A Handful of Dust

“… My marriage was an ideally happy one,” she read, “until shortly before Christmas last year when I began to suspect that my husband’s attitude had changed towards me. He always remained in the country when my studies took me to London. I realized that he no longer cared for me as he used to. He began to drink heavily and on one occasion made a disturbance at our flat in London, constantly ringing up when drunk and sending a drunken friend round to knock on the door. Is that necessary?”

“Not strictly, but it is advisable to put it in. A great deal depends on psychological impression. Judges in their more lucid moments sometimes wonder why perfectly respectable, happily married men go off for week-ends to the seaside with women they do not know. It is always helpful to offer evidence of general degeneracy.”

“I see,” said Brenda. “From then onwards I had him watched by private agents and as a result of what they told me, I left my husband’s house on April 5th. Yes, that all seems quite clear.”

Several of the crowd followed them round the slots, curious to see what new enormity this mad father might attempt. “There’s a man who’s eaten two breakfasts and tries to drown his little girl,” they informed other spectators, skeptically observing his attempts to amuse Winnie with skee-ball. Tony’s conduct confirmed the view of human nature derived from the weekly newspapers which they had all been reading that morning.

“The very idea,” said various onlookers. “Does he want to drown the child?” “He’s no business to be trusted with children.” “Unnatural beast.”

“But I want to bathe,” said Winnie. “You said I could bathe if you had two breakfasts.”

The people who had clustered round to witness Tony’s discomfort looked at one another askance. “Two breakfasts? Wanting to let the child bathe? The man’s balmy.”

Tony went into his room and took off his shoes, collar and tie, coat and waistcoat, and put on a dressing gown.

“You are greedy,” said Winnie, “eating two breakfasts.”

“When you’re a little older you’ll understand these things. It’s the Law. Now I want you to stay in the sitting room for quarter of an hour very quietly. Promise? And afterwards you can do exactly what you like.”

“Can I bathe?”

Here at nine o’clock he was interrupted by the arrival of Blenkinsop. “We missed you last night,” he said.

“We went to a party.”

“You shouldn’t have done that—not strictly, but I daresay no harm will come of it. Have you had your breakfast?”

“Yes, in the dining room with Winnie.”

“But Mr. Last, what are you thinking of? You’ve got to get evidence from the hotel servants.”

“Well, I didn’t like to wake Milly.”

“She’s paid for it, isn’t she? Come, come, Mr. Last, this won’t do at all. You’ll never get your divorce if you don’t give your mind to it more.”

“All right,” said Tony. “I’ll have breakfast again.”

“In bed, mind.”

“In bed.” And he went wearily upstairs to his rooms.

Tony and Milly sat at the back. From habit and exhaustion she put her head on his shoulder and her hand in his. When they reached their rooms, however, she said, “Go quietly. We don’t want to wake Winnie.”

For an hour or so Tony lay in the warm little bedroom, reviewing over and over again the incidents of the last three months; then he too fell asleep.

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t think she had a daughter of eight, would you?”

“No, it’s very surprising.”

“I didn’t know for ages. Then I was taking her to Dieppe for the weekend and she wanted to bring the child along too. Of course that put the kibosh on it, but I’ve always liked Milly just the same. You can trust her to behave anywhere.” He said this with a sour glance towards Baby, who was full of the right stuff and showing it.

“Baby, you do, if I have to get it myself. Won’t you two join us, or are we de trop?”

They went together into the glittering lounge. “I’m cold like hell,” said Baby.

Dan had taken off his greatcoat and revealed a suit of smooth, purplish plus fours, and a silk shirt of a pattern Tony might have chosen for pajamas. “We’ll soon warm you up,” he said.

“This place stinks of yids,” said Baby.

“I always think that’s the sign of a good hotel, don’t you?” said Tony.

“Like hell,” said Baby.

She made an insignificant and rather respectable appearance.

“Sorry if I’m late,” she said. “Winnie here couldn’t find her shoes. I brought her along too. I knew you wouldn’t mind really. She travels on a half ticket.”

Jock gave Babs ten shillings and he and Tony went home. Tony had not slept much lately. He could not prevent himself, when alone, from rehearsing over and over in his mind all that had happened since Beaver’s visit to Hetton; searching for clues he had missed at the time; wondering where something he had said or done might have changed the course of events; going back further to his earliest acquaintance with Brenda to find indications that should have made him more ready to understand the change that had come over her; reliving scene after scene in the last eight years of his life. All this kept him awake.