Patricia and Malise Read Online Free PDF Page B

advertisements. One in particular. There was a wispy picture of a girl in bridal dress looking happy and prepared for her wedding day. Under it was written ‘… and Berlei sheets will do the rest.’ He knew, full well, that unless he found an heiress with quarterings, he was not destined to ‘do the rest.’ The realisation, since Christian’s defection, made him a trifle uneasy.
    Christian always met him at the station and asked, but showing no enthusiasm, ‘So. How is the big, bad city?’
    Christian’s life had improved. He was free of thraldom to Malise , the choir was reformed and senior scouts provided him with unsteady excitements.
    Malise, irked, decided to try returning to his old masterly ways. Shock tactics. Possibly turn the clock back.
    â€˜So Cwissy. Now you seem to think you are worthy to gather up the cwumbs.’
    â€˜Cwumbs. That’s about it. I’ll give you cwumbs.’
    No headway.
    Alyson was lamer. The father more bent.
    Apart from sporadic unease when brooding over Christian, these were happy times for Malise. He saw little of his London flat mates and found them easy to share with. Occasionally he ate in with one or other of them. Each had a regular girlfriend and sometimes brought one home for supper. Meals always ended with tinned peaches – sometimes brandy added and sometimes a tube of condensed milk. Malise liked coming in to find one or other of the courting couples on the small sofa in the sitting room. It amused him to see if he could disturb the girl into some sort of interest in him before, politely, retiring to his room to read about the Etruscans in whose history he had become doggedly intrigued. He never managed breaking a romance up, though. He felt it was because he did not try hard enough. He disliked sharing a bathroom in which he did a lot of gargling and screwed tops onto tooth-paste tubes (this reminded him of his mother and then, uneasily, of Christian when pinned to the floor) left on the basin by the others – before walking to the House of Lords in search of errands. Sometimes there were none but one of the secretaries was pretty. Solitude was necessary to him and he walked a great deal in London, scheming as he went.
    There was a network afoot in the social world and Malise managed to get himself on to some vital lists. Debutante balls were revitalised and, with his looks and his being associated, however spuriously, with The House of Lords, hostesses showed an interest in him. A redoubtable lady called Jennifer worked for the
Tatler

magazine and helped debutantes’ mothers when compiling lists for coming-out dances.
    There were no black marks against his name, even though his advancing age might have told against him. Some of the boys had NSIT next to their names – warning girls that they were not safe in taxis should they offer a lift home after a dance. Malise had never been in a taxi, nor did he plan to break the habit, safe in it or not. A small part of him disapproved of the loss of war time equality – as smart London revived to distance itself from the memory of servantless days – but he knew where he rightfully belonged.
    Before each dance there was always a dinner party – held in the house or flat of a debutante’s mother and/or father – depending on their situations in marriage.
    There were usually about ten guests, gender matched, at these dinners and many of the young men were recruited by Jennifer from an army camp at Windsor. Malise was older than the average young man. Conversation could be sticky. Young men were expected to ask the young ladies they had been seated next to at dinner to dance when they arrived at the ball.
    Often these balls took place at hotels. The Savoy River Room, The Hyde Park Hotel, Claridge’s. Malise was always wary for fear of being expected to escort a girl home. Not that he didn’t often fancy one. He liked to walk back to Pimlico –