Her Lover (43 page)

'Antoinette, do you really forgive me for coming so late?' 'But Emmeline, you weren't late at all, truly you weren't.' 'But I was, dear, I know I was. I got here at twenty to five instead of four o'clock as promised. I failed to keep my word and I feel dreadfully ashamed. But you know, the maid I've got just now, a little chit from Berne, has been leading me a merry dance.'

Listening to Madame Ventradour you got the impression that she was permanently knee-deep in domestic staff who were all midgets, for every maid she had ever employed was invariably described as 'little'. During the time since Madame Deume had met her at the sewing circle, Madame Ventradour had, in succession, gone through a little Spanish girl, a little Italian girl, a little girl from the Vaud, a tiny little thing from Aargau and, the most reprehensible of the whole lot, this little chit from Berne, who was the reason why she was late. When she had run through the chronicle of the little chit's misdemeanours, she produced a smelling-bottle from her reticule and inhaled. Ah, these servants would be the death of her!

'Listen, darling,' said Madame Deume turning nobly towards Adrien, 'dear Emmeline won't mind, I'll tell her about everything that's happened, but I do think that your wife and yourself should really be running along now. You have your packing to finish off and you've both to get changed, you'll just have time. I'll put you fully in the picture, Emmeline dear.'

After kissing Madame Ventradour's hand - he did it to impress her — Adrien said his farewells. He embraced Monsieur Deume, then Madame Deume, who held him lengthily clasped to her flaccid person and begged him to write as often as possible. 'Even if they're short letters, just to let your Mummy know that everything is going well for her Didi.' Ariane took her leave of both the ladies and of old Monsieur Deume, who was overjoyed because he and his daughter-in-law had a secret. Yes! They'd both already said their goodbyes away from prying eyes, just the two of them! And they'd embraced! She'd even given him a photo of herself and said he should keep it safe and not show anyone else! He smiled at the memory of it while Madame Deume, once the young people had gone, explained to dear Emmeline that Adrien had been invited with his wife to a 'grand dinner party' given by an influential person and that afterwards he was going away this very evening because he was being sent 'on a mission of high diplomacy to talk about problems with important people'.

'And now, dear, if you're not too put out by the novelty, we'll go in to table straight away. Oh, I know we've heaps of time, our train doesn't go until seven forty-five, but since you said you were agreeable to high tea I skipped ordinary tea altogether and I must confess that I'm feeling positively faint with hunger. Besides, if we eat early we'll have plenty of time for girl-talk afterwards while Hippolyte is looking after the last-minute arrangements. It's not quite five and our taxi is ordered for seven fifteen. We've got two hours all to ourselves for a good chat.'

'But my car is here, dear, I could get my chauffeur to drive you to the station, it would be no trouble since it's on my way. Except of course that your cases might damage the upholstery, but no matter, I'll not have to mind that. Some day I may even be glad I made the sacrifice, at least I'll try my very best to be.'

'Thank you, dear, thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I should never forgive myself, and besides your motor car is rather old and might not cope with the strain of our combined weights. Which reminds me, Didi's going to buy a new Cadillac when he gets back from his trip. They really are a superb motor. But now, let's sit ourselves down at table. Please excuse the absence of staff, but I did explain how we were fixed, what with poor Martha going off like that, Mariette leaving us in the lurch, and the temporary woman who's filling in only able to come mornings. That's why everything is already out on the table except for the
potage.
So if it's all right with you we'll move to the dining-room. Hippolyte, give dear Emmeline your arm.'

Madame Ventradour sat down cheerfully. She took out her slimming breadsticks, the trusty ones bought from the dependable family baker, put them down on her right, patted them tenderly, gave one of her chubby smiles, and cast her quickly reviving eyes over the delights spread out before her. Madame Deume apologized again, just cold offerings, the best she could manage in the circumstances, but then struck a bantering note as she asked her husband if he'd be the maid. Not needing to be told twice, for he had been thoroughly drilled beforehand, Monsieur Deume sprang into action.

He returned bearing the steaming soup-tureen. He served the
potage,
giving himself a double helping, his eyes wide with anticipation. But, just as he was about to dip his spoon into his
potage,
Madame Ventradour suddenly clapped one hand to her heart and emitted a wail like a mortally wounded bird. The penny dropped immediately and Monsieur Deume bowed his head in shame: how dreadful, he'd almost started without waiting for grace! Dear Emmeline, mettlesome as always, seized dear Antoinette's hand.

'I'm sorry, dear, so sorry, do forgive me if I offended you. I would never dream of forcing you to do anything that upset you!'

'But you know very well, dear, that we always say grace and that it does not upset us in the least. On the contrary, thanks be to God!' said Madame Deume. 'It was just that poor Hippolyte forgot himself momentarily, that's all.'

'You must forgive me, say you forgive me!' said Madame Ventradour turning to Monsieur Deume. 'Forgive me for offending you!'

'No offence taken, weally, Madame.'

'Oh say you forgive me! I was in the wrong, I blame myself! (Her voice grew ravaged, yearning, wanton:) But it's such a great joy for me, you know, a very great joy, oh yes, Lord, to speak with Thee.
(Noticing that she was slipping into her praying mode, she got a grip on herself.) Such a great joy to speak with Him before partaking of what He in His great Goodness has been pleased to set upon my table! Giving thanks is such a comfort,' she said in a damp voice. 'I ask you all to forgive me for having shocked you so!'

'But dear,' said Madame Deume, who considered that Emmeline was taking things rather too far, 'there's absolutely nothing to forgive!'

While Monsieur Deume stared at his now less than flamboyantly steaming
potage,
Madame Ventradour, undaunted in her distress, persisted with her pleasant little game, made further requests for forgiveness, but no she could not! she absolutely could not dispense with grace before a meal! She could not bear to be deprived of His ' spirit! Oh, forgive, forgive! In her hiccups, she grabbed the startled Monsieur Deume by the arm, closed her eyes, and looked as though she were at her last gasp.

'I feel unwell, forgive me! .. . my smelling-salts! .. . would you? .. . in my reticule .. .it's on the hall table .. . forgive me! ... a small bottle . . . forgive me! . . . hall table . .. small bottle . . . forgive me! . . . table . . . bottle.'

When she felt she had bottled and tabled for long enough and had taken a good sniff at the said little green bottle, she revived and, like a convalescing angel, aimed a smile at Monsieur Deume, who was staring glumly into his
potage.
('I wonder if it's the will of God that I seem always to be eating food that's gone cold on account of their pwayers.') Out of courtesy, Madame Deume asked dear Emmeline to say grace. Still husky-voiced, Madame Ventradour said she would do nothing of the kind, that she would surrender that great joy to dear Antoinette, and added that she didn't mind in the least not saying grace. She was the kind of person who, whenever she claimed that she didn't mind in the least, had to be understood as meaning exactly the opposite. She was of course hoping that Madame Deume would return the compliment and let her say grace. But dear Antoinette did not insist, for dear Emmeline went in for interminable graces, the equivalent of sermons, which she used to unload all the doings of her day to an accompaniment of sighs and other plaintive suspirations. So she dipped her nose towards the cream of wheatgerm and closed her eyes. Madame Ventradour followed suit in taking the mystical plunge, while old Monsieur Deume rested his head on both hands so that he could concentrate properly, for he found it difficult to derive any great pleasure from these perpetual communings with the Divinity. ('Nothing wong with it on Sundays, in fact I quite like it, but not thwee times a day!') The unhappy man focused his mind, resisting a strong urge to scratch the back of his neck, and concentrated, but could not quite resist peeping through half-opened fingers at his
potage,
which now had stopped steaming altogether and was surely lukewarm. ('Hang it all, I'm pwetty certain God cares for us without it being necessawy for us to be asking Him to do so all the blessed time, and anyway He's supposed to know evewything, so what's the point of going on at Him explaining things He alweady knows?')

Madame Deume, who knew she was performing in front of a professional, launched into a high-grade prayer, her meatball bobbing up and down as she proceeded. When two minutes were up, Monsieur Deume stealthily slipped his forefinger under his soup-dish to see how hot it was. Madame Ventradour was also tiring quickly, though she was not fully aware of the fact. This ghastly old bigot who was quite capable of praying at you for half an hour always found that other people prayed for far too long. At this point, just as Madame Deume was in the middle of reporting to the Lord on Juliette Scorpeme's dreadful problems, Madame Ventradour, who was nothing if not spontaneous, gave a tragic little cry and pressed her hand to her heart. Dear Juliette had problems? And she had heard nothing about them!

'Sorry, dear. Forgive me. Do carry on.'

She closed her eyes again, did her best to listen, but a thought went round and round inside her head: she must not forget to ask exactly what kind of problems Juliette was having. In the end, she managed to shoo away these worldly notions, closed her eyes tighter, and tried to lose herself in the living words of the grace. But she could not help thinking that poor Antoinette did not vary her set expressions overmuch. Her orisons lacked what Madame Ventradour liked best: spontaneity, the unexpected, the pungent turn of phrase. Her religious palate had been desensitized and required constant pepper and spice. For example, she bought a new Bible once every five years so she could taste afresh the pleasure of underlining comforting passages, nodding her head in agreement as she went. Truth to tell, the practice of daily observance tried Madame Ventradour's patience rather, though naturally she was not aware of it. But this was why, when confronted by the first sermon of a new entrant to the ministry or a talk given by a Negro evangelist or a lecture delivered by a Hindu prince, she was all ears for that hint of ginger which she needed if she was to believe that religion could thrill.

Madame Deume, suddenly remembering the seven forty-five, moved into a higher gear, briskly thanked the Almighty for having given them this day their daily bread, which in her case was this evening jollied along by caviare, foie gras in aspic, one of Rossi's roast chickens, Russian salad, a selection of cheeses, pastries and fruit. The Almighty does us proud. Sometimes.

'The Gantets must be worth a pretty penny,' said Madame Ventradour.

'I wouldn't say pennies was the right word,' Madame Deume corrected her. 'Two drawing-rooms
en suite.
A littel more chicken? Not even a littel more skin? I think perfectly browned skin is the best part of the animal. Perhaps a littel cheese, then? No? Well let's move straight on to dessert. Hippolyte, you can finish up your meringue and lend a hand, I've got my stiffness. Get a move on, it's six now, you've got just an hour and a quarter to do all your last things. And remember, I won't have that taxi kept waiting. Come along, clear the table and take all the things into the kitchen and put them down tidily so the daily won't find everything in a mess tomorrow morning, whatever would she think? Put the leftovers in the fridge but not the cheese, it ruins it, or else wrap it up in tin-foil first, make sure you close the kitchen shutters properly, all the others are done, and turn off the gas at the main, and then get a move on with my cases, except the one with my dresses of course, I packed that myself seeing as you wouldn't know how, my poor back's still aching. I've laid out all the rest of the things I'm taking with me on the bed and the tables, and you can pack them naicely in my two cases, you're quite good at that, making the most of the space and being careful with anything delicate, and don't forget to fold my tartan travelling-rug properly and put my two umbrellas through the straps. Oh botheration, what with everything I've had to think of I've forgotten to put the dust-sheets over the settee and the armchairs, so you can do it. When you've shut the cases, bring them down yourself, taxi-drivers demand outrageous tips for doing it, and take them outside, it'll save us time. On second thoughts, don't put them outside, best not risk it. Leave them in the hall, just by the door. Now come along, and put a littel vim in it, if you perlease!'

'Do you want me to do the washing-up as well?'

'Yes, but do it last thing and only if there's time, and be careful not to splash your clothes.'

'Did I tell you I've waterpwoofed the luggage labels in case it wains. I waterpwoofed them by wubbing them all over with a candle.'

'That's very clever, I'm sure, but now go, don't just stand there doing nothing, make yourself useful. You can get the table cleared away quickly and give us some peace and quiet, because we want to have a littel chat, just we two ladies. But you can leave the pastries. Dear Emmeline, do help yourself. Another Japanese fancy or a meringue? I shall have a rum baba, I can't resist them.'

While Monsieur Deume was clearing away, the two women smilingly put away an amazing number of cakes while discussing last Sunday's sermon, which had been a two-hander, shared by two preachers. It was a good idea for bringing in the young people, said Madame Deume. After a third chocolate eclair, Madame Ventradour agreed. The notion of sermons given by two ministers was rather bold, but she wasn't against new ideas as long as they were sensible.