The ladies were dealing out destruction at their usual morning meeting, over tea in the Ladies’ Annexe to the Pharamaul Club. As always, they were carefully dressed for the occasion; they wore gay hats with flowers, gloves with frilly wrists, large white shoes like boats. They were Mrs Simpson, wife of the naval aide; Mrs Stevens, wife of the First Secretary; Mrs Rogers, wife of the Port Victoria bank manager; Miss Cafferata, an old resident and the principal hanger-on at Government House; and Mrs Burlinghame, whose husband imported kaffir-blankets on a very large scale.
There were two strong points in this interlocking team: Mrs Simpson, who had the edge from the social point of view, and Mrs Burlinghame, who scored her hits and pulled her weight by sheer vitriolic accomplishment. Mrs Rogers had an undoubted advantage, because she had access, by no very indirect means, to the state of everyone’s bank balance or overdraft; Miss Cafferata, a severe spinster of fifty-five, suffered from the fact that, when sexual matters were touched on (approximately two mornings in every three), she had to feign a coyness she did not feel, and an ignorance she was bound to profess.
Mrs Stevens, much junior in rank, and also the mother of four children (four was too many, except for those wretched Catholics who couldn’t help themselves) – Mrs Stevens mostly kept silent. She knew her place, and the others knew it too. In the Civil Service, a very long uphill climb lay ahead of her.
The subject this morning, as on many mornings in the past, was Anthea Vere-Toombs.
‘But what I don’t understand,’ said Miss Cafferata, drawing her tussore skirt closer round her legs, ‘is why her parents don’t put a stop to it. I am a great deal at Government House, as you all know. I am sure Sir Elliott and Lady Vere-Toombs–’ she enunciated the names with prodigious clarity, like a proof-reader for Burke’s Peerage, –'would never countenance this sort of behaviour.’
‘Perhaps they don’t know about it,’ said Mrs Rogers.
Mrs Simpson snorted. ‘Don’t see how they can miss it,’ she said scornfully. ‘Not if the other night at dinner is anything to go by.’
‘What actually happened?’ asked Mrs Burlinghame. ‘I heard she lost control altogether.’
‘We’ve got this new man in the office, David Bracken,’ said Mrs Simpson in explanation. She sniffed. ‘He’s all right, I suppose, if you like those amateur ex-Army types. He was sitting next to Anthea. My dear, he never got a bite to eat! She was practically crawling in his lap.’
‘It’s time that girl got married,’ said Mrs Rogers. ‘One day it’ll be too late.’
Miss Cafferata looked down her nose. ‘What do you mean, too late?’
‘I mean, she’ll go too far,’ said Mrs Rogers stoutly.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Burlinghame, launching out at a brilliant tangent, ‘she has a great deal of freedom. I mean, she can go away any time, for months if she likes. Do you remember that long holiday she took, after she and James Morrison apparently had that quarrel?’
The others digested this. Then Mrs Rogers asked, ‘You mean, she can go away to recuperate?’ Mrs Burlinghame nodded. ‘Yes. She went to Johannesburg, didn’t she? They say the doctors there are wonderful.’
Mrs Simpson drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. ‘She’d better be careful. I believe the South African police are very hot about that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of thing?’ asked Miss Cafferata.
‘Never you mind,’ said Mrs Burlinghame, playing up to the popular mystique surrounding Miss Cafferata. ‘You’re much too young to know.’
‘What about this David Bracken?’ asked Mrs Rogers. ‘Is he married?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘But I fancy he’s already looking elsewhere.’
‘Where?’ asked several ladies together.
‘Inside the office,’ answered Mrs Simpson.
‘That’s the Steuart girl, I suppose,’ said Mrs Burlinghame. ‘A bit wishy-washy, I should say, compared with our Anthea.’
‘But of course they’re working side by side all the time.’
‘As long as it’s only side by side,’ said Miss Cafferata, and giggled wildly.
‘Why, Jean!’ said Mrs Burlinghame. ‘You naughty old thing! What will you be saying next?’
‘Wouldn’t he prefer a more experienced type?’ asked Mrs Rogers.
‘Everyone’s experienced these days,’ remarked Mrs Simpson darkly.
‘Would you say,’ asked Miss Cafferata, ‘that the Steuart girl was experienced?’
‘My husband says,’ said Mrs Stevens, so unexpectedly that they all looked at her, ‘that she’s very good in the office.’
There was a silence.
‘How very interesting,’ said Miss Cafferata.
‘Do they work together?’ asked Mrs Burlinghame.
‘No,’ answered Mrs Stevens, already regretting her interruption. ‘They’re in different rooms.’
‘Sounds like a hotel,’ said Mrs Burlinghame coarsely. ‘You know – one of those hotels.’
‘Bracken’s room is next door to hers,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘He changed offices. Don’t ask me why.’
‘Anthea will have to watch out.’
‘Oh, she’s got a trick or two up her sleeve.’
‘It’s not her sleeve I’m thinking of.’
‘I heard that Bracken asked her to look at his new flat, the very next morning.’
‘Perhaps she’ll be taking another trip to Johannesburg before long.’
‘Of course, she’s getting a bit old now.’
‘She’d better not count on it.’
The door opened, diplomatically slow, and Anthea Vere-Toombs came in.
‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘Hope I’m not too late for tea.’
‘You’re just in time,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘We were hoping you’d be able to come along.’
‘You’re always welcome,’ said Mrs Rogers. ‘What a pretty hat!’
‘Busy this morning, dear?’ asked Miss Cafferata, when Anthea had settled herself.
‘Yes, fairly.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Miss Cafferata. ‘Enjoy yourself when you’re young. That’s what we’ve just been saying.’