Chapter 5 The Next World #3
Saul was only paying partial attention, while finding Mina’s inconsequential chatter, as usual, extremely relaxing. When he noticed she’d paused, he asked, “And so this will qualify you to work in a ladies’ dress shop, will it? Parading the garments at their best advantage for customers?”
“Precisely. Or I could be photographed for magazines. Though I expect that’s more competitive.”
“And if it was, what difference? Any competition, you would win. I only feel sorry for the other girls, the heffalumps.”
“You’re too funny. The thing is, I’m not sure my parents would like me to do photographic work. It sounds a bit dodgy, doesn’t it?”
“That depends,” said Saul reasonably. “Presumably your parents wouldn’t object to you being on the cover of Vogue magazine?”
“Now you are being a comic.” A wistful look crossed her face.
“You know what I’d love, though? My own fashion boutique.
Can you imagine, choosing all the beautiful things to sell?
” She pictured herself in a white-carpeted Mayfair shop, dispensing style advice to rapt women in fox stoles and pillbox hats, the air scented by a huge bowl of gardenias.
“Oh well,” she said, snapping back to dreary reality. “Let’s hurry, it’s freezing.”
When they got home, Mina said, “Will you have some cocoa?” They went into the kitchen, and she put a saucepan of milk on the stove. When she gasped, Saul thought she’d burned herself. But she said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you.”
Saul smiled and lit a cigarette, expecting to hear that she’d received top marks in getting out of a motorcar with her knees together.
But she sat down, placed a hand on the table, and said in a low voice, “It’s about Mr. Sullivan.
He told George some nonsense about getting medical exemption from serving in the war.
Obviously a lie. I despise dishonest people, don’t you? ”
After a moment or two, Saul said, “What makes you so sure he’s not telling the truth?”
“He said he had a touch of asthma, and so was excused from duty. I mean, come on. Even if he couldn’t do proper fighting and killing, he’d still have to do something. I had a feeling about him. Something’s not right there, I said to myself.”
Saul opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Mina stared at him in mild bewilderment. Luckily, the milk started bubbling over and she leapt up. By the time she put the mugs on the table, he’d gathered himself somewhat.
“Do you know how old he is?” he asked. “I’d imagined he was around George’s age, which would make him—what—only eleven or so when the war began.”
“He’s twenty-nine! I was surprised, too.”
Saul did some frantic calculations in his head. A shiver went through him, leaving an ache around his ribs. No, he thought. No. It can’t be.
Mina clasped her hands around her warm mug. “George went to the pub with him.” She raised her eyebrows. “Honor didn’t like that. Obviously she doesn’t think Princess Double-Barreled should be mixing with a commoner, seeing as the sun shines out of her behind.”
Saul laughed. It was rather sweet, he thought, the way Mina slipped into cockneyish speech when she was especially tired. “What happened—did Honor warn him off?”
“It was George who got a telling off. If I were her, I’d have told Honor to get stuffed. What right’s she got telling anyone what to do? She’s not our mother. A funny sort of mother she’d be, anyway. Can you imagine?” She frowned. “Sorry. I wasn’t…”
Sensitive girl, thought Saul. But he couldn’t spend his life avoiding the subject of mothers and children. Not unless he moved to a desert island. “It’s quite all right. Now you, you’ll be a splendid mother one day, won’t you? How many children will you have, do you suppose?”
Mina wrinkled her nose. “I’m not all that keen on the idea, truth be told.
Two, I think. Two would suffice.” It wasn’t babies themselves she didn’t like.
Some of them were nice enough. (Although, secretly, she much preferred puppies.) She just couldn’t abide the mess they made.
The last time she’d visited her nephew, who was about nine months, his mother plonked him onto her lap without warning.
The little bugger’s nappy leaked onto her apricot wool-jersey skirt, brand-new from the Fenwick sale, and his sticky paws left marks on her collar.
(A lady is never seen in public without a spotless collar and gloves.) In any case, Mina remained decidedly on the fence about ever doing the thing to start a baby.
“Incidentally,” said Saul, “is George quite well at the moment? We thought she seemed a bit out of sorts.”
“She does, doesn’t she? The only thing I know is that she needs money. She mentioned maybe getting a job as an usherette. I felt like saying, my dear, you wouldn’t last five minutes. It’s real work, not like lounging on a settee in the altogether while someone does your portrait.”
“The altogether?”
She rolled her eyes jokingly. “My word, how long have you lived in this country? And I’m still teaching you the King’s English. Wearing her birthday suit. In the buff. Starkers.”
Saul looked even more baffled.
“Not wearing any clothes,” she stage-whispered.
“Ah! I see. Of course. But it’s the Queen’s English now, is it not?” He was glad to regain some authority.
“Blimey, so it is. You forget, don’t you. She’s too young to be in charge of us all, poor cow.”
“Mina, you’ll tell me, won’t you, whatever else you learn about Mr. Sullivan? I’m rather curious.”
“Don’t you worry. If there’s anything else to ferret out, you can rely on me. To be honest, it’s Robbie I feel sorry for. He’s obliged to share close quarters with him, isn’t he? He can’t like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know—I suspect sharing quarters with another young fellow should suit Robbie just fine.”
“Do you?” said Mina. “I hope you’re right.”