They both liked people and discussing people. Joanna had an amusing if caustic tongue.
It was not because Mrs. Allerton feared that Tim might fall in love with Joanna that she found herself alway becoming a little stiff in manner if Joanna were present or when letters from her arrived.
It was some other feeling hard to defineperhaps an unacknowledged jealousy in the unfeigned pleasure Tim always seemed to take in Joanna’s society.
He and his mother were such perfect companions that the sight of him absorbed and interested in another woman always startled Mrs. Allerton slightly. She fancied, too, that her own presence on these occasions set some barrier between the two members of the younger generation. Often she had come upon them eagerly absorbed in some conversation, and at sight of her their talk had wavered, had seemed to include her rather too purposefully and as in duty bound. Quite definitely, Mrs. Allerton did not like Joanna Southwood. She thought her insincere, affected and essentially superficial. She found it very hard to prevent herself saying so in unmeasured tones.
In answer to her question, Tim pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced through it. It was quite a long letter, his mother noted.
“Nothing much,” he said. “The Devenishes are getting a divorce. Old Monty’s been had up for being drunk in charge of a car. Windlesham’s gone to Canada.
Seems he was pretty badly hit when Linnet Ridgeway turned him down. She’s definitely going to marry this land agent person.” “How extraordinary! Is he very dreadful?” “No, no, not at all. He’s one of the Devonshire Doyles. No money, of course–and he was actually engaged to one of Linnet’s best friends. Pretty thick, that.” “I don’t think it’s at all nice,” said Mrs. Allerton fiushing Tim flashed her a quick affectionate glance.
“I know, darling. You don’t approve of snaffling other people’s husbands and all that sort of thing.” “In my day we had our standards,” said Mrs. Allerton. “And a very good thing too! Nowadays young people seem to think they can just go about doing anything they choose.”
Tim smiled.
“They don’t only think it. They do it. Vide Linnet Ridgeway!” “Well, I think it’s horrid!” Tim twinkled at her.
“Cheer up, you old die-hard! Perhaps I agree with you. Anyway, I haven’t helped myself to any one’s wife or fiancee yet.”
“I’m sure you’d never do such a thing,” said Mrs. Allerton. She added with spirit, “I’ve brought you up properly.”
“So the credit is yours, not mine.”
He smiled teasingly at her as he folded the letter and put it away again. Mrs.
Allerton let the thought just flash across her mind:
“Most letters he shows to me. He only reads me snippets from Joanna’s.”
But she put the unworthy thought away from her, and decided, as ever, to behave like a gentlewoman.
“Is Joanna enjoying life?” she asked.
“So so. Says she thinks of opening a delicatessen shop in Mayfair.”
“She always talks about being hard up,” said Mrs. Allerton with a tinge of spite. “But she goes about everywhere and her clothes must cost her a lot. She’s always beautifully dressed.”
“Ah, well,” said Tim. “She probably doesn’t pay for them. No, Mother, I don’t mean what your Edwardian mind suggests to you. I just mean quite literally that she leaves her bills unpaid.”
Mrs. Allerton sighed.
“I never know how people manage to do that.”
“It’s a kind of special gift,” said Tim. “If only you have sufficiently extravagant tastes, and absolutely no sense of money values, people will give you any amount of credit.”
“Yes, but you come to the Bankruptcy Court in the end like poor Sir George Wode.”
“You have a soft spot for that old horse coper–probably because he called you a rosebud in 1879 at a dance.”
“I wasn’t born in 1879,” Mrs. Allerton retorted with spirit. “Sir George has charming manners and I won’t have you calling him a horse coper.”
“I’ve heard funny stories about him from people that know.”
“You and Joanna don’t mind what you say about peopleanything will do so long as it’s sufficiently ill-natured.”
Tim raised his eyebrows.