The Finishing Touch by Brigid Brophy Read Free Book Online

…

IV

     
    B Y SOME oversight, although there were five persons (Antonia, her nosegay, H.R.H.), there were only four copies of the text.
    (Antonia had decided to read with them some poems of Renée Vivien.)
    Who, then, should share Antonia’s copy?
    Not H.R.H., whom Antonia had already placed in an arm chair which was in fact deeply comfortable and would therefore pass for the place of honour, but whose arms, rendering the occupant all but besieged, made unthinkable any encroachment of sharing … It was placed, this chair, at the furthest remove from Antonia’s own; even so, Antonia expected to undergo some suffering by virtue of her long sight …
    Not, Antonia decided, Eugénie Plash … Ever since Antonia’s notice had been drawn to Sylvie Plash, she could not prevent herself from remarking that there was between the two faces an extreme familial resemblance. Indeed, it would be hard to point any more than subjectively perceived distinction: no doubt if one took a measuring rod to the two there would turn out to be virtually nothing in it …
    It lay, therefore, between the President’s daughter and Regina Outre-Mer.
    Ever since Regina’s own demonstration had been reinforced by Commander Curl’s, Antonia had borne in the front of her mind the prettiness of blushes and the pleasures of provoking them. If the President’s damson daughter had a defect—and she must be allowed one; she was only human (surely?)—it was that she could not—well, one could not, naturally, expect her to …
    It was, therefore, to Regina Outre-Mer that Antonia frailly signalled a small patting gesture of the air beside her; Regina who sank (how prettily) on to the rose-pink, rose-soft carpet at Antonia’s pointed feet; Regina whose bent head indicated she was blushing already (but she must look up if she was to see the text; meanwhile, how appealing the chrysanthemum top presented to Antonia’s view).
    Royalty, of course, did not mind: did not notice. The President’s daughter noticed but seemed not to care. (I think, Antonia remarked to herself and felt sad at the thought, she was never really interested in the first place; perhaps—ah, a second’s faintness at the heart—these girls from torrid countries are, ultimately,cold …) From Eugénie Plash’s pout Antonia turned away. It put her in mind of Sylvie.
    Regina Outre-Mer’s arm lay alongside, lay almost touching, Antonia’s. Regina’s little wrist knob turned, wriggled, darting as a lizard, scintillating as a jewelled watch, this way and that, in embarrassment? in pleasure?, distracting Antonia’s eye from Renée Vivien … O, most poignant of little poignets … Yet one could not very well, beneath the staring face of royalty (deep-puzzled by Renée Vivien), lean forward to kiss it …

V

     
    H ETTY’S MIND became a teeming womb of royal hazards.
    Every day, every hour it seemed to Antonia (already wearied by the high summer heat), Hetty’s imagination gave phantom-birth to another catastrophe. Not alone the real dangers of press photographers (Hetty had had to throw stones at one before he would climb down from the garden wall; flapping her arms had made no effect) and sailors (both the native ones with their absurd red pom-poms on their hats and the British with their absurd naked knees twinkling—because peeling —like pink pom-poms)—though in fact Antonia judged royalty unsusceptible to the advances of sailors—or anyone else; the most far-conjured eventualities rose to frighten Hetty in the night and, in the morning, pale over Antonia’s breakfast tray (so offputting—even if the pineapple and passionfruit conserve had been of her best), she would offer:
    Suppose royalty should fall into the sea?
    Suppose royalty should contract la grippe?
    Suppose the cuisine should not agree with …
    If royalty gets la grippe, thought Antonia—a far worse hazard was that Hetty should lose hers.
    Why should Hetty now flinch from her share of the responsibility (if