The Acceptance World - Anthony Powell [67]
‘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.
‘Well, Dicky,’ she said, ‘why the hell do you want to bring a crowd of people to see me at this time of night?’
She spoke dryly, though without bad temper, in that distinctly cockney drawl that I remembered.
‘Milly, darling, they are all the most charming people imaginable. Let me tell you who they are.’
Mrs. Andriadis laughed.
‘I know him,’ she said, nodding in the direction of Barnby.
‘Lady Anne Stepney,’ said Umfraville. ‘Do you remember when we went in her father’s party to the St. Leger?’
‘You’d better not say anything about that,’ said Mrs. Andriadis. ‘Eddie Bridgnorth has become a pillar of respectability. How is your sister, Anne? I’m not surprised she had to leave Charles Stringham. Such a charmer, but no woman could stay married to him for long.’
Anne Stepney looked rather taken aback at this peremptory approach.
‘And Mrs. Duport,’ said Umfraville.
‘Was it your house I took in Hill Street?’
‘Yes,’ said Jean, ‘it was.’
I wondered whether there would be an explosion at this disclosure. The trouble at the house had involved some question of a broken looking-glass and a burnt-out boiler. Perhaps there had been other items too. Certainly there had been a great deal of unpleasantness. However, in the unexpected manner of persons who live their lives at a