Swing, Brother, Swing

They sat at a round table; a pool of candlelight in the shadowed dining-room. Carlisle found herself between her uncle and Rivera. Opposite her, between Edward and Bellairs, sat Félicité. Lady Pastern, on Rivera’s right, at first suffered his conversation with awful courtesy, presumably, thought Carlisle, in order to give Edward Manx, her other neighbour, a clear run with Félicité. But as Mr Bellairs completely ignored Miss Henderson, who was on his right, and lavished all his attention on Félicité herself, this manoeuvre was unproductive. After a few minutes Lady Pastern engaged Edward in what Carlisle felt to be an extremely ominous conversation. She caught only fragments of it as Rivera had resumed his crash tactics with herself. His was a simple technique. He merely turned his shoulders on Lady Pastern, leant so close to Carlisle that she could see the pores of his skin, looked into her eyes, and, with rich insinuation, contradicted everything she said. Lord Pastern was no refuge, as he had sunk into a reverie from which he roused himself from time to time only to throw disjointed remarks at no one in particular, and to attack his food with a primitive gusto which dated from his Back-to-Nature period. His table-manners were defiantly and deliberately atrocious. He chewed with parted lips, glaring about him like a threatened carnivore, and as he chewed he talked. To Spence and the man who assisted him and to Miss Henderson who accepted her isolation with her usual composure, the conversation must have come through like the dialogue in a boldly surrealistic broadcast.

‘… such a good photograph, we thought, Edward, of you and Félicité at the Tarmac. She so much enjoyed her party with you …’

‘… but I’m not at all musical …’

‘… you must not say so. You are musical. There is music in your eyes – your voice …’

‘… now that’s quite a nifty little idea, Miss de Suze. We’ll have to pull you in with the boys …’

‘… so it is arranged, my dear Edward.’

‘… thank you, Cousin Cecile, but …’

‘… you and Félicité have always done things together, haven’t you? We were laughing yesterday over some old photographs. Do you remember at Clochemere …?’

‘… C, where’s my sombrero?’

‘… with this dress you should wear flowers. A cascade of orchids. Just here. Let me show you …’

‘… I beg your pardon, Cousin Cecile, I’m afraid I didn’t hear what you said …’

‘Uncle George, it’s time you talked to me …’

‘Eh? Sorry, Lisle, I’m wondering where my sombrero …’

‘Lord Pastern is very kind in letting me keep you to myself. Don’t turn away. Look. Your handkerchief is falling.’

‘Damn!’

‘Edward!’

‘I beg your pardon, Cousin Cecile, I don’t know what I’m thinking of.’

‘Carlos.’

‘… in my country, Miss Wayne … no, I cannot call you Miss Wayne. Car-r-r-lisle! What a strange name. Strange and captivating.’

‘Carlos!’

‘Forgive me. You spoke?’

‘About those umbrellas, Breezy.’

‘Yes, I did speak.’

‘A thousand pardons, I was talking to Carrlisle.’

‘I’ve engaged a table for three, Fée. You and Carlisle and Ned. Don’t be late.’

‘My music tonight shall be for you.’

‘I am coming, also, George.’

‘What!’

‘Kindly see that it is a table for four.’

‘Maman! But I thought …’

‘You won’t like it, C.’

‘I propose to come.’

‘Damn it, you’ll sit and glare at me and make me nervous.’

‘Nonsense, George,’ Lady Pastern said crisply. ‘Be good enough to order the table.’

Her husband glowered at her, seemed to contemplate giving further battle, appeared suddenly to change his mind and launched an unexpected attack at Rivera.

‘About your being carried out, Carlos,’ he said importantly, ‘it seems a pity I can’t be carried out, too. Why can’t the stretcher party come back for me?’

‘Now, now, now,’ Mr Bellairs interrupted in a great hurry. ‘We’ve got everything fixed, Lord Pastern, now, haven’t we? The first routine. You shoot Carlos. Carlos falls. Carlos is carried out. You take the show away. Big climax. Finish. Now don’t you get me bustled,’ he added playfully. ‘It’s good and it’s fixed. Fine. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘It is what has been decided,’ Mr Rivera conceded grandly. ‘For myself, I am perhaps a little dubious. Under other circumstances I would undoubtedly insist upon the second routine. I am shot at but I do not fall. Lord Pastern misses me. The others fall. Breezy fires at Lord Pastern and nothing happens. Lord Pastern plays, faints, is removed. I finish the number. Upon this routine under other circumstances, I should insist.’ He executed a sort of comprehensive bow, taking in Lord Pastern, Félicité, Carlisle and Lady Pastern. ‘But under these exclusive and most charming circumstances, I yield. I am shot. I fall. Possibly I hurt myself. No matter.’

Bellairs eyed him. ‘Good old Carlos,’ he said uneasily.

‘I still don’t see why I can’t be carried out, too,’ said Lord Pastern fretfully.

Carlisle heard Mr Bellairs whisper under his breath: ‘For the love of Pete!’ Rivera said loudly: ‘No, no, no, no. Unless we adopt completely the second routine, we perform the first as we rehearsed. It is settled.’

‘Carlisle,’ said Lady Pastern, rising, ‘shall we …?’

She swept her ladies into the drawing-room.

II

Félicité was puzzled, resentful and uneasy. She moved restlessly about the room, eyeing her mother and Carlisle. Lady Pastern paid no attention to her daughter. She questioned Carlisle about her experiences in Greece and received her somewhat distracted answers with perfect equanimity. Miss Henderson, who had taken up Lady Pastern’s box of embroidery threads, sorted them with quiet movements of her hands and seemed to listen with interest.

Suddenly Félicité said: ‘I don’t see much future in us all behaving as if we’d had the Archbishop of Canterbury to dinner. If you’ve got anything to say about Carlos, all of you, I’d be very much obliged if you’d say it.’

Miss Henderson, her hands still for a moment, glanced up at Félicité and then bent again over her task. Lady Pastern having crossed her ankles and wrists, slightly moved her shoulders and said: ‘I do not consider this a suitable occasion, my dear child, for any such discussion.’

‘Why?’ Félicité demanded.

‘It would make a scene, and under the circumstances,’ said Lady Pastern with an air of reasonableness, ‘there’s no time for a scene.’

‘If you think the men are coming in, Maman, they are not. George has arranged to go over the programme again in the ballroom.’