“You've bought a hat,” said Mama. (Mama could cure anything by buying a hat… even scarlet fever.)
“Eric is coming to Paris! Just had a wire.”
“How nice,” said Mama, and stopped drinking what passes for coffee in French hotels.
“Can I have breakfast?” said Aunt Fran. “It's the first time I'm really hungry since getting off that channel boat. How sick I was!” (The smell of salt water taffy was enough to make Aunt Fran sick.…)
“How long is Eric staying in Paris?” asked Mama.
“Just three days… he's giving up hairdressing. He's got a surprise for me.”
“A two-headed sister,” said Mama… but I knew it was only Mama's way of showing she didn't think Eric's family could amount to much. Mama ha spent almost her whole life trying to get Aunt Fran to marry the right man. Aunt Fran had simple tastes in men. If a man had read a book, or graduate from high school, or had a good tailor, he wasn't for Aunt Fran. She really ha only to hear a broken rule of grammar, or see a blue shirt striped with green, or a broken nose, and she was in love with it and whatever man went with it. Mama could never understand why Aunt Fran was like that. After all, she use to say, they could match grandfathers with anybody (it was never really proved that he stole those horses, Gramp once happily remarked about Mama's grandfather).
Aunt Fran was very excited about Eric, and she went out to buy a new dress. Mama said she was expecting a headache and the mail from America, and she would stay in her room an brood for a little while. Mama's mama used to faint when faced with a problem, Mama brooded, and her granddaughter today throws things… progress of a sort, I suppose.
It was about three o'clock when the desk called up and said a Mr. Porter was on his way up. Mama said she didn't know any Mr. Porter, and the desk said in that case she should tell Mr. Porter that. The French hotel business was run on the idea that if you bowed to the customers and changed a tablecloth whenever they asked you to, you were running a genuine ‘òtel Americannnnnn.’
Mr. Porter, when I opened the door, turned out to be a young Englishman in naval uniform, with blond hair and very white, slim fingers.
“I'm Porter.”
“Yes,” said Mama. “There has been some mistake.”
“Eric Porter,” said the officer.
“The hairdr—” began Mama.
“Ex-hairdresser, you know. Been ordered into uniform. Naval reserve. Trouble brewing, you know.”
“I know,” said Mama.
“Expect war and all that.”
“I wasn't thinking of that.”
“The truth is, I'm ordered to Singapore… have three days. Want to marry Fran and take her out on the next P. and O. boat.”
“Oh.”
“Jolly, what?”
“Jolly,” said Mama, motioning Eric to sit down. Her brain was spinning… I could see that in the way she pushe back her hair and looked at the naval officer. “This is Stevie.”
“Pleased, I'm sure. Jolly honeymoon, you know—all the way to Injah by boat, lay over Ceylon for a week, then on by boat to Sing.…”
“All the way by water?”
“All the way.”
“Does it get rough?”
“Quite. A navy bride and all that, you know… part of the job.”
“Quite,” said Mama. “Fran is due back any minute. I'll leave you two alone. Tell her everything. Make it thrilling for her.”
“Quite,” said Eric, offering Mama his hand. They shook hands, and the poor boy didn't know he already wore a knife in his back.
“Yes.”
“Decent of you… very.”
There was a knock on the door, an a boy was there with a pile of bundles from the better shops. Fran would soon be up after them. Mama got her hat and took me by the arm. “I'll order tea for you two,” said Mama, “on my way out.”
Eric beamed. “Makes a chap feel tip-top, you know, you being so kind.” Mama nodded, and we went out. Aunt Fran was coming up the wide stairs (Louie the Twelfth's second-best staircase in Paris, I think), and Mama said, “You have company, hurry.”
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