A line at Christmas-time to send our best love, and to say that all our
thoughts are with you. Next Christmas, if all goes well, we shall have
you back, and things will seem more like themselves. Here, of course, a
sad shadow is cast on our festivities by the illness of the King. There
are distressing rumours, but I feel great confidence that he will pull
through in the end.
In spite of this feeling of depression and anxiety, we have decided to
make a little jaunt over to Paris. Margaret has seemed rather restless
lately, and I think this small excitement will do her good. I am such a
quiet sort of old fellow, that I fear she finds her life a trifle dull
at times. A visit to the “gay city” will set her up again, and it will
be beneficial to me, too, to be shaken out of my rut. We shall be
staying at the Hotel Victoria-Palace in the Rue ——; it is a pleasant,
respectable place, and not dear, as Paris hotels go. We shall do a
theatre or two and perhaps go up to Montmartre to see the “night-life”
one hears so much about. Young Lathom says he may be running over to
Paris for a few days, and, if so, will look us up and show us round the
town. It is kind and attentive of him, and we shall appreciate having an
up-to-date cicerone, for my own memories of Paris are very antiquated,
and I expect everything is very much changed.
I was very glad to hear that your work was progressing so well and that
your action in the matter of the man you dismissed was approved of.
Leniency in such a case is always a mistake, as I have found from bitter
experience.
We are doing better over here than we had really any right to expect
under the present depressed conditions. I think we shall secure the
contract for the Middleshire High-Power Station. If so, that will mean a
big job, which will probably take me away from London in the spring.
I am really wondering whether, before this happens, I ought not to take
some steps about replacing Miss Milsom by somebody who would be a more
suitable companion for Margaret. Miss Milsom has always seemed to me a
very tiresome woman, and lately she has been getting altogether above
herself. She consults these psycho-analytical quacks, who encourage her
to attach an absurd importance to her whims and feelings, and to talk
openly at the dinner-table about things which, in my (doubtless
old-fashioned) opinion, ought only to be mentioned to doctors. Besides,
she is very lazy and untidy, and, instead of putting her mind to the
housework, she litters the place with wool and bits of paper which she
calls “art materials,” and she borrows my paints and forgets to return
them. There is no harm, of course, in her doing needlework and making
calendars, if it does not interfere with her duties, but she has
frequently been very impertinent when I have had occasion to speak about
the unsatisfactory cooking. Lathom has been painting a picture of her—a
very clever thing, certainly, but it seems to have turned her head
completely. However, Margaret wishes to be kind to the woman, and says,
truly, that she would find it hard to get another post, so perhaps it
will be better to put up with her a little longer and see if the
situation improves. She is certainly most loyal and devoted to Margaret,
and that outweighs a great many drawbacks.
Well, I must not worry you with these small domestic matters. I hope
that you will be enjoying a very happy Christmas in your exile, and that
our little offerings have arrived quite safely. By the way, your
Plum-pudding was not, I can assure you, an example of Miss Milsom’s
culinary genius. I attended to that important matter myself—otherwise
you might have found many strange things in it—such as glass beads or
stencil-brushes! The calendar, however, was all the lady’s own work. She
wonders regularly every day whether you will like it, and whether your
colleagues will think it was painted for you by your fiancée. She means
kindly, poor woman, so, if you have not already expressed your hearty
delight, pray do so, and assure her that the masterpiece has an honoured
place on your walls.
With much love,
Your affectionate
DAD