Something in Disguise by Elizabeth Jane Howard Page A

possible and put on her blue suit. She wrote ‘half past twelve’ at the
bottom of the lists and set about everything.
    By twelve she thought she had done everything, but the list had mysteriously disappeared, so it was impossible to be sure. The room looked much better, and was noticeably warmer than the rest of
the house, although she had only been able to plug in two heaters because that was all the plugs there were. Mrs Green had polished the food trolley and altogether entered into the spirit of the
occasion; they had lugged two heavy armchairs in and laid the round table. She had picked some lilac from the garden and arranged it in the scullery while Mrs Green kindly did the dogs’ food.
A lot of earwigs fell out of the lilac, but Claude was at hand to dispatch them which, with a good deal of unnecessary strategy, he did. It was a lovely day, cold but sunny, no sign of rain which
was an excellent thing, because rain sometimes stopped Herbert going to Lord’s, and then he came home earlier rather grumpy.
    Her blue suit had been her best for so long now that even putting it on induced a mechanical sense of festivity. With it she wore a jersey made by Alice in a paler blue which toned very nicely.
It was awful to feel pleased that Alice was not here, but really, it was a blessing; with Elizabeth she could have been quite frank – simply told her to beat it, she wanted a private lunch
– but with Alice this would have been pretty well impossible. Alice would have been hurt, would have had to be included in lunch, and then the whole thing would have been spoiled, since
people in the League were not allowed to talk about it to people outside. Of course, she wasn’t actually in it yet, but she knew that they were considering her; the lunch was probably
a kind of test . . .
    She saw them arriving from her bedroom window in Lavinia’s Bentley, and it was such a long way down to the front door that she was a bit breathless by the time she succeeded in getting it
open.
    ‘May! How nice!’ Her cousin managed to make this sound like some graceful coincidence. Dr Sedum – an enormously tall man – loomed gently behind her: he was smiling in a
temperate sort of way.
    ‘It’s lovely to see you. Do come in.’
    ‘Of course, you’ve met Dr Sedum.’
    ‘Yes.’ May found she was getting breathless again. ‘It’s most awfully good of you to come.’ She wasn’t quite sure whether to shake hands, but Dr Sedum spread
his out in a gesture denying all goodness, so she thought probably better not. She led the way to the far end of the hall, through the oak door, down the wide passage (she’d put the lights
on) and through a baize door, after which a narrower passage culminated in the morning room.
    ‘You certainly have room to turn round here,’ exclaimed Lavinia, walking to the bay window where the round table was set. ‘Isn’t it frightfully difficult to get enough
staff?’
    ‘I expect it would be, but we don’t try. Wouldn’t you like to take off your coats?’
    ‘And have some sherry?’ she added, moments later. She felt tentative about this, not knowing whether the kind of person Dr Sedum was drank.
    ‘That would be delightful.’ She had forgotten how very quietly he spoke; so quietly, that it was impossible to hear, unless one gave him one’s whole attention and watched his
face. She had bought a bottle of Bristol Cream in case drink was the thing. Dr Sedum now produced a gold cigarette case and offered her a cigarette.
    ‘You look surprised,’ said Lavinia as she accepted her sherry. ‘We are not supposed to deny ourselves the good things in life.’ She sat in one of the armchairs and turned
expectantly to Dr Sedum, who shook his head benevolently.
    ‘That would be too easy. There would be an entirely false sense of achievement. The interest begins when one can say to oneself: I am smoking a cigarette, I am drinking sherry, and have a
clear understanding of the senses that those