Mr. American Read online

'Mm-mh.' Peggy frowned, as though over some deep problem.

  'Let's say that you help to pass the time.'

  'Oh, well, thank you, Miss Clayton - '

  'But Frank certainly thinks you've cut him out, so you ought to be duly flattered.'

  'Oh, but I am, ma'am. I value Lord Lacy's jealousy no end - if he really is jealous.'

  'He is,' said Peggy complacently, and as she turned towards him he saw the little crook at the corner of her mouth.

  'How do you know?' 'He told me so.'

  'You mean you've talked with him - since ... since the King was here?'

  'Of course. Any reason why I shouldn't?'

  'Certainly not. Free country. And he told you he was jealous?' 'Not in as many words, no. He started by telling me what he thought of Daddy, and saying it didn't make the slightest difference to him, and he intended to go on seeing me.'

  'And?'

  'I told him he'd find it easier seeing Poppy - after all, there's so much more of her - and I'd prefer it if he kept as far away from me as possible, since I didn't want to see him. He swore a bit at that, and then said: "I suppose it's that bloody cowboy?" I asked him who he meant, and he said: "You know bloody well who I mean - that cheap Yankee upstart".'

  'I see. Nice turn of phrase he's got. And what did you tell him?'

  'To mind his own damned business, and not to make a scene in the middle of Thetford High Street. He lost his temper, so I left him to get on with it. Satisfied?'

  'Up to a point,' said Mr Franklin. 'That's to say, I kind of like the idea of his lordship having a tantrum to himself in the middle of Thetford. Of course, I still don't know whether he was justified or not.'

  'Gosh, the way men fish for compliments! You'll just have to go on wondering, then, won't you? Or make the effort to find out.'

  They had reached the stables by now, and as they left their horses with a groom and strolled round to the side-door, Mr Franklin pondered humorously on the simple delights of flirting. It was all very pleasant and casual and civilised; also, it was new to him, and all the more attractive for that.

  'Make the effort to find out, eh? What kind of effort would be required, do you suppose?'

  'Don't ask me,' said Peggy. 'You won't know until you make it, will you?'

  'That sounds awfully like an invitation.' The trivial formulae sounded perfectly meaningless in his ears, but it seemed to be part of the game. Peggy had stopped at the hall-stand in the little back lobby to remove her bowler-hat and survey her hair before the mirror. He eyes met his in the glass.

  'Don't you believe it,' she said, and hesitated just those extra two seconds before the mirror which enabled him to step closer. She didn't move, but continued to give exaggerated attention to her hair, patting it and turning her head from side to side, so he made the next conventional move in the game and kissed her lightly on the corner of the mouth. He had not kissed her since the afternoon at Lancing Manor, and assumed that she would accept it much as she had accepted it then, without special reaction, but as something mildly pleasant to do. But this time she went on complacently tittivating her hair; he kissed her again, and she turned, giving him a direct, appraising stare, but neither responding nor moving away. Mr Franklin was slightly intrigued - and in that moment life changed, as it so often does; he sensed it, and was on the point of drawing away, but her lips opened, and it was pure sexual attraction that made him suddenly pull her close and kiss her with considerable force; he was conscious of her body pressed against him, and her mouth working fiercely against his, her arms going round his neck, and his hand closing on her breast. It was not the pleasant game any longer, but something infinitely more primitive and important; she was pressing harder against him - and at that moment there were the sounds of distant footsteps in the main hall round the corner of the passage, and they came apart breathlessly. Peggy took a deep breath, and said quietly: 'Yes - you do help to pass the time, don't you?' and slipped past him towards the hall. But she kept hold of his hand, and he followed her, wondering what had happened in that brief few seconds. Whatever it was, things were different.

  He was conscious of it in the days that followed, in that raw November when the winter night was falling on that curious golden time which posterity was to call the Edwardian era. It was a coincidence that he could not be aware of: that his own metamorphosis took place at a time when the world itself was approaching a watershed, a change from one great historical age into another. He sensed only the change in himself, without fully understanding it, any more than he fully understood the new life surrounding him.

  And he was becoming acclimatised. With Samson in residence at Lancing Manor, regulating the small household as a good engineer runs his engine-room, it was no longer an ordeal if people came to call, as they did; nor was it arduous to enter occasionally into the social life of the neighbourhood, with Samson behind him. He dined out at one house or another perhaps once a week, and found the experience tolerable if not enjoyable. He knew he would never be gregarious, but it was all still new enough to be interesting. At Oxton Hall he even rode to hounds once or twice, and found the experience both enlightening and chastening. He went to his first meet with all the confidence of one who had ridden almost as soon as he could walk, and in the expectation of being able to do rather more than hold his own; he came away from it in a respectful awe of horsemen and women whose expertise over rough country, ditch, and hedgerow was matched only by their reckless disregard for life and limb. The experience of turning sensibly away from a fearsome barrier of stakes and brambles only to have a stout, grey-haired old lady come thundering past him and go flying over in style, whooping like a tipsy Cossack, was one which Mr Franklin did not forget in a hurry.

  He found he was spending even more time at Oxton than at his own house, and occasionally it troubled him. It was pleasant enough to be treated as one of the family, to ride and dine with them, to squire Peggy to a ball at Arthur's old college in Cambridge, to talk with Sir Charles, to play snooker with Arthur, to have Peggy drive him into Thetford or Norwich in the family motor, to enter into their leisurely activities; at the same time he found himself chafing a little at the very readiness with which they accepted him. He was adjusting to their ways, and they took it for granted that he should; sometimes he felt that he was letting his independence go by default, particularly where Peggy was concerned.

  He traced it to that moment in front of the mirror, when in a subtle way their friendly relationship had changed into a deeper intimacy. It was a physical thing as much as anything; it had become perfectly natural for them to take hands, for him to put his arm round her waist, or to play gently with her hair as they sat talking, for Peggy to tap his cheek or lean on his shoulder. And there were those moments when sexual pleasure in each other came so naturally and inevitably, when her mouth would open hungrily under his, and he would fondle and pet her to the point where he knew with certainty that the ultimate fulfilment of love-making was there if he chose to take it. It was difficult to say whether it was innate caution or an old-fashioned, Puritan streak of propriety that restrained him; or it may have been a sense that his enjoyment of her would somehow be spoiled by completion. But even stronger was the instinct that if they became lover and mistress he would have surrendered himself, lost that freedom which he still prized, and given himself as a hostage in this new world.

  He knew that with her strong, self-confident nature there went a good streak of possessiveness; he was made especially aware of it as the time for his visit to Sandringham approached. Some weeks had gone by since the King's visit to Oxton Hall, and Mr Franklin had half-hoped (a hope that was oddly mingled with disappointment) that the offhand invitation had been forgotten. Near the end of November, however, a note had arrived from Halford, confirming it; Mr Franklin showed it to Peggy when she came to lunch with him at Lancing Manor.

  'Ah, the summons from on high,' said Peggy, handing back the note. `How does it feel to be admitted to the elite?'

  `You tell
me,' said Mr Franklin. `You've had him to stay.'

  `That's no great privilege - in fact, it's a complete nuisance, as you know. The old bore imposes himself on everybody, but he's pretty choosy who he invites back. It'll be a long time before he descends to my level - especially after that ptarmigan pie.'

  'I'm not so sure that I'm glad that he's descended to mine,' said Mr Franklin.

  `Oh, stuff! Wild horses wouldn't keep you away, and you know it. Just think - you'll be able to go three no trump with the gorgeous Alice.'

  `Playing bridge with Mrs Keppel unfortunately means playing bridge with his majesty as well. And that's something I can do without. D'you know I even bought a book on the subject? At least if I have to play, I'll know the rules this time.'

  'There's only one rule where Kingie's concerned - he always wins. But you don't have to be told that. And if you were so foolish as to forget, there are plenty of toadies to remind you - including Mrs K.'

  'Would you say she was a toady? I thought you liked her.'

  'Oh, she's all right,' said Peggy. `Yes, I like her -and heaven knows what he'd be like if she wasn't there to smooth his feathers. Well, you saw how it was that night. But they're such a sickening crowd, all crawling to him - yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir. I wish -' she went on, and then stopped. Mr Franklin, having seated her at his dining-table, said: 'What do you wish?'

  'I was going to say - I wish you weren't going.'

  'Why ever not?'

  'I don't know, really - I just hate to think of you with that disky set. Soveral oiling about, and Halford and Ponsonby fawning to the King and being generally obnoxious to everyone else, and Alice fluttering her eye-lashes and simpering at you to conspire to keep the King sweet - ugh!' Peggy made an unladylike grimace, and Mr Franklin waited until Samson had brought their soup and left the room.

  'I doubt if Mrs Keppel's going to do much simpering in my direction,' he said, smiling and shaking his head. Peggy took a mouthful of soup and then said casually:

  'Still, I daresay you could stand it if she did. Most men seem to be able to. She's very lovely, of course.'

  Mr Franklin regarded her with mild interest. 'Of course,' he agreed. `Isn't that why the King keeps her around?' But Peggy changed the subject, and it was only later that Mr Franklin found himself feeling a slight irritation. Was it possible that she was jealous of Mrs Keppel? The idea was ludicrous, on every count; what irritated him, however, was that Peggy apparently felt the right not only to be jealous, but to let him know it. And yet, let him be honest - he had felt a shadow of discontent across his own mind when she had told him that she had met Frank Lacy, and the shadow was not dispelled by the knowledge that she had told Lacy where to get off - she said. Mr Franklin took stock: was he starting to take Peggy Clayton seriously?

  It was a disturbing thought - but no, he liked her, that was all, and presumably she liked him. Even casual acquaintances were not immune to little jealousies; everybody was human, after all. He dismissed the matter from his mind, and gave his attention to the forthcoming trip to Sandringham.

  10

  This, he quickly realised, called for preparations on a grander scale than he had imagined. Although the visit was to last only from Friday to Monday, it was necessary, according to Samson, that he should take nearly all his wardrobe; in addition to evening dress and lounge suits, they must also pack his shooting jacket, tweeds, breeches, and hats to match; shoes for day and evening, stout boots, waterproof spats, mackintosh, cape, and overcoat. Mr Franklin raised a mild objection.

  'We aren't going on an expedition to find Peary,' he said, and Samson, who in his respectful way was something of a humorist, remarked that they'd need rather less clothing if they were. He wondered if Mr Franklin knew how to skate.

  'Skate? No, I don't - you're not going to tell me that the King does?'

  'Not so far as I know, sir, but I believe that the younger guests at Sandringham are accustomed to play ice hockey, when the lake is frozen. In this weather, the ice will probably bear.'

  'Well, they can play without me. Bridge is bad enough, but ice hockey - no, I draw the line there.'

  In the event, the visit when it came proved to be no ordeal at all, from that point of view. Thanks to Samson, they timed their rail journey from Thetford via Norwich to King's Lynn so that they reached the royal station in mid-afternoon, when a car took them to Sandringham. It was much more modest than Mr Franklin had imagined, and he tasted the informality of the place within a minute of his arrival. As he stood in the pleasant, light-panelled hall waiting to be shown his room, a high-pitched female voice from the open drawing-room instructed the footman to show him in directly, and he found himself in the presence of a most elegant, elderly lady who, with another younger lady, was engrossed in a jigsaw puzzle; without introduction they demanded his assistance, and it was only when he tentatively suggested fitting a piece of cloud into a piece of sky, and realised that the elegant lady was extremely deaf, that it dawned on him that he was doing a jigsaw puzzle with the Queen, with his travelling-cape still over his shoulders and his hat in his hand.

  An imperturbable butler presently arrived and belatedly announced him; Mr Franklin made his bow with his piece of cloud poised to fit into place, the Queen rewarded him with a dazzling smile and informed him that the puzzle was a birthday gift from a grandchild, and he was then permitted to escape under the butler's wing, feeling a trifle dazed. In his room he confided to Samson, who was laying out his new subdued herring-bone tweed for tea, that at least the visit had got off to a good start; Samson, who had already undertaken a backstairs scouting operation of his own, briefed his employer on the composition of the house-party.

  'Quite small, sir. Their majesties, Mr and Mrs Keppel, the Marquis of Soveral, and one or two others whom you know. The Marquess of Ivegill and his daughter, who was a lady-in-waiting to the Princess of Wales ...'

  Mr Franklin, who was human enough still to be contemplating jigsaws and the charming condescension of royalty, heard him with half his attention, and presently, at a quarter to five, made his way downstairs to the drawing-room, marvelling at the number of framed photographs which seemed to cover small tables in every nook and cranny along the way. Sandringham was a remarkably cosy, family sort of place, it seemed to him; even so, he approached the drawingroom cautiously, and was startled, as he paused on the threshold, to hear a rasping masculine voice exclaiming: 'Of course, give you half a chance and you'd have the whole dam' navy on the beach, and all of us pensioned of!'

  The Queen, he saw, was no longer there, and the speaker was a burly, grey, clean-shaven man in a tightly buttoned jacket with a handkerchief in his sleeve. He was planted four-square before the fire, talking to a fresh-faced, slightly cherubic man of about Mr Franklin's age; they both glanced towards him and then, with the innate ill-breeding of their kind, resumed their conversation as though he did not exist.

  'Of course,' said the older man aggressively, 'now you're rid of me, you think you can do what you bloody well like.'

  'That's nonsense,' said the other. 'No one has a higher regard for the navy than I do, and you know it.'

  'Looks like it, doesn't it? Of course, you army people are all alike. All right; let's see you beat the Germans on your own.' He gave a barking laugh. 'You'll laugh on the other side then, and be sorry you undercut the navy.'

  'No one's undercutting your precious navy! But the country can only afford so much, and if you think we can pour all our cash into Dreadnoughts -'

  'No such thing! I'm all for economies - of the right sort. But I don't want 'em at the expense of scientific advance and technical improvement. . . . Here, did I tell you?' The older man's voice rose in indignation. 'Beresford's been putting it about that I'm a half-caste!'

  'Good God! Why on earth did he say that?'

  "Cos I'm in favour of submarines and he isn't, I expect. Anyway, that's what he said. . .'

  It seemed to Mr Franklin that he had unwittingly intruded on a private and imp
ortant discussion, so he drifted slightly south-west and began to study a group of framed photographs with immense interest. It was embarrassing; there appeared to be no one else in the drawing-room, and he was wondering if he should withdraw and come back later when he became aware of volcanic noises from a deep leather arm-chair half-hidden by a large Chinese screen. There was the sound of a newspaper being violently crumpled, a creaking of springs, and elderly arthritic gasps, and then a man emerged from behind the screen. He was extremely old and extremely large; Mr Franklin had an impression of stalwart height, and massive shoulders encased in a beautifully-cut frock coat of antique design, with a flower in its button-hole; above, reared a striking head of silver hair framing a lined, mottled face half-concealed by magnificent flowing white whiskers. It was the face of an aged, inebriated satyr, with a prominent heavily-veined nose and dark, bloodshot eyes which glared past Mr Franklin at the conversing couple, and then back to Mr Franklin again.

  'Ha! Bloody rabble!' exclaimed this apparition. 'Sailors and politicians. Knew I shouldn't have come.' The voice was a deep croak, suddenly raised. 'If you two want to talk shop about the blasted navy which isn't worth a hoot, and never was - why don't you do it in Whitehall? Hey?' Seeing them continue without paying him the least attention, the old gentleman fixed a wicked eye on Mr Franklin. 'You're not a sailor. Politician, eh? No? Well, thank God for that. Don't know you, do I?'