That was all he had heard of her.
Both avoided places where there was a likelihood of their meeting.
It was thought convenient that Brenda should appear as the plaintiff.
Tony did not employ the family solicitors in the matter but another, less reputable firm who specialized in divorce.
He had steeled himself to expect a certain professional gusto, even levity, but found them instead disposed to melancholy and suspicion.
“I gather Lady Brenda is being far from discreet.
It is quite likely that the King's Proctor may intervene … Moreover there is the question of money.
You understand that by the present arrangement since she is the innocent and injured party she will be entitled to claim substantial alimony from the courts.”
“Oh that's all right,” said Tony.
“I've been into all that with her brother-in-law and have decided to make a settlement of five hundred a year.
She has four hundred of her own and I understand Mr. Beaver has something.”
“It's a pity we can't put it in writing,” said the solicitor, “but that might constitute Conspiracy.”
“Lady Brenda's word is quite good enough,” said Tony.
“We like to protect our clients against even the most remote contingencies,” said the lawyer with an air of piety, for he had not had Tony's opportunities to contract the habit of loving and trusting Brenda.
The fourth week-end after Brenda's departure from Hetton was fixed for Tony's infidelity.
A suite was engaged at a seaside hotel (“We always send our clients there.
The servants are well accustomed to giving evidence”) and private detectives were notified.
“It only remains to select a partner,” said the solicitor; no hint of naughtiness lightened his gloom.
“We have on occasions been instrumental in accommodating our clients but there have been frequent complaints, so we find it best to leave the choice to them.
Lately we had a particularly delicate case involving a man of very rigid morality and a certain diffidence.
In the end his own wife consented to go with him and supply the evidence.
She wore a red wig.
It was quite successful.”
“I don't think that would do in this case.”
“No. Exactly.
I was merely quoting it as a matter of interest.”
“I expect I shall be able to find someone,” said Tony.
“I have no doubt of it,” said the solicitor, bowing politely.
But when he came to discuss the question later with Jock, it did not seem so easy.
“It's not a thing one can ask every girl to do,” he said, “whichever way you put it.
If you say it is merely a legal form it is rather insulting, and if you suggest going the whole hog it's rather fresh — suddenly, I mean, if you've never paid any particular attention to her before and don't propose to carry on with it afterwards … Of course there's always old Sybil.”
But even Sybil refused.
“I'd do it like a shot any other time,” she said, “but just at the moment it wouldn't suit my book.
There's a certain person who might hear about it and take it wrong … There's an awfully pretty girl called Jenny Abdul Akbar.
I wonder if you've met her.”
“Yes, I've met her.”
“Well won't she do?”
“No.”
“Oh dear, I don't know who to suggest.”
“We'd better go and study the market at the Sixty-four,” said Jock.
They dined at Jock's house.
Lately they had found it a little gloomy at Brown's for people tended to avoid anyone they knew to be unhappy.
Though they drank a magnum of champagne they could not recapture the light-hearted mood in which they had last visited Sink Street.
And then Tony said,
“Is it any good going there yet?”
“We may as well try.
After all we aren't going there for enjoyment.”
“No, indeed.”
The doors were open at 64 Sink Street and the band was playing to an empty ballroom.
The waiters were eating at a little table in the corner.