«All the jewels are there,» said Roger, «and the little things from her dressing table, and Marigold has packed all the clothes and so on into three trunks. Where shall we send them?»
I wrote down the Notting Hill address.
«I didn't pack all the old cosmetics,» said Marigold, «and there were a lot of old suspender belts and things-«And could you tell Priscilla we want the divorce to get going at once? Naturally I will make her an allowance.»
«We won't be poorly off,» said Marigold, sweeping her sleeve across Roger's. «I shall go on working after the little one is born.»
«What do you do?» I asked.
«I'm a dentist.»
«Good for you!» I laughed out of sheer joie de vivre. Fancy, this charming girl a dentist!
«You've told Priscilla about us, of course?» said Roger, sedate.
«Yes, yes. All shall be well and all shall be well, as Julian remarked.»
«Julian?»
«Julian Baffin, the daughter of a friend of mine.»
«You must go, my children,» I said, rising. I could not bear any longer not being alone with my thoughts. «I will arrange everything for the best with Priscilla. It remains to wish you both every happiness.»
«I confess you've surprised me,» said Roger.
«Being beastly to you two won't help Priscilla.»
«You've been sweet,» said Marigold. I think she would have kissed me, only Roger piloted her off.
«Cheery-bye to my favourite dentist!» I shouted after them.
«He must be drunk,» I heard Roger say as I shut the door.
I went back to lying face downwards on the black woolly rug.
«Guess what I've got in this bag!» I said to Priscilla.
It was the same evening. Francis had let me in. There was no sign of Christian.
Priscilla was still occupying the upstairs «new» bedroom with the rather tattered-looking walls of synthetic bamboo. The oval bed, which had black sheets, was tousled, doubtless just vacated. Priscilla, in a rather clinical white bath-robe, was sitting on a stool in front of a low very glittering dressing table. She had been staring at herself in the mirror when I came in, and returned to doing so after greeting me without a smile. She had powdered her face rather whitely and reddened her lips. She looked grotesque, like an elderly geisha.
She did not reply. Then she suddenly reached out to a big jar of greasy cold cream and started plastering it upon her face. The red lipstick merged into the grease, tingeing it with red. Priscilla spread the pinkish mess all over her face, still gazing devouringly into her own eyes.
«Look,» I said, «look who's here!» I put the white statuette onto the glass top of the dressing table. I laid the enamel picture and the malachite box beside it. I drew out a mass of entangled necklaces.
Priscilla stared. Then without touching the stuff she reached out and took a paper tissue and began wiping the red mess off her face.
