Duke’s Meadows dipped low into the water. The prospect was a most agreeable one; and it occurred to me, after a little reflection, that it was also conclusive of my investigation.
I heard Selena’s quick, light footsteps in the drawing-room behind me. Having reached, it seemed, the final stages of the complex process of making Julia ready for departure, she was inquiring whether Julia might have brought a coat with her: and whether she happened, if so, to know where she might have put it. From the direction of the bathroom came the answer, a little muffled, that there might well have been a coat, a sort of beige sort of raincoat, and it might very possibly be found in one of the cupboards in the entrance lobby. Rummaging sounds ensued.
“Selena,” I called, “tell Julia to come out here and look at the view from the balcony — it will have a soothing effect on her. You and Ragwort will also find it of interest.”
“Julia’s still dressing,” answered Selena, amid sounds of further rummaging. “And Ragwort’s tidying the bedroom, and I’m looking for Julia’s raincoat. We don’t have time to stand about looking at views.”
“I ask but a moment,” I said. “And you will not regret it.” At last they all three joined me on the balcony — Julia washed, dressed, brushed and combed, Ragwort modestly complacent at the tidiness of the bedroom and Selena a little dusty but triumphant in her search for the beige raincoat. I invited them to stand at the corner of the balcony from which they would have the best view downstream — that is to say, towards Chiswick — and asked them what they could see.
“The river?” said Julia, with a helpful and intelligent expression, as if anxious to know if this was the right answer.
“Part of the river,” said Selena. “About as far as the top of Corney Reach.”
“Remarkably little of the river, really,” said Ragwort. “In fact, the view downstream is rather poor — I can’t imagine why you think it’s interesting.”
“You will remember,” I said, “that it was from here—”
A key turned in the lock of the front door.
Why this sound should have caused us to shrink back into the corners of the balcony as if to escape detection in some criminal act, I cannot now readily explain, for Selena had been satisfied that we were committing none. To have entered premises by manipulating the lock with a plastic credit card perhaps has some curious psychological effect, making one think that one’s presence may be unwelcome.
There followed sounds of the putting down of luggage, and of voices. I recognized the tones of deferential gallantry in which I had previously heard Rupert address his mother-in-law. They had evidently returned together from Corfu; and Jocasta had broken her journey home to Belgrave Place in order to be provided with certain papers relating to Rupert’s company. (Knowing and cynical glances were exchanged by my companions on the balcony.) We heard her decline offers of refreshment.
The papers, it appeared, were in the little room furnished as an office. We suffered a moment of anxiety while Rupert went in search of them, for Jocasta employed the time in drawing back the heavy hessian curtains; but she did not look out on to the balcony, and our presence remained undetected.
“Here we are, Mama-in-law,” said Rupert. “Capital Statement and Profit and Loss Account for Galloway Opportunities Limited. All duly audited, of course. If there’s anything that isn’t clear, just give me a ring.”
“I’m sure there’ll be no need. I’m only taking them because you insisted on it, Rupert — it’s really quite unnecessary. Mother and I have complete confidence in your judgment.”
“I know you have, bless you,” said Rupert, with great warmth and sincerity. “That’s exactly why I don’t want anyone to be able to say that I’ve talked you into something without explaining what’s involved. What I want to make absolutely clear is that I’m not saying this is to your mother’s advantage in purely financial terms. It might even mean a reduction in income — the whole thing’s geared to capital growth. It’s for Millie’s sake I want to do it.”
“My dear Rupert, you surely know by now that Mother’s only too delighted to help Millie in any way she can.”
“Well, I do know that, of course.” Rupert seemed now almost overcome by an intensity of emotion which it would have been unmanly to express. “Your mother’s been wonderful, simply wonderful — there’s no other word for it. If it hadn’t been for her generosity — well, I don’t mind admitting it, there’s no way I could have given Millie the sort of upbringing she was entitled to. I’m not a rich man, you know, Mama-in-law — not by comparison with the sort of fortune Millie’s going to inherit. But I do have a little bit of a flair for investment, and when I became one of the trustees I hoped I’d be able to use it for Millie’s benefit. Like any father, I suppose — wanting to feel I’ve done something for my little girl. But everything I suggest gets blocked by Tancred — all this rigmarole about the Trustee Investments Act and God knows what. I don’t mind telling you, Mama-in-law, I’ve come pretty close to losing my temper sometimes.”
“Tancred’s an imbecile, I’ve always said so. One would not, of course, like one’s solicitor to be too clever to be respectable; but Tancred goes too far to the other extreme.”
“Well, he’s certainly no fireball when it comes to investment. I sometimes think he’d like the whole fund still to be in Consols.”
“My dear Rupert, I do see how frustrating it must have been. But there’s no difficulty, is there, now that Millie’s of age? Tancred has to do what she and Mother ask him to.”
To this Rupert made no immediate answer, but instead renewed the offer of alcoholic refreshment — evidently as a polite preliminary to pouring a drink for himself. When he spoke again, his remarks had no apparent connection with the previous topic.
“Mama-in-law, may I have a word with you about Millie? I’m — well, I’m just a bit worried about her. To be absolutely candid, I wish she weren’t quite so thick with Dolly’s kids — I sometimes feel they count for more with her than I do. As if they were her family and I was just — well, some kind of distant relative.”
“Nonsense, Rupert. Millie’s devoted to you. She’s very close to the twins, naturally — they practically grew up together. And Dolly’s house in Corfu is like a second home to her.”
“Don’t I know it, don’t I just know it?” Whatever doubts I had previously had of Rupert’s sincerity, I now thought his bitterness entirely genuine. “And what sort of home is it? The whole household revolving round that prize charlatan Dolly’s got herself married to, like some kind of little plastic god. Lucian and Lucinda sitting round pretending to be writers and artists and not doing a damn thing except lie in the sun and drink retsina. Lucian dressing like a hippy and Lucinda dressing like a tart — not just dressing like one, either, from some other things I’ve heard.”
“Really, Rupert—”
“Well, I’ve heard remarks made when she goes into bars in Casiope that I wouldn’t like anyone to make about Millie, that’s all. What that girl needs is a good spanking, if you ask me. And Dolly, of course, is the last person in the world to have any idea of imposing discipline. I’m not blaming her — it’s up to a father to impose discipline. Well, you can’t see Demetriou doing anything to keep the twins in order, can you? Even if he really were their father and not just a stepfather. No, it’s George Fairfax I blame. The twins are his children, after all — you’d think he’d take a bit of interest in the way they’re brought up.”
“He was anxious, I think, not to embarrass Dolly by interfering with her life after her marriage to Constantine — he’s very fond of her. Men do get fond of Dolly, you know.” She spoke without jealousy, but rather with a proprietorial pride in her sister’s attractiveness.
“No, really, Mama-in-law, it’s one thing being civilized about the divorce and so on, and another leaving his children to be brought up with no supervision and no discipline and running wild all over the place. And don’t think I’m saying this behind George’s back — I’ve said as much to his face. I don’t see all that much of him — he’s out of my league financially, and I’m the first to admit it — but when I do see him I speak my mind. I’ve even written to him. I happened to hear last summer that Lucian had got mixed up with an even more unsavory crew than usual, and I thought George ought to know about it. But he didn’t even bother to reply.”
“I had no idea,” said Jocasta, “that you felt so strongly.”
“I haven’t seen much of the twins since they left school, and I thought the adult world might have knocked a bit of sense into them. But they’re worse than ever. No standards, no manners, no respect for authority, no respect for anything. They lounge about making silly private jokes and giggling over nothing, not doing a hand’s turn of work, and sponging on Millie whenever they get the chance. They make me sick, and that’s a fact.” Rupert paused. “Sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t be talking like this — they are family, after all.”
“You did say,” said Jocasta, “that you wanted to talk about Millie.”
