The Penguin Book of the British Short Story Read online

  She walked away, clapping her hands together – ‘One two three, one two three,’ watching the couples go round. Then she suddenly cried to the music, to all the children: ‘STOP!’

  Of course it was Margery Mannering. She did not know how to waltz; she went bumping and hopping round on the flat of her feet, with her partner all limp. Miss James went over in silence and took her partner away.

  ‘I shall have to take you myself. – All you others sit down for a moment. – We shall go on till I’ve taught you. And will you please try, Margery. You see you are wasting everyone else’s time – Music, please!’

  All alone on the empty floor, Miss James waltzed with Margery Mannering. They did not speak; they heard one another’s breathing; the girl’s light, the child’s loud and painful. The thump of Margery’s heart was like the swelling and bursting of great black bubbles inside her: now the bubbles were in her throat. Her hot body sagged on Miss James’s cold bare arm. Her eyes, stretched with physical fear like a rabbit’s, stared through the clouding spectacles at the mild white hollow of Miss James’s throat. From her spectacles, light flashed up sharply into her partner’s face as they circled under the chandeliers. Miss James’s hand like a cold shell gripped the hot hand tighter.

  ‘She really is patient and good,’ said the mothers, nodding. ‘She’s so thorough.’ They congratulated themselves. ‘Look at the pains she takes with that poor little stupid. Wonderful; she keeps smiling.’

  And indeed, she was smiling. Lulu watched through the door; his eyes got larger and darker and closer together, his face came closer up to the glass. Miss Peel played on mechanically; she watched him watching.

  ‘I’m giddy,’ said Margery suddenly.

  ‘It’s no good. I shall keep you on till you’ve learnt.’

  In the taxi, the girls leant back silently. Lulu, his back to the driver, sat watching the town lights flash over their faces. The fog was lifting, but the taxi went slowly through spectral streets like a blind snorting animal. Sometimes the driver pulled up with a jar; the girls nodded forward, the window-frames rattled. Joyce’s close-fitting hat was pulled over her eyebrows; her half-hidden face was impassive. Peelie sat with her hat on her knees, she looked over Lulu’s head, sombrely humming. Joyce rolled her head with a sigh and an impatient movement; Peelie and Lulu both reached for the window-strap; Lulu was first there and let down the window. Mist came curling in, the air freshened; the taxi had turned down through the old town and the lonely crying of sirens came from the harbour. ‘They’re awful,’ Joyce shuddered.

  ‘She is tired,’ said Peelie to Lulu across her.

  ‘She will be better after supper.’

  ‘She won’t eat,’ said Peelie, discouraging.

  ‘Won’t you eat dinner?’ said Lulu, imploring. He touched Joyce’s knee, left a hand there. Peelie eyed the hand sharply. Joyce took no notice. Peelie’s foot felt a gentle pressure. ‘That’s my foot.’ ‘Oh, so sorry, Peelie.’ The taxi crawled past a terrace of balconied houses and sharply drew up.

  The ‘Star’ Private Hotel was modest and friendly. It was six o’clock; they went in and sat in the lounge. Peelie was pleased at Lulu’s discretion; here they would meet no one who’d recognize Lulu and Joyce and go away talking to make scandal about the Metropole dancing class. It did not do for Lulu, who showed ladies into their bedrooms, or Joyce who spent hours in clumsy men’s arms, to be patently man and woman; their public must deprecate any attraction. Poor Lulu was also distressingly beautiful; the shabby other visitors kept turning round to look – at the grace of his height, his dark-ivory forehead (foreign men do so much more with a forehead), the ripple-back of his hair, his gaze of shy ardency Joyceward, narrowed by low straight lids. He went off to order the supper – just supper, they said, fish or something, with coffee to follow. Peelie shook Joyce’s arm suddenly.

  ‘Do wake up,’ she said. ‘Can’t you really love anyone?’

  ‘I didn’t want to – you brought me … Well then, give me my powder-puff.’

  ‘You’ve got heaps on – it’s colour you want. Haven’t you got—’

  ‘No, you know I don’t have any; Majowski hates it.’

  ‘You may be thankful Lulu’s Swiss. He wouldn’t let you just sit there yawning if he were an Italian.’

  ‘No. He’s going to keep an hotel – isn’t it awful. With two private funiculars. On the top of a glacier or something. Oh well, he won’t melt any glaciers!’ Joyce changed a yawn to a laugh; she laughed weakly, ruefully, almost in spite of herself, biting in her mouth at one corner and shrugging her slight shoulders.

  ‘What are you laughing for?’ said Lulu, coming back. They did not answer; he showed them into the dining-room. The room was empty, not a waitress there. He guided them to their table with an arm lightly round Joyce’s waist; as he pulled her chair out she had to step back closer against him. Peelie’s hard unabashed eyes contemplated them curiously. Each conscious of the two others they waited, then something in Peelie’s eyes made it impossible, shameful for him not to press Joyce closer and kiss her twice on the cheek, high up, where the patch of colour sometimes appeared. Peelie laughed, Joyce laughed uncertainly, Lulu uneasily smiled: they sat down. Joyce unfastened her coat and let it slide down her shoulders, showing her neck and the soft rucked top of the hyacinth dress. Her eyes glittered under the hanging lights with their cold white shades.

  ‘Did you see me killing that child?’ she asked Lulu, eagerly turning. ‘You were there at the door, you must have seen. Wasn’t I dreadful – Peelie thinks I was dreadful.’

  ‘Which child?’ he said, while his eyes asked doubtfully, ‘Who’s there? What’s there? Are you, at all? I want you.’

  ‘Tell him, Peelie.’

  ‘That fat Mannering child with red hair, she means. I only said: “Don’t hate her so’s the others can notice.”” ’

  ‘But I do hate her, don’t I? Isn’t it awful of me. I made her waltz till she cried. But I did teach her.’

  Peelie eyed her exaltedness. ‘She’s quite awake now,’ she said, congratulatory, to Lulu. ‘I daresay she’s quite hungry.’ But soon the film crept back, Joyce faded like the roofs into this afternoon’s mist; she let her hand lie coldly in Lulu’s under the table. As Jean Jones had thought, she was not like a person at all.

  When supper was finished they strolled back towards the harbour to look for a taxi. The salt air was milder, lamps made pale stains on the mist. It was high tide; under the mist, to their left, the dark, polished water sucked hard-lipped at the embankment. The edge of the road was protected by chains slung from posts; Peelie went to look over, stood idly clanking and swinging the chain with her knee.

  ‘I wonder what you two would do next if I fell in and never bobbed up again.’

  ‘Oh, Peelie!’

  ‘Well, I won’t – not this woman. All the same, I do wonder …’

  Her meditation, tinged with contempt for them, broke up sharply when, hearing no more behind her, she turned to see where they were. Lulu had caught Joyce out of the lamplight … He was not so unlike an Italian. They stood as one figure till, with a gasp, he stepped back from her. Joyce stood vaguely, huddling up her coat-collar and looking round for Peelie. They started towards each other under the lamp. Peelie thought: ‘Now what’s coming?’ but all Joyce said was: ‘We must get that taxi. I can’t go any further. Oh, Peelie, I’m dead!’

  It was a long drive from the harbour up to the Central Station. No one spoke. Lulu’s hands hung between his parted knees; he kept wringing and chafing his hands together. Joyce slipped deeper, deeper into her great fur collar, a swerve of the taxi flung her on Peelie’s shoulder; she did not stir, she leaned there inert, asleep. Peelie slipped an arm along the back of the seat; supporting her; this was how they were going to travel home. Light from a picture-palace blared in, disturbing them like a trumpet-blast, on to the small set face of the sleeper, her hat pushed down unevenly over one eye. Lulu, startled, cried out: ‘It’s not fair!’


  ‘Hush! … Nothing’s fair.’

  ‘In six weeks I go back to Switzerland. What does she care? – Nothing. And still you are having her day after day.’

  ‘You and I, you and she, she and I, we’ll forget each other anyhow – that’s nature.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘Not so much.’

  ‘Peelie …’

  ‘Um?’

  ‘Peelie … I … let me just …’

  She beckoned. Two or three minutes were taken up by a cautious shuffling, balancing, edging; they rose and changed places like people passing each other in a boat. She sustained Joyce’s weight till his arm touched her own, supplanting it, under Joyce’s shoulders. Joyce never stirred, never woke; she lay quiet under their movements, their whispers and anxious breathing.

  ‘Don’t touch her head, you’ll wake her – don’t, Lulu; just let it roll – I do – it finds its own place. Just keep your arm – so – loosely; keep your hand on her other side so’s she won’t flop back … You’ll be as stiff as hell in a few minutes – I am, always. Don’t try moving, that’s worse; just relax …’

  Joyce sighed; her sleeping body crept closer against him, her head rolled into the hollow of his shoulder – ‘found its own place’. She sighed again with her cheek on his breast; she was comfortable here. Lulu’s face came down, scarcely breathing; his chin was just over her little black hat.

  Joyce smiled. A new life, the self’s, moulded her lips in a soft line. Her face was all broken up, vivid in sleep … She was dancing with Margery Mannering. ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you,’ she said like a knife. Something burst behind Margery’s stretched eyes; she fainted … Joyce smiled in her sleep.

  EVELYN WAUGH

  Cruise

  Letters from a Young Lady of Leisure

  S.S. Glory of Greece

  Darling,

  Well I said I would write and so I would have only goodness it was rough so didnt. Now everything is a bit more alright so I will tell you. Well as you know the cruise started at Monte Carlo and when papa and all of us went to Victoria we found that the tickets didnt include the journey there so Goodness how furious he was and said he wouldnt go but Mum said of course we must go and we said that too only papa had changed all his money into Liri or Franks on account of foreigners being so dishonest but he kept a shilling for the porter at Dover being methodical so then he had to change it back again and that set him wrong all the way to Monte Carlo and he wouldnt get me and Bertie a sleeper and wouldnt sleep himself in his through being so angry Goodness how Sad.

  Then everything was much more alright the purser called him Colonel and he likes his cabin so he took Bertie to the casino and he lost and Bertie won and I think Bertie got a bit plastered at least he made a noise going to bed he’s in the next cabin as if he were being sick and that was before we sailed. Bertie has got some books on Baroque art on account of his being at Oxford.

  Well the first day it was rough and I got up and felt odd in the bath and the soap wouldnt work on account of salt water you see and came into breakfast and there was a list of so many things including steak and onions and there was a corking young man who said we are the only ones down may I sit here and it was going beautifully and he had steak and onions but it was no good I had to go back to bed just when he was saying there was nothing he admired so much about a girl as her being a good sailor goodness how sad.

  The thing is not to have a bath and to be very slow in all movements. So next day it was Naples and we saw some Bertie churches and then that bit that got blown up in an earthquake and a poor dog killed they have a plaster cast of him goodness how sad. Papa and Bertie saw some pictures we weren’t allowed to see and Bill drew them for me afterwards and Miss P. tried to look too. I havent told you about Bill and Miss P. have I? Well Bill is rather old but clean looking and I dont suppose hes very old not really I mean and he’s had a very disillusionary life on account of his wife who he says I wont say a word against but she gave him the raspberry with a foreigner and that makes him hate foreigners. Miss P. is called Miss Phillips and is lousy she wears a yachting cap and is a bitch. And the way she makes up to the second officer is no ones business and its clear to the meanest intelligence he hates her but its part of the rules that all the sailors have to pretend to fancy the passengers. Who else is there? Well a lot of old ones. Papa is having a walk out with one called Lady Muriel something or other who knew uncle Ned. And there is a honeymoon couple very embarrassing. And a clergyman and a lovely pansy with a camera and white suit and lots of families from the industrial north.

  So Bertie sends his love too. XXXXXX etc.

  Mum bought a shawl and an animal made of lava.

  Post-card

  This is a picture of Taormina. Mum bought a shawl here. V. funny because Miss P. got left as shed made chums only with second officer and he wasnt allowed ashore so when it came to getting into cars Miss P. had to pack in with a family from the industrial north.

  S.S. Glory of Greece

  Darling,

  Hope you got P.C. from Sicily. The moral of that was not to make chums with sailors though who I’ve made a chum of is the purser who’s different on account he leads a very cynical life with a gramophone in his cabin and as many cocktails as he likes and welsh rabbits sometimes and I said but do you pay for all these drinks but he said no so that’s all right.

  So we have three days at sea which the clergyman said is a good thing as it makes us all friendly but it hasn’t made me friendly with Miss P. who won’t leave poor Bill alone not taking any more chances of being left alone when she goes ashore. The purser says theres always someone like her on board in fact he says that about everyone except me who he says quite rightly is different goodness how decent.

  So there are deck games they are hell. And the day before we reach Haifa there is to be a fancy dress dance. Papa is very good at the deck games expecially one called shuffle board and eats more than he does in London but I daresay its alright. You have to hire dresses for the ball from the barber I mean we do not you. Miss P. has brought her own. So I’ve thought of a v. clever thing at least the purser suggested it and that is to wear the clothes of one of the sailors I tried his on and looked a treat. Poor Miss P.

  Bertie is madly unpop, he wont play any of the games and being plastered the other night too and tried to climb down a ventilator and the second officer pulled him out and the old ones at the captains table look askance at him. New word that. Literary yes? No?

  So I think the pansy is writing a book he has a green fountain pen and green ink but I couldnt see what it was. XXXX Pretty good about writing you will say and so I am.

  Post-card

  This is a photograph of the Holyland and the famous sea of Gallillee. It is all v. Eastern with camels. I have a lot to tell you about the ball. Such goings on and will write very soon. Papa went off for the day with Lady M. and came back saying enchanting woman Knows the world.

  S.S. Glory of Greece

  Darling,

  Well the Ball we had to come in to dinner in our clothes and everyone clapped as we came downstairs. So I was pretty late on account of not being able to make up my mind whether to wear the hat and in the end did and looked a corker. Well it was rather a faint clap for me considering so when I looked about there were about twenty girls and some women all dressed like me so how cynical the purser turns out to be. Bertie looked horribly dull as an apache. Mum and Papa were sweet. Miss P. had a ballet dress from the Russian ballet which couldnt have been more unsuitable so we had champagne for dinner and were jolly and they threw paper streamers and I threw mine before it was unrolled and hit Miss P. on the nose. Ha ha. So feeling matey I said to the steward isnt this fun and he said yes for them who hasnt got to clear it up goodness how Sad.

  Well of course Bertie was plastered and went a bit far particularly in what he said to Lady M. then he sat in the cynical pursers cabin in the dark and cried so Bill and I found him and Bill gave him some drinks and what do you
think he went off with Miss P. and we didnt see either of them again it only shows into what degradation the Demon Drink can drag you him I mean.

  Then who should I meet but the young man who had steak and onions on the first morning and is called Robert and said I have been trying to meet you again all the voyage. Then I bitched him a bit goodness how Decent.

  Poor Mum got taken up by Bill and he told her all about his wife and how she had disillusioned him with the foreigner so tomorrow we reach Port Said d.v. which is latin in case you didn’t know meaning God Willing and all go up the nile and to Cairo for a week.

  Will send P.C. of Sphinx.

  XXXXXX

  Post-card

  This is the Sphinx. Goodness how Sad.

  Post-card

  This is temple of someone. Darling I cant wait to tell you I’m engaged to Arthur. Arthur is the one I thought was a pansy. Bertie thinks egyptian art is v. inartistic.

  Post-card

  This is Tutankhamens v. famous Tomb. Bertie says it is vulgar and is engaged to Miss P. so hes not one to speak and I call her Mabel now. G how S. Bill wont speak to Bertie Robert wont speak to me Papa and Lady M. seem to have had a row there was a man with a snake in a bag also a little boy who told my fortune which was v. prosperous Mum bought a shawl.

  Post-card

  Saw this Mosque today. Robert is engaged to a new girl called something or other who is lousy.

  S.S. Glory of Greece

  Darling,

  Well so we all came back from Egypt pretty excited and the cynical purser said what news and I said news well Im engaged to Arthur and Bertie is engaged to Miss P. and she is called Mabel now which is hardest of all to bear I said and Robert to a lousy girl and Papa has had a row with Lady M. and Bill has had a row with Bertie and Roberts lousy girl was awful to me and Arthur was sweet but the cynical purser wasnt a bit surprised on account he said people always get engaged and have quarrels on the Egyptian trip every cruise so I said I wasnt in the habit of getting engaged lightly thank you and he said I wasnt apparently in the habit of going to Egypt so I wont speak to him again nor will Arthur.