I take it you' d like some turkey? said Frances to the men, handing them plates. Derek at once replied, Oh, yes, that' dbe grand,' and filled his, while Johnny stacked his, and sat down. Colin and Andrew went upstairs. They really seemed to be no point in asking, And Phyllida? Is she having something?'
The presence of the two men had banished enjoyment, and the young ones crept upstairs to the sitting-room where they found Julia had spread a white lace cloth, and a display ofexquisite china, plates of German stollen, and English Christmas cake.
Frances was left with the two men. She sat watching them eat.
'Frances, I have to talk to you about Phyllida.'
'Don't mind me,' said the playwright. 'I won't listen. But believe you me, I'm only too familiar with marital situations. For my sins. '
Johnny had cleared his plate, and now put Christmas pudding into a bowl, doused it with cream, and stood with the bowl in his hand, in his usual place, back to the window. Ill come to the point. '
Yes, do. '
Now, now, children, said the playwright. You' re not married any longer. You don't have to snap and snarl. ' He poured himself wine.
' Phyllida and I are washed up, said Johnny. ' To come to the point... he repeated. I want to marry again. Or perhaps we'll dispense with the formalities bourgeois nonsense anyway. I've found a real comrade, she is Stella Linch, you might remember her from the past Korean War, that time. '
No, said Frances. And so what are you going to do with Phyllida? No, don't tell me, you aren't going to suggest she comes here?'
'Yes, I am. I want her to come and live in the basement flat. There's plenty of room in this house. And it is my house, you seem to forget. '
'Not Julia's?'
' Morally, it's mine. '
But you already have one discarded family in it. '
Now, now, said the playwright again. And he hiccupped. ' God bless. Sorry. '
' The answer is no, Johnny. The house is full up, and there is one thing you don't seem to get. If her mother comes here Sylvia will leave at once. '
' Tilly will do as she's told. '
You forget Sylvia is over sixteen. '
' She is old enough to visit her mother, then. She never comes near Phyllida. '
'You know as well as I do that Phyllida'll start shouting at her. And anyway, surely you ought to be asking Julia.'
'The old bitch. She's gaga.'
No, Johnny, she's not gaga. And you' d better be quick, because there's going to be a tea-party. '
' Tea-party? said the comrade from Leeds. Oh, goody. Goody, goody gumdrops. ' He sat swaying, poured out some wine into a glass already half full, and said, ' Excuse me. ' He fell asleep, as he sat, his mouth falling open.
Above her, in the sitting-room, Frances could hear voices -Johnny's, his mother's. ' Stupid fool, she heard, from Julia, and Johnny came down the stairs, several at a time, and into the kitchen. For once he was off centre, and flustered. 'I have a right to a woman who is a real comrade, ' he said to Frances. ' For once in my life I am going to have a woman who is my equal. '
' That is what you said about Maureen, do you remember? Not to mention Phyllida. '
' Absurd, said Johnny. I couldn't have done. '
Here the playwright came to himself, said, ' Seconds out of the ring, '-and fell asleep again.
Sophie appeared to say the party had begun.
I shall leave you two to wrestle with the sins of the world, said Frances, and left them.
Before joining the tea-party she went to her room, and put on a new dress, and combed her hair, which transformation enabled her to remember, looking into the mirror, that in her time she had been described as a handsome blonde. And on the stage, more than once she had been beautiful. And with Harold Holman during that weekend which now seemed such an age ago, she had certainly been beautiful.
At the beginning of December Julia had descended to Frances's rooms, and she was looking embarrassed: that was not her style at all. ' Frances, I don't want you to be offended with me... She was holding out one of her thick white envelopes, that had Frances on it, in her beautiful handwriting. In it were banknotes. I could not think of a nice way to do this... but it would make me so happy ... do go to a hairdresser, and buy yourself a good dress for Christmas.'
Frances tended to comb her hair flat on either side of a parting, but the hairdresser (certainly not Evansky or Vidal Sassoon, who could only tolerate the current style) was able to make this look the last word in chic. And she had paid more for a dress than she had ever done in her life. No point in putting it on for Christmas lunch, with all that cooking to do, but now she entered the sitting-room, as self-conscious as a girl. At once there were compliments, and even, from Colin, a little bow as he rose to offer her his chair. Clothes makyth manners. And someone else was making a point of admiring her. Julia's distinguished Wilhelm rose, bent over her hand unfortunately it probably still smelled of the kitchen and kissed the air just above it.
Julia nodded and smiled congratulations.