Then she said, Please, sir, shall I pour out your tea?
I said, Yes. Always. Just that, you see? Nothing about the beach. Nothing about anything. Just Always.
And all she said was, Very well, sir.
You see the delicacy? I thought, That girl's got breeding. I'm the true democrat, you see. Or was, rather. I thought, There was some young dog of a subaltern hovering round the cottage where you were born, my dear. But I didn't say so, naturally. Might have been someone in the Diplomatic, anyway. Very well, sir.
That was all. She went out. Went up to her little room, I expect. I was left alone, staring at the fire, like a fellow in a play.
I heard Adela going upstairs. Good God, I thought, there's Adela! I'd forgotten her. And the kids! Clean, decent youngsters. God, I thought, there's the Carrington-Joneses, too! Bitch of a woman. Tongue like a Gurkha's kukri. I thought of the old General, over at Lucknow Grange; dear old boy! Thought of the regiment; young chaps in the mess, keen as mustard, lead 'em to Hell and back. What would they say? Thought of my round in eighty. Thought of a fellow called Uglow. Met him one day in the bar of the Chutna Club. Never saw him again. Don't know why I thought of him.
But Adela was in my thoughts all the time, dodging in and out among the others. Then there was a sort of mirage, only not upside down, of this little goddess, on a beach, as it were. Pretty hard to concentrate.
Shall I tell you the words that came into my mind then? Play the game! Woman's heart broken, life ruined, old campaigner like Adela. No! Thought of the day we found a snake in the bed up at Chundrapore. That's another story. Still, it's a link, you know, that sort of thing. Only what's a snake against a goddess? If it wasn't for these blasted agitators
I did my best. I ignored her all Sunday. Monday morning I came out into the hall. There she was, sweeping the stairs. With a dustpan and broom. You know what I mean. I found Adela in the drawing-room. I said, Adela, I've got to go up to town. I've got to see Doggie Weaver.
She saw something was up. When I'm in a tight place I like to see Doggie Weaver. Been in tight places together. You go, she said. Come back on the eight-forty-five. I said, All right, I will.
So I went up to town. I saw Doggie. I told him everything. I said, I've got to choose. And I can't face it. He said, I advise a compromise. I said, What? He gave a sort of wink. He said, Least said, soonest mended. I said, What? He said, What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve for. I said, Doggie, you and I have been in some tight places. Now I think you're a dirty rotten cynic. You don't know what a good woman is, and I wish I'd never been in a single tight place with you.
So I went out. Then I thought of Piggy Hawkins. Can't say he was ever the most popular man in our mess; still I had an idea Piggy was all right a sort of intuition. I looked him up. I told him everything. Jack, he said, there's nothing for it. There it is as clear as daylight. You've got to play the game.
You see? The very words I'd said to myself. So I knew he was right. I shook hands with him. I said, Piggy, we've never been in very many tight places together, but if ever I'm in a tight place again, I hope you'll be there beside me.
I went back. I had another look at her, just to make sure. I called Adela into the Den. I said, Adela, keep a stiff upper lip. You're a soldier's daughter.
She said, Yes, Jack. A soldier's wife, too.
I said, Well, yes. Up to the present.
She said, Don't tell me it's another woman.
I said, I won't. It's a goddess.
She said, I see. Now I'm just the mother of a couple of soldier's children.
I said, Clean, decent kids, Adela. Keen as a couple of well-bred, sporting terriers.
She said, Yes, clean. I must have them, Jack. I'll keep them clean.
I said, Take them, Adela.
She said, Keep a stiff upper lip, Jack. They've got to have the right sort of school.
I said, Yes, Adela.
She said, And the right sort of home to come home to. The right sort of mother, too. Do you know what they call me? she said. And she almost broke down as she said it. They call me their 'lovely mother.' I can't be a 'lovely mother,' Jack, in a ragged old last-season's frock, can I?
I said, All right. I want nothing. I shall be living at Waikiki or somewhere. On a beach.
She said, You must have your baccy, Jack. The way she said it I almost broke down myself.
Then, of course, there was her family, and her lawyers, and resigning from everything, and being cut, and the Carrington-Joneses bitch of a woman everything. I kept a stiff upper lip, signed everything, never said a word, kept my eyes to myself in the house didn't want to drag the little goddess into it. Time enough for that when we got to Waikiki or wherever it was.
In the end they took all the furniture out. There I was with my polo cup and a bag of golf clubs in the old Den. Never mind off to Waikiki or somewhere before you could say knife. Damn these reptiles from Moscow they're un-English.
I called for Gladys. She came in. I gave her a look. Suddenly the words burst out of me. Did you ever see a light drumfire barrage moving briskly forward in advance of a battalion of the best men God ever made? That's how it sounded to me.
Here I am, I said. Take me. Play with my mustache. Cut it off if you like. It's yours. So's all the rest of me.
She said, What?
I said, I've given it up. Everything. Adela. Children. The old General dear old boy, but never mind. Carrington-Joneses. Cheltenham. Club. Regiment. Money. Even a fellow called Uglow met him in the Chutna Club nevermind him, either. I'm yours. I saw you, nude, on a beach dawn, everything. Get your hat on, Gladys. We're going into that dawn. We're going to find that beach. Not a tripper for miles!
She looked at me. Of course I knew she'd be surprised. Hadn't liked to say anything, not while Adela was in the house. Kept it clean, you know. Still, there was that word Always. And Very well, sir.
I thought she was going to say it again. Going to say it, not as she'd said it before, like a mouse talking out of a hole with all the cats of wealth, rank, station, convention, and God knows what prowling about the room, if you know what I mean, but loudly, triumphantly, and with a sort of spring at the end of it.
She was loud enough. Did you ever see a buzz bomb go off? With some poor fellow under it? That's how it seemed to me. I thought, Jack, you're knocked out. You're done for. I looked round. She was gone.
I saw what it was. They'd been at her. The scum! From Moscow. The blasted agitators. The cursed Reds. Nobody's too young for 'em, or too pure. Damn it, they're in the Sunday schools everywhere. Goddess what's that to them? Eyes, little ears, everything they don't give a damn. Class against class, that's their motto. Class hatred. Class war.
THE DEVIL GEORGE AND ROSIE
There was a young man who was invariably spurned by the girls, not because he smelt at all bad, but because he happened to be as ugly as a monkey. He had a good heart, but this soured it, and though he would grudgingly admit that the female kind were very agreeable in shape, size, and texture, he thought that in all other respects they were the most stupid, blind, perverse, and ill-natured bitches that had ever infested the earth.
He expressed this view very forcefully, and on all possible occasions. One evening he was holding forth to a circle of his cronies: it was in the Horseshoe Bar, at the bottom of the Tottenham Court Road. He could not help noticing that his remarks attracted the interest of a smart and saturnine individual seated at the next table, who had the rather repulsive look of a detective dressed up in evening clothes for the purpose of spying on a night-club.