“Thank you,” said Giles quietly. “Now, whatever else we regret, we shall
never regret having come to see you this morning.” He paused. “Setting
aside Sentiment, the answer is this. We should like to be able to forget
the last three months. As we can’t, we think it better to prevent their
becoming six.”
Forsyth inclined his head.
“Very good. Am I to draw up a deed? A deed of separation?”
“Please.”
“What about trustees?”
“Are they a necessary evil? We don’t mind you. In fact, you come under
godsends. But the idea of inducting others into our private confessional
is peculiarly repugnant.”
“It’s worse than that,” said Katharine. “We three are familiar. If I
think Mr. Forsyth a brute, I can ring up and tell him so. I couldn’t do
that to a trustee. In fact, the whole arrangement would become stiff,
reinforced—like putting bones in a belt.”
“You couldn’t, for instance,” said her husband, “employ that simile. For
your information, Forsyth, that’s not a proverb. Below the surface
female woman wears a sort of comic cummerbund, four sizes too small. The
idea is to displace the vitals. If she wants to shorten her life, she
lines it with strips of whalebone, running the wrong way. Thus with the
minimum of motion she gets the maximum of pain.”
“That,” said Forsyth uncertainly, “is not admittedly the function of
trustees. Still, there are times when they are inconvenient. They
certainly tend to cramp the style. Nevertheless . . . I’ll tell you
what,” he added suddenly. “If you like, I’ll be your trustee.”
The two raised their eyes to heaven ecstatically.
“A little more,” said Katharine, “and you shall use our bathroom.”
“That,” explained Giles, “is a kind of Garter—the highest honour it’s
in our power to bestow.”
Forsyth picked up a pen.
“Tell me,” he said, “what sort of an arrangement you want.”
“Well, we’re going shares,” said Giles. “Once a month, I’ll send her
two-thirds of all the dividends and rents I’ve had.”
“Of course it’s grotesque,” said Katharine, “but I’ll do the same.”
“Yes? What about the house?”
“She’s going to caretake for me, and keep the servants on. I shall pay
half her expenses.”
“Oh, rot!” said Mrs. Festival.
“My dear,” said Giles, “the bed of my mind is made up. Don’t rumple it.”
“I think that’s fair,” said Forsyth, wondering what the Law Society
would say. “Next?”
“He’ll take the Rolls,” said Katharine, “and I’ll have the coupé.”
Giles hesitated.
“I had thought——” he began.
“Don’t be Quixotic,” said his wife. “You worship that car. Last time I
drove her, you said——”
“Not before the child,” said Giles. “I withdraw. Besides, I never meant
it. I was all worked up, I was. You worked me.”
“That all?” said Forsyth hastily.
“Well, I shall take my sponge,” said Giles. “She’s very kindly promised
to let me use hers, if—er . . .”
By a superhuman effort Forsyth maintained his gravity.
“That sort of thing’s understood,” he said shortly. “I’ll put in the
usual covenants not to molest, pledge credit—er—er—etc., and myself
as trustee. I suppose you want it at once?”
“As soon as you can,” said Giles. “If we could have it to-night, we
could go over it together, sign it, and I could push off to-morrow
morning.”
“I’ll try. When you’ve signed it, return it to me. I’ll send you copies
to keep in a day or two’s time. By the way, what’s your address?”
Captain Festival mentioned a club. “Right.” The lawyer rose to his feet
and preceded the two to the door. “I’m sorry, you know, but I’m glad you
came to me. Come again whenever you please. I’ll show no fear nor
favour—I promise you that. Let three be company, even if two’s none.”
They shook hands silently.
By one consent, Captain and Mrs. Festival drove straight to Bond Street
and selected a gold cigarette-case. This was presently engraved and then
delivered to an address in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
The inscription was simple.
G
.
G.K.F
.
F
* * * * *
The news of the separation spread slowly.
This was because it was wholly disbelieved. Everyone immediately assumed
that Giles and Katharine Festival were being humorous.
The former was lectured upon ‘cruelty’ at the Club.
The latter was mocked over the telephone.
“Is that you, Katharine? . . . I say, how many ‘l’s’ are there in
‘alimony’? . . . What? . . . Oh, but how sweet! . . . Never mind. Put a
fiver on Decree Nisi for luck. . . .”
It was intolerable.
On the third day Katharine left Town—destination unknown.
On the fourth day Giles fled to Evian, leaving a note for his wife, to
be delivered after he had gone.
On the fifth day they met on the shore of the lake of Geneva.
“Hullo, Gill,” said Katharine. “How on earth did you know?”
“Know?” faltered Giles. “Go—go away. This is molestation.”
“It looks rather like it,” said Mrs. Festival. “Still, if you’ve got
some possible cigarettes, I’ll let that go. Oh, and you might take that,
will you?” She gave him a letter bearing his name and address. “It’ll
save my posting it.”
It seemed ridiculous not to dine together. . . .