Snobs: A Novel

wanted to be admired for doing good work, which is not quite the same thing. But how else was he to answer her? Obviously, he wanted to be a great film star, just as Lady Uckfield had supposed. But while he knew this, he also knew not to reveal it.

'And will you always be an actor?' Here Lady Uckfield unconsciously exposed her own prejudices and put Simon even more securely in his place. It is a question often asked and yet I cannot for the life of me imagine people saying, 'And will you always be a doctor? Will you always be an accountant?' The reason is simple: try as they might they cannot see acting as a

'real' job. There is a distinction to be made here between the middle classes, who in some mysterious way are often affronted by the choice of acting as a career — as if one was choosing to live off immoral earnings — and the upper classes, who are usually only too delighted for one to be having a jolly time. But neither group can envisage actually staying with it. Perhaps because, despite quite a large number of posh actors in recent years, very few seem to make it through into the top strata of the profession. This may be because of prejudice, or lack of temperament, or simply because the road is too thorny for those with financial options, but the result is that while almost every aristocrat knows someone whose younger son or daughter has had a 'go at the stage' almost none of them know one who has succeeded. It can't be encouraging.

'Will you always be a marchioness?' said Edith from her place on the sofa, without raising her eyes.

Lady Uckfield glanced at her daughter-in-law for a moment. She quite understood the significance of Edith's weighing in on Simon's behalf. But she turned it back with a laugh. 'These days, my dear, who knows?' The smile became general and although I could not resist exchanging a quick look with Bella, we set about the business of being guests.

Simon, delighted to have acquired so attractive a champion, joined Edith on the sofa and was soon regaling her with Tales of the Film Set in his most engaging fashion.

Within minutes he was sparkling like the Regent Street Christmas lights. I watched Edith as she laughed and answered and flicked her hair about and laughed again, and watching her, I became aware that Charles, half talking to his mother across the room, was watching too. We both knew that we were looking at a more animated Edith than we had either of us seen in many moons and I knew that, above all things, I must be careful not to catch his eye or I would become complicit in a knowledge that would ultimately bring him great unhappiness. When he glanced towards me, I looked away and joined Bella, who was, needless to say, telling some risque story about being stranded overnight in a garage to a fascinated Tigger.

Once into the dining room, the evening was undemanding and pleasant enough. The food was excellent as usual and I noticed that the servants had begun to assume towards me that slightly ingratiating manner that is their usual defence in the case of 'regulars'. Having ascertained that you will be back, all servants who view their position as a career will abandon the (no doubt great but inevitably temporary) pleasure of assuming a patronising air and snubbing you on behalf of their masters.

Instead they adopt a kind of respectful chumminess that will ensure large tips and a good mention for them if they come up in conversation. This pat-a-cake is usually accepted. I have known many people who should know better to feel flattered at being made a fuss of by the staff of the grand. They believe this intimacy will bring them many opportunities in the future of demonstrating their familiarity with a Great House that may be denied to other guests. They will enjoy these moments a good deal. Properly handled, the relationship soon develops into a mutual, if slightly glutinous, admiration society. At any rate, on this occasion I disappointed myself by feeling quite warmed by deference as we made our way back to the car. Bella and I chatted on the way home, both of us relieved that the evening was over and yet pleased that it had been easier than we had anticipated. Reaching Brook Farm, we loitered outside as Simon went in and started to turn on the lights.

'So he's made another conquest after all,' said Bella.

I nodded. 'Thank goodness really,' I said. 'After last night, I thought I might find myself keeping the peace.'

'Oh, I don't think that's going to be your role at all,' said Bella with a half-smile.

I raised an admonishing finger. 'Don't make scandal. We're all getting on very well and this is a cushy job. Let us look no further than that.'

Bella laughed. 'Maybe. But you haven't noticed one thing.' I raised my eyebrows quizzically. 'He hasn't spoken a word since we left the party.'

She was right. I think I had noticed but had forced the knowledge out. For when someone as eager for approval, as hungry for status, as ready for the world to know of his adventures as Simon Russell, spends the evening basking in the intimate glow of a young and beautiful countess and feels no need to brag about it, then it is generally because the story has only just begun.

And so it proved.

TWELVE

I was perhaps not as observant as I might have been around this period as it so happened that some time before beginning the film at Broughton I had met the girl whom I was going to marry. She does not play much of a part in Edith's story and so I shall try to be as brief as possible. There was nothing particularly unusual in our meeting. It was at a cocktail party in Eaton Terrace given by a friend of my uncle's and, as it happened, her mother's that neither of us had especially wanted to attend. I was introduced to her quite soon after she arrived (with said mother) and more or less at once decided that this was my future wife. Her name was Adela FitzGerald, her father was an Irish baronet, one of the earliest creations as she was wont to point out crisply from time to time. She was tall, good-looking and businesslike, and I saw at once that this was someone with whom I could feasibly be happy for the rest of my life. I was consequently very taken up for the next few months trying to persuade her of this truth, which seemed manifestly self-evident to me but was not, I must confess, so immediately apparent to her. Quite why one makes one's choice in these matters is a mystery to me as much now, happily married as I am, as then when I was chasing after someone I hardly knew. I had spent many years trying and failing to find the right partner and it seems rather illogical that I should have been satisfied on the instant but I was. Nor have I had any cause to regret my decision since.

I concealed Adela from my acquaintance for a while. When you are approaching forty everyone is apt to make a great fuss over any companion you are seen out with more than once — well-meaning friends kill many romances in the bud — and so I thought I would keep quiet until I knew if there was 'anything in it'. However, in the end, I felt there was and so I introduced her around. My society friends and to a much greater extent my family were relieved that I had chosen from my old world rather than my new. My theatrical friends — more generous if more casual of heart as a rule — were just relieved that I'd found somebody.

We were nearly at the end of the shoot when I suggested that Adela might like to come down to Sussex one Friday, watch a bit of the filming and stay two nights at the farmhouse. This was to be arranged, to Bella's delighted hilarity, quite properly, with me giving up my room and sleeping on the sofa. Adela accordingly drove