They sat formally in the room’s two chairs. Peggy must have been putting away her clothes and underclothes, as none were visible.
‘Had you anything in mind for Sunday?’
‘Need we settle so long beforehand? After all, it’s not work. Can’t we leave it till the time comes?’
‘We’ve both been asked on a picnic.’
‘Both?’
‘I’ve been asked and asked to bring you.’
‘I see. Will the people like me? Seeing that they don’t know me or I them. I should hate to spoil your day.’
‘Of course you won’t spoil my day, Peggy. I hardly know the people myself. I shall be glad to have you for company.’
‘Are they a married couple?’
‘There’s to be quite a number of people, I believe. You’ll be able to pass unnoticed, if you wish.’
‘Not if they’re my sort of person, I hope. And obviously not if they’re not my sort of person,’ said Peggy, patiently smiling. ‘Are they my sort of person? You won’t mind my asking.’
‘Not exactly,’ replied Griselda thoughtfully. ‘But I’m sure you’ll like them. I do,’ she added without particular regard for truth.
‘Could I let you know later?’
‘No. I want to know now. Or I shan’t sleep.’
‘All right, I’ll come. Thank you for asking me.’
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘I suppose it must be important to you. There’s someone expected? Somone in particular?’
‘Nothing like that. Just a group of old friends. Very pleasant people,’ replied Griselda, seeing mental pictures of Lotus flagellating Barney with the towel and Barney trying to beat out Kynaston’s brains.
XXIII
When Griselda arrived at the shop next morning, Mr Tamburlane was taking down the shutters as usual.
‘Since I had to hurry away last night, let me at once whisper in your hymeneal ear, Miss de Reptonville,’ he exclaimed as she approached.
‘Are you quite safe, Mr Tamburlane?’
‘I glow. I bask. I kindle.’
‘Then that’s all right.’ Griselda entered the dusky shop with its smell of scholarship.
‘Advance the nuptials. Miss de Reptonville. It’s the best thing you can possibly do. Afterwards you can throw the traces right over and – your tastes being what they are, of course – Society will do nothing but smile upon you.’
‘Please don’t concern yourself.’
‘In my anachronistic way I feel called to advise you; both as your employer and also quasi-paternally.’
‘It shows thought, Mr Tamburlane.’
‘But perchance the plough has entered the furrow without aid from me?’
At that point a young man came into the shop and saved the situation by calling, in an affected voice, for the Complete Incubology of St Teresa of Avila, which had to be got up from the basement.
None the less, all day Mr Tamburlane made himself quire a nuisance with his sympathetic but entire misunderstanding of Griselda’s situation. Nor did the heat help.
Saturday was really hot.
‘Need we go tomorrow?’ enquired Peggy, as she lay beside Griselda in the Park, her head on an old copy of ‘Headway’.
‘It may not be so hot.’
‘Then it will be raining. It’s August.’
‘Look at that duck.’
‘That’s a widgeon.’
‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t want to spoil it for you.’
‘I agreed to spend Sunday with you, Peggy. It’s for you to say about the picnic.’
‘It’s only the heat. I’d love to come otherwise.’
‘Surely it’ll be hotter in Italy?’
Sunday was hotter.
Griselda had passed the night naked on top of her bed and had slept perfectly; but she feared that Peggy might not have slept at all.
‘Are you awake, Peggy?’
‘I’m making sandwiches. Come in.’
Griselda entered. Peggy was fully dressed in a pale blue cotton frock covered with small sprigs of pale pink flowers; and was being exceedingly useful. Griselda was delighted by her energy and practicality. Kynaston’s cynical suggestion was coming to pass. Peggy was preparing lunch for the two of them.
‘I’ll go away again and get some clothes on.’
‘Do you like mustard with tinned salmon?’
‘Please. It adds a flavour.’
Immediately Griselda thought that this might be interpreted as offensive. So she added. ‘They’re beautiful sandwiches. So even.’
‘Got the knack at College,’ replied Peggy. ‘I made sandwich lunches for my group every day.’
‘Didn’t the others ever take a turn?’
‘Catch them,’ said Peggy with much meaning but no explanation.
Griselda put on a dark flame coloured silk shirt and her black linen skirt.
At five minutes to ten they were at Juvenal Court. Peggy had insisted on bringing her rucksack. It seemed to Griselda to go somewhat queerly with her cotton frock, but certainly came in useful as a repository for the little packets of food.
Seated on the steps were Barney, dressed precisely as before, and a young man in a tennis shirt, with fair hair and an open innocent face. Behind them on the step above, was a girl in a khaki shirt and grey flannel trousers. She had sharp but lively features, including a longish nose and almondish eyes; dark skin and black hair, drawn tightly back and tied with a length of wide khaki ribbon. She sat with her legs rather wide apart; but not sprawling: on the contrary, giving an impression of alertness and vigour.
Barney rose, followed by the innocent looking young man. The mark of Lotus’s teeth was plain on Barney’s cheek.
‘How nice of you to be so punctual.’ It was as if nothing had happened: almost as if nothing had happened ever. Barney’s tone was the pink of polite nothingness.
‘We’ve walked,’ remarked Peggy. ‘From the other side of the Edgware Road.’ Griselda did not really understand Peggy. Possibly she profited from being brought out.
‘How sensible of you to bring your rucksack.’
‘I like to keep my hands free.’
‘Naturally.’ Barney turned to Griselda. ‘Do introduce your friend.’
‘Peggy Potter. Barney Lazarus.’
‘The painter?’
‘Himself. How do you do?’
‘I know your work.’
Barney was admiring Peggy’s large bust.
‘Better than knowing me.’
‘Stop fishing for compliments, Barney. She’s only just set eyes on you.’ The girl on the step above was speaking. ‘I’m Lena Drelincourt.’
‘How do you do?’ said Griselda. ‘I’m Griselda de Reptonville.’
‘Not patient Griselda?’ cried the innocent looking young man in a public school voice and high glee.
‘This is Freddy Fisher,’ said Barney, embarrassed because he had failed to introduce Griselda.
‘I write,’ explained Lena Drelincourt.
‘I work in a bookshop. Perhaps we stock you.’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘There are several more of us to come,’ said Barney, making conversation. ‘Guillaume and Florence. Your friend Geoffrey Kynaston. And, of course, Monica Paget-Barlow. And Lotus.’
‘And Lotus,’ said Lena Drelincourt, underlining.
‘More women than men, I’m glad to say,’ resumed Barney.
‘Twice as many,’ said Lena, ‘not counting Freddy, which you can’t. It’s an incitement to unnatural vice.’
Freddy Fisher blushed all over his head and neck.
‘So many of the younger generation of men like to stay in bed over the week-end,’ explained Barney.
‘Where’s Geoffrey?’ asked Lena. ‘If he doesn’t appear soon, I’m going to take charge.’
‘Why are the arrangements always left to Geoffrey?’ asked Freddy Fisher.