The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford

they filled her soul with despair. As she could not help much in the office owing to her lack of Spanish, nor with the children, since she knew nothing about calories, she was employed as a driver, and was always on the road in a Ford van full of supplies, or of refugees, or just taking messages to and from the camps. Often she had to sit and wait for hours on end while a certain man was found and his case dealt with; she would quickly be surrounded by a perfect concourse of men talking to her in their heavy guttural French. By this time the camps were quite decently organized; there were rows of orderly though depressing huts, and the men were getting regular meals, which, if not very appetizing, did at least keep body and soul together. But the sight of these thousands of human beings, young and healthy, herded behind wire away from their womenfolk, with nothing on earth to do day after dismal day, was a recurring torture to Linda. She began to think that Uncle Matthew had been right – that abroad, where such things could happen, was indeed unutterably bloody, and that foreigners, who could inflict them upon each other, must be fiends.

One day as she sat in her van, the centre, as usual, of a crowd of Spaniards, a voice said:

‘Linda, what on earth are you doing here?’

And it was Matt.

He looked ten years older than when she had last seen him, grown up, in fact, and extremely handsome, his Radlett eyes infinitely blue in a dark-brown face.

‘I’ve seen you several times,’ he said, ‘and I thought you had been sent to fetch me away so I made off, but then I found out you are married to that Christian fellow. Was he the one you ran away from Tony with?’

‘Yes,’ said Linda. ‘I’d no idea, Matt. I thought you’d have been sure to go back to England.’

‘Well, no,’ said Matt. ‘I’m an officer, you see – must stay with the boys.’

‘Does Mummy know you’re all right?’

‘Yes, I told her – at least if Christian posted a letter I gave him.’

‘I don’t suppose so – he’s never been known to post a letter in his life. He is funny, he might have told me.’

‘He didn’t know – I sent it under cover to a friend of mine to forward. Didn’t want any of the English to find out I was here, or they would start trying to get me home. I know.’

‘Christian wouldn’t,’ said Linda. ‘He’s all for people doing what they want to in life. You’re very thin, Matt, is there anything you’d like?’

‘Yes,’ said Matt, ‘some cigarettes and a couple of thrillers.’

After this Linda saw him most days. She told Christian, who merely grunted and said: ‘He’ll have to be got out before the world war begins. I’ll see to that,’ and she wrote and told her parents. The result was a parcel of clothes from Aunt Sadie, which Matt refused to accept, and a packing-case full of vitamin pills from Davey, which Linda did not even dare to show him. He was cheerful and full of jokes and high spirits, but then there is a difference, as Christian said, between staying in a place because you are obliged to, and staying there because you think it right. But in any case, with the Radlett family, cheerfulness was never far below the surface.

The only other cheerful prospect was the ship. It was only going to rescue from hell a few thousand of the refugees, a mere fraction of the total amount, but, at any rate, they would be rescued, and taken to a better world, with happy and useful future prospects.

When she was not driving the van Linda worked hard over the cabin arrangements, and finally got the whole thing fixed and finished in time for the embarkation.

All the English except Linda went to Cette for the great day, taking with them two M.P.s and a duchess, who had helped the enterprise in London and had come out to see the fruit of their work. Linda went over by bus to Argelès to see Matt.

‘How odd the Spanish upper classes must be,’ she said, ‘they don’t raise a finger to help their own people, but leave it all to strangers like us.’

‘You don’t know Fascists,’ Matt said, gloomily.

‘I was thinking yesterday when I was taking the Duchess round Barcarès – yes, but why an English duchess, aren’t there any Spanish ones, and, come to that, why is it nothing but English working in Perpignan? I knew several Spaniards in London, why don’t they come and help a bit? They’d be awfully useful. I suppose they speak Spanish.’

‘Fa was quite right about foreigners being fiends,’ said Matt, ‘upper-class ones are, at least. All these boys are terrific Hons, I must say.’

‘Well, I can’t see the English leaving each other in the lurch like this, even if they did belong to different parties. I think it’s shameful.’

Christian and Robert came back from Cette in a cheerful mood. The arrangements had gone like clockwork, and a baby which had been born during the first half-hour on the ship was named Embarcación. It was the kind of joke Christian very much enjoyed. Robert said to Linda:

‘Did you work on any special plan when you were arranging the cabins, or how did you do it?’

‘Why? Wasn’t it all right?’

‘Perfect. Everybody had a place, and made for it. But I just wondered what you went by when you allocated the good cabins, that’s all.’

‘Well, I simply,’ said Linda, ‘gave the best cabins to the people who had Labrador on their card, because I used to have one when I was little and he was such a terrific … so sweet, you know.’

‘Ah,’ said Robert, gravely, ‘all is now explained. Labrador in Spanish happens to mean labourer. So you see under your scheme (excellent by the way, most democratic) the farm hands all found themselves in luxury while the intellectuals