mooning over that silly old window-pane.’
‘Mummy, you’re not to call it silly. It means a great deal to me.
‘No doubt, but exactly what does it mean to you?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I suppose you think of yourself as…’ She stopped speaking.
‘Please go on.’
But she did not. Far off within the house there was a faint crash of breaking glass or crockery. The inveterate wool-gatherer grasped his mother lightly by her silk-clad upper arms and, with a tender but vague smile, inspected her at some length. There was an air of great solicitude in his voice when he said,
‘You’re tired, poor little mummy. You work too hard. You really must do less yourself and make those lazy good-for-nothings below stairs do more. It’s a positive disgrace.’
‘I’ve only been cutting roses,’ said his mother.
‘But in this heat… Oh yes. How pretty they are.’
‘They’re quite pretty. Not as much so as they must have been, you know, before. It’s the mildew, like last year. Such a shame.’
‘That rascal Mily idling as usual.’
‘There’s nothing Mily can do. He has a hard enough time looking after the vegetables.’
‘With three men under him?’
‘There’s nothing anybody can do. Well, I must go and see to these flowers. I dare say they’ll look well enough on the dinner-table. Oh, now that reminds me; of course, that was why I came: your father wants to know whether you’ll be dining with us tonight.’
The young man sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. ‘Oh, merciful God.’
‘What is it, darling? You’re quite free to have something brought you up here if you’d rather. You don’t imagine your father would try to compel you? You know that’s not his style,’ she said in a neutral tone.
‘No, it’s just that the whole idea sickens me.’
‘But why? So many things seem to do that.’
‘Life’s so boring. No wonder I day-dream.’
‘You can go and live at your regiment any time you like.’
‘Thank you! It’s even worse there.’
‘Well then. Anyway, this is just a small party, I promise you. The Tabidzes are to be here…’
‘Is that supposed to be an attraction?’
‘You’ve always said how much you like them. Or at least respect them.’
‘H’m.’
‘And – what’s he called? – Theodore something. From the Commission. I remember you said you’d met him playing croquet. I though he might be nice company for Nina. And Elizabeth, of course.’
‘Mummy, please spare me a lecture on Elizabeth.’
‘What else am I doing? Are two words a lecture?’ Alexander said nothing. After another silence, his mother said,
‘I must go. I have a lot to do. If you don’t want to decide now, would you at least let Anatol know by seven o’clock whether you intend to come down to dinner or not?’ There was a faint severity in her tone and manner which grew fainter when he turned his blue-eyed gaze upon her, but had not vanished altogether when she added, ‘So that he can lay the right number of covers.
‘Yes yes.’
‘Your father would be very glad of your company. And so would I.’
‘Thank you, mummy.
He opened the door for her, closed it after her carefully and strolled over to his bookcase. With an experimental air, as if quite ignorant of what he might find, he took down and opened a large thin volume bound in dull purple. He sighed heavily and frowned, turning over the pages with an air of great finality. Eventually he read aloud,
‘Down the wind drain the last leaves,
Snow garbs the naked alders; a grim sun
Yet holds out hope of what the blood wishes,
Thrills it with memories of heat-dozed lawns,
Messages of lust suffusing all.’
He shut the book with a loud slap. ‘Shit!’ he cried, whacking it back on the shelf, or rather trying to force it between its neighbours while perversely not using his free hand to hold them apart; ‘the jackass hasn’t the least idea. Will any of them ever even begin? If only somebody would tell me what I feel!’ A step sounded just outside the room, but he added in a loud, trembling voice, ‘If only! If only!’ The knock that followed was much firmer than that of ten minutes previously, and there was nothing at all tentative about the demeanour of the girl who came in, Alexander’s sister Nina.
She was nineteen, of medium size, not thin, auburn-haired, rather pale, with good features but too friendly an expression to be considered beautiful. Her flowered cotton skirt, white blouse and wide-lapelled mauve waistcoat, also of cotton but woven like satin, had been chosen with care and effect. She looked at her brother with a smile in which, as often with her, affection was joined with amusement.
‘Talking to yourself again,’ she said in agreeable, slightly guttural tones.
‘Was I?’ said Alexander loftily. ‘What if I was?’
‘Nothing whatever, my dear, I assure you. Mummy asked me to come and see you, as you’ll have guessed.’
‘I don’t guess that sort of thing.’
‘Not you, no. She said you’re being difficult about dinner tonight. I’m here to persuade you to say you’ll come. What’s holding you back, anyway?’
Alexander hesitated. At last he said, ‘I don’t much care for sitting down at the same table as Director Vanag.
‘What makes you think he’ll be coming?’
‘He usually does. You know that.’
‘Not this time. Director Vanag is in Moscow.’ Nina had settled herself in the least uncomfortable of the birchwood chairs with a tasselled cushion behind her head. ‘Deputy-Director Korotchenko will be in attendance instead.’
‘Is Vanag in trouble?’
‘Not that I know of, I’m sorry to say. Probably just giving his horrible report and getting his horrible orders. Deputy-Director Korotchenko is bringing Mrs Korotchenko with him.’
‘So I should naturally suppose. What of it?’
‘You wouldn’t say “what of it?” if you’d seen her,
‘Where have you seen her? How have you found out all this?’
‘They were at a picnic we were at last week.’ She paused. ‘Go on, ask me what she’s like.’
‘You are the most impossible little saucebox, you know. Oh, very well, what’s the woman like?’
‘There you go again; that’s no way to speak of her. How shall I put it? She’s your type.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning a sulky, bad-tempered look and an enormous bosom.
‘What utter rubbish; that’s not my type. Kitty hasn’t got a sulky, bad-tempered…’ Alexander stopped speaking.
His sister laughed in a way that, again, no woman considered beautiful ever does. ‘You’re wonderful, do you know that? Altogether wonderful.’ Looking straight at him while he moved his head to and fro in vexation, she laughed again for some moments. ‘Anyway, as well as her being your type, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were hers.’
‘And what’s THAT supposed to mean?’
