The House That Berry Built by Dornford Yates

Author:Dornford Yates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The House That Berry Built
ISBN: 9780755127160
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2013-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

10

In Which Two is No Company,

and Jill has Cause for Alarm

There is no dame like London, and I was more than glad to see her again. I had three full days with her – and a list as long as my arm of things to be done. On Friday evening I crossed the last thing out. That was a present for Joseph – a quarto volume on building, rich in photography. The photographs showed the details of every kind of construction from footings to chimney-pots, and, though, of course, the text was in English, with such a volume before him, a man like Joseph would have no need of words. The pictures spoke for themselves – to one who had eyes to see. And Joseph had.

All the luggage had been dispatched directly to Pau: I had been to Whitehall and had suggested someone to take ‘Old Rowley’s’ place as one of White Ladies’ trustees: Jill’s wristwatch was in my pocket – a fairy trifle that I was afraid to touch, and a belt – so-called – for Daphne was hidden in one of my shirts.

And one other thing I had done – at great expense. Waterloo Bridge was gone: but I had purchased six of its balusters. These had been kept for me in a builder’s yard. I had hoped they would stand at White Ladies: but now White Ladies was gone. And so I arranged for them to travel by sea to Bordeaux: and from there by train to Nareth – that they might end their days in an English garden deep in the Pyrénées. Good and faithful servants for one hundred and twenty years, they were to be pensioned off – and given a terrace to keep; the clouds would wait upon them and wash them clean, they would sleek themselves in a sunshine that they had never known, and lizards would lie along their pedestals and mould themselves to their curves. ‘End their days.’ I should have said ‘See out Time.’ Age cannot wither the stuff of which Waterloo Bridge was built.

And then, on Saturday morning, the fog began to come down…

Had I been wise, I should have taken the train at eleven o’clock: but I loathe the train and the boat as much as I love the air, so I hoped for the best and made my way to Croydon – and met my fate.

At half-past twelve I spoke with the pilot himself.

“It’s anyone’s guess,” he said, “but, strictly between you and me, I would lay two to one that no plane will take off today.”

“What about tomorrow?” I said.

“Perhaps. I’m not at all sure. If I wanted to get to Paris, I’d take the train.”

By now I had missed my connection – Paris to Pau. But there was a day train to Pau – The Sud Express. This left Paris at eleven and got in at nine at night. I decided to sleep in Paris and take that train the next day. But I was extremely cross – I always am, when I am unhorsed, so to speak, at the starting-gate.

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