Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford

Author:Jessica Mitford
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-68137-124-5
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2016-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

16

WE STILL HAD almost two hours before the boat would leave. Esmond suddenly became preoccupied and silent. He suggested walking down by the quai. We passed rows of waterfront cafés with their bright, painted fronts and inviting handwritten menus tacked on the doors. We leaned over the railing and watched craft of all sizes and shapes manoeuvering about in the rough, windy Channel.

“There’s something I’ve got to talk over with you,” he said, very seriously. (Had he decided after all that the search for Señor Lopez was too difficult and time-consuming, and that he must continue to Spain alone?)

Another long silence.

“I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with you.”

We selected a suitable café in which to celebrate our engagement over fines à l’eau.

Some sailors joined the festivities, offering toast after toast to les fiancés, and we almost missed the sailing of the channel steamer.

Now there was a new complication to be added to the planning department.

“How on earth can we get married?” I said. “We’ll probably both have to get our parents’ permission.”

“Oh well, don’t let’s worry about that,” answered Esmond, with a sardonic grin. “A lot of people say long engagements are the best thing.”

We arrived back in London very late at night, and at Esmond’s suggestion took a cab to Peter Nevile’s house.

Peter came to the door in his dressing gown, looking rather sleepy and cross. For a moment, he was even crosser when he heard our news. I have since learned that it invariably annoys a person’s “best friend” to hear of an engagement which comes as a complete surprise and which he or she has had no hand in promoting.

However, he cheered up when we began discussing the probable reactions of my family.

We decided I should draw up a letter to my mother for Peter to deliver at an appropriate time. Esmond was rather worried over this plan, as it violated a number of his tried and true rules for successful running away, such as “never tell a living soul,” and “never put anything in writing.” But I pointed out that eventually my parents were bound to notice when I didn’t return from Dieppe, and didn’t show up for the world cruise. I was very anxious that they should not have additional worries over where I was or with whom.

The letter began dramatically, “Darling Muv: By the time you get this, I shall be married to Esmond Romilly.”

Peter was understandably nervous about having to deliver this odd message.

‘D’you mean I’ve got to beard the Nazi baron in his den?” he drawled, in his sardonic semi-American accent.

“Oh, come on, Nevile, you know you’ll love it . . . of course, they’ll probably horsewhip you,” Esmond added reflectively, “but it really isn’t much to ask. Tell you what: Decca’s frightfully rich, you know, she’s got almost eighty pounds, or at least she did before we had to go in for all this ridiculous crossing and recrossing of the Channel. So we’ll buy you lunch at the Café Royal, to celebrate.

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