‘There you are you see,’ Mrs Chaddesley Corbett turned triumphantly to Lady Montdore. ‘From kiddie-car to hearse, darling, I couldn’t know it better. After all, what would there be to think about when one’s alone, otherwise?’
What indeed? This Veronica had hit the nail on the head. Lady Montdore did not look convinced. She, I felt sure, had never harboured romantic yearnings and had plenty to think about when she was alone, which, anyhow, was hardly ever.
‘But who is there for her to be in love with, and if she is, surely I should know it?’ she said.
I guessed that they were talking about Polly, and this was confirmed by Mrs Chaddesley Corbett saying,
‘No, darling, you wouldn’t, you’re her mother. When I remember poor Mummy and her ideas on the subject of my ginks –’
‘Now Fanny, tell us what you think. Is Polly in love?’
‘Well, she says she’s not, but –’
‘But you don’t think it’s possible not to be fancying someone? Nor do I.’
I wondered. Polly and I had had a long chat the night before, sprawling on my bed in our dressing-gowns, and I had felt almost certain then that she was keeping something back which she would half have liked to tell.
‘I suppose it might depend on your nature?’ I said, doubtfully.
‘Anyhow,’ said Lady Montdore, ‘there’s one thing only too certain. She takes no notice of the young men I provide for her and they take no notice of her. They worship me, of course, but what is the good of that?’
Mrs Chaddesley Corbett caught my eye and I thought she gave me half a wink. Lady Montdore went on,
‘Bored and boring. I can’t say I’m looking forward to bringing her out in London very much if she goes on like this. She used to be such a sweet easy child, but her whole character seems to have changed now she is grown-up. I can’t understand it.’
‘Oh, she’s bound to fall for some nice chap in London, darling,’ said Mrs Chaddesley Corbett. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. Whoever she’s in love with now, if she is in love, which Fanny and I know she must be, is probably a kind of dream and she only needs to see some flesh-and-blood people for her to forget about it. It so often happens, with girls.’
‘Yes, my dear, that’s all very well, but she was out for two years in India you know. There were some very attractive men there, polo and so on, not suitable of course, I was only too thankful she didn’t fall in love with any of them, but she could have, it would not have been unnatural at all. Why, poor Delia’s girl fell in love with a Rajah, you know.’
‘I couldn’t blame her less,’ said Mrs Chaddesley Corbett. ‘Rajahs must be perfect heaven, all those diamonds.’
‘Oh no, my dear – any English family has better stones than they do. I never saw anything to compare with mine when I was there. But this Rajah was rather attractive, I must say, though of course Polly didn’t see it, she never does. Oh dear, oh dear! Now if only we were French; they really do seem to arrange things so very much better. To begin with, Polly would inherit all this instead of those stupid people in Novia Scotia, so unsuitable – can you imagine Colonials living here – and to go on with we should find a husband for her ourselves, after which he and she would live partly at his place, with his parents, and partly here with us. Think how sensible that is. The old French tart was telling me the whole system last night.’
Lady Montdore was famous for picking up words she did not quite understand and giving them a meaning of her own. She clearly took the word tart to mean old girl, trout, body. Mrs Chaddesley Corbett was delighted, she gave a happy little squeak and rushed upstairs saying that she must go and dress for dinner. When I came up ten minutes later she was still telling the news through bathroom doors.
After this Lady Montdore set out to win my heart, and, of course, succeeded. It was not very difficult, I was young and frightened, she was old and grand and frightening, and it only required an occasional hint of mutual understanding, a smile, a movement of sympathy to make me think I really loved her. The fact is that she had charm, and since charm allied to riches and position is almost irresistible, it so happened that her many haters were usually people who had never met her or people she had purposely snubbed or ignored. Those whom she made efforts to please, while forced to admit that she was indefensible, were very much inclined to say, ‘… but all the same she has been very nice to me and I can’t help liking her’. She herself, of course, never doubted for one moment that she was worshipped, and by every section of society.
Before I left Hampton on Monday morning Polly took me up to her mother’s bedroom to say good-bye. Some of the guests had left the night before, the others were leaving now, all rolling away in their huge rich motor cars, and the house was like a big school breaking up for the holidays. The bedroom doors we passed were open revealing litters of tissue paper and unmade beds, servants struggling with suitcases and guests struggling into their coats. Everybody seemed to be in a struggling hurry all of a sudden.
Lady Montdore’s room, I remembered it of old, was enormous, more like a ballroom than a bedroom, and was done up in the taste of her own young days when she was a bride; the walls were panelled in pink silk covered
