Cities and towns -- Growth -- Fiction; Wales -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
It is Val Clayton, ordering another drink for himself and his two
friends. He drinks vermouth, his friends bottles of beer. Val drinks
vermouth because it is foreign (he runs over to Paris frequently, and
travels to Egypt for Clayton Brothers and Clayton), and perhaps he makes
love to Mrs. Maynard (if you can call it making love) because she too is
almost a continental. Since Mrs. Maynard is to be seen in her red
ribbons, you might expect to find Val on the beach instead of drinking
vermouth in the hotel lounge; but that is far from being "in character"
when you know Val. The world's pleasures a little in excess have already
set their mark on Val. He will tell you that he would not miss his
morning drink, "not for the best woman living." Others may fetch and
carry for their hearts' mistresses, but not Val. In the afternoon,
perhaps, if he feels a little less jaded, in a hollow of the sandhills
and with the warm sun to help, Val may bestir himself a little, but in
the meantime he wants another vermouth.
"_Ting! Ting! Ting!_--They want to have French waiters here," Val
grumbles. "I never mind tipping a waiter if I can get what I want when I
want it. _Wai_--oh, you've come, have you? Well, since you are here,
you may as well bring these again, and then see if the papers have come
in yet----"
"And bring me a box of Egyptian cigarettes."
"No--hi!--don't bring those cigarettes.--You don't want to smoke the
rubbish they sell here. Fill your case out of this--I've a thousand
upstairs I brought from Cairo myself----"
"Oh!... Thanks.--Well, as I was saying----"
And the speaker (who might as well be in Manchester for all he sees of
Llanyglo, at any rate in the mornings) resumes some narrative that the
replenishing of the glasses has interrupted.
Now the others are dropping in, those who like one _aperatif_ before
lunch but not half a dozen. Their wives have gone upstairs to tittivate
themselves. The velvet chairs fill; extra waiters appear; and a light
haze ascends from cigars and cigarettes to the roof. Listen to the
restrained hubbub.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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