Beaver.
And asked,
“What's Beaver?”
“It's a young man.”
“That sounds all right.”
“Oh no it's not, wait till you see him.”
“What's he coming here for?
Did you ask him to stay?”
I suppose I did in a vague kind of way.
I went to Brat's one evening and he was the only chap there so we had some drinks and he said something about wanting to see the house …”
“I suppose you were tight.”
“Not really, but I never thought he'd hold it against me.”
“Well it jolly well serves you right.
That's what comes of going up to London on business and leaving me alone here … Who is he anyway?”
“Just a young man.
His mother keeps that shop.”
“I used to know her.
She's hell.
Come to think of it we owe her some money.”
“Look here we must put a call through and say we're ill.”
“Too late, he's in the train now, recklessly mixing starch and protein in the Great Western three and six-penny lunch … Anyway he can go into Sir Galahad.
No one who sleeps there ever comes again — the bed's agony I believe.” “What on earth are we going to do with him? It's too late to get anyone else.”
“You go over to Pigstanton.
I'll look after him.
It's easier alone.
We can take him to the movies tonight and tomorrow he can see over the house.
If we're lucky he may go up by the evening train.
Does he have to work on Monday morning?”
“I shouldn't know.”
Three-eighteen was far from being the most convenient time for arrival.
One reached the house at about a quarter to four and if, like Beaver, one was a stranger there was an awkward time until tea; but without Tony being there to make her self-conscious, Brenda could carry these things off quite gracefully and Beaver was so seldom wholly welcome anywhere that he was not sensitive to the slight constraint of his reception.
She met him in what was still called the smoking room; it was in some ways the least gloomy place in the house.
She said, “It is nice that you were able to come.
I must break it to you at once that we haven't got a party.
I'm afraid you'll be terribly bored … Tony had to go out but he'll be in soon … was the train crowded?
It often is on Saturdays … would you like to come outside?
It'll be dark soon and we might get some of the sun while we can …” and so on.
If Tony had been there it would have been difficult for she would have caught his eye and her manner as chatelaine would have collapsed.
And Beaver was well used to making conversation, so they went out together through the French windows on to the terrace, down the steps, into the Dutch garden, and back round the orangery without suffering a moment's real embarrassment.
She even heard herself telling Beaver that his mother was one of her oldest friends.
Tony returned in time for tea.
He apologized for not being at home to greet his guest and almost immediately went out again to interview the agent in his study. Brenda asked about London and what parties there were.
Beaver was particularly knowledgeable.
“Polly Cockpurse is having one soon.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Are you coming up for it?”
“I don't expect so.
We never go anywhere nowadays.”
The jokes that had been going round for six weeks were all new to Brenda; they had become polished and perfected with repetition and Beaver was able to bring them out with good effect.
He told her of numerous changes of alliance among her friends.