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'If I can。'
'All British passports to the smoking…room； please；' said a steward。
'I've arranged with that sweet Foreign Office man at our table to get us off early with him；' said my wife。
＇2＇
IT was my wife's idea to hold the private view on Friday。
'We are out to catch the critics this time； I she said。 'It's high time they began to take you seriously； and they know it。 This is their chance。 If you open on Monday； they'll most of them have just e up from the country； and they'll dash off a few paragraphs before dinner … I'm only worrying about the weeklies of course。 If we give them the week…end to think about it； we shall have them in an urbane Sunday…in…the…country mood。 They'll settle down after a good luncheon； tuck up their cuffs； and turn out a nice； leisurely full…length essay； which they'll reprint later in a nice little book。 Nothing less will do this time。'
She was up and down from the Old Rectory several times during the month of preparation； revising the list of invitations and helping with the hanging。
On the morning of the private view I telephoned to Julia and said： 'I'm sick of the pictures already and never want to see them again； but I suppose I shall have to put in an appearance。'
'D'you want me to e？'
'I'd much rather you didn't。'
'Celia sent a card with 〃Bring everyone〃 written across it in green ink。 When do we meet？'
'In the train。 You might pick up my luggage。'
'If you'll have it packed soon I'll pick you up； too； and drop you at the gallery。 I've got a fitting next door at twelve。'
When I reached the gallery my wife was standing looking through the window to the street。 Behind her half a dozen unknown picture…lovers were moving from canvas to canvas； catalogue in hand； they were people who had once bought a wood： cut and were consequently on the gallery's list of patrons。
'No one has e yet；' said my wife。 'I've been here since ten and it's been very dull。 Whose car was that you came in？'
'Julia's。'
'Julia's？ Why didn't； you bring her in？ Oddly enough； I've just been talking about Brideshead to a funny little man who seemed to know us very well。 He said he was called Mr Samgrass。 Apparently he's one of Lord Copper's middle…aged young men on the Daily Beast。 I tried to feed him some paragraphs； but he seemed to know more about you than I do。 He said he'd met me years ago at Brideshead。 I wish Julia had e in； then we could have asked her about him。'
'I remember him well。He's a crook。'
'Yes； that stuck out a mile。 He's been talking all about what he calls the 〃'Brideshead set〃； Apparently Rex Mottram has made the place a nest of party mutiny。 Did you know？ What would Teresa Marchmain have thought？'
'I'm going there tonight。'
'Not tonight； Charles； you can't go there tonight。 You're expected at home。 You promised； as soon as the exhibition was ready； you'd e home。 Johnjohn and Nanny have made a banner with 〃Wele〃 on it。 And you haven't seen Caroline yet。'
'I'm sorry； it's all settled。'
'Besides； Daddy will think it so odd。 And Boy is home for Sunday。 And you haven't seen the new studio。 You can't go tonight。 Did they ask me？'
'Of course； but I knew you wouldn't be able to e。'
'I can't now。 I could have； if you'd let me know earlier。 I should adore to see the 〃Brideshead set〃 at home。 I do think you re perfectly beastly； but this is no time for a family rumpus。 The Clarences promised to e in before luncheon； they may be here any minute。'
We were interrupted； however； not by royalty； but by a woman reporter from one of the dailies； whom the manager of the gallery now led up to us。 She had not e to see the pictures but to get a 〃human story〃 of the dangers of my journey。 I left her to my wife； and next day read in her paper： 'Charles 〃Stately Homes〃 Ryder steps off the map。 That the snakes and vampires of the jungle have nothing on Mayfair is the opinion of socialite artist Ryder； who has； abandoned the houses of the great for the ruins of equatorial Africa。。。'
The rooms began to fill and I was soon busy being civil。 My wife was everywhere； greeting people； introducing people； deftly transforming the crowd into a party。 I saw her lead friends forward one after another to the subscription list that had been opened for the book of Ryder's Latin America I heard her say： 'No； darling； I'm not at all surprised； but you wouldn't expect me to be； would you？ You see Charles lives for one thing … Beauty。 I think he got bored with finding it ready…made in England； he had to go and create it for himself。 He wanted new worlds to conquer。 After all； he has said the last word about country houses； hasn't he？ Not； I mean； that he's given that up altogether。 I'm sure he'll always do one or two more for friends。' A photographer brought us together； flashed a lamp in our faces； and let us part。
Presently there was the slight hush and edging away which follows the entry of a royal party。 I saw my wife curtsey and heard her say： 'Oh； sir； you are sweet'； then I was led into the clearing and the Duke of Clarence said： 'Pretty hot out there I should think。'
'It was； sir。'
'Awfully clever the way you've hit off the impression of heat。 Makes me feel quite unfortable in my greatcoat。'
'Ha； ha。'
When they had gone my wife said： 'Goodness； we're late for lunch。 Margot's giving a party in your honour； and in the taxi she said： 'I've just thought of something。 Why don't you write and ask the Duchess of Clarence's permission to dedicate Latin America to her？'
'Why should I？'
'She'd love it so。'
'I wasn't thinking of dedicating it to anyone。'
'There you are； that's typical of you； Charles。 Why miss an opportunity to give pleasure？'
There were a dozen at luncheon； and though it pleased my hostess and my wife to say that they were there in my honour； it was plain to me that half of them did not know of my exhibition and had e because they had been invited and had no other engagement。 Throughout luncheon they talked； without stopping； of Mrs Simpson； but they all； or nearly all； came back with us to the gallery。
The hour after luncheon was the busiest time。 There were representatives of the Tate Gallery and the National Art Collections Fund； who all promised to return shortly with colleagues and； in the meantime； reserved certain pictures for further consideration。 The most influential critic； who in the past had dismissed me with a few wounding mendations； peered out at me from between his slouch hat and woollen muffler； gripped my arm； and said： 'I knew you had it。 I saw it there。 I've been waiting for it。'
From fashionable and unfashionable lips alike I heard fragments of praise。 'If you'd asked me to guess；' I overheard； 'Ryder's is the last name would have occurred to me。 They're so virile； so passionate。'
They all thought they had found something new。 It had not been thus at my last exhibition in these same rooms； shortly before my going abroad。 Then there had been an unmistakable note of weariness。 Then the talk had been less of me than of the houses； anecdotes of their owners。 That same woman； it came back to me； who now applauded my virility and