Poor Caroline Page 6

  The meeting began.

  St. Denis nodded his head, and drawled in his charming, musical voice, 'Well, Miss Denton-Smyth and gentlemen, we may as well begin. I call upon the secretary to read the minutes of the last meeting.'

  Miss Denton-Smyth cleared her throat and ran her tongue over her lips. She began to read.

  'A Board meeting of the Christian Cinema Company, Ltd., was held on November 1st, 1928, at 396 Victoria Street. Present, Mr. St. Denis in the chair, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Guerdon, Mr. Isenbaum, Mr. Macafee and Miss Denton-Smyth, honorary secretary. The minutes of the last meeting were read and confirmed. The hon. secretary reported that she had received seventeen letters of inquiry in response to the advertisement in the Churchman's Weekly, four through the Protestant Gazette, two from The School Teacher, and seven from The Homes of England.'

  The eager, gentle voice went on. There was no doubt, reflected Joseph, that to Miss Denton-Smyth these letters were as wonderful as love-letters. Each circular was to her a royal mandate. Geography radiated from one central point, this office in Victoria Street. History dated from her first interview with Basil St. Denis. Mathematics was a system for calculating how many shareholders buying ten £l shares would be necessary to start the manufacture of Tona Perfecta Films. Art was the inspiration and direction of purified and educational films. The universe centred round the success or failure of the Christian Cinema Company Limited.

  'It's not as though she, or any of them, cared two straws for the purity of the British film,' thought Joseph. 'She wants her two hundred per cent., as much as any of them. If the business were selling saucepans or rubber or instituting laundries or building a college, it would be all the same. She's in love with the work, with enterprise, with getting something done, with running an office, and flirting with St. Denis. But she can't take it easily. She's a fanatic. It's a religion with her. Well, I suppose it's about as satisfactory as any other religion and may last at least as long.'

  The Christian Cinema Company had at the moment a bank balance of £87. Its assets were the company seal, the furniture of the room in which the directors sat, and the rights, not yet formally acquired, to reproduce Macafee's Tona Perfecta Films. The appeal for shareholders was now being made, but it was perfectly clear that the British public was slow to realize its possibilities. Up to date the investments amounted to exactly £528 11s. 6d., apart from the directors' contributions.

  Miss Denton-Smyth explained all this without uneasiness, 'These of course are only preliminary inquiries, Mr. Chairman. Now that our circulars are printed, I expect to see a great difference. I have up to date managed to get two thousand envelopes addressed, but of course I work single-

  handed, and I do not like to wait too long. I wondered if I might get a little clerical help. That was one of the things I wanted to ask the Board. There are another five thousand I could send out, and I hate to think that we may have lost a really valuable shareholder, just because I was unable to address the proper envelope. And yet I find that I cannot do any more than I do now.'

  It was amazing. If she did all the work that she claimed to do, she must have slaved from morning until night.

  'These women, Almighty God, these women,' thought Joseph. 'If I had her in my office . . .' But all the same he was glad, on the whole, that he did not have her in his office. She set a pace which only fanaticism, not business method, could maintain.

  'Well, Miss Denton-Smyth,' St. Denis was saying. 'I think we must trust to your discretion. You know the state of the company's finances better than anyone. You know the need for economy. I am sure that the Board will agree with me that in this matter of clerical help we can safely leave all decisions with Miss Denton-Smyth.'

  'Agreed, agreed,' growled the directors, all but Hugh Macafee, whose Scottish voice broke harshly in upon the meeting.

  'I suppose we have some guarantee that the company's funds will not be squandered in unnecessary clerical extravagance,' he said angrily, looking round the Board with fierce challenging eyes. 'We're out to make Tona Perfecta Films, I take it. Not to provide employment for a lot of girl typists.'

  'Quite, Quite. But you will see, I am sure, Mr. Macafee, that before we make the films, we must raise the capital.'

  'If we go on at this rate we shall be waiting till Doomsday. I always said that these £1 shares were like trying to empty the Atlantic with a thimble. If the thing's a decent business proposition . . .'

  'It is, Macafee. It is. But you remember that we agreed that in an enterprise like this, run not only for commercial but for artistic and moral profit, the wider we throw our nets, the better. We want to make it possible for all those interested in the future of the cinema to contribute.'

  'That is so; that is so,' interpolated Johnson in his hybrid, pseudo-American accent. 'We're idealists, Macafee, idealists. We want to allow all practical idealists to co-operate with us to put Beauty on the map of England.'

  'I take it then,' St. Denis said, 'that we authorize Miss Denton-Smyth to employ occasional clerical help, remembering of course the need for strict economy. Thank you. Now-let us see. The next item on the agenda-ah! the circulars. Would you be good enough to let the Board see the various suggestions in proof, Miss Denton-Smyth?'

  The circulars had been compiled by the chairman and the honorary secretary. Their composition had given Basil exquisite pleasure. He had designed appeals to captivate country clergy, Anglo-Catholic missionaries, Nonconformist town councillors, pious maiden ladies in seaside boarding houses, Puritan manufacturers with strong prejudices, and artistic young ladies and gentlemen from Chelsea, Macclesfield, or Liverpool, who longed to strike a blow for Liberty in Art, against the Philistine horrors of the commercial cinema.

  St. Denis was proud of his circulars. He had baited his hooks cleverly. He had been charmed by his occupation, and the earnest co-operation of Miss Denton-Smyth added the final flavour of delicious unreality to the business. Miss. Denton-Smyth was his criterion. Her eager affirmations, or criticisms provided the tuning-fork which gave the pitch of commonplace credulity. She prevented him from becoming a victim of his sense of humour. What she passed as possible that he too accepted.

  He was eager to watch the reactions of his fellow directors-to his work. He feared that they might refuse to take seriously these lyrical appeals marked 'Seaside Spinsters,' these common-sense proposals 'To business men.' But he had reckoned without the entrancing fascination of a new technique. He had not experienced, as Joseph had experienced, the spell wrought upon a bored and lethargic meeting by the necessity of passing judgment upon green- or orange-tinted paper, type, and capitals, borders and spacing.

  'Look here, St. Denis. We ought to alter the lay-out of this cover. These wavy lines are too indefinite.'

  '. . . Good straight block capitals. Black - easy to read.'

  'Well, I always say, Mr. Chairman, that a little verse breaks up the lines and gives a sense of- of... intimacy.'

  'I like these with the Old English lettering for the parsons. An ecclesiastical air to them. What about a violet-coloured border?'

  'Now, what we want, gentlemen,' roared Johnson, in his backwoods, lumber-camp voice, 'is psychol'gy. Psych'-logical appeal's the thing.'

  They forgot that the Christian Cinema Company was a crazy adventure, without adequate capital, without prospects, without even strict business honesty. They forgot that each of them except Miss Denton-Smyth had entered it for entirely irrelevant reasons. They had become completely absorbed in the excitement of the thing-in-itself. They wanted those circulars to conform to their own individual notion of what circulars should be. They were swept by a wave of excitement. They scrambled over the proofs; they argued; they shouted. They drew diagrams on the nice, clean rose-coloured blotting-paper. They wasted recklessly sheet after sheet of the smooth cream writing-pads. Even Joseph, who had come to watch his fellow directors expose their capacity for self-deception and dishonesty, found himself carried away from his detachment. He disagreed about the appeal t
o business men. He had suggestions for the circular marked 'High-brow Artistic. Chelsea. Bloomsbury, etc.' He began to scribble designs, suggest, correct,, or argue, like any of them. He grew hot and excited. He became eloquent. He even forgot for a moment that he was enduring all this nonsense so that St. Denis might make it possible for Ben to go to Eton.

  In the middle of his excitement he glanced up from a violent dispute with Johnson, and saw Macafee sitting aloof, sullen, indifferent, scribbling private calculations on his writing-block; and he saw St. Denis, whose enthusiasm for the circulars had had time to cool since the completion of their design, watching him with amusement, entertained to see that even the little Jew could not resist the excitement of quarrelling about lay-out and type-setting.

  §4

  Joseph was about to leave the office after the meeting when Miss Denton-Smyth approached him. 'Could you spare a few moments when the others have gone? I want to speak to you. It's rather urgent,'

  'Well, let me see. I have a dinner engagement.'

  4I really shan't keep you a moment.'

  The other men were collecting hats and sticks, continuing arguments, and shaking hands with the secretary. Joseph waited. The thought that he would arrive home too late to see the boy before he went to bed made him irritable with impatience. Ben was splendid in his bath - great at gymnastics on the nursery floor. He looked forward to half an hour with his father. Damn the woman. Damn the woman. Why did she want him now?

  Guerdon and Johnson followed St. Denis. Joseph was left with Macafee and Miss Denton-Smyth. The young Scotsman stood by the table, unhappily turning over slips of paper.

  'Well?' inquired Joseph.

  'It's all right, Mr. Isenbaum. Mr. Macafee can stay for our little talk. It concerns him.'

  Macafee did not look up. His young sullen face was heavy with trouble.

  'What's the matter? What can I do for you?'

  The nurse would be taking Ben up from the drawing-room now. Probably he would resist, kicking and shouting for Daddy. A boy ought to be full of spirit.

  'It's Mr. Macafee,' said Miss Denton-Smyth. 'I told him to go to you himself because I always say that there's nothing like the direct appeal. But he asks me to explain. You see, Mr. Isenbaum, I've been trying to make him understand that pioneer work is not like ordinary business. We must expect rebuffs, mustn't we? We must take the long view and the broad vision, When crushing the commercial octopus and fighting against principalities and powers and spiritual wickedness in high places. But I keep telling him that the ultimate reward is certain if we have only faith, though I do know the temptation to catch at glittering prizes.'

  'What is it, Macafee? How does this concern me?'

  The Scotsman raised his head.

  'I wanted to tell them all at the Board meeting, but Miss Denton-Smyth asked me to wait and speak to you. I want to know when the company's going to start making Tona Perfecta Films, Isenbaum. You're a business man. Guerdon's an old sheep and Johnson's an adventurer and you never know what St. Denis thinks. But you're a business man. I want to ask you a straight question. Is the company going to be able to manufacture my films? If not, I'll go elsewhere.'

  'Why, Mr. Isenbaum, tell him he mustn't be so impatient. We couldn't do without the Tona Perfecta, could we? It's just because the thing's so big that it takes time. It takes time, of course, to tell the public all about it. Why, the circulars haven't gone out yet.'

  'I asked you a straight question, Isenbaum.'

  'Look here, Macafee. I haven't much time now. Lunch with me one day next week.'

  'I've got an interview to-morrow with the managing director of British-American Movietone Company. I want to know if I'm to put the Tona Perfecta into his hands.'

  'That's a dud concern, anyway. I happen to know. But why didn't you bring this up at the Board?'

  'It's my fault, Mr. Isenbaum,' cried Miss Denton-Smyth. 'I didn't want him to raise such a very, very serious subject just when everything was going so nicely. You know how easily frightened Mr. Guerdon is, and Mr. Johnson makes things just a little difficult to deal with, and besides there was your other proposal, Mr. Macafee. And I thought that really, perhaps, seeing that Mr. Isenbaum could really settle everything quite easily, it wasn't worth while making it all a matter for the Board at this stage.'

  'What do you want me to do?'

  'I've made a very reasonable offer, Isenbaum. I've said that if the company can show £3,000 capital raised before the New Year, I'll stick to it for a bit longer. If not, I go.'

  'And I thought,' panted Miss Denton-Smyth, 'that seeing you are sure to be putting some more capital in sooner or later, it would be just as easy for you to put in three thousand now just to show that you do believe in the company, and to convince Mr. Macafee that all his fears are simply the result of inexperience and over-anxiety."

  'This ought to have come before the Board. It's a very serious proposition.' Damn them, damn them. He'd paid enough already. They'd bleed him before they were through. God Almighty, there were other Etonians beside St. Denis. There were other schools beside Eton. Three thousand would almost pay for the boy's entire education.

  'I can't deal with a matter like this now,' he said brusquely. 'I'm very sorry you kept Mr. Macafee from raising it at the Board meeting. Naturally you know my interest in the company. But you can't deal with a matter of this importance now all in a hurry. When's the next Board meeting?'

  'Not in the ordinary course of things till after the New Year, you know. Oh, Mr. Isenbaum.'

  'Can't you wait, Macafee?'

  'No, I can't. And I won't. I'm seeing these British-American Movietone people. I want to know what to say to them.'

  'You'll have to call another Board meeting,' said Joseph. 'Of course this must come before the Board. I don't think you need have any fears, Macafee. Naturally I see your point of view. Let me know when a meeting has been arranged. Good night. Good night.'

  He took his hat. He ran down the stairs, his small feet in their patent-leather shoes twinkling below his rounded waistcoat. He had got away very cleverly. He had done the adroit, the sensible thing. Postpone. Postpone. And then slip quietly out of further responsibility. After all, he was the only man who stood to lose. Five hundred was five hundred.

  He rang for the lift, climbed inside and shut the door. His eyes were just on a level with the corridor when Macafee's worn brown shoes slouched into his vision. He did not reverse the lift, but shot down to the ground floor, let himself out of the lift, and out of the building. In order to make doubly sure his own escape, he left the lift door ajar. Macafee would have to walk downstairs.

  Only when he jumped upon a bus, he remembered that unless Macafee closed the door - an unlikely courtesy for that gauche young man - Miss Denton-Smyth would have to walk down also. Well, after all, the Christian Cinema Company was her hobby, not his. She must take the rough with the smooth, he thought. Poor Caroline.

  Chapter 3 : Eleanor De La Roux

  §1

  in the autumn of 1928, Eleanor de la Roux came to stay with the Smiths of Marshington. She was the daughter of Mr. Smith's young sister, Agatha, who in 1903 had been sent for the sake of her health to South Africa with a school friend from the West Riding, whose father had business on the Rand. And there a terrible thing happened to her. She had fallen in love with a Boer veterinary surgeon, and married him. A Boer. One of those fellows who lay in ambush to shoot on the white flag and the red cross and all that. And a veterinary surgeon. A common vet. It was incredible.

  Naturally the Smiths had been very much upset. There were family consultations at Marshington, cables to Pretoria, collapses at Kingsport, and visits to solicitors. The West Riding family were warned never to communicate with a Smith again. Three Smith ladies approached the brink of a nervous breakdown, and had to recuperate together at Torquay, where in the hotel lounge they discussed and rediscussed the astonishing folly of poor Agatha.

  Agatha herself, after her first long, rambling, joyful letter to t
ell of her engagement, only wrote home three times. The first letter described her marriage. The second defended her husband, Hugo de la Roux, in terms more creditable to her heart than her discretion. The third announced the birth of her son. The next letter from South Africa came a year later and was from Hugo de la Roux himself. It told of the death of his wife in giving birth to a second child, a girl called Eleanor. After that, the Smiths heard of the de la Roux's no more, until years later a business friend of Mr. Smith's described a pleasant visit to the de la Roux's home outside Pretoria. 'De la Roux's a very decent fellow - very well thought of. In the Government service. Of course, the veterinary service in South Africa's quite IT. Different to a vet in England. Yes, the boy's A.1., going to study mining engineering in the U.S.A. he tells us. The girl? Oh! a fine little girl - quite a kid. High-diving champion of the Transvaal Girls' schools, they tell me, and plays a top-hole game of tennis. Clever too. Going to college next year. Says she's going to be a vet like her father. Not much sort of a job for a woman, I say, but you never know what girls will do in these days. A game little lass. Quite the hostess and all that. Thought a lot of out there, I should say, the de la Roux's.'