The False Inspector Dew

2

In her last week in London, Barbara stopped being natural. She turned chic. She went to Vasco's and had her amazing chestnut hair bobbed. The sides were set in permanent waves. She put chalk-white powder on her face and painted her lips bright crimson. She bought a moleskin shawl cape and five evening gowns at a store in Knightsbridge. By Friday she had worn them all and bought two more.

The turning-point had been the lecture by Dr Bertrand Russell. Barbara had gone straight from the lecture hall to the hairdresser's. Her mother Marjorie was astounded by the transformation. She had a double brandy and decided it was the best thing that had happened on the trip. She said to Livy that there must be something in philosophy. Livy had a different theory. He said he guessed Paul Westerfield had shown more interest in the lecture than in Barbara.

'If she's going after Paul,' said Marjorie, 'she's playing a very deep game. She has a date this afternoon with a guy named Forbes.'

Forbes took Barbara to a tea dance at the Cafe de Paris, where she met Arnold, who wore a monocle and was much more entertaining. Arnold treated her to cakes and iced coffee at the Grafton Galleries, where there were pictures covered with tissue paper to spare the blushes of young ladies like herself. A black band played jazz until 2am and Arnold tried to one-step and nudged a woman with his elbow. She spilt her iced coffee down the trousers of her partner and Arnold used the tissue cover from a picture to mop it up. While this was happening a young man called Rex told Barbara that she was the loveliest creature his eyes had ever lighted on.

Rex was very passionate. Over lunch in Claridges next day he threatened suicide if Barbara would not make him happy in the suite he had reserved upstairs. To convince her he took a silver revolver from his pocket and placed it on the table. Barbara kept cool. She was chic but she was not available. She picked up the revolver and dropped it in the champagne bucket. Arnold told her later that Rex was famous for producing his revolver in Claridges.

Twice that week Barbara passed Paul Westerfield in the lobby of the Savoy. The first time she was with Forbes and the second time with Arnold. These chance encounters had a positive effect on Paul. On Friday morning he stopped her on the staircase to the dining room. He said her hairstyle was a knockout. He asked her if she had made arrangements for that evening.

Barbara answered that a friend had mentioned something at the Cafe Royal, but she wasn't too excited by it. This would be her final night in London and she wanted to enjoy it.

'You're leaving tomorrow?' said Paul. 'On the Mauretanial How about that? So am I. Let's have fun in London town tonight.'

'What do you suggest?' asked Barbara cautiously. She couldn't take another lecture on philosophy.

'There's a party at the Berkeley. Mainly Americans from the Embassy — the younger crowd, I mean. Some of them are pretty wild, I hear. I was asked to go along. Would you come?'

She smiled and nodded.

Barbara had achieved what she intended. She was attracted to Paul Westerfield despite an inclination to recoil from anyone her mother had set her sights on. She liked the way he looked at her with eyes that valued what she said. She liked the way one eyebrow tilted higher than the other when he was interested. She liked his casual movements as he crossed a room, as economical and deceptive as a cat's. He had power in reserve.

With six days on the Mauretania to come, she could be casual too. She was twenty minutes late that evening when she met him in the lobby. She called him by a nickname from their student days. She wanted him to know that she treated millionaires like any other guys.

The party was as wild as Paul had promised. There was unlimited champagne. About a dozen young Americans from the Embassy and as many English friends dined and danced till after midnight, switching partners all the time and clinging to each other with the unrestraint of lovers. When the restaurant closed, the party moved to the coffee-stand at Hyde Park Corner. The taxi-drivers let them take their cups of coffee to the cabs along the rank and sit in there for hours.

Barbara shared Paul with an English girl called Poppy. It didn't seem to matter. He had his arms around them both and kept them entertained with funny stories interspersed with kisses. Poppy laughed a lot. She called herself a proper cockney. She had tight blonde curls and bright, expressive eyes.

Towards 3am everyone left the taxis and linked hands around a streetlamp. They sang Knees up, Mother Brown and Auld Lang Syne. Kisses were exchanged all round. They called the taxi-drivers from their shelter and asked to be driven home.

Paul asked Poppy where she lived. Those two and Barbara were already seated in a taxi.

'Chicksand Street,' said Poppy with a giggle. Each few words she spoke were interspersed with laughter. 'You won't have heard of it. I bet the cabby hasn't either. It's down the East End if you want to know.'

'Fine,' said Paul. 'I guess the Savoy is on the way. We can put you down first, Barbara.'

Barbara nodded, but she didn't thank him for the suggestion. She couldn't understand why they could not drop Poppy first, and drive back together to the Savoy. It wasn't as if Poppy was supposed to be his partner for the evening. But she bit back her objection. As she smiled at Poppy she was hoping Paul would be bored to tears by that stupid giggle and that ridiculous accent.

'What about you, Paul?' Poppy enquired, leaning across him to straighten his white tie. 'Where's your hotel, my love?'

'I'm at the Savoy as well.'

Another giggle. 'Strike a light — I didn't know you two were serious.'

'We're on different floors,' said Barbara. 'It's pure coincidence.'

Poppy shook with laughter. 'Oh, yes?'

'Sure,' said Paul. He sounded just a little irritated. He told the driver to take them to the Savoy and then Chicksand Street. Then he turned to Barbara and said, 'There's just no point in taking you all that way when it's so late already. It's an early start tomorrow.'

'Of course,' said Barbara. She tried to be magnanimous by thinking of the five days coming on the Mauretania.

As they drove up the Strand, Paul kissed her softly on the lips. He put his hand behind her neck and kissed her harder.

Poppy said, 'Looks as if your time's up, sweethearts.'

The taxi door was opened by the Savoy commissionaire.

Barbara said, 'Thanks, Paul. London was crazy, and I loved it.'

'I guess I'll see you on the boat,' said Paul.

As the taxi drove away, Barbara watched Poppy's hand waving from the small window at the back.