George you should keep an eye on, my dear – Andrew too. They’re like all the rest. They believe they’re a species of rare bird that should be kept in a gilded cage and have their feathers perpetually preened. If only they could rid themselves of this pitiful delusion.’
‘If only they could see themselves, some of them.’
Margot drew herself closer to Henzey’s ear and lowered her voice. ‘Frankly, you wouldn’t believe some of the things my friends say about men.’
‘But they’re not all as bad as you say, are they, Margot?’ She risked another glance at him with the fascinating allure, in time to see him leaving the drawing-room with the equally fascinating Nellie. ‘My brother’s all right,’ she continued, her eyes following them. ‘He’s fifteen and never had a girlfriend. He’s good to our mom, though, and kind to his horse…’
‘Oh, does he ride?’
‘Ride? Oh, no. He’s a milkman. The horse pulls his float.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Margot turned her head to conceal her amusement.
‘Mind you,’ Henzey continued, uninhibited by their cultural distance, ‘sometimes he tries to make everybody think as he’s better at everything than me and our Alice and our Maxine, but his brain ain’t quick enough. He thinks too slow.’
‘Like all men.’
‘He’s all right really, though.’
‘But it proves my point, Henzey.’
Margot took a gulp of champagne and Henzey swigged her lemonade. Increasingly, it seemed as if she was not part of her surroundings; a peculiar sensation, as if she were in a dream and observing, but detached from the party.
‘They’re all different, I suppose,’ Henzey said chattily, and smiled.
‘Oh, they fall into all sorts of categories. Do you know – in London, those on the social scene go out to dances practically every night of the season? Not any dance, mark you. Only very carefully selected ones. They owe it to themselves, you see, to be seen only at the right places. They get to know everybody on the social circuit, get to know everything about them – how much money they have, whom they hope to marry, even whom they’ve slept with.’
‘Slept with? You don’t mean…?’
‘Oh, please, don’t be shocked. That sort of thing’s par for the course these days, my dear. Whilst they’ll sleep with absolutely anybody, these socialites only fall in love with heiresses. But at least they are polite, which these days has to be admired. Immaculately dressed too. Most wear pristine white gloves so as not to mark your best silk dress with sweaty hands. Very commendable, what? Even their socks are beyond criticism, I’m told.
‘Then there’s the academic. Utterly boring. Can you imagine anything more tedious than discussing a collection of specialist books on the impact of treacle on furry worms, for instance?’
Henzey chuckled. ‘What a lark, Margot! You must get about a bit. What other sorts are there?’ She was beginning to enjoy Margot’s dissertation on today’s young men.
‘Well, I suspect the nightclub goon is worthy of mention.’
Henzey laughed. ‘The nightclub goon?’
‘You know the type. Tries to make himself look exactly like Ramon Novarro, or Ronald Colman. Hair sleeked down with hair-oil, perfumed like the inside of a whore’s handbag. Frankly, I fail to understand this fixation for emulating such people. Mind you, Henzey, the nightclub goon was doing the Charleston long before the rest of us had even heard of it. I must confess, I’ve panted with nightclub goons on many a dance floor.’
‘What about those with cars?’ Henzey asked out of self-interest, for Andrew had a car.
A man nudged Margot, placed a cigarette in her cigarette holder, and deftly lit it with a silver lighter as she put it to her lips. He smiled, looked Henzey up and down, and just as deftly moved on without a word. She drew on the cigarette as though her life depended on it, exhaling smoke in great billows. Henzey was reminded of a fiery dragon.
‘Frankly, the youth with a motor car is the worst of the lot. Absolutely reeks of engine oil. Usually got a horrid, grubby bandage on at least one finger. Conversation’s rather limited too – to carburettors and magnetos usually. And the only thing he’ll ever drive you to is drink. All he ever reads is motoring magazines, and his favourite pastime is to disappear into a smelly garage for hours on end with an equally smelly chum to hot the blessed vehicle up.’
‘What about his girlfriend?’
Margot sucked earnestly at her cigarette holder again. ‘I should say the jolly old girlfriend has to be rather slim to fit in the damn thing – like you. But whatever car he’s got, he’ll scare you rigid with his driving.’
At that, Andrew came along with a fresh pint of beer in his hand. ‘Ah, I shee you two have met,’ he said with some difficulty. ‘Margot is George’s shishter, you know. Up from Windsor for the weekend.’ He went to put his glass to his lips and slopped some over himself, which he tried to pat away with the flat of his hand.
‘Charming gel you have here, Andrew,’ Margot said. ‘Henzey and I are confidantes. Her opinion of men concurs generally with my own. What was it you said, my dear? Men are only interested in getting their oily hands up our frocks. That was it, more or less, was it not? I trust it’s not true of you, Andrew.’
Margot laughed like a donkey, and Henzey chuckled at her infectious sense of humour.
‘I’ve come to drag her away from you, Margot,’ Andrew said, a little wobbly on his legs. ‘I want to show her off to Nellie.’
‘Ah, Nellie. So be it. I’ll circulate.’
Henzey was still laughing, but stiffened a little at hearing Nellie’s name. She was longing to get a closer look at her hair, how she applied her make-up. Still holding her empty glass, she turned to follow Andrew. He led her into the breakfast room, and there she saw Nellie and her godlike companion talking and laughing with a group of people, some of whom she recognised from the roller skating rink.
But Henzey was feeling hot and light-headed. Her thoughts were becoming unfocused. ‘Andrew, would you get me some more lemonade first, please? I’m feeling a bit peculiar.’
He took her glass biddably, and was soon back at her side with a refill. She took a long drink, hoping it would clear her head. The last thing she wanted was to go down with a bout of flu.
‘Are you ready now?’
‘Yes, I’m ready.’
‘Helen, I’d like you to meet Henzey. Henzey…Helen.’
‘Nice to meet you, Henzey,’ she said with a smile.
Henzey smiled back. ‘Nice to meet you, too, Nellie.’ She tried to take in Nellie’s technique with make-up, but the handsome companion was proving a greater attraction. Her eyes swivelled towards him, and she smiled coyly in anticipation of the introduction. His eyes lit up in response, and Nellie witnessed the exchange.
‘Excuse me,’ she said severely, drawing
