companions. Tommy gave his reasons for why the Conservatives had gone so completely down the plug. These were on the whole reasonable and seemed worthy of discussion but Cumnor countered them with a bundle of ridiculous assertions, all smug, all out of date and all apparently received unchewed from his late father (rather like his wardrobe). Feeling that I ought to contribute, I observed that it did not seem to me that the party had been very imaginative in their relationship with the arts.
Cumnor angled his bulk towards me. 'My dear fellow, how many people constitute what you call 'the Arts'? We're talking thousands, not hundreds of thousands, not millions. Do you know how many members there are in the TGWU? The plain truth is, whether you like it or not, your 'arts' don't matter.' He sat back, having won his point to his own satisfaction.
'Forty million people turn on their televisions every night to find out what they think,' said Tommy. 'What could matter more than that?'
The issue was not important to any of us but I could see that Henry was irritated at Tommy for taking my side, showing that he shared the usual fantasy of the less intelligent members of his class that on every given topic, from port to euthanasia, there is a 'sound' way of thinking and one has only to voice this view to carry the field. Since they are generally only addressing like-minded people, the field is as a rule easy to carry. Tommy Wainwright, in not playing this game, risked creating the impression in Henry's sluggish brain that in some way, ever since Tommy had gone into serious politics, he was
'not quite a gentleman' — the stock response to original thought.
Having arrived at the airport and gone through the procedures, we were shown to a smallish departure gate where we were hailed by the remaining nine of the party. These included Lord Peter Broughton, Lord Uckfield's much younger half-brother, and Caroline's husband, Eric Chase, whom I had met briefly at the engagement dinner. Chase was an unlikely addition to the Broughton clan, being the very definition of a 'Yuppie'. That is to say he was a sleek and belligerent 'executive', whose conversation consisted largely of capitalistic platitudes and references to his membership of Brooks's. His most distinctive feature was an almost pathological rudeness, which made him simultaneously less pathetic and more objectionable although, oddly, he was attractive to women. I cannot imagine why but with the opposite sex (in marked contrast to his own) he undeniably had a good deal of success. I suppose he was handsome in a smooth, over-fed way and his satisfaction with his outward form (as well as, presumably, his dazzling marriage) was demonstrated in a constantly changing wardrobe of over-cut worsteds and tweeds. I later learned that his father had been a manager with British Rail. He made an odd pair with Caroline for politically and philosophically they were streets apart. The plain truth was that he had made a right-wing gesture in marrying her while she had made a left-wing one by marrying him. All this was concealed from them, however, because they seldom talked much when they were alone. It is quite possible in this way for couples often not to discover that they are in profound disagreement over the very fundamentals of life until ten or even twenty years have passed.
Charles strode up with a glass of champagne and a warm smile. For Edith's sake or perhaps for my own he was clearly determined not to let me feel left out of this group who (with the exception of Chase) had all played together in those long-ago nurseries and who he was fearful might be rude to an actor of whom they had never heard. I was touched by his efforts but he needn't have worried. I was not always an actor. I had not only been at school with Cumnor, but I recognised a prep school playmate, a friend from my debbing days and an acquaintance from Cambridge among the others. I also knew that Lord Peter had been engaged at one time to a cousin of my sister- in-law so I did not anticipate much trouble. Such is the world that still exists in a country of sixty million people a century after the Socialists first came to power.
As a further mark of distinction Charles took the seat next to me on the little aeroplane that had been chartered for the event. A raffish steward brought us some more champagne with a tiny bit of caviar squidged onto a slightly tough blini and we settled back.
'This is all very nice,' I said.
'I'm glad you could come.'
'So am I.'
'You were the one who introduced us.'
I laughed. 'In years to come we'll know whether I have earned praise or blame.'
Charles wasn't in joking mood. 'Oh praise. I'd say praise.' He paused. 'Edith thinks you're frightfully intelligent, you know.'
'That's very gratifying.'
He looked down into his drink. 'Of course, she's so bright. You must find that.'
I can't say that I had ever given the matter much thought. Certainly Edith was no Gertrude Stein. Her idea of intellectuality was reading the latest John Mortimer. Still, she was quite funny and in my experience funny people are seldom stupid. 'I'm always pleased to see her, which is probably the same thing,' I said.
He smiled a trifle wryly. 'Well, here's hoping she's always pleased to see me.' I murmured some reassuring nonsense but he was not content to leave it there. He drew in a breath. 'I hope I'm worthy of her,' he said. I suppressed my urge to smile at being trapped in this bit of Frederick Lonsdale dialogue. These were pedestrian sentiments to begin a stag night but they were none the less heartfelt for that. Charles was typical of his kind in that he had no modes of original expression and was almost invariably forced back into cinematic cliches when trying to describe love or hate or anything else not covered by the Jockey Club rules. I said I was sure he would be as worthy as anything and it was Edith who was the lucky one and that he was paying her a great honour, etcetera. I'm usually equal to this sort of thing but I hadn't quite hit the mark this time. He interrupted my encouraging flow. 'It's just that I hope I'm clever enough for her. I don't want her to get bored with me.' He laughed and raised his eyebrows slightly to pass this off as a sort of joke, but I could see he meant it — just as I could see he had a point. Edith was no Einstein but it had already occurred to me that there might come a time when attending race- meetings with a bunch of well-dressed people mouthing received opinions just might not do it for her. I didn't see, however, that there was any useful comment that could be made since I could hardly praise him for his perspicacity.
'Charles,' I said, 'if there's one thing that makes me uncomfortable it's modesty and we'll have no more of it tonight.'
He laughed and the moment was passed.
I love Paris. There are certain cities where you can only have a good time with the help of the residents and there are others where a good time is available to all. Such is Paris, which is just as well given the amount of help one generally gets from the residents. My mother, a poor linguist herself, had been extremely anxious that her children should not suffer as she had suffered, nodding and smiling at French diplomats' wives in a kind of frozen tableau of international goodwill. Consequently, in our early teens we all had one or more school holidays ruined by
