The Flight From The Enchanter Part 12

'What do you mean, what it's all about?' asked a small tense woman with a grey fringe who seemed to find this remark very offensive. 'Surely we know why we are gathered here?'

'I certainly don't know why I'm gathered here,' said the lady with the hearing-aid. 'All I know is that yesterday I got a message - '

'Perhaps it would be simplest,' the lady in the mantilla cut in, 'if whoever has got a statement to make could make it. I believe Miss Keepe's brother has got a statement to make.' She looked hopefully at Calvin.

'This is my brother,' said Rosa, pointing to Hunter, who was sitting like a man about to be electrocuted.

'Come on!' cried Mrs Wingfield from the back, 'we've been here half an hour already, can't you get on with it?'

Hunter cast a look of agony and reproach at Rosa, who was now looking in the other direction. Then he began once more to read out this statement.

'I can't hear,' said someone near the door. 'Would you mind beginning again?'

Hunter began again. His voice boomed in his ears, now loudly, now softly, like noises heard by a man about to fall asleep. He managed to get through two paragraphs.

'I don't understand any of this,' the lady with the hearing-aid said in what she probably imagined to be a whisper to her neighbour. 'It sounds rather a muddle, doesn't it?'

Hunter began to read the third paragraph. The proposal for the sale, coupled with the name of Mischa Fox, occurred in the second paragraph. The third one elaborated financial details and technicalities concerning the shares. He suddenly stopped reading. There was no point in going on. He looked up and found forty pairs of eyes fixed on him intently. 'I think I'll stop here', said Hunter in a thick voice, 'and perhaps we can discuss the matter. If there are any questions I can answer - '

A confused hum covered his voice. 'Could you just explain who this young man is?' asked the lady in the large hat who had been the first to arrive, turning back to someone sitting behind her.

'Apparently he's Miss Keepe's brother.'

'Yes, but who is Miss Keepe?'

'Miss Keepe is this lady here.'

'Yes, dear, but who is she?'

'She's Maggie Richardson's daughter.'

'Oh, Maggie Richardson's daughter, of course! The boy doesn't look much like Maggie, does he?'

'Order, order!' said Mrs Carrington-Morris.

'Oh, get on with it!' said Mrs Wingfield.

'Look here,' said the lady in the mantilla, 'do I rightly understand that it is proposed that the Artemis be sold?'

'That is the proposal,' said Hunter.

'I don't think we can allow that, you know,' said the woman with the grey fringe who had the air of one who believed herself to be the only person present who really understood what was going on.

'It's a matter of financial necessity,' said Hunter. 'Perhaps I can explain - '

'They need cas.h.!.+' shouted Mrs Wingfield.

'Why weren't we told of this before?' asked the lady in the large hat.

'Madam,' said Hunter, 'you have received a notice of this meeting every year. It's not my fault if none of you has ever taken the trouble to come!' He noticed with relief that his feeling of being cornered was turning from fear into anger.

A veiled lady who had not spoken so far leaned forward, rumbling like a clock before she gave utterance. 'Mmmm - do I understand you to say that it is proposed to sell the Artemis to - a man?'

Hunter gestured hopelessly. 'I've been running the thing for two years now,' he said, 'and after all I'm a man!'

A stiff silence followed this shameless declaration.

'It's all very confusing,' said the lady with the hearing-aid.

'I'm afraid,' said the woman with the fringe, 'that I find it far from confusing. The prospective buyer is someone who is not, to put it mildly, a supporter of female emanc.i.p.ation. To consent to this sale would be to consent to change the character of the paper altogether.'

'In fact,' said Hunter, 'the character of the paper has already changed. Since female emanc.i.p.ation has been achieved - '

'What?' said the lady in the mantilla. There was a general murmur.

'This young man is under the impression that women have been emanc.i.p.ated!' said someone at the back. There was a crescendo of voices.

'I confess I find this quite shocking!' said the woman with the fringe. 'Why, the very fact that the phrase "female emanc.i.p.ation" still has meaning for us proves that it has not yet been achieved.'

Calvin, who had been turning boldly to study each of the speakers in turn, said suddenly, 'Would you agree, madam, that the fact that the phrase "emanc.i.p.ation of the serfs" is significant proves that the serfs are not yet emanc.i.p.ated?'

There was an embarra.s.sed silence.

'Who is that?' asked the woman with the hearing-aid, 'Is it Mr Fox?'

'Oh, no!' said Hunter in a shocked voice.

Calvin was staring hard at the woman with the fringe, who was looking red and uncomfortable.

'It sounds different,' she said with obstinacy.

'What sounds different?' said Calvin.

'He's so sharp he'll cut himself!' said Mrs Wingfield.

'This is like being in a madhouse,' said the lady with the hearing-aid.

'I think we should have a proposal to vote on,' said the lady in the large hat.

'Mmmm - I suggest that we break off for refreshments,' said the lady with the veil.

'That's a jolly idea!' said Mrs Wingfield. 'Somebody find the bell and ring it.'

'In fact, I took the liberty,' said Mrs Carrington-Morris, 'of ordering tea and biscuits as I came in.'

'Here's the bell. Shall I push it?' asked the lady in the mantilla, who was sitting near the fireplace.

'Yes, dear, push it,' said the lady with the hearing-aid. 'We could all do with a cup of tea.'

There was a knock on the door and a waiter looked in. He asked, 'Is the lady here who ordered eight bottles of champagne?'

'That's right, bring 'em in!' shouted Mrs Wingfield.

'Really!' said Mrs Carrington-Morris.

There was a general flutter. Hunter tried to attract Calvin's attention, but Calvin had hidden his face in his hands. Rosa was sitting back, a little wild-eyed. A waiter brought in the champagne, followed by another waiter with a large tray of tea-cups.

'Where are the gla.s.ses, dolt?' said Mrs Wingfield. 'Or are we supposed to drink out of cups?'

'I must say,' said the woman with the fringe, who had recovered her confidence in the general confusion, 'I think this is scarcely tactful, Camilla. You can hardly have forgotten that some of us are members of the Temperance League.'

'Why shouldn't I have forgotten it?' cried Mrs Wingfield. 'I've forgotten almost everything, even important things. Why should I have troubled to engrave your prejudices on my memory? Open the bottles, waiter!'

'Well, I wouldn't say "No" to a gla.s.s of champagne!' said the lady in the mantilla.

The gla.s.ses arrived, followed by two large tea-pots and plates of biscuits. There was a scrimmage, in the course of which Mrs Wingfield struggled forward to the table and installed herself there with the bottles and the gla.s.ses. The teapots were pa.s.sed overhead to Mrs Carrington-Morris, and one or two hats were splashed on the way with scalding tea.

'I still think,' said the lady in the large hat, 'that we should have a proposal to vote on.' A champagne cork popped.

'I really think I must go home,' said the lady with the hearing-aid to her neighbour. 'I believe things are going to get rough. I can't understand this meeting at all.' At that moment a wild gesture of Mrs Wingfield's disconnected the wire from her receiver and effectively cut her off from proceedings.

'I think the whole thing has been rather mismanaged,' said Mrs Carrington-Morris. 'I cannot blame Miss Keepe. I think - '

'Mmmm - pour out some tea, Ada dear,' said the lady with the veil.

'All right, if you want a vote, we'll have a vote!' cried Mrs Wingfield. People were moving from their seats and cl.u.s.tering round the tea-pots or round the champagne bottles. Gla.s.ses and cups were pa.s.sed from hand to hand.

'I ordered this stuff,' continued Mrs Wingfield, 'to celebrate the liberation of our beloved paper from an impending doom. Before we go any further, let me give you a toast. The Artemis!'

As one woman the company rose, holding aloft their cups and gla.s.ses. 'The Artemis!' Only Calvin remained seated. Hunter, who had not managed to get hold of either drink, stood helplessly.

'That's all very well,' said the lady in the mantilla when she had drained her gla.s.s, 'but what are we supposed to be deciding?'

'Are we going to sell our beloved journal to this press lord -Yes or No?' Mrs Wingfield was swaying on her feet. Rosa was trying to persuade her to sit down.

'No!' said the a.s.sembled company, with varying shades of emphasis.

Mrs Wingfield sat down, 'Well, then,' she cried, 'you know what you've got to do! Miss Keepe, open the list of subscribers. You can put me down now for five hundred pounds. You'll have the rest later. What about it, Ada?' Mrs Wingfield leered across the room at Mrs Carrington-Morris.

'Certainly,' said the latter with dignity. 'I can't let Camilla outbid me. Put me down another five hundred pounds, Miss Keepe.'

Rosa had produced pencil and paper and seated herself at the table. With cries of enthusiasm, the others were soon crowding round her. The list lengthened.

Hunter gathered up his report and prepared to leave. He gestured to Calvin to accompany him. He had never felt so close to him. As he turned, he was surprised to find on Calvin's face an expression of delighted amus.e.m.e.nt; Calvin rolled his eyes and raised his hands to heaven.

'Let's get out,' said Hunter, 'before we're torn to pieces!' Calvin rose. He was shaking with laughter.

'Before the chairman and his mysterious friend slink away,' said the woman with the fringe, 'I should like to propose a vote of censure upon those responsible for ordering alcohol at a meeting of this kind.' Further uproar followed this. Hunter and Calvin made for the door.

'Were the Amazons teetotallers?' Mrs Wingfield was crying. 'Was Mme de Stael? Was Sappho?'

The last that Hunter saw was a pyramid of excited faces, hats awry and mouths open, in the midst of which Rosa was still writing names and addresses. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was beginning to come down.

Fourteen.

JOHN RAINBOROUGH was in a very bad temper. He felt himself to be the victim of gross injustice, indeed of a series of injustices designed to wound every facet of his personality. The trouble had started three days ago when Sir Edward Guest, seeing Rainborough pa.s.sing by on the way to the canteen, had called him into his room, patted him on the shoulder, and started congratulating him. When Rainborough had looked startled, Sir Edward had said by way of explanation, 'I mean, of course, that splendid report by your young woman. You must have coached her a lot. It's a very useful bit of work. You'll hear more of this, Rainborough.'

Rainborough with stern self-command had smiled and accepted this praise with modest deference. He had even had the diabolical presence of mind to add that of course he hadn't really given Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt much help, the credit must go to her, in a tone of voice which implied the opposite. When he emerged from the room, he set off at once in pursuit of his faithless junior. He was anxious to strike, and indeed striking was just what he felt in the mood for, while the iron was hot and before reflection set in to suggest to him that there were a great many possible ways of dealing with this situation.

He found Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt not in her own office but in his, sitting thoughtfully on his chair and studying a file. Rainborough attacked at once.

'How did that report of yours get to Sir Edward?' he asked.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt looked confused, even distressed. She made him the concession of getting up and refraining from the use of his Christian name.

'I'm extremely sorry' she said. 'It was a mistake. You remember I put For the attention of the Director at the head of the draft? Well, as our little typist is away, I'd sent it with one or two corrections to the typing pool, and one of the new typists, instead of returning it to me, just put it in the general out-tray, and so it got sent to the Director.'

'That's not true,' said Rainborough. He felt a profound desire to take Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt by her elaborately permed hair and shake her until her teeth rattled. He opened the door of his room for her to go out. She went, with the air of someone who expects a kick from behind.

On the following day they had both sulked, confining their conversation to such brief remarks as the day's work rendered unavoidable. Stogdon's attempt to thaw the atmosphere by saying, 'Not very cheerful today, are we?' was greeted by a cutting rejoinder from Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt which sent him away in a huff. Rainborough had to empty the out-tray himself at the end of the afternoon. It was then that, pa.s.sing by the registry, he caught a portentous glimpse of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, leaning against a filing-cabinet, in deep converse with Evans. He told himself immediately that there was nothing important in this. All the same the little picture haunted him. There was something about the intent and purposeful att.i.tude of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt which made him feel uneasy. After all, as he had always suspected and had lately been able to verify, the girl was capable of anything.

The impression made by these calamities was, however, soon obliterated by the calamities which followed. The second day after the discovery of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's treachery was the day before Mischa Fox's party. Rainborough had received his invitation at the end of the previous week, and had been delighted and relieved to see it. He took it as a sign that Mischa had not been offended by the curious circ.u.mstances of their last meeting. Rainborough, if he had ever cared to think about it, would have found now in his heart very little real fondness for Mischa, but an enormous concern about Mischa's opinion of him and about the continuance of their relations. It was essential for him to be able to continue to call himself Mischa's friend - although caring for Mischa or even wanting to be with him more than was necessary for the keeping up of appearances in, chiefly, his own eyes were not const.i.tuents of this strange friends.h.i.+p. So Rainborough was feeling pleased about the party, although he was not exactly looking forward to being there. He wanted very much to have been invited and to have been present; the hours of the party itself figured as a purgatorial period necessary for the attainment of the latter of these ends. Mischa's parties, as Rainborough knew from experience, were as often as not carefully constructed machines for the forcing of various plots and dramas; and this knowledge made him nervous, although he did not imagine that in this case he was likely to be cast in any central role himself.

The day had begun at the office auspiciously enough, with Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt making obvious attempts at reconciliation: flowers on his desk, obsequious smiles, continually renewed attempts at small talk. Rainborough, who was too indolent to maintain the outward appearances of resentment, soon gave way before this barrage of goodwill, and closing up the black recesses of his heart, behaved to Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt with his usual civility. It was then that she sprang her next surprise.

Rainborough was sitting with legs well stretched out, casting a dull eye upon the day's correspondence, when Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt approached, and leaning over him said, 'John, might I ask you a favour?'

'Mmmmph?' said Rainborough.

'Would you mind taking me to Mischa Fox's party tomorrow?'

Rainborough stared at her. 'I can't,' he said. 'It's a private party. How did you know about it anyway? I can't bring along someone who isn't invited.'

'But I am invited!' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. She produced an invitation card from her pocket and flourished it in front of Rainborough's nose.

Rainborough jerked upright. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's face was screwed up into the mask of someone trying hard to conceal a beam of triumph. 'But you don't know Mischa Fox!' said Rainborough.

'I've never met him,' confessed Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, 'but he must know about me. Anyhow, he's sent me an invitation.'

Rainborough felt a twinge of nausea at the idea of what 'knowing about' Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt might possibly involve. He gave her a glare of hostility before he was able to compose his face.

'As I've never been to Mischa's house,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, 'I was wondering if you'd mind calling for me on the way with a taxi, and, well, just coming in with me. I'd feel rather shy arriving alone.'