Final Curtain Read Free

we understand our friends, doesn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Troy, ‘it does.’
    â€˜But I can’t help wondering what you’d make of Panty.’
    Troy had by this time determined to ask Thomas Ancred no questions whatever, and it was with a sense of impotent fury that she heard her own voice: ‘Did you say “Panty”?’
    â€˜She’s my niece, you know. My sister Pauline’s youngest. We call her Panty because her bloomers are always coming down. She’s a Difficult Child. Her school, which is a school for Difficult Children, was evacuated to Ancreton. They are quartered in the west wing under a very nice person called Caroline Able. Panty is frightful.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Troy, as he seemed to expect some comment.
    â€˜Yes, indeed. She’s so awful that I rather like her. She’s a little girl with two pigtails and a devilish face. This sort of thing.’
    Thomas put his long forefingers at right angles to his head, scowled abominably and blew out his cheeks. His eyes glittered. Much against her will, Troy was suddenly confronted with the face of a bad child. She laughed shortly. Thomas rubbed his hands. ‘If I were to tell you,’ he said, ‘of the things that little girl does, you would open your eyes. Well, a cactus, for instance, in Sonia’s bed! Unfortunately she’s Papa’s favourite, which makes control almost impossible. And, of course, one mustn’t beat her except in anger, because that’s not proper child psychology.’
    He stared thoughtfully into the fire. ‘Then there’s Pauline, my eldest sister; she’s the important type. And Milly, my sister-in-law, who perpetually laughs at nothing and housekeeps for Papa, since her husband, my eldest brother, Henry Irving, died.’
    â€˜ Henry Irving !’ Troy ejaculated, thinking with alarm: ‘Evidently he’s mad.’
    â€˜Henry Irving Ancred, of course. Papa had a great admiration for Irving, and regards himself as his spiritual successor, so he called Hal after him. And then there’s Sonia. Sonia is Papa’s mistress.’ Thomas cleared his throat old-maidishly. ‘Rather a Biblical situation really. You remember David and Abishag the Shunammite? They all dislike Sonia. I must say she’s a very bad actress. Am I boring you?’
    Troy, though not bored, was extremely reluctant to say so. She muttered: ‘Not at all,’ and offered Thomas a drink. He replied: ‘Yes, thank you, if you’ve got plenty.’ She went off to fetch it, hoping in the interim to sort out her reactions to her visitor. She found Katti Bostock in the dining-room.
    â€˜For pity’s sake, Katti,’ said Troy, ‘come back with me. I’ve got a sort of monster in there.’
    â€˜Is it staying to dinner?’
    â€˜I haven’t asked it, but I should think so. So we shall have to open one of Rory’s tins.’
    â€˜Hadn’t you better go back to this bloke?’
    â€˜Do come too. I’m afraid of him. He tells me about his family, presenting each member of it in a repellent light, and yet expecting me to desire nothing more than their acquaintance. And the alarming thing is, Katti, that the narrative has its horrid fascination. Important Pauline, acquisitive Sonia; dreadful little Panty, and Milly, who laughs perpetually at nothing; that’s Millamant, of course, who wrote the letter. And Papa, larger than life, and presenting himself with his own portrait because the Nation hasn’t come up to scratch—’
    â€˜You aren’t going to tell me you’ve accepted!’
    â€˜Not I. Good Lord, no! I’d be demented. But—keep an eye on me, Katti,’ said Troy.

    Thomas accepted the invitation to dinner, expressing himself as delighted with his share of tinned New Zealand crayfish. ‘We’ve got friends in New Zealand and America too,’ he said, ‘but