much more grownup, and surprisingly at ease with the Fox-Cottons.
But he still wasn't--well, so much of a person as in the photographs.
The food was lovely--so was everything in the place, for that matter, in an ultra-modern way.
"All wrong for this old house," said Aubrey (they told me to call them by their Christian names), after I had been admiring the furniture.
"But I prefer modern furniture in London and Leda won't leave her studios and take a flat. Modernity in London, antiquity in the
country- that's what I like. How I wish Simon would let me rent
Scoatney!"
"Perhaps Rose will fall in love with New York when they go there for their honeymoon," said Leda.
"Are they going?" I asked, as casually as I could.
"Oh, Rose was talking about it," said Leda, vaguely.
"It would be a nice time to go, if they get married in September. New York's lovely in the autumn."
The most awful wave of depression hit me. I suddenly knew that nothing would stop the wedding, that I had come up to London on a wild-goose
chase; I think I had begun to know it when I saw Simon's roses in the flat. I longed to be back at the castle so that I could crawl into the four-poster and cry.
Leda was talking to Stephen about posing for her again the next
morning.
"But we've got to go home today" I said quickly.
""Oh, nonsense- you can sleep at the flat," said Leda.
"There isn't room," I said.
"And, anyway, I must get back."
"But Stephen needn't surely? You can go by yourself."
"No, she can't--not late at night," said Stephen.
"Of course I'll take you if you want to go, Cassandra." His Leda gave him the swiftest, shrewdest look- it was as if she had suddenly sized up how he felt about me, wasn't pleased about it, but wasn't going to argue with him.
"Well, that's a bore," she said, then turned to me again.
"I'm sure they can fix you up at the flat somehow or other. Why can't you stay ?"
I longed to tell her to mind her own business. But as she was my
hostess, I just said politely that Father and Thomas needed me.
"But, good lord," she began- then took in my determined expression, shrugged her shoulders and said: "Well, if you change your mind, ring up."
Luncheon was over then. As we walked across the hall, Heloise was
lying on the black marble floor, very full of food. Leda stopped and
looked at her.
"Nice--her reflection in the marble," she said.
"I
wonder if I'll photograph her? No--there isn't time to rig up the
lights in here," She didn't give a flicker of a smile when Heloise thumped her tail. It struck me that I never had seen her smile.
While she was dressing to take Stephen to the film studios, I felt it would be polite to talk to Aubrey about his work and ask to see
pictures of it. Of course I don't know anything about modern
architecture, but it looked very good to me. It is odd that such a
desiccated man should be so clever--and odd that anyone who sounds as silly as Leda does can take such magnificent photographs. When she
came downstairs she was wearing a beautiful black dress and hat, with dark red gloves and an antique ruby necklace; but she still looked
quite a bit greasy.
I had decided to go back to the flat in case Rose came home earlier
than the maid expected, so Leda dropped me there on their way to the
film studios. Stephen arranged to call for me at half-past eight.
Leda had one last nag at me: "You are a trying child, making him take you home tonight. He'll have to come straight back to London if he
lands this job."
"He doesn't have to go with me unless he wants to." I don't think I said it rudely.
"Anyway, good luck with the job, Stephen."
As they drove off I started to walk Heloise round the block of flats, but I hadn't got far before the car stopped and Stephen came running
back to me.
"Are you sure you want me to take this job if I can get it?" he asked.
I said of course I was, and that we should all be very proud of him.
"All right- if you're sure his As I watched him racing back to the car I had a wrongful feeling of pride--not so much because he was devoted to me as at the thought of Leda having to realize it.
I spent the afternoon in the drawing-room of the flat. I read a
little--there were some very serious American magazines, not bit like the ones Miss Marcy had. But most of the time, I thought. And what I
thought about most was luxury. I had realized before that it is more
than just having things; it makes very air feel different. And I felt different, breathing that air: relaxed lazy, still sad but with the
edge taken off the sadness.
Perhaps the effect wears off in time, or perhaps you don't notice you are born to it, but it does seem to me that the climate of riches must always be a little dulling to the senses.
Perhaps it takes the edge off joy as well as off sorrow.
And though I cannot honestly say I would ever turn my back on any
luxury I could come by, I do feel there is something a bit in it.
Perhaps that makes it all the more enjoyable.
At five o'clock the kind maid brought iced tea and sandwiches--and
biscuits for Heloise, but she much preferred sandwiches. After that, I fell asleep on the sofa.
And suddenly they were all back--the room was full of laughing and
talking. All three of them were in black-apparently most smart London women wear black in hot weather; it seemed unsuitable, but they looked very nice in it.
And they so pleased to see me--Rose simply hugged me.
Everyone was determined that I should stay for the weekend.
Rose insisted her bed was big enough for two and when I said we should kick each other she said:
"All right--I'll sleep on the floor but stay you must."
"Yes, do, dear," said Mrs. Cotton.
"And then we can see about your bridesmaid's dress on Monday
morning."
"If only I'd known you were here, I'd have rushed home," cried Rose.
"We've been to the dullest matinee.
She was fanning herself with the program. Three months ago no matinee in the world would have been dull to her.
Topaz urged me to stay, but in the same breath asked if Father would be all right without me. I told her exactly what food I had left for him and Thomas.
"We'll call up Scoatney and have a cold roast of beef sent over,"" said Mrs. Cotton.
"They can eat their way through that."
Then Simon came in and just to see him again was so wonderful that I
suddenly felt quite happy.
"Yes, of course she must stay," he said, "and come out with us tonight."
Rose said she could lend me a dress.
"And you telephone Neil, Simon, and say he's to come and dance with her. You shall have a bath in my bathroom, Cassandra."
She put her arm round me and walked me along to her bedroom.
The quiet flat had come to life. Doors and windows were open, the maid was drawing up the sunbils, a cool breeze was blowing in from the Park, smelling of dry grass and petrol-- a most exciting, Londony smell-which mixed with a glorious smell of the dinner cooking.
"The kitchen door must have been left open," said Mrs. Cotton to the maid, quite crossly. As if anyone could mind the smell of a really
good dinner!
While I was in the bath, Rose telephoned the Fox-Cottons" house for me--I was afraid Leda would answer and I didn't fancy telling her
myself that I had changed my mind. Then I felt it would be most unkind not to ask Stephen how his interview had gone, so I yelled to Rose that I would like to talk to him.
"He's in the studio with Leda," Rose called back.
"Aubrey says he'll ask him to telephone you later."
After she had hung up she told me that Stephen had got the film job.