5
In the first drowsy moments after waking, Eric realized that he was starting at a disadvantage. It was half-past ten. He had therefore missed breakfast, disorganized the housemaids' programme for the day and made himself too late to accompany his mother to church.
"I seem to have broken all the rules of the place before getting out of bed," he told himself, as he rang for hot water.
Then he laughed as he recalled an old "Punch" drawing of an intoxicated reveller in a Tube lift, who also contrived simultaneously to break all the rules by smoking, by not "standing clear of the gates" and, pre-eminently, by not being beware of pickpockets. The laugh put him in good humour and reminded him that good humour must be his sword and shield, if he hoped to get back to London that night without a struggle. He sauntered in search of his brother with a razor in one hand and a shaving-brush in the other to ask which night he would like to dine and have his promised box at the Regency.
When he entered the dining-room, a pencilled note in a distantly familiar writing was lying by his plate.
"Now you MUST admit that my intelligence department is good," he read in slanting, irregular strokes which hinted at a recumbent position and a writing-block balanced against the knees. "You never told me your address. I didn't know where to look for you in the telephone book, you were utterly lost. Eric, will you believe me? I carried the telephone into bed with me; I said, 'Trunks, please,' and Trunks Please said 'Honk!' (Why do they always say 'Honk'? I believe they're Masons, or else they've always just woken up.) Well, I said 'Honk!' too, and asked for your number in Ryder Street; and THEN I found out your address in the country. Don't you think it was rather clever of me? And, dear Eric, don't you think it was VERY sweet of me? I wanted to thank you for something I expect you're quite unconscious of. (What a sentence to throw at the head of a rising dramatist!) I mean your gentleness and care for me yesterday. I always know I'm so safe with you, Eric.
"I'm obeying you to the letter. We've got rather an amusing party here; Gerry Deganway and Sally Farwell, my cousin Johnnie Carstairs (perhaps ONE pinch too much Foreign Office), Bobbie Pentyre, who's on his last leave before going out, his rather tiresome mother, the immaculate George Oakleigh.…" Her pen strayed into mischievous comments and absurd stories about the house-party. "But this bores you," she broke off abruptly. "I felt all this week as if I'd been sharing everything with you so extraordinarily. But no one shall say that I don't know when I'm becoming tedious! What I wanted to tell you was this; and I was led astray by this mob of people. I've washed my hands of them! I'm in bed—bed at 7.15 POST MERIDIEM (is that right?) and I'm staying here. I'm honestly resting. But—(a new sheet for this)—I've GOT to be in London next week—Thursday—for a happy day with the dentist. I shall be all alone, the house will be shut up and everything will be as uncomfortable and depressing as it can be. Don't you think it's almost a duty for you to come and dine? I'll have the dusting-sheets in my room lifted up, and we'll crawl underneath them and eat hard-boiled eggs in our fingers off the corner of the table. And I'll play to you; I might even sing to you; in general terms I shall be very sweet to you and, if you don't come, I shall know it's because you're afraid of falling in love with me."
Eric smiled to himself, as he pocketed the letter and prospected for note-paper and an unoccupied table.
"Your picnic dinner sounds most attractive," he wrote. "I shall be delighted to come. It is so characteristic of you not to mention a time that I hesitate to point out the omission. I shall come at 8.0, unless you tell me to the contrary. And I shall insist on your singing. Good-bye. Take care of yourself."
He tossed the letter into the box in the hall, but took it out again immediately. There was too much idle curiosity in the house already. No one would accept his picture of Babs as he saw her; assuredly no one would believe his account of their relationship, if he were in a mood or state to give it. He put on an overcoat and walked, with the confirmed Londoner's shivering hatred of the country in autumn, to the tumble-down shanty which did duty as general store and post office to the hamlet of Lashmar.