‘Personally, I’m glad I have a sense of humour,’ went on Lady Prague, warming to her subject. ‘That controversy about Rima now: what I said was, “Why be angry? Every time you want a good laugh in future you only have to go into Hyde Park and there it is!” Killing! A perfect scream!
‘Ah! here’s Jane. Well, my dear, congratulations on your engagement. We are just admiring your fiancé’s pictures – quite pretty, aren’t they? No cocktail, thank you, dear, I’m not very modern, I’m afraid.’
The Gallery was suddenly and surprisingly invaded by a large crowd of people dressed in the deepest mourning and carrying wreaths; among others, Jasper Spengal, who rushed up to Albert saying breathlessly:
‘Such heaven, my dear! We’ve just been having a mock funeral. We bought a plot at the London Necropolis and we drove for miles and miles through the streets in carriages with black horses, and all the time Julius was in the coffin in grave-clothes which we bought at Harrods. And, did you know that one has grave-stockings, too? Then, when we reached our plot in the Necrop., he just pushed up the lid and walked out, and we all picked up the wreaths and ran for dear life.
‘Oh, I wish you could have seen the gravediggers’ faces! It was a really beautiful moment. Then we all packed into my car and Rosie’s car and came on here, and we’ve brought the flowers for you and Jane because you are engaged. So suitable, we think,’ and he laid his wreath at Albert’s feet. An enormous card was tied to it, bearing the inscription:
Sweets to the Sweet. In memory of a noble life.
R.I.P.
Lady Prague, who had been drinking in every word of all this, said loudly and angrily, ‘Those are the Bright Young People, no doubt. How very disgusting! Come along, Brenda, I’m going. Can I drop you anywhere, Mowbray?’
‘Yes, if you happen to be passing the Marlborough …’
‘Oh, darling!’ cried Jasper. ‘Did you hear what she called us? What a name! Bright Young People! Oh, how unkind to suggest that we are bright – horrid word – I see nothing bright about a funeral, anyway, do you? What a nasty old woman! I’m so – so glad she’s gone!
‘Now, darling, I must telephone – may I? – to the Daily Runner and tell them all about it: they’ll just have nice time to write it up. We had six photographers and a cinematograph at the graveside, and the light has been very good today, luckily. Would you like to be photographed among the wreaths, darling? It might give quite a good boost to the exhibition.’
‘I think not, Jasper, thank you so much. The Press people were here this morning and this is by way of being serious, you know, not a “freak party”,’ said Albert rather crossly. His nerves were on edge, and the mock funeral, which would at any other time have amused him a lot, struck him as being a painfully stupid idea.
He was thankful when they all dashed away to hear the Will read at Jasper’s house, leaving the wreaths piled up underneath The Absinthe Drinker, especially as Jane’s father and mother came in a moment later.
The Dacres, of course, thought Albert’s pictures perfectly raving mad, although they were too polite to say so. They had come with every intention of buying one, but decided in whispers that they were too dreadful – even for a lavatory, so they ordered copies of ‘Recent Finds at Dalloch Castle’ instead. While they were doing this, they noticed that Mrs Fairfax had arrived, and Lady Dacre, remarking that she refused to shake hands with that woman, left the Gallery, taking Sir Hubert in tow.
‘My dear!’ said Mrs Fairfax to Albert, ‘I had to come round for a moment to support you, but I am most frightfully busy. Have you heard the news? Well, I’m going to marry Cosmo again, which is lovely, because I do enjoy being a duchess when all’s said and done, and now, with any luck, I shall be one for the rest of my life. You can’t think what a difference it makes in shops and trains. Aren’t your pictures divine? Especially the one of Florence in tweed.
‘Ralph and I were furious to miss the fire, but it was lucky I went to Gleneagles, because that’s where I met Cosmo again – in the swimming-bath – and we got on so well comparing notes about our various husbands and wives that we fixed it up there and then; so I must fly now and get on with my trousseau. If I have another baby, what relation will it be to Bellingham? Good-bye, darling, then. I really have to go.’
Isaac Manuel, the art critic and collector, now put in an appearance, and Albert spent nearly an hour going round the pictures with him. He was greatly soothed and comforted by the older man’s intelligent appreciation of his work.
‘You are very young,’ he said to Albert as he was leaving, ‘and your style is often crude and bombastic, but all the same, Mr Gates, I must admit that I am very favourably impressed. I have not enjoyed an afternoon so much for some time. I predict a future for you if you realize, as I can see you do, that these methods are, in themselves, far from satisfactory and only a means to an end. Keep the end always in view and you may become a very good artist indeed. I shall certainly see that you have an excellent notice in my paper, and shall most probably present one of your pictures to the Nation. Good day.’
When Albert returned to the Gallery from seeing Mr Manuel into the street, he found that everyone had gone except Jane, Sally, Walter and the admiral who appeared to have fallen asleep among the funeral wreaths, a terrifying sight
