The Fashion In Shrouds Page 7

Behind her came a stranger whose personality was instantly and engagingly apparent.

  Georgy Laminoff, or Gaiogi, as his friends called him with the G’s hard, was a delightful person. The art of being delightful was with him a life study, and, since he was no fool and at heart a prince, he achieved an excellence in it. To look at, he was round and gracious, with a small white beard and bright circular eyes in sockets as arched and sombre as Norman gateways.

  He took Mr Campion’s hand with a murmur of apology which came from his soul. It was an intrusion, he insisted, an abominable and disgusting thing, but Val had assured him that it would be forgiven and he was happy to note from the very amiability of his host’s expression that it was indeed miraculously so. He seated himself when bidden, conveying without saying so that the chair was incomparably comfortable and that he knew and appreciated the superb quality of the sherry which had been offered him.

  Within five minutes of his arrival they were sitting round in pleasant intimacy. The ice had melted rather than broken, and yet his behaviour had never deviated for a moment from that exact formality which is the rightful protection of every man against the stranger within his doors.

  Val leant back in the winged chair, unaware that she was irritating her brother, who, for some reason of his own, did not like to see a woman sitting in it.

  ‘We’ve got a nice new job for you, my lamb,’ she said. ‘Something easy and vulgar. How would you like to bring your boots and have a slap-up week-end with all the comforts of the rich, and the rare intellectual treat of mingling with the best people – all for nothing? What about it?’

  Laminoff made a deprecating gesture with a spade-shaped hand.

  ‘I am embarrassed,’ he said. ‘We are unpleasant, ignorant people. I shall commit suicide.’ He chuckled with sudden happiness. ‘I talk like all the best plays.’

  ‘Anything except divorce,’ said Campion cheerfully. ‘Divorce and the joke’s over. I’d rather go back to my people.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Gaiogi was shocked. ‘No, no, we are not indecent. Good God, no. This is at least honest vulgarity. Mr Campion, will you come and stay in my house over the week-end? I ask you so that, should I have need to call upon my guest for assistance, assistance he cannot by all the laws of hospitality refuse me, I shall have in him someone who will be an asset and not an encumbrance.’

  He leant back and laughed until his eyes were shining with tears.

  ‘I rehearsed that coming along. It sounds a little false.’

  They both looked at him, Val with tolerant amusement and Mr Campion with simple interest.

  ‘Having trouble?’

  ‘No.’ Gaiogi was still laughing, and he glanced at Val with that shyness which comes from the intellect rather than from any social embarrassment. ‘We are here on false pretences.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Val spoke briskly, her voice a little harder than usual. ‘It’s Ramillies,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ Mr Campion hoped he did not sound cautious. ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘Nothing yet, thank God.’ Val was obstinately bright. ‘He’s going to Boohoo land, or wherever it is, on Sunday, in a gold aeroplane, and we just thought we’d like you about to see he does go.’

  ‘In a gold aeroplane?’

  ‘Gold. The propeller hub may be studded with diamonds.’ Gaiogi made the announcement gravely and Campion raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Quite the gent,’ he commented politely. ‘How serious is all this?’

  Val rose, and as the light fell upon her face her brother looked at her sharply. He had not seen her quite so fine drawn before.

  ‘I’m not very clear about all this,’ he said. ‘Explain it all to me without effects. Ramillies is going back to Ulangi, is he? Alone?’

  ‘Yes. Georgia is going out to join him in six weeks’ time, with a wild party, the Taretans and that lot.’

  ‘That should be jolly.’ Campion spoke without enthusiasm.

  ‘Riotous,’ she agreed. ‘Paul Taretan is taking “three girls from totally different environments”, and “Mrs” has selected one rather beastly little boy called Waffle. Still, that’s their après-midi, not ours. Our concern is that nothing goes wrong with the flight. Gaiogi was telling Tante Marthe his troubles and she sent us both along to you.’

  ‘Ah yes, the flight,’ said Campion. ‘Start at the flight.’

  ‘The flight is not exactly an attempt upon the record’ – Val’s brightness was growing more and more artificial – ‘except that no one has ever taken the trouble to fly from England to Ulangi before. I wonder you haven’t heard about all this, Albert. There’s been enough publicity.’

  At the mention of the magic word Campion began to see a little daylight.

  ‘The plane is being sent out as a present to the native ruler,’ she said. ‘It’s an Alandel machine, and it’s taking off from the Caesar’s Court flying ground at six o’clock on Sunday night. In it go the pilot and a navigator and Ramillies. He insisted that they painted it gold. He said the man would like it better, and pointed out that if you paint a thing silver there’s no reason why you shouldn’t paint it gold. I think Gaiogi made up the diamonds. Anyway, the airmen will stay and instruct the coloured gentleman how not to break his neck, and Ramillies will tidy the house up ready for Georgia. On Sunday there is to be a semi-official send-off, with Towser from the Colonial Office and one or two other big-wigs, and the whole thing is to be stage-managed gracefully. Gaiogi is anxious that nothing shall go wrong.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Campion sounded sympathetic. ‘Is there any reason why anything should?’

  Val glanced at the Russian before she spoke.

  ‘No,’ she said at last but without conviction. ‘No, I don’t think so. No, none at all. You just come down for the week-end. We shall all be there. You can even bring Lugg, if he’ll behave.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. It sounds fishy.’ Campion filled her glass as he spoke. ‘Don’t think me inquisitive, but I must have a bit more to go on. It’s my luggage I’m worrying about. Do I bring a knuckle-duster and a chloroform spray, or merely my etiquette book?’

  ‘The chloroform spray, I should say, wouldn’t you, Gaiogi?’ Val was not entirely flippant, and the old man laughed at her before he turned his round eyes towards Campion.

  ‘I hope not,’ he said, ‘but who can tell? That is the difference between the world of my youth and the world of to-day. Then I was bored because nothing could happen; now I am apprehensive because nothing couldn’t. I am living my life backwards, my exciting youth last.’

  ‘Gaiogi doesn’t feel Ramillies is quite safe,’ Val remarked. ‘I know what he means.’

  So did Campion, but he made no comment and she continued.

  ‘There’s been some little trouble about a gun already. He wants to take one out with him and the flying people are jibbing about the weight. Anyhow, it’s not the sort of thing he ought to want out there, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not a cannon, I suppose?’

  ‘Sir Raymond wishes to take out a Filmer 5A,’ said Laminoff calmly. ‘He does not see why he should not take it to pieces and stow it under the seat, together with enough ammunition to kill every elephant in Africa. Do you know the new 5A, Mr Campion?’

  ‘Good lord, that’s not the big one, is it? The mounted one with the magazine? Really? What does he want that for?’

  ‘No one likes to ask,’ said Val dryly. ‘Anyway, he can’t take it. Alan Dell had to make that clear to him himself. Ramillies flew into one of his idiotic rages, came out of it, and is now sulking with a watch-what-I’m-going-to-do air about him, which is disturbing. We don’t want him making a scene just when everything is set for the take-off or getting tight and trying to take the machine up himself ten minutes before the official time. I’d like you down there, anyway. Don’t be a cad.’

  ‘My dear girl, I’m coming. Nothing would keep me away. Campion sounded sincere. ‘The suggestion is that Ramillies is slightly barmy, I take it?’r />
  ‘No, no, spoilt,’ murmured Gaiogi tolerantly. ‘Too much money all his life, mental age thirteen. A superb soldier, no doubt.’

  Val wriggled her shoulders under her severe little coat.

  ‘He’s abnormal,’ she said. ‘I dislike having him in the house in case something awful happens to him while he’s there. A thunder-bolt, perhaps. You know what I mean.’

  Gaiogi was delighted.

  ‘Val is right. He has an impious challenge,’ he agreed, grinning at the phrase. ‘That is the analysis of my own alarm. He should be exorcized.’

  ‘He should be watched,’ said Val, who seemed to have set her heart on being practical at all costs. ‘That’s fixed then, is it, Albert? We can rely on you to come on Saturday? You’re a pet. We’re terribly grateful. Gaiogi has to rush off now to catch Ferdie Paul, but I’ll stay half an hour with you if I may.’

  Her announcement was so brusque that it constituted a dismissal and Campion regarded her with respectful astonishment. Laminoff rose.

  ‘We shall be delighted to see you,’ he said earnestly. ‘My wife and I have a little cottage in the grounds and we will entertain you there.’ He glanced at Val and smiled shyly. ‘It is more comfortable than in the hotel.’

  ‘It’s the loveliest house in the world,’ she assured him and he seemed pleased.

  He left them gracefully, making the awkward business of departure a charming experience for everyone concerned, and went away, leaving them liking him and, for some inexplicable reason, gratified by the interview, although it had simply served to arrange something he desired.

  ‘Nice old boy,’ Mr Campion observed when they were alone.

  ‘A dear. The only genuine Russian prince I’ve ever met.’ Val wandered down the room to look out of the window as she spoke. ‘He lived in Mentone before the Revolution, toddling home now and again for the wolfing or the ballet or whatever they had at home. His wife said that they were miserable, really miserable; you know what wet blankets Russians were.’

  ‘Cried each other to sleep every night,’ suggested Mr Campion helpfully.

  ‘That sort of thing.’ Val was not listening to him. ‘Then they lost all and life began anew. Gaiogi has princely ideas, real ones. He understands organization as well as magnificence. Just the man for a luxury hotel. He’s a prince with a point to him and he’s hysterically happy. I’d hate anything really unpleasant to happen in that little kingdom.’

  Mr Campion took up the decanter.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’m not being critical, but do you think you’re being a bit nervy? I mean, old Ramillies may have a spot of the devil in him, but the horns haven’t actually appeared yet. He evidently understands his job. That gilded aeroplane idea shows a certain amount of practical insight. You can’t convince a Gold Coast nigger that silver isn’t an inferior metal. He’s probably quite all right in a limited way, once you get to know him. Don’t think I’m not going down to Caesar’s Court; I am. I want to. I only felt it was a bit hysterical, this roaring round here yourself to bring Laminoff and making a great to-do about it. You could have phoned me.’

  Val sat down on the couch and closed her eyes.

  ‘It’s amazing about relations,’ she observed after a pause. ‘You’re a pleasant, reasonable person. You’d never be so cruelly hypercritical of any other woman. Why shouldn’t I be hysterical? I’m not, as it happens, but if I was why shouldn’t I?’

  Mr Campion was temporarily taken aback.

  ‘One naturally expects one’s relatives to behave with the decorum one demands of oneself,’ he said primly. ‘Hysteria doesn’t run in our family.’

  ‘Oh, doesn’t it?’ said Val. ‘Like to hear me scream the place down? Give me something to drink.’

  ‘Have some gin in it and have a lovely sick?’ he suggested.

  She laughed and sat up. She had pulled off her ridiculous hat and her yellow hair was very slightly dishevelled. She looked young and clever and tolerantly disgusted with herself. She glanced up at him and spoke wearily.

  ‘’Ardy, ’Ardy, I am wownded.’

  ‘Not seriously, I ’ope?’ inquired Campion solicitously, dropping into the nursery joke of their youth without noticing it.

  ‘Mort-u-ally, I fear.’

  ‘Really? What’s up?’

  ‘Unrequited love.’ She was still speaking lightly but with a certain breathlessness which made the words uncertain.

  ‘Oh?’ He did not sound very sympathetic. ‘If I may say so without being indelicate, it looked very healthy last time I saw you both.’

  ‘Did it? You’re a detective of some sort, aren’t you?’ A change in her voice, a certain hardness, almost a cheapness that was a stranger there, caught Mr Campion’s attention and silenced the flippant remark on his lips. He had known that sickening deterioration himself in his time and, while he still found it infuriating in himself or anyone else who might be part of his own personal secret dignity, he was not entirely without pity for it.

  ‘These things happen,’ he said awkwardly, trying to sound sympathetic without inviting confidence. ‘It’s all part of the dance.’

  Val laughed at him. She was genuinely amused and he was relieved to notice a slackening of the emotional tension in her voice.

  ‘You’re just the person not to come and cry to, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You look as though you’re going to be ill already. I’m all right, ducky. I’m only telling you I’m feeling like suicide because Georgia Wells had pinched my young man. You might at least say you’re sorry. If I told you I was broke or had a twisted ankle you’d be flapping about like a mother chicken.’

  ‘Hen,’ said Campion absently. ‘“Hen” is the word you want. What do you mean when you say “pinched”? Has Georgia merely abducted Dell? Or has she dazzled him? I mean, has the situation come about because the fellow wants to hang round or because he’s too polite to slash his way out of the palisade?’

  Val lay back again. She was having great difficulty with the cigarette between her lips and her eyes were startled at her own weakness.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘No, I think it’s quite genuine. It does happen, you know. She’s simply knocked him off his feet. He’s rather added what he knows of me to what he’s seen of her, if you see what I mean.’

  Mr Campion did see and he looked at her with one of those sharp glances which betrayed his surprise. Her insight was always astonishing him. It was misleading, he reminded himself hastily; a sort of inspired guesswork or, rather, an intermittent contact with truth.

  ‘He certainly didn’t know much about women,’ he remarked. ‘He’ll learn a bit from Georgia.’

  Val did not speak and he went on without thinking of her in any objective way. He was aware of her, of course, but only as of someone whom he considered another facet of himself.

  ‘A man like that ought to fall in love a few times. It matures the mind. He can’t marry her, of course, because of Ramillies. In a way that’s almost a pity because, in a case like that, that type of decent, rather sentimental chap is apt to go off and nurse a lovely pie-eyed dream of tragical frustration for a hell of a time.’

  He caught sight of her white face with the two tears on her cheek-bones and jerked himself up with sudden contrition.

  ‘My dear girl, forgive me. I was thinking aloud. I forgot you were in this. I’m mental. Oi! Val! Val, I’m sorry. I’m a tick. What shall we do? Go and chuck the woman in the Regent’s Canal? What’s she doing, by the way? Accepting it all with fashionable languor?’

  ‘Oh no.’ Val’s lips twisted. ‘You underestimate her. Georgia doesn’t do things like that. Georgia loves. She always does. She’s riotously, deliriously, ecstatically in love at the moment. She’s a fire, a whirlwind. She comes and tells me about it by the hour. I rushed off with Gaiogi this afternoon to get away from her. She’s so heartrendingly genuine, Albert, like all the worst in one’s self.’

  Mr Campion looked scandalized and his sympathy for his sister increased.

&nb
sp; ‘That’s not quite decent,’ he remarked. ‘How startlingly vulgar you women are.’

  ‘It’s not vulgarity. It’s cheating,’ said Val calmly. ‘You do so hope you’re not really hurting, but you do want to do it so much. I know the instinct. It’s a feeling, not a “think” at all.’

  Mr Campion made no direct comment.

  ‘Is Ramillies in on all this?’ he inquired at last.

  ‘Oh yes. Georgia’s like a house on fire. It can’t be kept a secret for the rest of the street, much less from the master in the library. Ramillies knows more about it than anyone.’

  ‘What’s he doing? Anything?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Val sounded uneasy. ‘He’s a very curious person. When I can bring myself to listen to her Georgia seems to be taking him very seriously. She says he’s frightfully jealous and frighteningly quiet, but that may mean anything or nothing. He seems to have set his heart on having this party out there with the Taretons. Georgia’s not so keen. She says that once she gets out there he’ll make her stay. That’ll be awkward because The Lover looks like settling down, and whereas they could risk dropping her out for a month, if it was running away, I doubt whether it would carry on for a full season without her. It might, of course. It’s a success.’

  ‘In six weeks’ time,’ said Mr Campion thoughtfully. ‘I’m not at all sure that my estimation of Sieur Ramillies doesn’t go up. The grande passion should just about reach the wobbling point by then. These thundering fires die down pretty fast, don’t they?’

  He paused. Val was looking at him with a speculative expression that was not altogether sympathetic.

  ‘You’ve forgotten Alan,’ she said. ‘Alan’s in it, too. He’s a different kettle of fish altogether. It’s not so simple, my dear. Frankly I wish it were. They’re not children. It might so easily be very serious.’

  ‘You mean Ramillies might divorce her?’

  ‘Not because of Alan. He’d never get grounds. You don’t know Alan at all. He’s an idealist.’

  ‘Well then, it’ll come to a quiet, uncomfortable end and you’ll have to stand by and pick up the pieces,’ said Campion, a little irritated by what he felt was an unjust estimation of his powers of comprehension.