He put his arms round her and for the first time kissed her on the mouth.
She disengaged herself and, turning away from him, quickly hurried down the platform.
Charley got into his compartment.
He was singularly troubled.
But a substantial luncheon, with half a bottle of indifferent Chablis, did something to restore his equanimity; and then he lit his pipe and began to read The Times.
It soothed him.
There was something solid in the feel of the substantial fabric on which it was printed that seemed to him grandly English.
He looked at the picture papers.
He was of a resilient temper.
By the time they reached Calais he was in tearing spirits.
Once on board he had a small Scotch and pacing the deck watched with satisfaction the waves that Britannia traditionally rules.
It was grand to see the white cliffs of Dover.
He gave a sigh of relief when he stepped on the stubborn English soil.
He felt as though he had been away for ages.
It was a treat to hear the voices of the English porters, and he laughed at the threatening uncouthness of the English customs officials who treated you as though you were a confirmed criminal.
In another two hours he would be home again.
That’s what his father always said:
“There’s only one thing I like better than getting out of England, and that’s getting back to it.”
Already the events of his stay in Paris seemed a trifle dim.
It was like a nightmare which left you shaken when with a start you awoke from it, but as the day wore on faded in your recollection, so that after a while you remembered nothing but that you had had a bad dream.
He wondered if anyone would come to meet him; it would be nice to see a friendly face on the platform.
When he got out of the Pullman at Victoria almost the first person he saw was his mother.
She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him as though he had been gone for months.
“I told your father that as he’d seen you off I was going to meet you.
Patsy wanted to come too, but I wouldn’t let her.
I wanted to have you all to myself for a few minutes.”
Oh, how good it was to be enveloped in that safe affection!
“You are an old fool, mummy.
It’s idiotic of you to risk catching your death of cold on a draughty platform on a bitter night like this.”
They walked, arm in arm and happy, to the car.
They drove to Portchester Close.
Leslie Mason heard the front door open and came out into the hall, and then Patsy tore down the stairs and flung herself into Charley’s arms.
“Come into my study and have a tiddly.
The whiskey’s there.
You must be perished with the cold.”
Charley fished out of his great-coat pocket the two bottles of scent he had brought for his mother and Patsy.
Lydia had chosen them.
“I smuggled ‘em,” he said triumphantly.
“Now those two women will stink like a brothel,” said Leslie Mason, beaming.
“I’ve brought you a tie from Charvet, daddy.”
“Is it loud?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
They were all so pleased with one another that they burst out laughing.
Leslie Mason poured out the whiskey and insisted that his wife should have some to prevent her from catching cold.
“Have you had any adventures, Charley?” asked Patsy.
“None.”
“Liar.”
“Well, you must tell us all about everything later,” said Mrs. Mason.
“Now you’d better go and have a nice hot bath and dress for dinner.”