The Complete Short Stories

Read The Complete Short Stories for Free Online Page B

Book: Read The Complete Short Stories for Free Online
Authors: Muriel Spark
she
saw Greta Casse tucking in at anyone else’s expense, she amended her opinion,
and put Greta’s domestic parsimony down to her vagueness about materialistic
things. This was a notion which Greta fostered in various ways, such as always
forgetting to give Daphne the change of a pound, or going off for the day and
leaving nothing in the house for lunch.
    That she was, however, a
society woman, in a sense that Daphne’s relations were not, was without doubt.
Molly and Linda had been presented, it was true. And Daphne had seen
photographs of her mother and Aunt Sarah beplumed and robed, in the days when
these things were done properly. But they were decidedly not society women.
Daphne mused often on Greta Casse, niece of a bishop and cousin of an earl, her
distinctive qualities. She went to see Pooh-bah one weekend, and mentioned
Greta Casse to a Miss Barrow, a notable spinster of the district who had come
to tea. Daphne was surprised to learn that this woman, in her old mannish
Burberry, her hands cracked with gardening, her face cracked with the weather,
had been a contemporary of Greta’s. They had been to various schools together,
had been presented the same year.
    ‘How odd,’ Daphne
remarked to Pooh-bah later, ‘that two such different people as Mrs Casse and
Miss Barrow should have been brought up in the same way.
    He gave a verbal assent,
‘I suppose so, yes,’ but clearly he did not understand what she meant about it
being odd.
    Back she went to Regent’s
Park. Greta Casse arranged a dinner party for Daphne at a West End restaurant,
followed by an all-night session in a night-club. About twenty young people
were invited, most of them in their early teens, which made Daphne feel old,
and she was not compensated by the presence of a few elders of Greta’s
generation. Michael came, of course. Englishman though he was, Daphne could not
take him very seriously.
    The party was followed
by another, and that by another. ‘Can’t we invite Mole?’ Daphne said.
    ‘Well,’ said Greta, ‘the
whole idea is for you to meet new people. But of course, if you like…’
    The bill for these
parties used up half of Daphne’s annual allowance. Luncheons, at which she met
numerous women friends of Greta’s, used up the other half. Daphne longed to
explain to Mrs Casse that she had not understood what was involved by becoming
her lodger. She did not want to be entertained, for she had merely counted on
somewhere jolly to stay. Daphne had not the courage to put this to Greta who
was so uncertain, precarious, slippery, indefinite and cold. She wrote to
Chakata for money. ‘Of course,’ she wrote, ‘when I’ve had my fun I’ll take a
job.’
    ‘I hope you are seeing
something of England,’ he replied when he sent his cheque. ‘My advice to you is
to go on a coach tour. I hear they are excellent, and a great advance on my
time, when there was nothing of that sort.’ She rarely took much notice of
Chakata’s advice, for so much of it was inapplicable. ‘Do introduce yourself to
Merrivale at the bank,’ he had written. ‘He will give you sherry in the
parlour, as he used to do me when I was your age.’ On inquiring for Mr
Merrivale at the bank, Daphne was unsuccessful. ‘Ever heard of a chap called
Merrivale?’ the clerks asked each other. ‘Sure it’s this branch?’ they asked
Daphne.
    ‘Oh yes. He used to be
the manager.
    ‘Sorry, madam, no one’s
heard of him here. Must have been a way back.’
    ‘Oh, I see.’
    Daphne got into the
habit of ignoring Chakata’s questions, ‘Have you been to Hampton Court?’
    ‘Did you call on
Merrivale at the bank? He will give you sherry…’
    ‘Have you booked for a
tour of England and Wales? I trust you are planning to see something of the
English countryside?’
    ‘I couldn’t find that
bootmaker in St Paul’s Churchyard,’ she wrote to him, ‘because it is all
bombed. Better stick to the usual place in Johannesburg. Anyway, I might not
order the right

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