individuality.
Sunshine and shadow scudded over the dancing waves outside. It was a restless place, too lofty, too bare, too much exposed to distant prospects of sky and water. A perpetual shrill chatter washed through it, mingled with faint sea music, and the cries of gulls. The steel chairs were not as comfortable as the Mandalay wicker, nor was the coffee particularly good. Sometimes they felt a vague sense of loss as they sat there, hooting at one another. But they did not clearly understand what had been done to them.
Alan Wetherby might be a brilliant architect, but he preferred his buildings to be empty. The intrusion ofhumanity was always, to him, a pity. He could never quite stomach the notion of worshippers in his cathedrals, audiences in his theatres, or families in his flats. He made no bones about his dislike for the human race; but it had, as yet, occurred to nobody that the designs of a misanthrope might exert a malign influence. Only the older women whispered occasionally that there had been more going on at the old Mandalay. They felt that the tide of life in this wonderful Pavilion of theirs was weak and aimless, compared with the strong, secret currents that they had known. A few heretics there were who asserted that the Pavilion did no good to the town. Nobody had actually gone so far as to say that it did harm, for nobody had taken Wetherby’s faceless citizens seriously.
‘There’s that man!’ said Martha to Don, soon after they had arrived at their table on Tuesday morning.
‘Take no notice,’ he advised. ‘We don’t want him coming over here.’
‘I should think not!’
‘He is coming, though.’
‘Intolerable! Nobody could have been more snubbing than I was when he rang up last night.’
‘I’m afraid he’s the type you can’t snub.’
Archer’s appearance on Sunday night had taken them by surprise at a moment when they were already confused . They had not acted quickly enough. The party seemed to go better after his arrival. Everybody had begun to talk and laugh, at what they could not now remember. They felt that some great disaster had been averted. It was not until Monday morning that the truth dawned upon them. Don had been indisposed all day, and Martha’s headache had prevented her from going up to Summersdown for news of Conrad. In thesick, sober light of day they began to ask themselves why Archer had turned up like this and why, in disregard of all decency, he had insisted upon presiding at Conrad ’s party.
The answer was not hard to discover. He had not come, as they first conjectured, in search of Elizabeth. In spite of what had happened, he meant to reassert his claim on Conrad, and to become once more the sole vendor of Swanns. Two years ago he had doubtless believed himself to be indispensable, and had expected his former friend to collapse without his good offices. The Venice award, and other indications of a waxing reputation, had taught him his mistake. Conrad was a valuable asset. So he had come to oust the Rawsons, to rob them of the fruits of patronage, by some blackmailing measures best known to himself. Conrad’s absence must have been a severe blow to him and he should be sent about his business, if possible, before Conrad came back.
They did their best to ignore his approach, but the unsnubbable creature came right up to their table, pulled out a chair, and sat down upon it.
‘I thought …’ began Martha.
‘Sorry to intrude,’ he said. ‘But I’m off at midday and I must see you before I go. They told me I’d find you here.’
Martha looked at Don, mutely commanding him to do something. He avoided her eye. He was not a man of action. A waitress hurried up to take Archer’s order. The Rawson table always got prompt service.
‘This gentleman,’ stated Martha, ‘is not at my table.’
‘That’s all right, Gertie,’ said Archer. ‘I’ll order later.’
Don was forced to assert himself. He rapped out:
‘We have nothing to say
Sunshine and shadow scudded over the dancing waves outside. It was a restless place, too lofty, too bare, too much exposed to distant prospects of sky and water. A perpetual shrill chatter washed through it, mingled with faint sea music, and the cries of gulls. The steel chairs were not as comfortable as the Mandalay wicker, nor was the coffee particularly good. Sometimes they felt a vague sense of loss as they sat there, hooting at one another. But they did not clearly understand what had been done to them.
Alan Wetherby might be a brilliant architect, but he preferred his buildings to be empty. The intrusion ofhumanity was always, to him, a pity. He could never quite stomach the notion of worshippers in his cathedrals, audiences in his theatres, or families in his flats. He made no bones about his dislike for the human race; but it had, as yet, occurred to nobody that the designs of a misanthrope might exert a malign influence. Only the older women whispered occasionally that there had been more going on at the old Mandalay. They felt that the tide of life in this wonderful Pavilion of theirs was weak and aimless, compared with the strong, secret currents that they had known. A few heretics there were who asserted that the Pavilion did no good to the town. Nobody had actually gone so far as to say that it did harm, for nobody had taken Wetherby’s faceless citizens seriously.
‘There’s that man!’ said Martha to Don, soon after they had arrived at their table on Tuesday morning.
‘Take no notice,’ he advised. ‘We don’t want him coming over here.’
‘I should think not!’
‘He is coming, though.’
‘Intolerable! Nobody could have been more snubbing than I was when he rang up last night.’
‘I’m afraid he’s the type you can’t snub.’
Archer’s appearance on Sunday night had taken them by surprise at a moment when they were already confused . They had not acted quickly enough. The party seemed to go better after his arrival. Everybody had begun to talk and laugh, at what they could not now remember. They felt that some great disaster had been averted. It was not until Monday morning that the truth dawned upon them. Don had been indisposed all day, and Martha’s headache had prevented her from going up to Summersdown for news of Conrad. In thesick, sober light of day they began to ask themselves why Archer had turned up like this and why, in disregard of all decency, he had insisted upon presiding at Conrad ’s party.
The answer was not hard to discover. He had not come, as they first conjectured, in search of Elizabeth. In spite of what had happened, he meant to reassert his claim on Conrad, and to become once more the sole vendor of Swanns. Two years ago he had doubtless believed himself to be indispensable, and had expected his former friend to collapse without his good offices. The Venice award, and other indications of a waxing reputation, had taught him his mistake. Conrad was a valuable asset. So he had come to oust the Rawsons, to rob them of the fruits of patronage, by some blackmailing measures best known to himself. Conrad’s absence must have been a severe blow to him and he should be sent about his business, if possible, before Conrad came back.
They did their best to ignore his approach, but the unsnubbable creature came right up to their table, pulled out a chair, and sat down upon it.
‘I thought …’ began Martha.
‘Sorry to intrude,’ he said. ‘But I’m off at midday and I must see you before I go. They told me I’d find you here.’
Martha looked at Don, mutely commanding him to do something. He avoided her eye. He was not a man of action. A waitress hurried up to take Archer’s order. The Rawson table always got prompt service.
‘This gentleman,’ stated Martha, ‘is not at my table.’
‘That’s all right, Gertie,’ said Archer. ‘I’ll order later.’
Don was forced to assert himself. He rapped out:
‘We have nothing to say
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