of the evening - fortunately the presence of Proffy and the particular subject which they were discussing kept her attention more or less concentrated on the conversation to the exclusion of thoughts about the shadows, beyond brief amused reflections that Cy's cameras should really be present for such an occasion. Oh well, she had no doubt that the Oxford Bloods would recreate the scene, if asked, with enthusiasm when summer came. If this was their style in early May, what on earth would June bring forth? The aggressive heat of The Punting Heaven had driven her out of doors; no doubt similar scenes were being enacted inside amid the wreckage of the flower-decked tables. The gold music of Rheingold being played very loudly indoors {'Rheingold}. Rheingold}. Tumty ta-ta') covered other sounds.
'We always play Wagner at Chimneysweepers' bashes,' explained Saffron, 'because it's so cheerful. Besides, it covers up the noise of breaking glass a treat. Do you suppose that was why old Wags wrote it?'
The presence of Proffy, and indeed of various other more senior guests, was a surprise to Jemima, until she realized wryly that their participation - and indeed her own - was intended to rehabilitate the Oxford Bloods' somewhat tarnished image. (That impulse had however evidently exhausted their plans for reform.) There was, for example, an older woman present, rather handsome, with greying dark hair worn in a bun, and a beaky, almost Roman, nose. Her gold lame dress, judging from its cut, might have been newly acquired for the occasion, since it was in the height of the current fashion; on the other hand it was the sort of dress that a woman like this might have had in her wardrobe, regardless of fashion, for the last twenty years. The same could be said for her prominent necklace of large amber and jet beads. Although she appeared to be rather silent compared to the rest of the company, Jemima had the impression of a strong personality; one of those people whose presence at any particular gathering marks it, without one being able to define exactly why.
The multiparous Mrs Mossbanker? It turned out that the handsome woman was in fact that mysterious Professor Eugenia Jones, mother of Antigone, alias Tiggie - she who had been last heard of returning from the States. Curiously enough, Proffy had addressed her consistently as Eleanor, which if Jemima remembered rightly was actually his wife's name.
Studying Eugenia Jones, one could see where Tiggie's looks came from, if not her particular sense of style. She was also quite short, like her daughter, although her flowing golden robe gave her an air of dignity. Who was Jones, Jemima wondered, and what was his profession? She would have to ask her friend Jamie Grand, currently visiting professor at a new college founded by a shy millionaire apparently entirely for Jamie's delectation since it provided vast funds for lavish dons' dining, but none for the sordid everyday needs of undergraduates. Jamie combined a fierce insistence on the highest standards of academic criticism and study with an endearing propensity to gossip, an activity which he pursued with exactly the same informed seriousness, expecting others to do so too.
Thinking of Jamie and the tabs he kept on society - with both big and small S - Jemima was at least not surprised by his presence among the older guests. A little blonde girl, of the sort of which Jamie appeared to have an endless supply, hung on his arm. A large gold fez crowned the countenance whose veriest frown could cause a shudder in the literary world (to quote Time Magazine - and Jamie often did).
'Who's Jones?' blurted out Jemima without preamble. At exactly the same moment Jamie said: 'Do you know Serena of Christ Church?' He swept on: 'Isn't it enjoyable hearing that? I'm old-fashioned enough to adore it. These days I only go out with girls from the best men's colleges, or rather the former men's colleges that were formerly the best. Rachel of Magdalen,
'We always play Wagner at Chimneysweepers' bashes,' explained Saffron, 'because it's so cheerful. Besides, it covers up the noise of breaking glass a treat. Do you suppose that was why old Wags wrote it?'
The presence of Proffy, and indeed of various other more senior guests, was a surprise to Jemima, until she realized wryly that their participation - and indeed her own - was intended to rehabilitate the Oxford Bloods' somewhat tarnished image. (That impulse had however evidently exhausted their plans for reform.) There was, for example, an older woman present, rather handsome, with greying dark hair worn in a bun, and a beaky, almost Roman, nose. Her gold lame dress, judging from its cut, might have been newly acquired for the occasion, since it was in the height of the current fashion; on the other hand it was the sort of dress that a woman like this might have had in her wardrobe, regardless of fashion, for the last twenty years. The same could be said for her prominent necklace of large amber and jet beads. Although she appeared to be rather silent compared to the rest of the company, Jemima had the impression of a strong personality; one of those people whose presence at any particular gathering marks it, without one being able to define exactly why.
The multiparous Mrs Mossbanker? It turned out that the handsome woman was in fact that mysterious Professor Eugenia Jones, mother of Antigone, alias Tiggie - she who had been last heard of returning from the States. Curiously enough, Proffy had addressed her consistently as Eleanor, which if Jemima remembered rightly was actually his wife's name.
Studying Eugenia Jones, one could see where Tiggie's looks came from, if not her particular sense of style. She was also quite short, like her daughter, although her flowing golden robe gave her an air of dignity. Who was Jones, Jemima wondered, and what was his profession? She would have to ask her friend Jamie Grand, currently visiting professor at a new college founded by a shy millionaire apparently entirely for Jamie's delectation since it provided vast funds for lavish dons' dining, but none for the sordid everyday needs of undergraduates. Jamie combined a fierce insistence on the highest standards of academic criticism and study with an endearing propensity to gossip, an activity which he pursued with exactly the same informed seriousness, expecting others to do so too.
Thinking of Jamie and the tabs he kept on society - with both big and small S - Jemima was at least not surprised by his presence among the older guests. A little blonde girl, of the sort of which Jamie appeared to have an endless supply, hung on his arm. A large gold fez crowned the countenance whose veriest frown could cause a shudder in the literary world (to quote Time Magazine - and Jamie often did).
'Who's Jones?' blurted out Jemima without preamble. At exactly the same moment Jamie said: 'Do you know Serena of Christ Church?' He swept on: 'Isn't it enjoyable hearing that? I'm old-fashioned enough to adore it. These days I only go out with girls from the best men's colleges, or rather the former men's colleges that were formerly the best. Rachel of Magdalen,
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