Adam had a glass of champagne, hoping it would make him feel a little better. It made him feel much worse.
Then he went to Marylebone. It was Armistice Day, and they were selling artificial poppies in the streets. As he reached the station it struck eleven and for two minutes all over the country everyone was quiet and serious. Then he went to Aylesbury, reading on the way Balcairn’s account of Archie Schwert’s party. He was pleased to see himself described as “the brilliant young novelist,” and wondered whether Nina’s papa read gossip paragraphs, and supposed not. The two women opposite him in the carriage obviously did.
“I no sooner opened the paper,” said one, “than I was on the phone at once to all the ladies of the committee, and we’d sent off a wire to our Member before one o’clock. We know how to make things hum at the Bois. I’ve got a copy of what we sent. Look. Members of the Committee of the Ladies’ Conservative Association at Chesham Bois wish to express their extreme displeasure at reports in this morning’s paper of midnight party at No. 10. They call upon Captain Crutwell
—that’s our Member; such a nice stamp of man—strenuously to withhold support to Prime Minister
. It cost nearly four shillings, but, as I said at the time, it was not a moment to spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Ithewaite?”
“I do, indeed, Mrs. Orraway-Smith. It is clearly a case in which a mandate from the constituencies is required. I’ll talk to our chairwoman at Wendover.”
“Yes, do, Mrs. Ithewaite. It is in a case like this that the woman’s vote can count.”
“If it’s a choice between my moral judgement and the nationalization of banking, I prefer nationalization, if you see what I mean.”
“Exactly what I think. Such a terrible example to the lower classes, apart from everything.”
“That’s what I mean. There’s our Agnes, now. How can I stop her having young men in the kitchen when she knows that Sir James Brown has parties like that at all hours of the night. …”
They were both wearing hats like nothing on earth, which bobbed and nodded as they spoke.
At Aylesbury Adam got into a Ford taxi and asked to be taken to a house called Doubting.
“Doubting ’All?”
“Well, I suppose so. Is it falling down?”
“Could do with a lick of paint,” said the driver, a spotty youth. “Name of Blount.”
“That’s it.”
“Long way from here Doubting ’All is. Cost you fifteen bob.”
“All right.”
“If you’re a commercial, I can tell you straight it ain’t no use going to ’im. Young feller asked me the way there this morning. Driving a Morris. Wanted to sell him a vacuum cleaner. Old boy ’ad answered an advertisement asking for a demonstration. When he got there the old boy wouldn’t even look at it. Can you beat that?”
“No, I’m not trying to sell him anything—at least not exactly.”
“Personal visit, perhaps.”
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
Satisfied that his passenger was in earnest about the journey, the taxi-driver put on some coats—for it was raining—got out of his seat and cranked up the engine. Presently they started.
They drove for a mile or two past bungalows and villas and timbered public houses to a village in which every house seemed to be a garage and filling station. Here they left the main road and Adam’s discomfort became acute.
At last they came to twin octagonal lodges and some heraldic gateposts and large wrought-iron gates, behind which could be seen a broad sweep of ill-kept drive.
“Doubting ’All,” said the driver.
He blew his horn once or twice, but no lodge-keeper’s wife, aproned and apple-cheeked, appeared to bob them in. He got out and shook the gates reproachfully.
“Chained-and-locked,” he said. “Try another way.”
They drove on for another mile; on the side of the Hall the road was bordered by dripping trees and a dilapidated stone wall; presently they reached some cottages and a white gate. This they opened and turned into a rough track, separated from the park by low iron railings. There were sheep grazing on either side. One of them had strayed into the drive. It fled before them in a frenzied trot, stopping and looking round over its dirty tail and then plunging on again until its agitation brought it to the side of the path, where they overtook it and passed it.
The track led to some stables, then behind rows of hothouses, among potting-sheds and heaps of drenched leaves, past nondescript outbuildings that had once been laundry and bakery and brewhouse and a huge kennel where once someone had kept a bear, until suddenly it turned by a clump of holly and elms and laurel bushes into an open space that had once been laid with gravel. A lofty Palladian façade stretched before them and in front of it an equestrian statue pointed a baton imperiously down the main drive.
“ ’Ere y’are,” said the driver.
Adam paid him and went up the steps to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. Presently he rang again. At this moment the door opened.
“Don’t ring twice,” said a very angry old man. “What do you want?”
“Is Mr. Blount in?”
“There’s no Mr. Blount here. This is Colonel Blount’s house.”
“I’m sorry. … I think the Colonel is expecting me to luncheon.”
“Nonsense. I’m Colonel Blount,” and he shut the door.
The Ford had disappeared. It was still raining hard. Adam rang again.
“Yes,” said Colonel Blount, appearing instantly.
“I wonder if you’d let me telephone to the station for a taxi?”
“Not on the telephone. … It’s raining. Why don’t you come in? It’s absurd to walk to the station in this. Have you come about the vacuum cleaner?”
“No.”
“Funny, I’ve been expecting a man all the morning to show me a vacuum cleaner. Come in, do. Won’t you stay to luncheon?”
“I should love to.”
“Splendid. I get very little company nowadays. You must forgive me for opening the door to you myself. My butler is
