At the end of April Peter returned to Llanabba, Dr Fagan having announccd that the sale of the Castle had not been effected, and Margot and Paul went up to London to make arrangements for the wedding, which, contrary to all reasonable expectation, Margot decided was to take place in church with all the barbaric concomitants of bridesmaids, Mendelssohn, and Mumm. But before the wedding she had a good deal of South American business to see to.
'My first honeymoon was rather a bore, she said, 'so I'm not taking any chances with this one. I must get everything settled before we start, and then we're going to have the three best months of your life.
The work seemed to consist chiefly of interviewing young women for jobs in cabarets and as dancing partners. With some reluctance Margot allowed Paul to be present one morning as she saw a new batch. The room in which she conducted her business was the Sports Room, which had been decorated for her, in her absence, by little Davy Lennox, the society photographer. Two stuffed buffaloes stood one on each side of the door. The carpet was of grass‑green marked out with white lines, and the walls were hung with netting. The lights were in glass footballs, and the furniture was ingeniously designed of bats and polo‑sticks and golf‑clubs. Athletic groups of the early nineties and a painting of a prize ram hung on the walls.
'It's terribly common, said Margot, 'but it rather impresses the young ladies, which is a good thing. Some of them tend to be rather mannery if they aren't kept in order.
Paul sat in the corner ‑ on a chair made in the shape of an inflated Channel swimmer ‑ enraptured at her business ability. All her vagueness had left her, she sat upright at the table, which was covered with Balmoral tartan, her pen poised over an inkpot, which was set in a stuffed grouse, the very embodiment of the Feminist movement. One by one the girls were shown in.
'Name? said Margot.
'Pompilia de la Conradine.
Margot wrote it down.
'Real name?
'Bessy Brown.
'Age?
'Twenty‑two.
'Real age?
'Twenty‑two.
'Experience?
'I was at Mrs Rosenbaum's, in Jermyn Street, for two years, mum.
'Well, Bessy, I'll see what I can do for you. Why did you leave Mrs Rosenbaum's?
'She said the gentlemen liked a change.
'I'll just ask her. Margot took up the telephone, which was held by a boxing‑glove. 'Is that Mrs Rosenbaum? This is Latin‑American Entertainments, Ltd speaking. Can you tell me about Miss de la Conradine?… Oh, that was the reason she left you? Thank you so much! I rather thought that might be it. She rang off. 'Sorry, Bessy; nothing for you just at present.
She pressed the bell, which was in the eye of a salmon trout, and another young lady was shown in.
'Name?
'Jane Grimes.
'Who sent you to me?
'The gentleman at Cardiff. He gave me this to give you. She produced a crumpled envelope and handed it across the table. Margot read the note. 'Yes, I see. So you're new to the business, Jane?
'Like a babe unborn, mum.
'But you married?
'Yes, mum, but it was in the war, and he was very drunk.
'Where's your husband?
'Dead, so they do say.
'That's excellent, Jane. You're just the sort we want. How soon can you sail?
'How soon would you be wanting me to?
'Well, there's a vacancy in Rio I'm filling at the end of the week. I'm sending our two very nice girls. Would you like to be going with them?
'Yes, mum, very pleased, I'm sure.
'D'you want any money in advance?
'Well, I could do with a bit to send my dad if you could spare it.
Margot took some notes from a drawer, counted them, and made out the receipt.
'Sign this, will you? I've got your address. I'll send you your tickets in a day or so. How are you off for clothes?
'Well, I've got a fine silk dress, but it's at Cardiff with the other things. The gentleman said I'd be getting some new clothes, perhaps.
'Yes, quite right. I'll make a note of that. The arrangement we generally make is that our agent chooses the clothes and you pay for them out of your salary in instalments.
Mrs Grimes went out, and another girl took her place.
By luncheon‑time Margot Beste‑Chetwynde was tired. 'Thank heavens, that's the last of them, she said. 'Were you terribly bored, my angel?
'Margot, you're wonderful. You ought to have been an empress.
'Don't say that you were a Christian slave, dearest.
'It never occurred to me, said Paul.
'There's a young man just like your friend Potts on the other side of the street, said Margot at the window. 'And my dear, he's picked up the last of those poor girls, the one who wanted to take her children and her brother with her.
'Then it can't be Potts, said Paul lazily. 'I say, Margot, there was one thing I couldn't understand. Why was it that the less experience those chorus‑girls had, the more you seemed to want them? You offered much higher wages to the ones who said they'd never had a job before.
'Did I, darling? I expect it was because I feel so absurdly happy.
At the time this seemed quite a reasonable explanation, but, thinking the matter over, Paul had to admit to himself that there had been nothing noticeably light‑hearted in Margot's conduct of her business.
'Let's have luncheon out to‑day, said Margot. 'I'm tired of this house.
They walked across Berkeley Square together in the sunshine. A footman in livery stood on the steps of one of the houses. A hatter's van, emblazoned with the royal arms, trotted past them on Hay Hill, two cockaded figures upright upon the box. A very great lady, bolstered up in an old‑fashioned landaulette, bowed to Margot with an inclination she had surely learned in the Court of the Prince Consort. All Mayfair seemed to throb with the heart of Mr Arlen.
Philbrick sat at the next table at the Maison Basque eating the bitter little strawberries which are so cheap in Provence and so very expensive in Dover Street.
'Do come and see me some time, he said. 'I'm living up the street at Batts's.
'I hear you're buying Llanabba, said Paul.
'Well, I thought of it, said Philbrick. 'But I'm afraid it's too far away, really.
'The police came for you soon after you left, said Paul.
'They're bound to get me some time, said Philbrick. 'But thanks for the tip all the same! By the way, you might warn your fiancée that they'll be after her soon, if she's not careful. That League of Nations Committee is getting busy at last.
'I haven't the least idea what you mean, said Paul, and returned to his table.
'Obviously the poor man's dotty, said Margot when he told her of the conversation.