The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [67]
“And then Mrs. Beaver turned against me—she was always an old trout anyway—and I tried to get a job with her shop, but no, she wouldn’t have me on account she thought I was doing harm to Beaver. And then I had a job with Daisy trying to get people to go to her restaurant, but that wasn’t any good, and those I got didn’t pay their bills.
“So there was I living on bits from the delicatessen shop round the corner, and no friends much except Jenny, and I got to hate her.
“Tony, it was a lousy summer.
“And then, finally, there was an American vamp called Mrs. Rattery—you know, the Shameless Blonde. Well, my Mr. Beaver met her and from that moment I was nowhere. Of course she was just his ticket and he was bats about her, only she never seemed to notice him, and every time he met her she forgot she’d seen him before, and that was hard cheese on Beaver, but it didn’t make him any more decent to me. And he wore himself to a shadow chasing after her and getting no fun, till finally Mrs. Beaver sent him away and he’s got some job to do with her shop buying things in Berlin or Vienna.
“So that’s that . . . Tony, I believe you’re falling asleep again.”
“Well, I didn’t get any sleep at all last night.”
“Come on, let’s go up.”
II
That winter, shortly before Christmas, Daisy opened another restaurant. Tony and Brenda were in London for the day, so they went there to lunch. It was very full (Daisy’s restaurants were often full, but it never seemed to make any effect on the resulting deficit). They went to their table nodding gaily to right and left.
“All the old faces,” said Brenda.
A few places away sat Polly Cockpurse and Sybil with two young men.
“Who was that?”
“Brenda and Tony Last. I wonder what’s become of them. They never appear anywhere now.”
“They never did much.”
“I had an idea they’d split.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“Come to think of it, I do remember some talk last spring,” said Sybil.
“Yes, I remember. Brenda had a fancy for someone quite extraordinary. I can’t remember who it was, but I know it was someone quite extraordinary.”
“Wasn’t that her sister Marjorie?”
“Oh no, hers was Robin Beasley.”
“Yes, of course . . . Brenda’s looking pretty.”
“Such a waste. But I don’t think she’d ever have the energy now to get away.”
At Brenda and Tony’s table they were saying, “I wish you’d see her.”
“No, you must see her.”
“All right, I’ll see her.”
Tony had to go and see Mrs. Beaver about the flat. Ever since his return they had been trying to sublet it. Now Mrs. Beaver had informed them that there was a tenant in sight.
So while Brenda was at the doctor’s (she was expecting a baby) Tony went round to the shop.
Mrs. Beaver was surrounded with a new sort of lampshade made of cellophane and cork.
“How are you, Mr. Last?” she said, rather formally. “We haven’t met since that delightful weekend at Hetton.”
“I hear you’ve found a tenant for the flat.”
“Yes, I think so. A young cousin of Viola Chasm’s. Of course I’m afraid you’ll have to make some slight sacrifice. You see the flats have proved too popular, if you see what I mean. The demand was so brisk that a great many other firms came into the market and, as a result, rents have fallen. Everyone is taking flats of the kind now, but the speculative builders are letting them at competitive rents. The new tenant will only pay two pounds fifteen a week and he insists on its being entirely repainted. We will undertake that, of course. I think we can make a very nice job of it for fifty pounds or so.”
“You know,” said Tony, “I’ve been thinking. It’s rather a useful thing to have—a flat of that kind.”
“It is necessary,