’ve had one marvellous escape; don’t go and tie yourself up with The Therms again , said Shirley. Besides, you know what old Therm is; it’s your money he wants. Only in this case want must be his master, because you haven’t got any.
But I did have, thought Viola, walking with her head bent and her hair glittering like spun glass, only I spent such a lot. Nearly a hundred pounds. I am awful .
It had not been easy to keep from spending money while staying with Shirley; the Davises had such a good time. They ran a little car, and danced a lot, and went to many parties, and gave them, with much drink, in their pretty little house.
All this was done on what Shirley called The Plain Van system. The Plain Van, said Shirley, was the modern Fairy Godmother. You wished: and whoopee! It was at your door.
Viola could not stand outside the parties, nor could she sponge on Shirley; besides, she welcomed this flow of Greater London’s gaieties; it took her mind away from her grief over her father (and Teddy, of course; she was sorry about poor Teddy). She paid her share; brought a bottle to this party and stood in with the eats for that, bought a new dress for another. She went often to the hairdresser, because her hair must look immaculate, like the hair of all Shirley’s crowd. The Crowd was six or seven young matrons, with jobs, and their husbands; all very smart, all very knowing, all just a little bored with the ones they were married to and wondering just a little what Jim or Roger, Anne or Chrissie, would be like to have a flaming affair with.
In fact, Jim, Roger, Anne and Chrissie would have been exactly like Tom, Archie, Irene and Connie, but as they lived in different bodies, there was at least the promise of Romance. The Crowd, when it spoke of Love over its morning coffee, was cynical. Men – and women, said the husbands over their drinks – were out for what they could get. But in its secret heart, The Crowd was starving for Romance, more and more of it, so that the real world dissolved, and no effort need be made to adjust oneself to the real world. When The Crowd fell, it fell hard.
Viola remained uncorrupted. Was it because, when she was eleven, her father used to declaim to her in his fine voice:
The moon shines bright: in such a night as this
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.
Probably not. She liked to watch
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