One September afternoon, the Bensons’ friends assembled for Mrs Benson’s first At Home since the wedding. She had given At Homes on the first Sunday of the month for years, with a shift lately away from literary and artistic guests and towards more social people, whom she had met through her charitable work. To the family, this September evening seemed especially different. Papa seemed quieter than usual, as though he wished the guests hadn’t come. None of Irene’s friends appeared – Mamma had anyway never entirely approved of them. Instead, in a body, several new people arrived and introduced themselves as friends of Teddy’s: the men in tweed suits, the women in well-cut coats and skirts, all healthy and nicely presented, standing up straight and talking politely to strangers and handing round cups and plates. Mrs Benson was enchanted.
‘No, Scoones isn’t fun at all,’ Mark said to Mrs Beaumont, one of his mother’s oldest friends. ‘The Diplomatic Service exams are so difficult. I pity the people who have to cram us, it must be soul-destroying, particularly if their candidate fails and they have to fill his dull mind all over again.’
‘I’m sure you won’t fail, Mark. Have you ever failed an exam?’ People who knew Mark well and saw through the reserve that he presented to the world liked him better than strangers did. ‘Are you excited by the thought of being a diplomat?’
‘What does it mean, being excited? So many people are only truly excited by football and cricket.’ He bit into a slice of cake.
‘But you will be serving your country.’
‘Oh yes. But I feel, if God and King need me, they must be in a bad way.’
‘Of course cynicism is the thing at your age.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Mark investigated the room. Sophia was listening to an ancient professor. In her nondescript brownish dress, she looked like the schoolgirl she was. Long straight red hair, pale pinched face, inward-looking features. Seven years younger, she seemed infinitely his junior.
Sophia noticed him looking at her. As sourly superior as usual, she thought. Anyone would think he was already a detestable old ambassador. At present she was busy analysing the adult world, probing the falsehood and pretension endemic in society, and its oppression of women. She was not enjoying her conversation – if conversation you can call it, when he does all the talking, she thought – with the professor of archaeology. She longed to escape to Ann Veronica. Mr Wells’s new book had to be concealed from her mother, but the story of a girl escaping from bourgeois respectability to become a New Woman engrossed her.
‘Your little sister is growing up,’ Mrs Beaumont remarked. ‘She’ll be striking when she’s older.’
‘Oh, d’you think so?’ He looked at Sophia again, in a languidly considering way. She noticed, and attempted a contemptuous leer. He saw it and laughed. She looked cross but then laughed too.
‘Shouldn’t we rescue her? It might be nice if she met Andrew again.’ Andrew was Mrs Beaumont’s son.
‘He’ll think she’s an awful baby,’ said Mark.
‘Don’t be so superior, she’s an extremely nice girl.’
At first the introduction was not a success. Andrew searched for a subject. He had just left public school, he had no sisters, girls were unfamiliar territory. His suggestion that this party was fun struck no spark. ‘How do you stand on votes for women?’ Sophia asked. He fumbled. She wanted to know if he was going to university, and when he said ‘Oxford,’ replied that she was more interested in the newer universities. ‘D’you want to go to university?’ he asked in surprise, and she replied, ‘If I’m allowed to, you never know with parents. And university had an awful effect on Mark, at Cambridge he turned into a snob.’
She wondered if she was being too sharp. He’s quite nice-looking, she thought, long eyelashes, sensitive face. But boys were a waste of time, she and her friend Laura had decided long since. She applied an acid test.
‘Do you like Shelley?’
He opened his brown eyes wide. ‘How can anyone not like Shelley?’ Her face softened. He saw that this awkward schoolgirl might become that mysterious thing, a Beauty. ‘What’s your favourite poem?’ he asked.
‘Oh, Adonais. I think it’s quite beautiful.’ And she recited:
He lives, he wakes – ’tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonis. – Thou young Dawn
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone. . .
‘What on earth is Sophia doing?’ asked Mrs Benson, approaching her old friend. ‘Reciting poetry?’
‘Yes, it’s quite charming,’ answered Mrs Beaumont.
Mrs Benson examined the two young people. Clearly they had been introduced for a purpose, but Sophia was too young to be taking an interest in boys. Really, one had less in common with Christina Beaumont than in the past.
‘Sophia!’ she called. ‘Go and help with the tea things, will you?’ She plucked Sophia by the arm. Sophia looked furious but her mother led her firmly off. They found that Teddy had taken over tea, and was giving the parlourmaid directions. ‘Oh Teddy, you are wonderful,’ said his aunt, ‘so helpful. Unlike my own children.’ Pulling her mother’s hand off her arm, Sophia slammed out of the room.
‘What a silly girl,’ said Teddy, ‘just at that difficult age. Aunt Elizabeth, I want you to meet a very special friend of mine, Victoria Drummond.’ Victoria Drummond was tall, with brown hair and a high complexion, expensively dressed, in her late twenties. ‘My colleague in Canada gave me an introduction, and Miss Drummond – Victoria – has been very kind to me.’
‘I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs Benson.’ She spoke with aristocratic self-confidence, it was thrilling. ‘Normally I’d be in Scotland at this time of year, but Edward told me I must stay in London so I could come to this. . . this gathering, which is such fun.’ She did not call him Teddy, his aunt noticed.
‘Thank you so much,’ said her hostess, glowing.
‘It’s so nice of you to let me bring some friends, I hope you’ve met them all. Did you meet Bongo Ponsonby? He’s so amusing. It’s been such fun introducing Edward around, everyone loves a Canadian.’
Though she doubted that everyone loved a Canadian or if they did, that it was sensible, Mrs Benson readily assented. She was struck by Miss Drummond’s proprietorial tone. Was Teddy already hers to be taken around? She suppressed a jealous sense that she had not had him long to herself. But then this young woman was so perfect, so comme il faut, and just the right height, an inch or two shorter than Teddy.
‘Did Edward tell you, I’m taking him to Scotland for the shooting? He claims he’s an excellent shot.’
‘But how nice of you,’ said his aunt breathlessly. ‘Where will you be staying?’
‘Oh, at my parents’ place in Perthshire. You must come and stay too.’
‘We’d love to.’ What was this place, Mrs Benson wondered. A castle? A great mansion? Already she’d decided that Perthshire in September sounded the most beautiful place on earth, that this girl (could she be titled?) made her own philanthropic peeresses seem rather dull, that the names ‘Edward and Victoria’ sounded ideal together. . .
‘I would so like to meet all the family,’ Victoria said. She varied her tone – often clipped, it could become caressing, making each listener feel they were the most desirable person in the world. ‘Dear Mrs Benson, will you introduce me to your husband? I should so like to meet him. And Mark. I think I’ve missed Sophia for the moment.’ And she laughed indulgently.
They embarked on a tour round the more important people. Victoria was the personification of easy charm, while Mrs Benson talked to Victoria and Edward’s friends, pleasant, forthright, chatty young people – so unlike her own children, who could be difficult. Edward followed. From time to time, Mrs Benson noticed, he faintly touched Victoria, and she him. It was done with a subtle intimacy, like a waft of the delicious scent emanated by this splendid young woman.
They reached Christina Beaumont, who was sitting on a sofa with her arms stretched along the back. She often did this, but this evening it was irritating, as though she possessed the place. Victoria was about to stop, but her hostess, seeing a titled Girls in Distress committee member close by, introduced her instead.
Noticing this, Mark, who sometimes surprised himself with his own kind-heartedness, went over to the Beaumonts and talked to them warmly, saying in his mother’s hearing, ‘Oh but you’ll stay to supper, won’t you? It’s no good without you.’ But they said no.
Edward and Victoria and their friends also left, in spite of being pressed to stay. Mrs Benson could hardly be bothered to preside over supper: she was so excited, Edward and his new friend had transformed her life.