XII

Ten days later Adam bought some flowers at the corner of Wigmore Street and went to call on Miss Runcible at her nursing home. He was shown first into the matron’s room. She had numerous photographs in silver frames and a very nasty fox terrier. She smoked a cigarette in a greedy way, making slight sucking noises.

“Just taking a moment off in my den,” she explained. “Down, Spot, down. But I can see you’re fond of dogs,” she added, as Adam gave Spot a halfhearted pat on the head. “So you want to see Miss Runcible? Well, I ought to warn you first that she must have no kind of excitement whatever. She’s had a severe shock. Are you a relation, may I ask?”

“No, only a friend.”

“A very special friend, perhaps, eh?” said the Matron archly. “Never mind, I’ll spare your blushes. Just you run up and see her. But not more than five minutes, mind, or you’ll have me on your tracks.”

There was a reek of ether on the stairs which reminded Adam of the times when, waiting to take her to luncheon, he had sat on Nina’s bed while she did her face. (She invariably made him turn his back until it was over, having a keen sense of modesty about this one part of her toilet, in curious contrast to some girls, who would die rather than be seen in their underclothes, and yet openly flaunt unpainted faces in front of anyone.)

It hurt Adam deeply to think much about Nina.

Outside Miss Runcible’s door hung a very interesting chart which showed the fluctuations of her temperature and pulse and many other curious details of her progress. He studied this with pleasure until a nurse, carrying a tray of highly polished surgical instruments, gave him such a look that he felt obliged to turn away.

Miss Runcible lay in a high, narrow bed in a darkened room.

A nurse was crocheting at her side when Adam entered. She rose, dropping a few odds and ends from her lap, and said, “There’s someone come to see you, dear. Now remember you aren’t to talk much,” She took the flowers from Adam’s hand, said, “Look, what lovelies. Aren’t you a lucky girl?” and left the room with them. She returned a moment later carrying them in a jug of water. “There, the thirsties,” she said. “Don’t they love to get back to the nice cool water?”

Then she went out again.

“Darling,” said a faint voice from the bed, “I can’t really see who it is. Would it be awful to draw the curtains?”

Adam crossed the room and let in the light of the grey December afternoon.

“My dear, how blind-making. There are some cocktail things in the wardrobe. Do make a big one. The nurses love them so. It’s such a nice nursing home this, Adam, only all the nurses are starved, and there’s a breathtaking young man next door who keeps putting his head in and asking how I am. He fell out of an aeroplane, which is rather grand, don’t you think?”

“How are you feeling, Agatha?”

“Well, rather odd, to tell you the truth.⁠ ⁠… How’s Nina?”

“She’s got engaged to be married⁠—haven’t you heard?”

“My dear, the nurses are interested in no one but Princess Elizabeth. Do tell me.”

“A young man called Ginger.”

“Well?”

“Don’t you remember him? He came on with us after the airship party.”

“Not the one who was sick?”

“No, the other.”

“I don’t remember⁠ ⁠… does Nina call him Ginger?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He asked her to.”

“Well?”

“She used to play with him when they were children. So she’s going to marry him.”

“My dear, isn’t that rather sad-making for you?”

“I’m desperate about it. I’m thinking of committing suicide, like Simon.”

“Don’t do that, darling⁠ ⁠… did Simon commit suicide?”

“My dear, you know he did. The night all those libel actions started.”

“Oh, that Simon. I thought you meant Simon.”

“Who’s Simon?”

“The young man who fell out of the aeroplane. The nurses call him Simple Simon because it’s affected his brains⁠ ⁠… but, Adam I am sorry about Nina. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. As soon as I’m well again we’ll make Mary Mouse give a lovely party to cheer you up.”

“Haven’t you heard about Mary?”

“No, what?”

“She went off to Monte Carlo with the Maharajah of Pukkapore.”

“My dear, aren’t the Mice furious?”

“She’s just receiving religious instruction before her official reception as a royal concubine. Then they’re going to India.”

“How people are disappearing, Adam. Did you get that money from the drunk Major?”

“No, he disappeared too.”

“D’you know, all that time when I was dotty I had the most awful dreams. I thought we were all driving round and round in a motor race and none of us could stop, and there was an enormous audience composed entirely of gossip writers and gatecrashers and Archie Schwert and people like that, all shouting to us at once to go faster, and car after car kept crashing until I was left all alone driving and driving⁠—and then I used to crash and wake up.”

Then the door opened, and Miles came popping in.

“Agatha, Adam, my dears. The time I’ve had trying to get in. I can’t tell you how bogus they were downstairs. First I said I was Lord Chasm, and that wasn’t any good; and I said I was one of the doctors, and that wasn’t any good; and I said I was your young man, and that wasn’t any good; and I said I was a gossip writer, and they let me up at once and said I wasn’t to excite you, but would I put a piece in my paper about their nursing home. How are you, Aggie darling? I brought up some new records.”

“You are angelic. Do let’s try them. There’s a gramophone under the bed.”

“There’s a whole lot more people coming to see you today. I saw them all at luncheon at Margot’s. Johnny Hoop and Van and Archie Schwert. I wonder if they’ll all manage to get in.”

They got in.

So soon there was quite a party, and Simon appeared from next door in a very gay dressing-gown, and they played the new records and Miss Runcible moved her bandaged limbs under the bedclothes in negro rhythm.

Last of all, Nina came in looking quite lovely and very ill.

“Nina, I hear you’re engaged.”

“Yes, it’s very lucky. My papa has just put all his money into a cinema film and lost it all.”

“My dear, it doesn’t matter at all. My papa lost all his twice. It doesn’t make a bit of difference. That’s just one of the things one has to learn about losing all one’s money.⁠ ⁠… Is it true that you really call him Ginger?”

“Well, yes, only, Agatha, please don’t be unkind about it.”

And the gramophone was playing the song which the black man sang at the Café de la Paix.

Then the nurse came in.

“Well, you are noisy ones, and no mistake,” she said. “I don’t know what the matron would say if she were here.”

“Have a chocolate, sister?”

“Ooh, chocs!”

Adam made another cocktail.

Miles sat on Miss Runcible’s bed and took up the telephone and began dictating some paragraphs about the nursing home.

“What it is to have a friend in the Press,” said the nurse.

Adam brought her a cocktail. “Shall I?” she said. “I hope you haven’t made it too strong. Suppose it goes to my head? What would the patients think if their sister came in tiddly. Well, if you’re sure it won’t hurt me, thanks.”

“⁠ ⁠… Yesterday I visited the Hon. Agatha Runcible comma Lord Chasm’s lovely daughter comma at the Wimpole Street nursing home where she is recovering from the effects of the motor accident recently described in this column stop Miss Runcible was entertaining quite a large party which included⁠ ⁠…”

Adam, handing round cocktails, came to Nina.

“I thought we were never going to meet each other again.”

“We were obviously bound to, weren’t we?”

“Agatha’s looking better than I expected, isn’t she? What an amusing nursing home.”

“Nina, I must see you again. Come back to Lottie’s this evening and have dinner with me.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No. Ginger wouldn’t like it.”

“Nina, you aren’t in love with him?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“I don’t know⁠ ⁠… I was once.”

“Nina, I’m absolutely miserable not seeing you. Do come and dine with me tonight. What can be the harm in that?”

“My dear, I know exactly what it will mean.”

“Well, why not?”

“You see, Ginger’s not like us really about that sort of thing. He’d be furious.”

“Well, what about me? Surely I have first claim?”

“Darling, don’t bully. Besides, I used to play with Ginger as a child. His hair was a very pretty colour then.”

“⁠ ⁠… Mr. ‘Johnny’ Hoop, whose memoirs are to be published next month, told me that he intends to devote his time to painting in future, and is going to Paris to study in the spring. He is to be taken into the studio of⁠ ⁠…”

“For the last time, Nina⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, I suppose I must.”

“Angel!”

“I believe you knew I was going to.”

“⁠ ⁠… Miss Nina Blount, whose engagement to Mr. ‘Ginger’ Littlejohn, the well-known polo player.⁠ ⁠… Mr. Schwert⁠ ⁠…”

“If only you were as rich as Ginger, Adam, or only half as rich. Or if only you had any money at all.”

“Well,” said the Matron, appearing suddenly. “Whoever heard of cocktails and a gramophone in a concussion case? Sister Briggs, pull down those curtains at once. Out you go, the whole lot of you. Why, I’ve known cases die with less.”

Indeed, Miss Runcible was already showing signs of strain. She was sitting bolt upright in bed, smiling deliriously, and bowing her bandaged head to imaginary visitors.

“Darling,” she said. “How too divine⁠ ⁠… how are you?⁠ ⁠… and how are you?⁠ ⁠… how angelic of you all to come⁠ ⁠… only you must be careful not to fall out at the corners⁠ ⁠… ooh, just missed it. There goes that nasty Italian car⁠ ⁠… I wish I knew which thing was which in this car⁠ ⁠… darling, do try and drive more straight, my sweet, you were nearly into me then.⁠ ⁠… Faster⁠ ⁠…”

“That’s all right, Miss Runcible, that’s all right. You mustn’t get excited,” said the Matron. “Sister Briggs, run for the ice-pack quickly.”

“All friends here,” said Miss Runcible, smiling radiantly. “Faster.⁠ ⁠… Faster⁠ ⁠… it’ll stop all right when the time comes⁠ ⁠…”

That evening Miss Runcible’s temperature went rocketing up the chart in a way which aroused great interest throughout the nursing home. Sister Briggs, over her evening cup of cocoa, said she would be sorry to lose that case. Such a nice bright girl⁠—but terribly excitable.

At Shepheard’s Hotel Lottie said to Adam:

“That chap’s been in here again after you.”

“What chap, Lottie?”

“How do I know what chap? Same chap as before.”

“You never told me about a chap.”

“Didn’t I dear? Well, I meant to.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know⁠—something about money. Dun, I expect. Says he is coming back tomorrow.”

“Well, tell him I’ve gone to Manchester.”

“That’s right, dear.⁠ ⁠… What about a glass of wine?”

Later that evening Nina said: “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much tonight.”

“Sorry, am I being a bore?”

“I think I shall go home.”

“Yes.”

“Adam, darling, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.⁠ ⁠… Nina, do you ever feel that things simply can’t go on much longer?”

“What d’you mean by things⁠—us or everything?”

“Everything.”

“No⁠—I wish I did.”

“I dare say you’re right⁠ ⁠… what are you looking for?”

“Clothes.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Adam, what do you want⁠ ⁠… you’re too impossible this evening.”

“Don’t let’s talk any more, Nina, d’you mind?”

Later he said: “I’d give anything in the world for something different.”

“Different from me or different from everything?”

“Different from everything⁠ ⁠… only I’ve got nothing⁠ ⁠… what’s the good of talking?”

“Oh, Adam, my dearest⁠ ⁠…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

When Adam came down next morning Lottie was having her morning glass of champagne in the parlour.

“So your little bird’s flown, has she? Sit down and have a glass of wine. That dun’s been in again. I told him you was in Manchester.”

“Splendid.”

“Seemed rather shirty about it. Said he’d go and look for you.”

“Better still.”

Then something happened which Adam had been dreading or days. Lottie suddenly said:

“And that reminds me. What about my little bill?”

“Oh, yes,” said Adam, “I’ve been meaning to ask for it. Have it made out and sent up to me some time, will you?”

“I’ve got it here. Bless you, what a lot you seem to have drunk.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I? Are you sure some of this champagne wasn’t the Judge’s?”

“Well, it may have been,” admitted Lottie. “We get a bit muddled with the books now and then.”

“Well, thank you so much, I’ll send you down a cheque for this.”

“No, dear,” said Lottie. “Suppose you write it down here. Here’s the pen, here’s the ink, and here’s a blank cheque book.”

(Bills are delivered infrequently and irregularly at Lottie’s, but when they come, there is no getting away from them.) Adam wrote out a cheque for seventy-eight pounds sixteen shillings.

“And twopence for the cheque,” said Lottie.

And twopence, Adam added.

“There’s a dear,” said Lottie, blotting the cheque and locking it away in a drawer. “Why, look who’s turned up. If it isn’t Mr. Thingummy.”

It was Ginger.

“Good morning, Mrs. Crump,” he said rather stiffly.

“Come and sit down and have a glass of wine, dear. Why I knew you before you were born.”

“Hullo, Ginger,” said Adam.

“Look here, Symes,” said Ginger, looking in an embarrassed manner at the glass of champagne which had been put into his hand, “I want to speak to you. Perhaps we can go somewhere where we shan’t be disturbed.”

“Bless you, boys, I won’t disturb you,” said Lottie. “Just you have a nice talk. I’ve got lots to see to.”

She left the parlour, and soon her voice could be heard raised in anger against the Italian waiter.

“Well?” said Adam.

“Look here, Symes,” said Ginger, “what I mean to say is, what I’m going to say may sound damned unpleasant, you know, and all that, but look here, you know, damn it, I mean the better man won⁠—not that I mean I’m the better man. Wouldn’t say that for a minute. And, anyway, Nina’s a damn sight too good for either of us. It’s just that I’ve been lucky. Awful rough luck on you, I mean, and all that, but still, when you come to think of it, after all, well, look here, damn it, I mean, d’you see what I mean?”

“Not quite,” said Adam gently. “Now tell me again. Is it something about Nina?”

“Yes, it is,” said Ginger in a rush. “Nina and I are engaged, and I’m not going to have you butting in or there’ll be hell to pay.” He paused, rather taken aback at his own eloquence.

“What makes you think I’m butting in?”

“Well, hang it all, she dined with you last night, didn’t she, and stayed out jolly late, too.”

“How do you know how late she stayed out?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, you see I wanted to speak to her about something rather important, so I rang her up once or twice and didn’t get an answer until three o’clock.”

“I suppose you rang her up about every ten minutes?”

“Oh no, damn it, not as often as that,” said Ginger. “No, no, not as often as that. I know it sounds rather unsporting and all that, but you see I wanted to speak to her, and, anyway, when I did get through, she just said she had a pain and didn’t want to talk: well, I mean to say. After all, I mean, one is a gentleman. It isn’t as though you were just a sort of friend of the family, is it? I mean, you were more or less engaged to her yourself, weren’t you, at one time? Well, what would you have thought if I’d come butting in? You must look at it like that, from my point of view, too, mustn’t you, I mean?”

“Well, I think that’s rather what did happen.”

“Oh no, look here, Symes, I mean, damn it; you mustn’t say things like that. D’you know all the time I was out East I had Nina’s photograph over my bed, honest I did. I expect you think that’s sentimental and all that, but what I mean is I didn’t stop thinking of that girl once all the time I was away. Mind you, there were lots of other frightfully jolly girls out there, and I don’t say I didn’t sometimes get jolly pally with them, you know, tennis and gymkhana and all that sort of thing, I mean, and dancing in the evenings, but never anything serious, you know. Nina was the only girl I really thought of, and I’d sort of made up my mind when I came home to look her up, and if she’d have me⁠ ⁠… see what I mean? So you see it’s awfully rough luck on me when someone comes butting in. You must see that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Adam.

“And there’s another thing, you know, sentiment and all that apart. I mean Nina’s a girl who likes nice clothes and things, you know, comfort and all that. Well, I mean to say, of course, her father’s a topping old boy, absolutely one of the best, but he’s rather an ass about money, if you know what I mean. What I mean, Nina’s going to be frightfully hard up, and all that, and I mean you haven’t got an awful lot of money, have you?”

“I haven’t any at all.”

“No, I mean, that’s what I mean. Awfully rough on you. No one thinks the worse of you, respects you for it, I mean earning a living and all that. Heaps of fellows haven’t any money nowadays. I could give you the names of dozens of stout fellows, absolute toppers, who simply haven’t a bean. No, all I mean is, when it comes to marrying, then that does make a difference, doesn’t it?”

“What you’ve been trying to say all this time is that you’re not sure of Nina?”

“Oh, rot, my dear fellow, absolute bilge. Damn it, I’d trust Nina anywhere, of course I would. After all, damn it, what does being in love mean if you can’t trust a person?”

(“What, indeed?” thought Adam), and he said, “Now, Ginger, tell the truth. What’s Nina worth to you?”

“Good Lord, why what an extraordinary thing to ask; everything in the world of course. I’d go through fire and water for that girl.”

“Well, I’ll sell her to you.”

“No, why, look here, good God, damn it, I mean⁠ ⁠…”

“I’ll sell my share in her for a hundred pounds.”

“You pretend to be fond of Nina and you talk about her like that! Why, hang it, it’s not decent. Besides, a hundred pounds is the deuce of a lot. I mean, getting married is a damned expensive business, don’t you know. And I’m just getting a couple of polo ponies over from Ireland. That’s going to cost a hell of a lot, what with one thing and another.”

“A hundred down, and I leave Nina to you, I think it’s cheap.”

“Fifty.”

“A hundred.”

“Seventy-five.”

“A hundred.”

“I’m damned if I’ll pay more than seventy-five.”

“I’ll take seventy-eight pounds sixteen and twopence. I can’t go lower than that.”

“All right, I’ll pay that. You really will go away?”

“I’ll try, Ginger. Have a drink.”

“No, thank you⁠ ⁠… this only shows what an escape Nina’s had⁠—poor little girl.”

“Goodbye, Ginger.”

“Goodbye, Symes.”

“Young Thingummy going?” said Lottie, appearing in the door. “I was just thinking about a little drink.”

Adam went to the telephone-box.⁠ ⁠… “Hullo, is that Nina?”

“Who’s speaking, please? I don’t think Miss Blount is in.”

“Mr. Fenwick-Symes.”

“Oh, Adam. I was afraid it was Ginger. I woke up feeling I just couldn’t bear him. He rang up last night just as I got in.”

“I know. Nina, darling, something awful’s happened.”

“What?”

“Lottie presented me with her bill.”

“Darling, what did you do?”

“Well, I did something rather extraordinary.⁠ ⁠… My dear, I sold you.”

“Darling⁠ ⁠… who to?”

“Ginger. You fetched seventy-eight pounds sixteen and twopence.”

“Well?”

“And now I never am going to see you again.”

“Oh, but Adam, I think this is beastly of you; I don’t want not to see you again.”

“I’m sorry.⁠ ⁠… Goodbye, Nina, darling.”

“Goodbye, Adam, my sweet. But I think you’re rather a cad.”

Next day Lottie said to Adam, “You know that chap I said came here asking for you?”

“The dun?”

“Well, he wasn’t a dun. I’ve just remembered. He’s a chap who used to come here quite a lot until he had a fight with a Canadian. He was here the night that silly Flossie killed herself on the chandelier.”

“Not the drunk Major?”

“He wasn’t drunk yesterday. Not so as you’d notice anyway. Red-faced chap with an eyeglass. You ought to remember him, dear. He was the one made that bet for you on the November Handicap.”

“But I must get hold of him at once. What’s his name?”

“Ah, that I couldn’t tell you. I did know, but it’s slipped my memory. He’s gone to Manchester to look for you. Pity your missing him!”

Then Adam rang up Nina. “Listen,” he said. “Don’t do anything sudden about Ginger. I may be able to buy you back. The drunk Major has turned up again.”

“But, darling, it’s too late. Ginger and I got married this morning. I’m just packing for our honeymoon. We’re going in an aeroplane.”

“Ginger wasn’t taking any chances, was he? Darling, don’t go.”

“No, I must. Ginger says he knows a ‘tophole little spot not far from Monte with a very decent nine-hole golf course.’ ”

“Well?”

“Yes, I know⁠ ⁠… we shall only be away a few days. We’re coming back to spend Christmas with papa. Perhaps we shall be able to arrange something when we get back. I do hope so.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Ginger looked out of the aeroplane: “I say, Nina,” he shouted, “when you were young did you ever have to learn a thing out of a poetry book about: ‘This scepter’d isle, this earth of majesty, this something or other Eden’? D’you know what I mean? ‘this happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea⁠ ⁠…

‘This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings
Feared by their breed and famous by their birth⁠ ⁠…’

I forget how it goes on. Something about a stubborn Jew. But you know the thing I mean?”

“It comes in a play.”

“No, a blue poetry book.”

“I acted in it.”

“Well, they may have put it into a play since. It was in a blue poetry book when I learned it. Anyway, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, I mean to say, don’t you feel somehow, up in the air like this and looking down and seeing everything underneath. I mean, don’t you have a sort of feeling rather like that, if you see what I mean?”

Nina looked down and saw inclined at an odd angle a horizon of straggling red suburb; arterial roads dotted with little cars; factories, some of them working, others empty and decaying; a disused canal; some distant hills sown with bungalows; wireless masts and overhead power cables; men and women were indiscernible except as tiny spots; they were marrying and shopping and making money and having children. The scene lurched and tilted again as the aeroplane struck a current of air.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Nina.

“Poor little girl,” said Ginger. “That’s what the paper bags are for.”

There was rarely more than a quarter of a mile of the black road to be seen at one time. It unrolled like a length of cinema film. At the edges was confusion; a fog spinning past: “Faster, faster,” they shouted above the roar of the engine. The road rose suddenly and the white car soared up the sharp ascent without slackening speed. At the summit of the hill there was a corner. Two cars had crept up, one on each side, and were closing in. “Faster,” cried Miss Runcible, “Faster.”

“Quietly, dear, quietly. You’re disturbing everyone. You must lie quiet or you’ll never get well. Everything’s quite all right. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

They were trying to make her lie down. How could one drive properly lying down?

Another frightful corner. The car leant over on two wheels, tugging outwards; it was drawn across the road until it was within a few inches of the bank. One ought to brake down at the corners, but one couldn’t see them coming lying flat on one’s back like this. The back wheels wouldn’t hold the road at this speed. Skidding all over the place.

“Faster. Faster.”

The stab of a hypodermic needle.

“There’s nothing to worry about, dear⁠ ⁠… nothing at all⁠ ⁠… nothing.”