III
Tea would be served, they were told, in the lounge. There was a large bright fire in the lounge, and there was also a large bright woman. She stood out from the other guests, the assorted “motterists,” like a cockatoo among thrushes. Indeed, she was not unlike a cockatoo. A tiny curved beak of a nose jutted out of her purply-red face; she had big staring eyes and a little round mouth, daubed a fearsome vermilion; her clothes were gaudy and expensive; every time she moved there was a glitter of jewellery; and she seemed to have enough flashing odds and ends of handbags and little boxes to stock a small shop. She sat alone, not far from their table, and was easily the most conspicuous person or object in the room. Susie and Inigo, however, had a further reason for remarking her gorgeous presence, for from the moment they entered she stared at them. At first she gave them a puzzled stare, but that soon changed into a plain stare, which went on and on and did not appear to mean anything.
“Why does she do it?” Inigo whispered. “There isn’t anything wrong with us, is there?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” Susie replied softly. “I’ve been trying to go over myself and I seem all right. You looked a bit blue at first, but now you’re thawing out nicely,” She handed him his cup. “She must be wondering if she knows us.”
‚ÄúShe doesn‚Äôt know me‚ÅÝ‚Äîthank God!‚Äù he muttered.
“No, but she may have seen me somewhere,” Susie went on with a flash of pride. “When you think of it, I’ve played to thousands and thousands of people all over the country, and I must see somebody who had seen me sometimes, mustn’t I?” And then she became very gay, very sparkling, and was so prettily attentive to Inigo that he began to think she must be in love with him a little, after all.
“Unless,” he told himself, as he gloomily devoured a piece of shortbread, “she is doing it out of kindness, just to make up for not caring about me.” By this time he could no long bother his head about the woman who stared. He did not even know if she was still there, for he had gradually moved round his chair until at last he had his back to her. When he had finished his shortbread, however, he noticed that Susie was looking up, with a rather puzzled expression on her face.
“What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Is the starey bird going?”
“Now I know I’m intruding,” said a voice just above his head.
Inigo jumped with surprise, and as he jumped he sent his fat armchair rolling back. It bumped heavily against something, and Inigo, turning round, discovered to his horror that the something was the flashing bosom of the staring woman. She gave the chair a push. He gave it a frantic tug. The result was that the chair shot forward and hurled Inigo against the tea-table. One of his hands knocked over the hot-water jug, and the other flattened itself against a plate.
“I’m sure I must be intruding,” cried the staring woman.
“Not at all,” said Susie, trying to smile sweetly at her and at the same time keep an eye on the hot water, which was now creeping about the table. “Won’t you sit down?”
‚ÄúNot at all! Rather! Absolutely!‚Äù roared Irigo, who did not know what he was saying. He waved a hand towards a chair‚ÅÝ‚Äîit was the hand that had just been flattened against the plate and there was a piece of bread-and-butter sticking to it. ‚ÄúSit here‚ÅÝ‚Äîthere‚ÅÝ‚Äîwon‚Äôt you?‚Äù he went on. He waved his hand again, and most of the bread-and-butter went on the chair.
“I ought to introduce myself, oughtn’t I?” the woman was saying.
“Do be careful of the hot water,” Susie cried to her.
“No, don’t sit there,” Inigo roared again. “It’s all bread-and-butter.”
Having said this, Inigo could say no more. He suddenly lost control of himself. The woman herself, with her staring eyes and little beak of a nose and her magnificent finery, her unexpected arrival, his jump and subsequent antics with the chairs and bread-and-butter, the watery ruin of the tea-table‚ÅÝ‚Äîall these things made a combined assault upon him. The next moment, everything in the lounge, everything in the whole world, seemed wildly absurd. He flung himself down in his chair and gave a yell of laughter.
“I’m Lady Partlit,” their visitor announced, sitting down.
This was quite enough for Inigo, who went off into another fit of laughter. It would have been the same if she had been Mrs.¬ÝJones, if she had merely remarked that the weather was cold. He was helpless now. Whatever happened, whatever was said, would be screamingly funny.
Susie gave Lady Partlit their names, but she only just managed to get them out in time. Her eyes were very bright and she was biting her lips. The next minute she too had fallen helplessly into the giggles.
Lady Partlit smiled at them both a trifle vaguely. Her voice, however, was triumphant. “I thought I knew you,” she said. “You’re in a concert party called ‘The Good Companions,’ aren’t you? Of course you are. I saw you at Sandybay a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, we were there,” Inigo spluttered. He looked hard at the teapot in the hope that he would somehow be able to control himself, but it was hopeless. He pulled out his handkerchief, tried to wipe his eyes, and exploded again into silly laughter.
“I saw you three times,” said Lady Partlit. “So good, I thought you were. Such a change!”
‚ÄúI‚Äôm glad!‚Äù Susie faltered, trying not to look at Inigo. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs nice to think‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù But then she went off again. ‚ÄúOh, do stop it, Inigo. You are a fool.‚Äù With an effort, she got her face straight, turned to Lady Partlit and said apologetically: ‚ÄúYou must think we‚Äôre awfully rude, but it‚Äôs just his silliness, and now‚ÅÝ‚Äînow‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚Äôs started me off.‚Äù And she giggled again.
‚ÄúNot in the least,‚Äù said Lady Partlit, still smiling. ‚ÄúAnd‚ÅÝ‚Äîer‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhere are you people going to now, if you don‚Äôt mind my asking?‚Äù
“Middleford,” replied Susie, and brought out the name as if it were the greatest joke in the world.
“That’s it. Ha-ha,” roared Inigo. “Middleford. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Sorry, but I really have to laugh when I think of Middleford.” And he buried his head in his hands and yelled with laughter. This torrent swept away any tiny reserve remaining with Susie, who promptly joined him. Lady Partlit looked from one to the other of them; her eyes opened wider and wider; her little round mouth gradually widened; her rather heavy cheeks began quivering; then finally she burst into laughter too, a queer soprano sobbing that made the other two want to go on and on forever. And there were the three of them, shaking, watery-eyed, helpless.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” cried Lady Partlit, dabbing at her eyes. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but I haven’t laughed so much this long time. I like a good laugh too.” Her speech was far homelier now than it had been before, and any suggestion of the great lady had completely vanished. They saw before them a kindly, rather silly, rich woman in her early forties, who waved away their apologies for their astonishing behaviour.
“I’m sure it’s done me good,” she told them. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a good laugh in this place. My word! Now won’t you let me order you some more tea? Are you sure? Well, what about some cocktails if the bar is open? Or some chocolates? Have a cigarette?” She produced a gold case, and the three of them lit cigarettes and settled down to talk.
“Don’t forget our train, Inigo,” said Susie. “You know how long it took us to get here, over an hour and a half.”
“What’s this?” asked Lady Partlit, and when they told her, said eagerly: “Now you mustn’t think of going to the station that way. I’ve my car here, and Lawley will take you down there in no time, and all nice and comfortable, and you’ll be able to stay here all the longer. And that’ll be nicer for me too. I was going through to Yorkshire tonight, and just stopped here for tea, and then I thought I wouldn’t go any farther tonight because Lawley says there’ll be fog farther up later on, and so I said I’d stay here and go to bed early after dinner with a nice book. Now what do you say to that? Let Lawley take you to the station.”
Susie accepted at once, and though Inigo would rather have returned as they came because he could then have had Susie to himself, he could not offer any objection.
‚ÄúYou mustn‚Äôt think it strange, my coming up like this and talking to you,‚Äù Lady Partlit continued, ‚Äúbecause for one thing you must count me among your admirers. I‚Äôve never seen such a good show at the seaside before, and I‚Äôve told all sorts of people about you. Such an original name too! And then, another thing is, I‚Äôm almost in the business myself in a way of speaking. My late husband‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was Sir Joseph Partlit‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou may have heard of him‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas very interested in the theatre business himself just as a sideline, you know, and he left me a controlling interest in two West End theatres and some productions.‚Äù
Susie’s eyes lit up at once and flashed a message to Inigo. “Here,” they said, “is the Fairy Queen.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Lady Partlit.
“Nothing at all,” said Susie, “except that you’re the person we dream about every night. Two West End theatres! Productions! Not musical comedy or revue, by any chance?”
“As a rule, yes. I’m glad too, because I like them best, though I like a good romantic play too.”
“I can hardly believe you’re real,” cried Susie smiling at her.
“But you mustn’t think I’ve really anything to do with this business,” Lady Partlit explained amiably. “I’m just a little nobody in the background. All I do is sign things now and again, though I like to keep popping up and seeing what they’re doing. Helps to keep me busy, you know, and a widow without children like me hasn’t much to do. But don’t run away with the idea that I’ve much say in it.”
‚ÄúYou‚Äôve enough say in it to take my breath away. Lady Partlit,‚Äù said Susie sturdily. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝJollifant there‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou can call him Inigo; he likes it‚ÅÝ‚Äîmay not care, because he‚Äôs only an amateur slightly disguised, but as for me‚ÅÝ‚Äî! And if Jerry Jerningham were here, I wouldn‚Äôt be answerable for him. He‚Äôd probably want to kidnap you.‚Äù
The effect of these last two remarks was astonishing. Lady Partlit’s ruddy cheeks were now like two mounds of pickled beetroot; her eyes were soft and bright; her bosom heaved and flashed.
“You remember him, don’t you?” asked Susie, who had observed these significant symptoms. “Our light comedian and dancer.”
‚ÄúOh, yes, I do. I thought he was‚ÅÝ‚Äîwonderful,‚Äù Lady Partlit faltered.
“He is,” said Susie. “Isn’t he, Inigo?”
‚ÄúAbsolutely. Jerningham himself may be a terrible‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù But here he stopped because he received a kick on the shin from Susie.
“A terribly good dancer,” that young lady prompted.
“Exactly!” cried Inigo. “I must say he’s the best step dancer I’ve ever seen.”
“And so marvellously good-looking of course,” said Susie.
“Yes,” said Lady Partlit faintly.
Susie gave a little laugh that struck Inigo as being the most unreal he had ever heard. “It’s funny,” she said, “the way Jerry attracts all the women in the audience. They’d run after him if they could, but they can’t. He’s never to be found.”
‚ÄúIs‚ÅÝ‚Äîis he married?‚Äù Lady Partlit brought out this question in a tiny stifled voice.
‚ÄúWho on earth‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Inigo began, but was immediately kicked into silence again.
‚ÄúOh no, he‚Äôs not married,‚Äù replied Susie brightly. ‚ÄúHe‚Äôs not even thinking of it. He thinks about nothing but his work. He‚Äôs very hardworking and frightfully ambitious‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike me.‚Äù
After this, the talk that followed seemed merely casual, but it had a trick of working round to Mr.¬ÝJerry Jerningham. Susie gave Lady Partlit a list of all their future dates she could remember. When at last the car came round for them, Lady Partlit slipped away and returned with a large box of chocolates for Susie and a box of cigarettes for Inigo, and was almost tearfully affectionate in her farewell, though her regret at their departure did not compel her, they noticed, to accompany them to the station.
“Well,” said Inigo, when they had seated themselves in the big limousine, “I must say I don’t understand that old girl. I think she’s a bit mad.”
“Idiot! Don’t you see,” Susie hissed, “she’s the person who sent Jerry that bouquet at Sandybay. She adores him.”
“Gosh!” was Inigo’s comment. But he listened patiently while Susie discussed various aspects of this strange affair. They sat there in comfort, while the limousine rolled through the murk of Hicklefield. When it came to a stop at the station, Susie sighed luxuriously. “People can say what they like,” she said wistfully, “but it must be marvellous to have a lot of money.”
And anybody who saw her getting out of that limousine must have thought she had a lot of money. Her sketch of a very rich and bored young creature, the spoilt darling of fortune, was only offered to an audience of two porters, a taxi-driver, and a nondescript, but nevertheless it was superbly done. Her hatless and overcoatless companion who came out shivering slightly, was left somewhere in the air; he was there, but not in the picture; it was not until he opened the door of an empty third-class carriage for her that he returned to the picture and she was Susie Dean again.