drawing room.
The first thing that struck Anna about Great-Aunt Sarah’s old ladies was that they all looked a good deal younger than Great-Aunt Sarah. There were about a dozen of them, all elegantly dressed with elaborate hats. They had finished playing bridge – Anna could see the card tables pushed back against the wall – and were now drinking tea and helping themselves to tiny biscuits which the maid was handing round on a silver tray.
“Every Thursday they come,” whispered Great-Aunt Sarah in German. “Poor old things, they have nothing better to do. But they’re all very rich and they give me money for my needy children.”
Anna, who had only just got over her surprise at Great-Aunt Sarah’s old ladies, found it even more difficult to imagine her with needy children – or indeed with any children at all – but she did not have time to ponder the problem for she was being loudly introduced along with Mama.
“My niece and her daughter have come from Germany,” shouted Great-Aunt Sarah in French but with a strong German accent. “Say bongshour!” she whispered to Anna.
“Bonjour,” said Anna.
Great-Aunt Sarah threw up her hands in admiration. “Listen to the child!” she cried. “Only a few weeks she has been in Paris and already she speaks French better than I!”
Anna found it difficult to keep up this impression when one of the ladies tried to engage her in conversation, but she was saved from further efforts when Great-Aunt Sarah’s voice boomed out again.
“I have not seen my niece for years,” she shouted, “and I have been longing to have a talk with her.”
At this the ladies hurriedly drank up their tea and began to make their farewells. As they shook hands with Great-Aunt Sarah they dropped some money into a box which she held out to them, and she thanked them. Anna wondered just how many needy children Great-Aunt Sarah had got. Then the maid escorted the ladies to the door and at last they had all disappeared.
It was nice and quiet without them, but Anna noticed with regret that the silver tray with the little biscuits had disappeared along with the ladies and that the maid was gathering up the empty cups and carrying them out of the room. Great-Aunt Sarah must have forgotten her promise of tea. She was sitting on the sofa with Mama and telling her about her needy children. It turned out that they were not her own after all but a charity for which she was collecting money, and Anna who had briefly pictured Great-Aunt Sarah with a secret string of ragged urchins felt somehow cheated. She wriggled restlessly in her chair, and Great-Aunt Sarah must have noticed for she suddenly interrupted herself.
“The child is bored and hungry,” she cried and added to the maid, “Have the old ladies all gone?”
The maid replied that they had.
“Well then,” cried Great-Aunt Sarah, “you can bring in the real tea!”
A moment later the maid staggered back under a tray loaded with cakes. There must have been five or six different kinds, apart from an assortment of sandwiches and biscuits. There was also a fresh pot of tea, chocolate and whipped cream.
“I like cakes,” said Great-Aunt Sarah in answer to Mama’s look of astonishment, “but it’s no use offering them to those old ladies – they’re much too careful of their diets. So I thought we’d have our tea after they’d gone.” So saying she slapped a large portion of apple flan on to a plate, topped it with whipped cream and handed it to Anna. “The child needs feeding,” she said.
During tea she asked Mama questions about Papa’s work and about their flat, and sometimes Mama had to repeat her answers into the ear-trumpet. Mama talked about everything quite cheerfully, but Great-Aunt Sarah kept shaking her head and saying, “To have to live like this …such a distinguished man …!” She knew all Papa’s books and bought the Daily Parisian specially to read his articles. Every so often she would look at Anna, saying, “And the child – so skinny!” and ply her with more cake.
At last, when no one could eat any more, Great-Aunt Sarah heaved herself out from behind the tea-table and set off at her usual trot towards the door, beckoning to Mama and Anna to follow. She led them to another room which seemed to be entirely filled with cardboard boxes.
“Look,” she said. “All this I have been given for my needy children.”
The boxes were filled with lengths of cloth in all sorts of different colours and thicknesses.
“One of my old ladies is married to a textile manufacturer,” explained Great-Aunt Sarah. “So he is very rich and he gives me all the ends of material he does not want. Now I have an idea – why shouldn’t the child have some of it? After all it is for needy children, and she is as needy as most.”
“No, no,” said Mama, “I don’t think I could …”
“Ach – always so proud,” said Great-Aunt Sarah. “The child needs new clothes. Why shouldn’t she have some?”
She rummaged in one of the boxes and pulled out some thick woollen material in a lovely shade of green. “Just nice for a coat,” she said, “and a dress she needs, and perhaps a skirt …”
In no time at all she had assembled a pile of cloth on the bed, and when Mama tried again to refuse she only cried, “Such nonsense! You want the police should arrest the child for going about with her pants showing?”
At this Mama who had in any case not been protesting very hard, had to laugh and give in. The maid was asked to wrap it all up, and when it was time to leave Mama and Anna each had a big parcel to carry.
“Thank you very, very much!” Anna shouted into Great-Aunt Sarah’s ear-trumpet. “I’ve always wanted a green coat!”
“I wish you luck to wear it!” Great-Aunt Sarah shouted back.
Then they were outside, and as Anna and Mama walked back in the dark they talked all the way about the different pieces of material and what they could be made into. As soon as they got home Mama telephoned Madame Fernand who was delighted and said they must bring everything round the following Thursday for a great dress-making session.
“Won’t it be lovely!” cried Anna. “I can’t wait to tell Papa!” – and just then Papa came in. She told him excitedly what had happened. “And I’ll be able to have a dress and a coat,” she gabbled, “and Great-Aunt Sarah just gave it to us because it was meant for needy children and she said I was as needy as most, and we had a lovely tea and …”
She stopped because of the expression on Papa’s face.
“What is all this?” he said to Mama.
“It’s just as Anna told you,” said Mama, and there was something careful about her voice. “Great-Aunt Sarah had a whole lot of cloth which had been given to her and she wanted Anna to have some.”
“But it had been given to her for needy children,” said Papa.
“That’s only what it was called,” said Mama. “She’s interested in various charities – she’s a very kind woman …”
“Charities?” asked Papa. “But we can’t accept charity for our children.”
“Oh, why must you always be so difficult?” shouted Mama. “The
