Brideshead Revisited(35)

When he had gone I asked who he was.

‘Oh, just someone of Julia’s,’ said Sebastian.

We were slightly surprised a week later to get a telegram from him asking us and Boy Mulcaster to dinner in London on the following night for ‘a party of Julia’s’.

‘I don’t think he knows anyone young,’ said Sebastian; ‘all his friends are leathery old sharks in the City and the House of Commons. Shall we go?’

We discussed it, and because our life at Oxford was now so much in the shadows, we decided that we would.

‘Why does he want Boy?’

‘Julia and I have known him all our lives. I suppose, finding him at lunch with you, he thought he was a chum.’

We had no great liking for Mulcaster, but the three of us were in high spirits when, having got leave for the night from our colleges, we drove off on the London road in Hardcastle’s car.

We were to spend the night at Marchmain House. We went there to dress and, while we dressed, drank a bottle of champagne, going in and out of one another’s rooms which were together three floors up and rather shabby compared with the splendours below. As we came downstairs Julia passed us going up to her room still in her day clothes.

‘I’m going to be late,’ she said; ‘you boys had better go on to Rex’s. It’s heavenly of you to come.’

‘What is this party?’

‘A ghastly charity ball I’m involved with. Rex insisted on giving a dinner party for it. See you there.’

Rex Mottram lived within walking distance of Marchmain House.

‘Julia’s going to be late,’ we said, ‘she’s only just gone up to dress.’

‘That means an hour. We’d better have some wine.’ A woman who was introduced as ‘Mrs Champion’ said: ‘I’m sure she’d sooner we started, Rex.’

‘Well, let’s have some wine first anyway.’

‘Why a Jeroboam, Rex?’ she said peevishly. ‘You always want to have everything too big.’

‘Won’t be too big for us,’ he said, taking the bottle in his own hands and easing the cork.

There were two girls there, contemporaries of Julia’s; they all seemed involved in the management of the ball. Mulcaster knew them of old and they, without much relish I thought, knew him. Mrs Champion talked to Rex. Sebastian and I found ourselves drinking alone together as we always did.

At length Julia arrived, unhurried, exquisite, unrepentant. ‘You shouldn’t have let him wait,’ she said. ‘It’s his Canadian courtesy.’

Rex Mottram was a liberal host, and by the end of dinner the three of us who had come from Oxford were rather drunk. While we were standing in the hall waiting for the girls to come down and Rex and Mrs Champion had drawn away from us, talking, acrimoniously, in low voices, Mulcaster said, ‘I say, let’s slip away from this ghastly dance and go to Ma Mayfield’s.’

‘Who is Ma Mayfield?’

‘You know Ma Mayfield. Everyone knows Ma Mayfield of the Old Hundredth. I’ve got a regular there — a sweet little thing called Effie. There’d be the devil to pay if Effie heard I’d been to London and hadn’t been in to see her. Come and meet Effie at Ma Mayfield’s.’

‘All right,’ said Sebastian, ‘let’s meet Effie at Ma Mayfield’s.’ ‘We’ll take another bottle of pop off the good Mottram and then leave the bloody dance and go to the Old Hundredth. How about that?’

It was not a difficult matter to leave the ball; the girls whom Rex Mottram had collected had many friends there and, after we had danced together once or twice, our table began to fill up; Rex Mottram ordered more and more wine; presently the three of us were together on the pavement.

‘D’you know where this place is?’

‘Of course I do. A hundred Sink Street.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Just off Leicester Square. Better take the car.’

‘Why?’

‘Always better to have one’s own car on an occasion like this.’ We did not question this reasoning, and there lay our mistake. The car was in the forecourt of Marchmain House within a hundred yards of the hotel where we had been dancing. Mulcaster drove and, after some wandering, brought us safely to Sink Street. A commissionaire at one side of a dark doorway and a middle-aged man in evening dress on the other side of it, standing with his face to the wall cooling his forehead on the bricks, indicated our destination.

‘Keep out, you’ll be poisoned,’ said the middle-aged man.

‘Members?’ said the commissionaire.

‘The name is Mulcaster,’ said Mulcaster. ‘Viscount Mulcaster.’

‘Well, try inside,’ said the commissionaire.

‘You’ll be robbed, poisoned and infected and robbed,’ said the middle-aged man.

Inside the dark doorway was a bright hatch.

‘Members?’ asked a stout woman, in evening dress.

‘I like that,’ said Mulcaster. ‘You ought to know me by now.’

‘Yes, dearie,’ said the woman without interest. ‘Ten bob each.’

‘Oh, look here, I’ve never paid before.’

‘Daresay not, dearie. We’re full up tonight so it’s ten bob. Anyone who comes after you will have to pay a quid. You’re lucky.’