Again and again the rockets sped into the air like arrows, and the sky became crimson and gold. Manderley stood out like an enchanted house, every window aflame, the grey walls coloured by the falling stars. A house bewitched, carved out of the dark woods. And when the last rocket burst and the cheering died away, the night that had been fine before seemed dull and heavy in contrast, the sky became a pall. The little groups on the lawns and in the drive broke up and scattered. The guests crowded the long windows in the terrace back to the drawing-room again. It was anticlimax, the aftermath had come. We stood about with blank faces. Someone gave me a glass of champagne. I heard the sound of cars starting up in the drive.
"They're beginning to go,' I thought. "Thank God, they're beginning to go.' The salmon lady was having some more supper. It would take time yet to clear the hall. I saw Frank make a signal to the band. I stood in the doorway between the drawing-room and the hall beside a man I did not know.
'What a wonderful party it's been,' he said.
'Yes,' I said.
'I've enjoyed every minute of it,' he said.
'I'm so glad,' I said.
'Molly was wild with fury at missing it,' he said.
'Was she?' I said.
The band began to play Auld Lang Syne. The man seized my hand and started swinging it up and down. 'Here,' he said, 'come on, some of you.' Somebody else swung my other hand, and more people joined us. We stood in a great circle singing at the top of our voices. The man who had enjoyed his evening and said Molly would be wild at missing it was dressed as a Chinese mandarin, and his false nails got caught up in his sleeve as we swung our hands up and down. He roared with laughter. We all laughed. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot,' we sang.
The hilarious gaiety changed swiftly at the closing bars, and the drummer rattled his sticks in the inevitable prelude to God Save the King. The smiles left our faces as though wiped clean by a sponge. The Mandarin sprang to attention, his hands stiff to his sides. I remember wondering vaguely if he was in the Army. How queer he looked with his long poker face, and his drooping Mandarin moustache. I caught the salmon lady's eye. God Save the King had taken her unawares, she was still holding a plate heaped with chicken in aspic. She held it stiffly out in front of her like a church collection. All animation had gone from her face. As the last note of God Save the King died away she relaxed again, and attacked her chicken in a sort of frenzy, chattering over her shoulder to her partner. Somebody came and wrung me by the hand.
'Don't forget, you're dining with us on the fourteenth of next month.'
'Oh, are we?' I stared at him blankly.
'Yes, we've got your sister-in-law to promise too.'
'Oh. Oh, what fun.'
'Eight-thirty, and black tie. So looking forward to seeing you.'
'Yes. Yes, rather.'
People began to form up in queues to say goodbye. Maxim was at the other side of the room. I put on my smile again, which had worn thin after Auld Lang Syne.
'The best evening I've spent for a long time.'.
'I'm so glad.'
'Many thanks for a grand party.'
'I'm so glad.'
'Here we are, you see, staying to the bitter end.'
'Yes, I'm so glad.'
Was there no other sentence in the English language? I bowed and smiled like a dummy, my eyes searching for Maxim above their heads. He was caught up in a knot of people by the library. Beatrice too was surrounded, and Giles had led a team of stragglers to the buffet table in the drawing-room. Frank was out in the drive seeing that people got their cars. I was hemmed in by strangers.
'Goodbye, and thanks tremendously.'
'I'm so glad.'
The great hall began to empty. Already it wore that drab deserted air of a vanished evening and the dawn of a tired day.
There was a grey light on the terrace, I could see the shapes of the blown firework stands taking form on the lawns.
'Goodbye; a wonderful party.'
'I'm so glad.'
Maxim had gone out to join Frank in the drive. Beatrice came up to me, pulling off her jangling bracelet. 'I can't stand these things a moment longer. Heavens, I'm dead beat. I don't believe I've missed a dance. Anyway, it was a tremendous success.'
'Was it?' I said.
'My dear, hadn't you better go to bed? You look worn out. You've been standing nearly all the evening. Where are the men?'
'Out on the drive.'
'I shall have some coffee, and eggs and bacon. What about you?'
'No, Beatrice, I don't think I will.'
'You looked very charming in your blue. Everyone said so. And nobody had an inkling about — about the other things, so you mustn't worry.'
'No.'
'If I were you I should have a good long lie tomorrow morning. Don't attempt to get up. Have your breakfast in bed.'
'Yes, perhaps.'
'I'll tell Maxim you've gone up, shall I?"
'Please, Beatrice.'
'All right, my dear. Sleep well.' She kissed me swiftly, patting my shoulder at the same time, and then went off to find Giles in the supper room. I walked slowly up the stairs, one step at a time. The band had turned the lights off in the gallery, and had gone down to have eggs and bacon too. Pieces of music lay about the floor. One chair had been upturned. There was an ashtray full of the stubs of their cigarettes. The aftermath of the party. I went along the corridor to my room. It was getting lighter every moment, and the birds had started singing. I did not have to turn on the light to undress. A little chill wind blew in from the open window. It was rather cold. Many people must have used the rose-garden during the evening, for all the chairs were moved, and dragged from their places. There was a tray of empty glasses on one of the tables. Someone had left a bag behind on a chair. I pulled the curtain to darken the room, but the grey morning light found its way through the gaps at the side.
I got into bed, my legs very weary, a niggling pain in the small of my back. I lay back and closed my eyes, thankful for the cool white comfort of clean sheets. I wished my mind would rest like my body, relax, and pass to sleep. Not hum round in the way it did, jigging to music, whirling in a sea of faces. I pressed my hands over my eyes but they would not go.
I wondered how long Maxim would be. The bed beside me looked stark and cold. Soon there would be no shadows in the room at all, the walls and the ceiling and the floor would be white with the morning. The birds would sing their songs, louder, gayer, less subdued. The sun would make a yellow pattern on the curtain. My little bedside clock ticked out the minutes one by one. The hand moved round the dial. I lay on my side watching it. It came to the hour and passed it again. It started afresh on its journey. But Maxim did not come.
Chapter eighteen
I think I fell asleep a little after seven. It was broad daylight, I remember, there was no longer any pretence that the drawn curtains hid the sun. The light streamed in at the open window and made patterns on the wall. I heard the men below in the rose-garden clearing away the tables and the chairs, and taking down the chain of fairy lights. Maxim's bed was still bare and empty. I lay across my bed, my arms over my eyes, a strange, mad position and the least likely to bring sleep, but I drifted to the borderline of the unconscious and slipped over it at last.
When I awoke it was past eleven, and Clarice must have come in and brought me my tea without my hearing her, for there was a tray by my side, and a stone-cold teapot, and my clothes had been tidied, my blue frock put away in the wardrobe.