“Take care of them,” she whispered. “Dear, take care of them. Keep your
eyes on that Venice child. She’s reckless. Quick, and catch them up. I
rely on you somehow----”
“You mustn’t, Iris. I am enemy to Iris Storm.”
“Oh, friends and enemies! One relies on what people are in themselves,
no matter what circumstances may make them feel.”
“And circumstances, Iris--do they make a woman so heartless?”
“Heartless! That’s a large word, rather. Heartless? But maybe I am tired
of being unhappy. So maybe I walked into a garden and built a high wall
round it. Oh, may be, may be! Dear friend, go after them now. I am
nervous, they’re so young. By their voices, they seem to have gone very
far....”
But from the water the voices seemed to come from within a foot of one’s
ear. They must, I thought, be straight ahead, towards the opposite bank.
Swiftly a whisper cut the water near me, past me. “Young slacker!” came
Guy’s murmur. But I, not for exercise was I on the bosom of the waters
that night. I lazed, listening to the voices ahead, sharp and clear
across the water. Dimly, softly, clammy-cold, a weed would brush one.
The stars were like the lance-points of a mighty host marching down to
the chastisement of the world. But the darkness baffled them, whilst I
floated into the heart of it, I loitered.
“Mind your head on this quay here, Venice! Venice! Hello, where’s
Venice?”
“Here. I say, what’s this place?”
“Oh, my pretty dears, why isn’t one always in the water! I say, what’s
this wooden thing?”
“Looks like a landing-stage to me. What? I say, Hugo, what’s this place?
What?”
“Am I a graduate of Maidenhead, asking me? But let’s try the place,
anyway.”
“I’ve heard there’s a River-Night-Club arrangement about here. Very
exclusive.”
“We know. Excludes all who can’t crowd in. Come on. Me for wine.”
I found them, having almost broken my shins against a wooden affair,
lying grouped on what Shirley said was unmistakably “a sweep of velvet
sward.” Venice, it seemed, was exploring. You couldn’t see your hand
before your face. But you didn’t want to.
“Funny,” sighed Hugo, “if chap, just any chap, probably quite a nice
chap, but timid chap, wakes from sleep to see Venice looking in on him.
Mermaid theory....”
“Wot’s this?” snapped a voice. “You’re trespassing.”
“What did you think we were doing?” Napier asked mildly. “Playing
dominoes?”
“Tell us what this place is,” said Shirley severely, “and perhaps we may
let you go.”
“Gawd, don’t you know The River Club!”
“I knew it was,” said Hugo proudly, “as soon as I picked up a bus-ticket
scented with Bacardie Rum----”
“But where’s Venice?” cried Shirley sharply, “Venice, Oh!”
The darkness stirred, and from the river-edge Napier called on the name
of Venice.
“All right, all right! Here I am.”
“Venice!” cried Guy sharply. “Keep straight ahead towards that canoe.”
“I’ll swear,” said Napier, “her voice came a good way from the left.
What?”
“From the right, and what to you,” said Hugo.
“From the left,” said Napier, and there was a faint splash and a faint
rustle from the water.
“Now, Shirley,” said Guy, “I’ll drown you if you go playing any fancy
tricks. Come along, let’s race back.”
“Naps, found her?”
“Oh, she’s only playing the fool!” came Napier’s voice. “Heard her a
moment ago. It’s all right.”
I think that Guy and Hugo and Shirley must have deflected rather to one
side, for although I was the poorest swimmer of the four I arrived first
at the boat. My sight in the darkness was not helped by bumping my head
against the gunwale.
“Iris! Iris?”
“Hello, where’s Iris? What? God, it’s dark....”
“But haven’t you found Venice?”
“Oh, she’s playing the fool! Missed her....” We held on to the gunwale,
panting. “God, man, where’s Iris? What? I say, Iris!”
“She must have got out to stretch her legs,” I said.
“Yes--God, look!” panted Napier. “What the devil! What?”
Hugo’s voice, Shirley’s, Guy’s.
Napier and I were in the canoe. Iris’s white dress lay anyhow over the
cushions in the middle, over the watches and rings. I stumbled over her
shoes.
“Oh!” sobbed Shirley. “Something’s happened!”
“Naps, what is it?” snapped Guy from the water.
“Iris--I say, she must have changed her mind and gone in!”
“Stuff, changed her mind! Gone in after Venice, you mean!”
“Iris! Iris!” Hugo called. We all called.
“But where’s Venice?” Shirley screamed just as Napier plunged in again.
“Iris! Venice! Iris!”
“For God’s sake, Naps, take care!” snapped Guy. “Don’t go under that
bridge.”
“Iris! Venice! Venice!”
Shirley was sobbing. In the pitch darkness....
“Hugo,” said Guy, “you and I together, for that bridge. Here, this
way.... Naps, Naps! Come back, you fool!”
“Help....”
“God, who’s that! Iris? Venice?”
“Help ... here, to the right....” An exhausted whisper from the pit of
the water.
“It’s Iris,” said Guy. “Where are you, Iris? Here, I’m in the water.
Hold on.”
“Quick ... tired....”
“But where’s Venice?” screamed Shirley.
“All right, Iris has got her....”
Iris’s whisper: “Call Napier back. Oh, dear....”
“Naps! Naps!”
“All right, coming.”
“Hang on, Hugo!” said Guy from the water. “Iris coming. Pull, you fool.
I’ve got Venice.”
“Please, my foot....”
“Hugo, don’t capsize the bloody boat!” sobbed Shirley. “Naps, here they
are! Guy, give me Venice at once! Venice!”
“All right, Guy.” Was that Venice’s voice? “I can manage....”
“You’ve managed quite enough, you have!” said Hugo. “You all right,
Iris?”
Iris was lying panting somewhere in the canoe. Mostly on our flannels, I
thought. But you couldn’t see a thing. We were on the quay, Hugo, Guy,
and I. Then Napier came. A silent, phantom presence.
“Don’t strike a match, any one,” Iris whispered. “I’m in my chemise ...
what’s left of it....”
A sob, a jumble, a cry: “Oh, God, Oh, God! I’m so glad to be back!”
“Little donkey!” said Guy. “All right now, Venice?”
“Hugo,” Iris called, very huskily, “where’s that champagne? Venice
would like ... Child, must you breathe your last down my neck?”
“You saved me!” sobbed Venice. “Yes, you did!”
“Ssh!”
“Ow, I was frightened!”
“Like a mouse in the water. Poor Venice....”
“Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm,” said Shirley brusquely. Shirley
would be a little jealous now of Venice liking Iris....
“Listen!” cried Venice into the night. “This woman saved me. Saved my
life, she did! ‘Oi!’ said I, and there she was, quick as quick....”
“But, Venice, you’re sitting on my only other stocking, and I’ve only
got two!”
“Pop!” said the champagne.
“Have mine, please do! Like barefoot. Jimmy, I got such a bump on the
head.”
“How?” Guy asked dangerously.
“Against the bridge, please....”
“That’s only bump (a),” said Hugo kindly. “There’s still bump (b) coming
to you, if I heard aright.”
“You did,” said Guy.
“You leave her alone!” snapped Shirley.
“Venice?” Napier’s voice, a white, still voice. He was kneeling, beside
me, peering into the canoe. “All right now, Venice?”
“Yes, Naps.” A shy, uncertain voice that was. She was afraid. “You must
thank Mrs. Storm for that....”
Napier did not call on Iris’s name. Hugo chattered to cover the silence.
I thought I heard Guy mutter something between his teeth. During the
next few minutes Hugo’s dexterity with the champagne was a great relief.
Dear Hugo.
“Venice!” said Guy beside me, chill, queerly harsh. “Your health,
Venice! You’ll need a good deal, if you go playing any more tricks like
that.”
Shirley was saying: “Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm. Do have my
stockings, please....”
“Oh ... no, it’s quite all right, really. Please, really. But would you
mind seeing if my shoes are anywhere there, by the steering-wheel
thing?”
Formal, like the voices of women in a drawing-room.
Iris called to me for a cigarette. It was her right hand to which I gave
it. It seemed very naked, that right hand. “Your ring, Iris?”
“In the Thames,” she whispered. “Fallen for ever! Not a word....”
Venice was explaining to the darkness, gulping lavishly at her
champagne: “Thought I’d go for a swim and not just paddle about. Thought
I’d be clever. Thought you were fools. Thought I’d thought right.
Thought I’d--anyhow, I caught my head crack (a) on that bridge. And then
I didn’t want to let out a yell about nothing and look a silly ass.
Heard you calling me, but thought I’d better keep my breath for
swimming. Began swimming, and got a weed like a wrestler’s torso round
me. Head hurt, like hell it did. Thinks I, now for a yell, but began
kicking instead----”
“You would!”
“Wait. And my head hurt. And I was frightened to death. And I prayed
like fury. Naps! Where’s Naps? I missed you. And when I wanted to yell
all I could let out was a miow. And Mrs. Storm--well, Iris, as she saved
my life, cries out: ‘Oi, what’s that? Who? Where?’ And before you could
say knife, and just as I was succumbing to a watery grave, she was
saving my life, quick as you like. Quick, terse stuff. She could swim
all of us off our feet, she could....”
“Get very easily tired,” Iris said.
“Iris!” Napier’s voice, sharp. “You dressed? What? Risky for you,
messing about, after your illness.”
“I’m almost ready, Napier.” Impatient, Iris’s voice was, I thought.
“Naps, get a rug from the car. She’s shivering.”
“Please!” Iris whispered, frantically, desperately. “For pity’s sake,
please not!”
Silence....
As we collected round the two motor-cars, Guy, fiddling about with his
starting-arrangements, seemed, I thought, to be saying something. But he
was only swearing.
At the back of the Hispano Iris went to sleep against my shoulder. She
spoke in her sleep: “You will find me quite light on you, as I haven’t
got a chemise. They say it is very smart, to be chemiseless. Already I
feel less of an outlaw from society. She did it on purpose.”
“Iris!”
“She did. Half on purpose. I know she did. The pet! Oh, dear....”
“But, Iris, why?”
“Because, dear. So that I should like her....”
“Oh! Well, do you?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“Well?”
“I’m sorry if my hair is tickling your face.”
“Well, now you like her, does it make any difference?”
“No. Oh, no.”
“Oh!”
“Good-night.”