‘No. We’ll think of something else.’ It was not yet nine o’clock, and Gerald wondered about the Licensing Justices.
But in the Lounge was another unexpected scene. Mrs Pascoe stopped as soon as they entered, and Gerald, caught between two imitation-leather armchairs, looked over her shoulder.
Phrynne had fallen asleep. Her head was slightly on one side, but her mouth was shut, and her body no more than gracefully relaxed, so that she looked most beautiful, and Gerald thought, a trifle unearthly, like a dead girl in an early picture by Millais.
The quality of her beauty seemed also to have impressed Commandant Shotcroft; for he was standing silently behind her and looking down at her, his sad face transfigured. Gerald noticed that a leaf of the pseudo-Elizabethan screen had been folded back, revealing a small cretonne-covered chair, with an open tome face downward in its seat.
‘Won’t you join us?’ said Gerald boldly. There was that in the Commandant’s face which boded no hurt. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
The Commandant did not turn his head, and seemed unable to speak. Then in a low voice he said, ‘For a moment only.’
‘Good,’ said Gerald. ‘Sit down. And you, Mrs Pascoe.’ Mrs Pascoe was dabbing at her face. Gerald addressed the Commandant. ‘What shall it be?’
‘Nothing to drink,’ said the Commandant in the same low mutter. It occurred to Gerald that if Phrynne awoke, the Commandant would go.
‘What about you?’ Gerald looked at Mrs Pascoe, earnestly hoping she would decline.
‘No, thanks.’ She was glancing at the Commandant. Clearly she had not expected him to be there.
Phrynne being asleep, Gerald sat down too. He sipped his brandy. It was impossible to romanticize the action with a toast.
The events in the Bar had made him forget about the bells. Now, as they sat silently round the sleeping Phrynne, the tide of sound swept over him once more.
‘You mustn’t think,’ said Mrs Pascoe, ‘that he’s always like that.’ They all spoke in hushed voices. All of them seemed to have reason to do so. The Commandant was again gazing sombrely at Phrynne’s beauty.
‘Of course not.’ But it was hard to believe.
‘The licensed business puts temptations in a man’s way.’
‘It must be very difficult.’
‘We ought never to have come here. We were happy in South Norwood.’
‘You must do good business during the season.’
‘Two months,’ said Mrs Pascoe bitterly, but still softly. ‘Two and a half at the very most. The people who come during the season have no idea what goes on out of it.’
‘What made you leave South Norwood?’
‘Don’s stomach. The doctor said the sea air would do him good.’
‘Speaking of that, doesn’t the sea go too far out? We went down on the beach before dinner, but couldn’t see it anywhere.’
On the other side of the fire, the Commandant turned his eyes from Phrynne and looked at Gerald.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Mrs Pascoe. ‘I never have time to look from one year’s end to the other.’ It was a customary enough answer, but Gerald felt that it did not disclose the whole truth. He noticed that Mrs Pascoe glanced uneasily at the Commandant, who by now was staring neither at Phrynne nor at Gerald but at the toppling citadels in the fire.
‘And now I must get on with my work,’ continued Mrs Pascoe, ‘I only came in for a minute.’ She looked Gerald in the face. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and rose.
‘Please stay a little longer,’ said Gerald. ‘Wait till my wife wakes up.’ As he spoke, Phrynne slightly shifted.
‘Can’t be done,’ said Mrs Pascoe, her lips smiling. Gerald noticed that all the time she was watching the Commandant from under her lids, and knew that were he not there, she would have stayed.
As it was, she went. ‘I’ll probably see you later to say good night. Sorry the water’s not very hot. It’s having no porter.’
The bells showed no sign of flagging.
When Mrs Pascoe had closed the door, the Commandant spoke.
‘He was a fine man once. Don’t think otherwise.’
‘You mean Pascoe?’
The Commandant nodded seriously.
‘Not my type,’ said Gerald.
‘DSO and bar. DFC and bar.’
‘And now bar only. Why?’
‘You heard what she said. It was a lie. They didn’t leave South Norwood for the sea air.’
‘So I supposed.’
‘He got into trouble. He was fixed. He wasn’t the kind of man to know about human nature and all its rottenness.’
‘A pity,’ said Gerald. ‘But perhaps, even so, this isn’t the best place for him?’
‘It’s the worst,’ said the Commandant, a dark flame in his eyes. ‘For him or anyone else.’
Again Phrynne shifted in her sleep: this time more convulsively, so that she nearly awoke. For some reason the two men remained speechless and motionless until she was again breathing steadily. Against the silence within, the bells sounded louder than ever. It was as if the tumult were tearing holes in the roof.
‘It’s certainly a very noisy place,’ said Gerald, still in an undertone.
‘Why did you have to come tonight of all nights?’ The Commandant spoke in the same undertone, but his vehemence was extreme.
‘This doesn’t happen often?’
‘Once every year.’
‘They should have told us.’
‘They don’t usually accept bookings. They’ve no right to accept them. When Pascoe was in charge they never did.’
‘I expect that Mrs Pascoe felt they were in no position to turn away business.’
‘It’s not a matter that should be left to a woman.’
‘Not much alternative surely?’
‘At heart women are creatures of darkness all the time.’
The Commandant’s seriousness and bitterness left Gerald without a reply.
‘My wife doesn’t mind the bells,’ he said after a moment. ‘In fact she rather likes them.’ The Commandant really was converting a nuisance, though an acute one, into a melodrama.
The Commandant turned and gazed at him. It struck Gerald that what he had just said in some way, for the Commandant, placed Phrynne also in a category of the lost.
‘Take her away, man,’ said the Commandant, with scornful ferocity.
‘In a day or two perhaps,’ said Gerald, patiently polite. ‘I admit that we are disappointed with Holihaven.’
‘Now. While there’s still time. This instant.’
There
