The Acceptance World - Anthony Powell [64]
‘She really said she would like to see us?’ I asked, as, tightly packed, we ascended in the lift.
Umfraville’s reply was less assuring than might have been hoped.
‘She said, “Oh, God, you again, Dicky. Somebody told me you died of drink in 1929.” I said, “Milly, I’m coming straight round with a few friends to give you that kiss I forgot when we were in Havana together.” She said, “Well, I hope you’ll bring along that pony you owe me, too, which you forgot at the same time.” So saying, she snapped the receiver down.’
‘So she has no idea how many we are?’
‘Milly knows I have lots of friends.’
‘All the same—’
‘Don’t worry, old boy. Milly will eat you all up. Especially as you are a friend of Charles.’
I was, on the contrary, not at all sure that it would be wise to mention Stringham’s name to Mrs. Andriadis.
‘We had to sue her after she took our house,’ said Jean.
‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Umfraville.
The circumstances of our arrival did not seem specially favourable in the light of these remarks. We were admitted to what was evidently a large flat by an elderly lady’s-maid, who had the anxious, authoritative demeanour of a nanny, or nursery governess, long established in the family.
‘Well, Ethel,’ said Umfraville. ‘How are you keeping? Quite a long time since we met.’
Her face brightened at once when she recognised him.
‘And how are you, Mr. Umfraville? Haven’t set eyes on you since the days in Cuba. You look very well indeed, sir. Where did you get your sunburn?’
‘Not too bad, Ethel. What a time it was in Cuba. And how is Mrs. A.?’
‘She’s been a bit poorly, sir, on and off. Not quite her own old self. She has her ups and downs.’
‘Which of us doesn’t, Ethel? Will she be glad to see me?’
It seemed rather late in the day to make this enquiry. Ethel’s reply was not immediate. Her face contracted a trifle as she concentrated her attention upon an entirely truthful answer to this delicate question.
‘She was pleased when you rang up,’ she said. ‘Very pleased. Called me in and told me, just as she would have done in the old days. But then Mr. Guggenbühl telephoned just after you did, and after that I don’t know that she was so keen. She’s changeable, you know. Always was.’
‘Mr. Guggenbühl is the latest, is he?’
Ethel laughed, with the easy good manners of a trusted servant whose tact is infinite. She made no attempt to indicate the identity of Mr. Guggenbühl.
‘What’s he like?’ Umfraville asked, wheedling in his manner.
‘He’s a German gentleman, sir.’
‘Old, young? Rich, poor?’
‘He’s quite young, sir. Shouldn’t say he was specially wealthy.’
‘One of that kind, is he?’ said Umfraville. ‘Everybody seems to have a German boy these days. I feel quite out of fashion not to have one in tow myself. Does he live here?’
‘Stays sometimes.’
‘Well, we won’t remain long,’ said Umfraville. ‘I absolutely understand.’
We followed him through a door, opened by Ethel, which led into a luxurious rather than comfortable room. There was an impression of heavy damask curtains and fringed chair-covers. Furniture and decoration had evidently been designed in one piece, little or nothing having been added to the original scheme by the present owner. A few books and magazines lying on a low table in Chinese Chippendale seemed strangely out of place; even more so, a model theatre, like a child’s, which stood on a Louis XVI commode.
Mrs. Andriadis herself was lying in an armchair, her legs resting on a pouf. Her features had not changed at all from the time when I had last seen her. Her powder-grey hair remained beautifully trim; her dark eyebrows still arched over very bright brown eyes. She looked as pretty as before, and as full of energy. She wore no jewellery except a huge square cut diamond on one finger.
Her clothes, on the other hand, had undergone a strange alteration. Her small body was now enveloped in a black cloak, its velvet collar clipped together at the neck by a short chain of metal links. The garment suggested an Italian officer’s uniform cloak, which it probably was. Beneath this military outer covering was a suit of grey flannel pyjamas, mean in design and much too big for her: in fact obviously intended for a man. One trouser leg was rucked up, showing her slim calf and ankle. She did not rise, but made a movement with her hand to show that she desired us all to find a place to sit.