THE COLLECTED WORKS OF E. M. DELAFIELD (Illustrated Edition). E. M. Delafield
party.
June 11th.--Distinguished Professor proves far less amenable than I had expected, and am obliged to call in Editorial assistance. Am informed by a side-wind that Distinguished Professor has said she Hates me, which seems to me neither dignified nor academic method of expressing herself--besides being definitely un-Christian.
Apart from this, preparations go on successfully, and I get myself a new frock for the occasion.
June 16th.--Reach Hotel at 4 o'clock, marvellous weather, frock very successful, and all is couleur-de-rose. Am met by official, to whom I murmur Time and Tide? and he commands minor official, at his elbow, to show Madam the Spanish Grill. (Extraordinary and unsuitable association at once springs to mind here, with Tortures of the Inquisition.) The Spanish Grill is surrounded by members of the Time and Tide Staff--Editor materialises, admirably dressed in black, and chills me to the heart by saying that as I happen to be here early I had better help her receive arrivals already beginning. (This does not strike me as a happy way of expressing herself.) Someone produces small label, bearing name by which I am--presumably--known to readers of Time and Tide, and this I pin to my frock, and feel exactly like one of the lesser exhibits at Madame Tussaud's.
Distinguished Professor, who does not greet me with any cordiality, is unnecessarily insistent on seeing that I do my duty, and places me firmly in receiving line. Several hundred millions then invade the Hotel, and are shaken hands with by Editor and myself. Official announcer does marvels in catching all their names and repeating them in superb shout. After every tenth name he diversifies things by adding, three semi-tones lower, The Editor receiving, which sounds like a Greek chorus, and is impressive.
Delightful interlude when I recognise dear Rose, with charming and beautifully dressed doctor friend from America, also Rose's niece--no reference made by either of us to Women's Institutes--the Principal from Mickleham Hall, of whom I hastily enquire as to Vicky's welfare and am told that she is quite well, and Very Good which is a relief,--and dear Angela, who is unfortunately just in time to catch this maternal reference, and looks superior. Regrettable, but undoubtedly human, aspiration crosses my mind that it would be agreeable to be seen by Lady B. in all this distinguished society, but she puts in no appearance, and have very little doubt that next time we meet I shall be riding a bicycle strung with parcels on way to the village, or at some similar disadvantage.
Soon after five o'clock I am told that We might go and have some tea now--which I do, and talk to many very agreeable strangers. Someone asks me Is Francis Iles here? and I have to reply that I do not know, and unknown woman suddenly joins in and assures me that Francis Iles is really Mr. Aldous Huxley, she happens to know. Am much impressed, and repeat this to several people, by way of showing that I possess inside information, but am disconcerted by unknown gentleman who tells me, in rather grave and censorious accents, that I am completely mistaken, as he happens to know that Francis Iles is in reality Miss Edith Sitwell. Give the whole thing up after this, and am presently told to take my seat on platform for Debate.
Quite abominable device has been instituted by which names of speakers are put into a hat, and drawn out haphazard, which means that none of us know when we are to speak except one gentleman who has--with admirable presence of mind--arranged to have a train to catch, so that he gets called upon at once.
Chairman does her duties admirably--justifies my insistence over and over again--speeches are excellent, and audience most appreciative.
Chairman--can she be doing it on purpose, from motives of revenge?--draws my name late in the day, and find myself obliged to follow after admirable and experienced speakers, who have already said everything that can possibly be said. Have serious thoughts of simulating a faint, but conscience intervenes, and I rise. Special Providence mercifully arranges that exactly as I do so I should meet the eye of American publisher, whom I know well and like. He looks encouraging--and I mysteriously find myself able to utter. Great relief when this is over.
Short speech from Time and Tide's Editor brings down the house, and Debate is brought to a close by the Chairman.
Party definitely a success, and am impressed by high standard of charm, good looks, intelligence, and excellent manners of Time and Tide readers. Unknown and delightful lady approaches me, and says, without preliminary of any kind: How is Robert? which pleases me immensely, and propose to send him a post card about it to-night.
Am less delighted by another complete stranger, who eyes me rather coldly and observes that I am What She Calls Screamingly Funny. Cannot make up my mind if she is referring to my hat, my appearance generally, or my contributions to Time and Tide. Can only hope the latter.
Am offered a lift home in a taxi by extremely well-known novelist, which gratifies me, and hope secretly that as many people as possible see me go away with him, and know who he is--which they probably do--and who I am--which they probably don't.
Spend entire evening in ringing up everybody I can think of, to ask how they enjoyed the Party.
June 18th.--Heat-wave continues, and everyone says How lovely it must be in the country, but personally think it is lovely in London, and am more than content.
Write eloquent letter to Robert suggesting that he should come up too, and go with me to Robin's School Sports on June 25th and that we should take Vicky. Have hardly any hope that he will agree to any of this.
Rose's Viscountess--henceforth Anne to me--rings up, and says that she has delightful scheme by which Rose is to motor me on Sunday to place--indistinguishable on telephone--in Buckinghamshire, where delightful Hotel, with remarkably beautiful garden, exists, and where we are to meet Anne and collection of interesting literary friends for lunch. Adds flatteringly that it will be so delightful to meet me again--had meant to say this myself about her, but must now abandon it, being unable to think out paraphrase in time. Reply that I shall look forward to Sunday, and we ring off.
Debate question of clothes--wardrobe, as usual, is deficient--and finally decide on green coat and skirt if weather cool, and new flowered tussore if hot.
(Problem here concerned with head-gear, as hat suitable for flowered tussore too large and floppy for motoring, and all other smaller hats--amounting to two, and one cap--entirely wrong colour to go with tussore.)
Literary Agent takes me out to lunch--is very nice--suggests that a little work on my-part would be desirable. I agree and sit and write all the evening vigorously.
June 19th.--Really very singular day, not calculated to rank amongst more successful experiences of life. Am called for by dear Rose in car, and told to hold map open on my knee, which I do, but in spite of this we get lost several times and Rose shows tendency to drive round and round various villages called Chalfont. After saying repeatedly that I expect the others will be late too, and that Anyway we have time in hand, I judge it better to introduce variations to the effect that We can't be far off now, and What about asking? Rose reluctantly agrees, and we ask three people, two of whom are strangers in the district, and the third is sorry but could not say at all, it might be ahead of us, or on the other hand we might be coming away from it. At this Rose mutters expletives and I feel it best to be silent.
Presently three Boy Scouts are sighted, and Rose stops again and interrogates them. They prove very willing and produce a map, and giggle a good deal, and I decide that one of them is rather like Robin, and forget to listen to what they say. Rose, however, dashes on again, and I think with relief that we are now doing well, when violent exclamation breaks from her that We have passed that self-same church tower three times already. Am filled with horror--mostly at my own inferior powers of observation, as had no idea whatever that I had ever set eyes on church tower in my life before--and suggest madly that we ought to turn to the right, I think. Rose--she must indeed be desperate--follows this advice and in about three minutes we miraculously reach our destination, and find that it is two o'clock. Dining-room is discovered--entire party half-way through lunch, and obviously not in the least pleased to see us--which is perfectly natural, as eruptions of this kind destructive to continuity of conversation, always so difficult of achievement in any case. Everyone says we must be Starving, and egg-dish is recalled--eggs disagree with me and am obliged to say