Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - Anthony Powell [79]
‘We have been talking about marriage,’ said Mrs Maclintick aggressively.
She addressed herself to Miss Weedon, who in return gave her a smile that cut like a knife.
‘Indeed?’ she said.
‘This gentleman and I have been comparing notes,’ said Mrs Maclintick, indicating Stringham.
‘We have, indeed,’ said Stringham laughing. ‘And found a lot to agree about.’
He had dropped his former air of burlesque, now appeared completely sober.
‘It sounds a very interesting discussion,’ said Miss Weedon.
She spoke in a tone damaging to Mrs Maclintick’s self-esteem. Miss Weedon was undoubtedly prepared to take anybody on; Mrs Maclintick; anybody. I admired her for that.
‘Why don’t you tell us what you think about marriage yourself?’ asked Mrs Maclintick, who had drunk more champagne than I had at first supposed. ‘They say the onlooker sees most of the game.’
‘Not now,’ said Miss Weedon, in the cosmically terminating voice of one who holds authority to decide when the toys must be returned to the toy-cupboard. ‘I have my little car outside, Charles. I thought you might like a lift home.’
‘But he is going to take me to a night-club,’ said Mrs Maclintick, her voice rising in rage. ‘He said that after we had settled a few points about marriage we would go to a very amusing place he knew of.’
Miss Weedon looked at Stringham without a trace of surprise or disapproval; just a request for confirmation.
‘That was the suggestion, Tuffy.’
He laughed again. He must have known by experience that in the end Miss Weedon would turn out to hold all the cards, but he showed no sign yet of capitulation.
‘The doctor begged you not to stay up too late, Charles,’ said Miss Weedon, also smiling.
She was in no degree behind Stringham where keeping one’s head was concerned.
‘My medical adviser did indeed prescribe early hours,’ said Stringham. ‘You are right there, Tuffy. I distinctly recollect his words. But I was turning over in my mind the possibility of disregarding such advice. Ted Jeavons was speaking recently of some night haunt he once visited where he had all kind of unusual adventures. A place run by one, Dicky Umfraville, a bad character whom I used to see in my Kenya days and have probably spoken of. Something about the sound of the joint attracted me. I offered to take Mrs Maclintick there. I can hardly go back on my promise. Of course, the club has no doubt closed down by now. Nothing Dicky Umfraville puts his hand to lasts very long. Besides, Ted was a little vague about the year his adventure happened – it might have been during the war, when he was a gallant soldier on leave from the trenches. That all came in when he told the story. However, if defunct, we could always visit the Bag of Nails.’
Mrs Maclintick snatched facetiously at him.
‘You know perfectly well I should hate any of those places,’ she said gaily, ‘and I believe you are only trying to get me there to make me feel uncomfortable.’
Miss Weedon remained unruffled.
‘I had no idea you were planning anything like that, Charles.’
‘It wasn’t exactly planned,’ said Stringham. ‘Just one of those brilliant improvisations that come to me of a sudden. My career has been built up on them. One of them brought me here tonight.’
‘But I haven’t agreed to come with you yet,’ said Mrs Maclintick, with some archness. ‘Don’t be too sure of that.’
‘I recognise, Madam, I can have no guarantee of such an honour,’ said Stringham, momentarily returning to his former tone. ‘I was not so presumptuous as to take your company for granted. It may even be that I shall venture forth into the night – by no means for the first time in my chequered career – on a lonely search for pleasure.’
‘Wouldn’t it really be easier to accept my offer of a lift?’ said Miss Weedon.
She spoke so lightly,