'I think it's such a pity to quarrel over bridge,' she said. 'After all, it's only a game.'
It was all very well for her. She had had a square meal and half a bottle of champagne. Besides, she had phenomenal luck. She was winning all their money. The score was put down in a book after each session, and hers mounted up day after day with unfailing regularity. Was there no justice in the world? They began to hate one another. And though they hated her too they could not resist confiding in her. Each of them went to her separately and told her how detestable the others were. Arrow said she was sure it was bad for her to see so much of women so much older than herself. She had a good mind to sacrifice her share of the lease and go to Venice for the rest of the summer. Frank told Lena that with her masculine mind it was too much to expect that she could be satisfied with anyone so frivolous as Arrow and so frankly stupid as Beatrice.
'I must have intellectual conversation,' she boomed. 'When you have a brain like mine you've got to consort with your intellectual equals.'
Beatrice only wanted peace and quiet.
'Really I hate women,' she said. 'They're so unreliable; they're so malicious.'
By the time Lena's fortnight drew to its close the three fat women were barely on speaking terms. They kept up appearances before Lena, but when she was not there made no pretences. They had got past quarrelling. They ignored one another, and when this was not possible treated each other with icy politeness.
Lena was going to stay with friends on the Italian Riviera and Frank saw her off by the same train as that by which she had arrived. She was taking away with her a lot of their money.
'I don't know how to thank you,' she said, as she got into the carriage. 'I've had a wonderful visit.'
If there was one thing that Frank Hickson prided herself on more than on being a match for any man it was that she was a gentlewoman, and her reply was perfect in its combination of majesty and graciousness.
'We've all enjoyed having you here, Lena,' she said. 'It's been a real treat.'
But when she turned away from the departing train she heaved such a vast sigh of relief that the platform shook beneath her. She flung back her massive shoulders and strode home to the villa.
'Ouf' she roared at intervals. 'Ouf'
She changed into her one-piece bathing-suit, put on her espadrilles and a man's dressing-gown (no nonsense about it), and went to Eden Roc. There was still time for a bathe before luncheon. She passed through the Monkey House, looking about her to say good morning to anyone she knew, for she felt on a sudden at peace with mankind, and then stopped dead still. She could not believe her eyes. Beatrice was sitting at one of the tables, by herself; she wore the pyjamas she had bought at Molyneux's a day or two before, she had a string of pearls round her neck, and Frank's quick eyes saw that she had just had her hair waved; her cheeks, her eyes, her lips were made up. Fat, nay vast, as she was, none could deny that she was an extremely handsome woman. But what was she doing? With the slouching gait of the Neanderthal man which was Frank's characteristic walk she went up to Beatrice. In her black bathing-dress Frank looked like the huge cetacean which the Japanese catch in the Torres Straits and which the vulgar call a sea-cow.
'Beatrice, what are you doing?' she cried in her deep voice.
It was like the roll of thunder in the distant mountains. Beatrice looked at her coolly.
'Eating,' she answered.
'Damn it, I can see you're eating.'
In front of Beatrice was a plate of croissants and a plate of butter, a pot of strawberry jam, coffee, and a jug of cream. Beatrice was spreading butter thick on the delicious hot bread, covering this with jam, and then pouring the thick cream over all.
'You'll kill yourself,' said Frank.
'I don't care,' mumbled Beatrice with her mouth full.
'You'll put on pounds and pounds.'
'Go to hell!'
She actually laughed in Frank's face. My God, how good those croissants smelt!
'I'm disappointed in you, Beatrice. I thought you had more character.'
'It's your fault. That blasted woman. You would have her down. For a fortnight I've watched her gorge like a hog. It's more than flesh and blood can stand. I'm going to have one square meal if I bust.'
The tears welled up to Frank's eyes. Suddenly she felt very weak and womanly. She would have liked a strong man to take her on his knee and pet her and cuddle her and call her little baby names. Speechless she sank down on a chair by Beatrice's side. A waiter came up. With a pathetic gesture she waved towards the coffee and croissants.
'I'll have the same,' she sighed.
She listlessly reached out her hand to take a roll, but Beatrice snatched away the plate.
'No, you don't,' she said. 'You wait till you get your own.'
Frank called her a name which ladies seldom apply to one another in affection. In a moment the waiter brought her croissants, butter, jam, and coffee.
'Where's the cream, you fool?' she roared like a lioness at bay.
She began to eat. She ate gluttonously. The place was beginning to fill up with bathers coming to enjoy a cocktail or two after having done their duty by the sun and the sea. Presently Arrow strolled along with Prince Roccamare. She had on a beautiful silk wrap which she held tightly round her with one hand in order to look as slim as possible and she bore her head high so that he should not see her double chin. She was laughing gaily. She felt like a girl. He had just told her (in Italian) that her eyes made the blue of the Mediterranean look like pea-soup. He left her to go into the men's room to brush his sleek black hair and they arranged to meet in five minutes for a drink. Arrow walked on to the women's room to put a little more rouge on her cheeks and a little more red on her lips. On her way she caught sight of Frank and Beatrice. She stopped. She could hardly believe her eyes.
'My God!' she cried. 'You beasts. You hogs.' She seized a chair. 'Waiter.'
Her appointment went clean out of her head. In the twinkling of an eye the waiter was at her side.
'Bring me what these ladies are having,' she ordered.
Frank lifted her great heavy head from her plate.
'Bring me some pГўtГ© de foie gras, she boomed.
'Frank!' cried Beatrice.
'Shut up.'
'All right. I'll have some too.'
The coffee was brought and the hot rolls and cream and the pГўtГ© de foie gras and they set to. They spread the cream on the pГўtГ© and they ate it. They devoured great spoonfuls of jam. They crunched the delicious crisp bread voluptuously. What was love to Arrow then? Let the Prince keep his palace in Rome and his castle in the Apennines. They did not speak. What they were about was much too serious. They ate with solemn, ecstatic fervour.
'I haven't eaten potatoes for twenty-five years,' said Frank in a far-off brooding tone.
'Waiter,' cried Beatrice, 'bring fried potatoes for three.'
'TrГЁs bien, Madame.'
The potatoes were brought. Not all the perfumes of Arabia smelt so sweet. They ate them with their fingers.
'Bring me a dry Martini,' said Arrow.
'You can't have a dry Martini in the middle of a meal, Arrow,' said Frank.
'Can't I? You wait and see.'
'All right then. Bring me a double dry Martini,' said Frank.
'Bring three double dry Martinis,' said Beatrice.
They were brought and drunk at a gulp. The women looked at one another and sighed. The misunderstandings of the last fortnight dissolved and the sincere affection each had for the others welled up again in their hearts. They could hardly believe that they had ever contemplated the possibility of severing a friendship that had brought them so much solid satisfaction. They finished the potatoes.
'I wonder if they've got any chocolate eclairs,' said Beatrice.
'Of course they have.'
And of course they had. Frank thrust one whole into her huge mouth, swallowed it and seized another, but before she ate it she looked at the other two and plunged a vindictive dagger into the heart of the monstrous Lena.