there, and Mary Ford had arrived, with apologies from Roy, who had departed to London. His wife had decided after all not to live with her new lover, and he hoped to talk her into returning to him, restoring the marriage. He was armed with arguments, and statistics too, one of which was that 58 per cent of men and women in new marriages regretted their first marriages and wished they had never divorced at all. The company drinking tea wished poor Roy well: he had really been looking awful recently, they agreed. They wished him well for the space of about half a minute, and then Norah remarked, 'I'm afraid Millicent has put a veto on the restaurant. It seems the little boy is overwrought. I can't help feeling he would put up with me. I am supposed to be good with children.'
Mary said, 'I'm afraid we are up against that good old culture clash again. Well, I'm on their side. I love it when I'm in Italy and France and you see everyone from granny to the new baby out together having a meal.'
'Speaking for myself,' said Elizabeth, 'I think it's extraordinary they should take it for granted a three-year-old child would go out to dinner with adults.'
Stephen said, 'But they wouldn't see it as going out to dinner. It's normal for them to go out for meals in restaurants.'
'Since they're off tomorrow, I suppose that's it. I'll ring up the restaurant and cancel,' said Elizabeth. When she was doing something practical, her body filled with vitality, her haunches moved with a look of intense private satisfaction, her hands seemed ready to take hold of a situation and manage it. 'And the next excitement,' she said, coming back from the telephone, 'is your Frenchman. Do you think we should take him out to dinner?'
Sarah said, 'You don't seem to realize — just being in this house will be a thrill for him, as it is for all of us.'
'I suppose we do rather take it for granted. Damn. I wouldn't have minded going out to dinner. They'll just have to take pot luck.'
'Never mind, darling,' said Norah. 'I'll take you out to dinner when everyone has gone.' She spoke emotionally, and the darling had slipped out. She was embarrassed, and Elizabeth did not look at her.
Stephen said quickly, 'Too much cooking and catering these last few days. I did warn you that it might be too much of a good thing.'
'I've enjoyed it,' said Elizabeth, smiling at them all. Then she gave Norah a smile, just for her. The two women began talking about the people they had gone to lunch with, in a hearty social way, and this became a joking exchange of gossip about neighbours, Joshua among them. Stephen was listening to the women with that look one sees on the faces of husbands and wives — and lovers — not in the confidence of their partners, when they talk in their presence to other people. It was a strained eavesdropper's look. Elizabeth and Norah then said they had thought of taking a week's holiday when
The gravel announced an arrival. It was Jean-Pierre, who shook hands all round, kissed Elizabeth's hand, and then kissed Mary, one, two, three. For the space of seconds the two were in a time of their own. Again the grounds had to be shown, and soon, because Jean-Pierre would be off early tomorrow, with Sarah. They all strolled about in the late afternoon sunlight, and Jean-Pierre exclaimed in polite enthusiasm about everything he saw, as well he might. He was overwhelmed, he said, it was magnificent, he said, and so it went on till they showed him the theatre area, when he began to show doubt. They had expected him to.
The chairs had no numbers on them: did the audience not reserve seats?
It was not necessary; people sat where they could find a seat. And if they're late, too bad, they have to stand. We only reserve the front row.
The paths leading to the theatre were not marked. The posters were everywhere, so how did people know where to go?
'Don't worry, they work it out for themselves,' reassured Norah maternally.
And there was no definite place where refreshments were served. He supposed there were refreshments?
Stephen said all that kind of thing was very well organized by Elizabeth and her staff. Wine, ice cream, soft drinks, cakes, appeared on trays in the intervals, borne by volunteers from the town, who enjoyed this contact with the world of the theatre.
'Of course, sometimes they don't turn up,' said Elizabeth, who was enjoying teasing Jean-Pierre. 'But if they don't, then I and Norah and the children, if they're here, we fill in the gaps.'
Here Jean-Pierre dramatically shrugged his shoulders. He certainly did not approve of the owners of this imposing house working as servants. But there was more in the way of a style or even drama in this shrug. The French expect from the English a falling off from some paradigmatic excellence of which they are the natural custodians for the whole world, and this English indifference is not even from an innate inability to conform to the highest when they see it, but from choice. What can one expect? said the shrug.
The usual pre-performance supper, at seven, had people sitting around a table in the smaller room, not standing about for a buffet meal, because most of the players had telephoned to say they would eat in the town.
Stephen, Elizabeth, and Norah were at one end of the table, with Susan sitting opposite Stephen. Jean-Pierre was by Mary. Sarah saw she had put herself in the middle where she had empty chairs on either side, a statement of how she felt: to her such a dramatic, not to say self-pitying one that she hastily moved up to sit by Joseph, who was near Millicent, who sat at the end opposite Elizabeth.
While Henry had been upstairs with Millicent, he had confessed his misdemeanour, as he was bound to do. A bizarre solution, but who does not know about Oedipus complexes, and a shock it could not be. Besides, for a young and pretty woman to accept that her husband has a crush on a woman old enough to be his mother, or hers, does not demand the maximum in the way of marital tolerance. There was an attractively humorous little look on Millicent's face. At the same time, because Henry, an honest fellow, had not minimized the extent of his lapse (which he had been careful to make sure had included not so much as a kiss), Millicent was appraising Sarah with every intention of giving credit where it was due. Sarah was sure that the slight — slightest possible — indications of unease were due to, as the proverb has it, 'If one drop, then why not two?' But Millicent was an intelligent person, and her demeanour said: I understand it all. And I remain in control. Of my husband. Of my child. Of the situation. As for Henry, he had not abdicated his rights, such as they were. His eyes did not fail to inform Sarah that they would be parting tomorrow, and that he remembered it.
The 'pot luck' turned out to be braised pheasant, and its accompaniments, which presented problems for Joseph. Susan and Mary offered him bits of this and that to make up for this unknown meat which he was refusing to eat. The child was wildly excited, out of control, enjoying being the centre of attention.
Millicent commanded her husband, 'Give him your potatoes.'
Henry at once put his two potatoes on his son's plate.
'But we aren't short of potatoes,' Elizabeth protested.
'Give him your water,' said Millicent to Henry. Henry put his glass of water before Joseph, but hastily swallowed some wine, making a point.
Taking the roll from Henry's side plate, Millicent buttered it, spread it with red-currant jelly from Henry's plate, and presented the roll to the child. Joseph held his hands around the pile of food on his plate and laughed and yelled, his face red, his eyes wild, wickedly full of enjoyment.
Elizabeth indicated with her eyes that Henry should help himself to more food, but Henry shook his head and pushed his plate away. There was pheasant on it, which Millicent ate, reaching across with her fork to take up mouthful after mouthful, though there was pheasant on her own plate. Then she calmly ate her way through her own food. Henry was again pale and dejected, but when he looked over at his son, his face went soft with love. He smiled at Sarah, his eyes full of tears.
Joseph stood on his chair and began running a small lorry over the cloth. Millicent said to Henry, 'You take him.'
Henry obediently walked around the end of the table behind his wife, lifted his son, but, instead of returning to his seat, sat down in the chair near Sarah. The child leaned over, patted her hair, and ran the lorry up and down her arm.
Stephen, Elizabeth, and Norah sat watching, and vibrated together gently in disapproval. It is safe to say that the three boys had never, ever, been indulged in this way. And where were they? Off in the fields somewhere, or upstairs, and when the performance began they would eat their supper in the kitchen with Alison and Shirley. There
