Agahta Christie - An autobiography Part 18

Archie had started his job in the City. He said he liked it and seemed quite excited about it. He was delighted to be out of the Air Force, which, he continued to repeat, was absolutely no good for the future. He was determined to make a lot of money. The fact that we were at the moment hard up did not worry us. Occasionally Archie and I went to the Palais de Danse at Hammersmith, but on the whole we did without amus.e.m.e.nts, since we really couldn't afford them. We were a very ordinary young couple, but we were happy. Life seemed well set ahead of us. We had no piano, which was a pitybut I made up for it by playing the piano madly whenever I was at Ashfield.

I had married the man I loved, we had a child, we had somewhere to live, and as far as I could see there was no reason why we shouldn't live happily ever after.

One day I got a letter. I opened it quite casually and read it without at first taking it in. It was from John Lane, The Bodley Head, and it asked if I would call at their office in connection with the ma.n.u.script I had submitted ent.i.tled The Mysterious Affair at Styles. The Mysterious Affair at Styles.

To tell the truth, I had forgotten all about The Mysterious Affair at Styles. The Mysterious Affair at Styles. By this time it must have been with The Bodley Head for nearly two years, but in the excitement of the war's ending, Archie's return and our life together such things as writing and ma.n.u.scripts had gone far away from my thoughts. By this time it must have been with The Bodley Head for nearly two years, but in the excitement of the war's ending, Archie's return and our life together such things as writing and ma.n.u.scripts had gone far away from my thoughts.

I went off to keep the appointment, full of hope. After all they must like it a bit or they wouldn't have asked me to come. I was shown into John Lane's office, and he rose to greet me; a small man with a white beard, looking somehow rather Elizabethan. All round him there appeared to be pictureson chairs, leaning against tablesall with the appearance of old masters, heavily varnished and yellow with age. I thought afterwards that he himself would look quite well in one of those frames with a ruff around his neck. He had a benign, kindly manner, but shrewd blue eyes, which ought to have warned me, perhaps, that he was the kind of man who would drive a hard bargain. He greeted me, told me gently to take a chair. I looked roundit was quite impossible: every chair was covered with a picture. He suddenly saw this and laughed. 'Dear me,' he said, 'there isn't much to sit on, is there?' He removed a rather grimy portrait, and I sat down.

Then he began to talk to me about the MS. Some of his readers, he said, had thought it showed promise; something might might be made of it. But there would have to be considerable changes. The last chapter, for instance; I had written it as a court scene, but it was quite impossible written like that. It was in no way like a court sceneit would be merely ridiculous. Did I think I could do something to bring about the denouement in another way? Either someone could help me with the law aspect, though that would be difficult, or I might be able to change it in some other way. I said immediately that I thought I could manage something. I would think about itperhaps have a different setting. Anyway, I would try. He made various other points, none of them really serious apart from the final chapter. be made of it. But there would have to be considerable changes. The last chapter, for instance; I had written it as a court scene, but it was quite impossible written like that. It was in no way like a court sceneit would be merely ridiculous. Did I think I could do something to bring about the denouement in another way? Either someone could help me with the law aspect, though that would be difficult, or I might be able to change it in some other way. I said immediately that I thought I could manage something. I would think about itperhaps have a different setting. Anyway, I would try. He made various other points, none of them really serious apart from the final chapter.

Then he went on to the business aspect, pointing out what a risk a publisher took if he published a novel by a new and unknown writer, and how little money he was likely to make out of it. Finally he produced from his desk drawer an agreement which he suggested I should sign.

I was in no frame of mind to study agreements or even think about them. He would publish my book. Having given up hope for some years now of having anything published, except the occasional short story or poem, the idea of having a book come out in print went straight to my head. I would have signed anything. This particular contract entailed my not receiving any royalties until after the first 2000 copies had been soldafter that a small royalty would be paid. Half any serial or dramatic rights would go to the publisher. None of it meant much to methe whole point was, the book would be published. the book would be published.

I didn't even notice that there was a clause binding me to offer him my next five novels, at an only slightly increased rate of royalty. To me it was success, and all a wild surprise. I signed with enthusiasm. Then I took the MS away to deal with the anomalies of the last chapter. I managed that quite easily.

And so it was that I started on my long career; not that I suspected at the time that it was going to be a long career. In spite of the clause about the next five novels, this was to me a single and isolated experiment. I had been dared to write a detective story; I had written a detective story; it had been accepted, and was going to appear in print. There, as far as I was concerned, the matter ended. Certainly at that moment I did not envisage writing any more books, I think if I had been asked I would have said that I would probably write stories from time to time. I was the complete amateurnothing of the professional about me. For me, writing was fun.

I went home, jubilant, and told Archie, and we went to the Palais de Danse at Hammersmith that night to celebrate.

There was a third party with us, though I did not know it. Hercule Poirot, my Belgian invention, was hanging round my neck, firmly attached there like the old man of the sea.

V

After I had dealt satisfactorily with the last chapter of The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, I returned it to John Lane, then, once I had answered a few more queries and agreed to a few more alterations, the excitement receded into the background, and life went on as it would with any other young married couple who are happy, in love with each other, rather badly off, but not too much hampered by the fact. Our times off at weekends were usually spent in going to the country by train and walking somewhere. Sometimes we made a round trip of it. I returned it to John Lane, then, once I had answered a few more queries and agreed to a few more alterations, the excitement receded into the background, and life went on as it would with any other young married couple who are happy, in love with each other, rather badly off, but not too much hampered by the fact. Our times off at weekends were usually spent in going to the country by train and walking somewhere. Sometimes we made a round trip of it.

The only serious blow that befell us was that I lost my dear Lucy. She had been looking worried and unhappy, and finally she came to me rather sadly one day and said, 'I'm terribly sorry to let you down, Miss AgathaI mean, Ma'am, and I don't know what Mrs Rowe would think of me, butwell, there it is, I'm going to get married.'

'Married, Lucy? Who to?'

'Someone I knew before the war. I always fancied him.'

I got more enlightenment from my mother. As soon as I told her, she exclaimed, 'It's not that Jack again, is it?' It appeared that my mother had not much approved of 'that Jack'. He'd been an unsatisfactory suitor of Lucy's, and it had been decided by her family that it was a good thing when the couple quarrelled and parted company. However, they had come together again now. Lucy had been faithful to the unsatisfactory Jack and there it was: she was going to get married and we should have to look for another maid.

By this time such a thing was even more impossible. No maids were to be found anywhere. However, at last, whether through an agency or a friendI can't rememberI came across someone called Rose. Rose was highly desirable. She had excellent references, a round pink face, a nice smile, and looked as though she was quite prepared to like us. The only trouble was she was highly averse to going anywhere where there was a child and a nurse. I felt that she had to be prevailed upon. She had been with people in the Flying Corps, and when she heard that my husband had been in the Flying Corps too she obviously softened towards me. She said that she expected my husband knew her own employer, Squadron-Leader G. I rushed home and said to Archie, 'Did you ever know a Squadron-Leader G.?'

'Not that I can remember,' said Archie.

'Well, you must remember,' I said. 'You must say that you came across him, or that you were buddies, or something like thatwe've got to have Rose. She's wonderful, she really is. If you knew the awful creatures I have seen.'

So in due course Rose came to look upon us with favour. She was introduced to Archie, who said some complimentary things about Squadron-Leader G., and was finally prevailed upon to accept the position.

'But I don't like nurses,' she said warningly. 'Don't really mind childrenbut nurses, they always make trouble.'

'Oh I'm sure,' I said, 'that Nurse Swannell won't make trouble.' I was not so sure, but on the whole I thought that all would be well. The only person Jessie Swannell would make trouble for would be me, and that I could stand by now. As it happened, Rose and Jessie got along well together. Jessie told her all about her life in Nigeria, and the joy it had been to have endless n.i.g.g.e.rs under her control, and Rose told her all that she had suffered in her various situations. 'Starved, I was, sometimes,' said Rose to me one day. 'Starved. Do you know what they gave me for breakfast?'

I said that I didn't know.

'Kippers,' said Rose gloomily. 'Nothing but tea and a kipper, and toast and b.u.t.ter and jam. Well, I mean, I got so thin I was wasting away.'

There was no sign of Rose wasting away nowshe was pleasantly plump. However, I made sure that when we had kippers for breakfast two kippers were always pressed upon Rose, or even three, and that eggs and bacon were served to her in lavish quant.i.ties. She was, I think, happy with us and fond of Rosalind.

My grandmother died soon after Rosalind's birth. She had been much herself up to the end, but then got a bad attack of bronchitis, and her heart was not strong enough to recover from it. She was ninety-two, still able to enjoy life, not too deaf, though very blind by this time. Her income, like my mother's, had been reduced by the Chaflin failure in New York, but Mr Bailey's advice had saved her from losing all of it. This now came to my mother. It was not much by this time, because some of the shares had depreciated through the war, but it gave her 3400 a year, which, with her allowance from Mr Chaflin, made things possible for her. Of course everything got far more expensive in the years after the war. Still, she was able to keep on Ashfield. It made me rather unhappy not to be able to contribute my small income towards the upkeep of Ashfield, as my sister did. But it was really impossible in our casewe needed every penny we had to live on.

One day, when I was speaking in a worried voice about the difficulties of keeping up Ashfield, Archie said (very sensibly): 'You know, really it would be much better for your mother to sell it and live elsewhere.'

'Sell Ashfield!' I spoke in a voice of horror.

'I can't see what good it is to you. You can't go there very often.'

'I couldn't bear bear to sell Ashfield, I love it. It'sit'sit means everything.' to sell Ashfield, I love it. It'sit'sit means everything.'

'Then why don't you try and do something do something about it?' said Archie. 'What do you mean, about it?' said Archie. 'What do you mean, do something do something about it?' about it?'

'Well, you could write another book.'

I looked at him in some surprise. 'I suppose I might might write another book one of these days, but it wouldn't do much good to Ashfield, would it?' write another book one of these days, but it wouldn't do much good to Ashfield, would it?'

'It might make a lot of money,' said Archie.

I didn't think that was likely. The Mysterious Affair at Styles The Mysterious Affair at Styles had sold close on 2000 copies, which was not bad at that time for a detective story by an unknown author. It had brought me in the meagre sum of 25and this not for the royalties on the book, but from a half share of the serial rights, which had been sold, rather unexpectedly, to had sold close on 2000 copies, which was not bad at that time for a detective story by an unknown author. It had brought me in the meagre sum of 25and this not for the royalties on the book, but from a half share of the serial rights, which had been sold, rather unexpectedly, to The Weekly Times The Weekly Times for 50. Very good for my prestige, said John Lane. It was a good thing for a young author to have a serial accepted by for 50. Very good for my prestige, said John Lane. It was a good thing for a young author to have a serial accepted by The Weekly Times. The Weekly Times. That might be, but 25 as the total income from writing a book did not encourage me to feel that I was likely to earn much money in a literary career. That might be, but 25 as the total income from writing a book did not encourage me to feel that I was likely to earn much money in a literary career.

'If a book has been good enough to take, and the publisher has made some some money by it, which I presume he has, he will want another. You ought to get a bit more every time.' I listened to this and agreed. I was full of admiration for Archie's financial know-how. I considered writing another book. Supposing I didwhat should it be about? money by it, which I presume he has, he will want another. You ought to get a bit more every time.' I listened to this and agreed. I was full of admiration for Archie's financial know-how. I considered writing another book. Supposing I didwhat should it be about?

The question was solved for me one day when I was having tea in an A.B.C. Two people were talking at a table nearby, discussing somebody called Jane Fish. It struck me as a most entertaining name. I went away with the name in my mind. Jane Fish. That, I thought, would make a good beginning to a storya name overheard at a tea shopan unusual name, so that whoever heard it remembered it. A name like Jane Fishor perhaps Jane Finn would be even better. I settled for Jane Finnand started writing straight away. I called it The Joyful Venture The Joyful Venture firstthen firstthen The Young Adventurers The Young Adventurersand finally it became The Secret Adversary. The Secret Adversary.

Archie had been quite right to settle in a job before he resigned from the Flying Corps. Young people were desperate. They had come out of the Services and had no jobs to go to. Young men were always ringing our doorbell, trying to sell stockings or offering some household gadget. It was a pathetic sight. One felt so sorry for them that one often bought a pair of rather nasty stockings, just to cheer them up. They had been lieutenants, naval and military, and now they were reduced to this. Sometimes they even wrote poems and tried to sell them.

I conceived the idea of having a pair of this kinda girl who had been in the A.T.S. or the V.A.D. and a young man who had been in the army. They would both be rather desperate, looking for a job, and then they would meet each otherperhaps they would already have met in the past? And then? Then, I thought, they would be involved inyes, espionage: this would be a spy book, a thriller, not a detective story. I liked the ideait was a change after the detective work involved in The Mysterious Affair at Styles The Mysterious Affair at Styles. So I started writing, in a sketchy kind of way. It was fun, on the whole, and much easier to write than a detective story, as thrillers always are.

When I had finished it, which was not for some time, I took it to John Lane, who didn't like it much: it was not the same type as my first bookit would not sell nearly so well. In fact they were undecided whether to publish it or not. However, in the end they decided to do so. I did not have to make so many changes in this one.

As far as I remember it sold quite well. I made a little in royalties, which was something, and again I sold the serial rights to The Weekly Times, The Weekly Times, and this time got 50 doled out to me by John Lane. It was encouragingthough not encouraging enough to make me think that I had as yet adopted anything so grand as a profession. and this time got 50 doled out to me by John Lane. It was encouragingthough not encouraging enough to make me think that I had as yet adopted anything so grand as a profession.

My third book was Murder on the Links. Murder on the Links. This, I think, must have been written not long after a This, I think, must have been written not long after a cause celebre cause celebre which occurred in France. I can't remember the name of any of the partic.i.p.ants by now. It was some tale of masked men who had broken into a house, killed the owner, tied up and gagged the wifethe mother-in-law had also died, but only apparently because she had choked on her false teeth. Anyway, the wife's story was disproved, and there was a suggestion that it was the wife who had killed her husband, and that she had never been tied up at all, or only by an accomplice. It struck me as a good plot on which to weave my own story, starting with the wife's life after she had been acquitted of the murder. A mysterious woman would appear somewhere, having been the heroine of a murder case years ago. I set it in France, this time. which occurred in France. I can't remember the name of any of the partic.i.p.ants by now. It was some tale of masked men who had broken into a house, killed the owner, tied up and gagged the wifethe mother-in-law had also died, but only apparently because she had choked on her false teeth. Anyway, the wife's story was disproved, and there was a suggestion that it was the wife who had killed her husband, and that she had never been tied up at all, or only by an accomplice. It struck me as a good plot on which to weave my own story, starting with the wife's life after she had been acquitted of the murder. A mysterious woman would appear somewhere, having been the heroine of a murder case years ago. I set it in France, this time.

Hercule Poirot had been quite a success in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, so it was suggested that I should continue to employ him. One of the people who liked Poirot was Bruce Ingram, editor at the time of so it was suggested that I should continue to employ him. One of the people who liked Poirot was Bruce Ingram, editor at the time of The Sketch. The Sketch. He got in touch with me, and suggested that I should write a series of Poirot stories for He got in touch with me, and suggested that I should write a series of Poirot stories for The Sketch. The Sketch. This excited me very much indeed. At last I was becoming a success. To be in This excited me very much indeed. At last I was becoming a success. To be in The Sketch The Sketchwonderful! He also had a fancy drawing made of Hercule Poirot which was not unlike my idea of him, though he was depicted as a little smarter and more aristocratic than I had envisaged him. Bruce Ingram wanted a series of twelve stories. I produced eight before long, and at first it was thought that that would be enough, but in the end it was decided to increase them to twelve, and I had to write another four rather more hastily than I wanted.

It had escaped my notice that not only was I now tied to the detective story, I was also tied to two people: Hercule Poirot and his Watson, Captain Hastings. I quite enjoyed Captain Hastings. He was a stereotyped creation, but he and Poirot represented my idea of a detective team. I was still writing in the Sherlock Holmes traditioneccentric detective, stooge a.s.sistant, with a Lestrade-type Scotland Yard detective, Inspector j.a.ppand I now added a 'human foxhound', Inspector Giraud, of the French police. Giraud despises Poirot as being old and pa.s.se. pa.s.se.

Now I saw what a terrible mistake I had made in starting with Hercule Poirot so old oldI ought to have abandoned him after the first three or four books, and begun again with someone much younger. Murder on the Links Murder on the Links was slightly less in the Sherlock Holmes tradition, and was influenced, I think, by was slightly less in the Sherlock Holmes tradition, and was influenced, I think, by The Mystery of the Yellow Room. The Mystery of the Yellow Room. It had rather that high-flown, fanciful type of writing. When one starts writing, one is much influenced by the last person one has read or enjoyed. It had rather that high-flown, fanciful type of writing. When one starts writing, one is much influenced by the last person one has read or enjoyed.

I think Murder on the Links Murder on the Links was a moderately good example of its kindthough rather melodramatic. This time I provided a love affair for Hastings. If I was a moderately good example of its kindthough rather melodramatic. This time I provided a love affair for Hastings. If I had had to have a love interest in the book, I thought I might as well marry off Hastings! Truth to tell, I think I was getting a little tired of him. I might be stuck with Poirot, but no need to be stuck with Hastings too. to have a love interest in the book, I thought I might as well marry off Hastings! Truth to tell, I think I was getting a little tired of him. I might be stuck with Poirot, but no need to be stuck with Hastings too.

The Bodley Head were pleased with Murder on the Links, Murder on the Links, but I had a slight row with them over the jacket they had designed for it. Apart from being in ugly colours, it was badly drawn, and represented, as far as I could make out, a man in pyjamas on a golf-links, dying of an epileptic fit. Since the man who had been murdered had been fully dressed and stabbed with a dagger, I objected. A book jacket but I had a slight row with them over the jacket they had designed for it. Apart from being in ugly colours, it was badly drawn, and represented, as far as I could make out, a man in pyjamas on a golf-links, dying of an epileptic fit. Since the man who had been murdered had been fully dressed and stabbed with a dagger, I objected. A book jacket may may have nothing to do with the plot, but if it does it must at least not represent a false plot. There was a good deal of bad feeling over this, but I was really furious and it was agreed that in future I should see the jacket first and approve of it. I had already had one slight difference with The Bodley Head, and that was in have nothing to do with the plot, but if it does it must at least not represent a false plot. There was a good deal of bad feeling over this, but I was really furious and it was agreed that in future I should see the jacket first and approve of it. I had already had one slight difference with The Bodley Head, and that was in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, over the spelling of the word cocoa. For some strange reason, the house spelling of cocoameaning by that a cup of cocoawas over the spelling of the word cocoa. For some strange reason, the house spelling of cocoameaning by that a cup of cocoawas coco, coco, which, as Euclid would have said, is absurd. I was sternly opposed by Miss Howse, the dragon presiding over all spelling in The Bodley Head books. Cocoa, she said, in their publications, was always spelt which, as Euclid would have said, is absurd. I was sternly opposed by Miss Howse, the dragon presiding over all spelling in The Bodley Head books. Cocoa, she said, in their publications, was always spelt coco cocoit was the proper spelling and was a rule of the firm. I produced tins of cocoa and even dictionariesthey had no impression on her. Coco was the proper spelling, she said. It was not until many years later, when I was talking to Allen Lane, John Lane's nephew, and begetter of Penguin Books, that I said, 'You know I had terrible fights with Miss Howse over the spelling of cocoa.'

He grinned. 'I know, we had great trouble with her as she got older. She got very opinionated about certain things. She argued with authors and would never give way.'

Innumerable people wrote to me and said, 'I can't understand, Agatha, why you spelled cocoa 'coco' in your book. Of course you were never a good speller.' Most unfair. I was not a good speller, I am still not a good speller, but at any rate I could spell cocoa the proper way. What I was, though, was a weak character. It was my first bookand I thought they they must know better than I did. must know better than I did.

I had had some nice reviews for The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, but the one which pleased me best appeared in but the one which pleased me best appeared in The Pharmaceutical, Journal. The Pharmaceutical, Journal. It praised 'this detective story for dealing with poisons in a knowledgeable way, and not with the nonsense about untraceable substances that so often happens. Miss Agatha Christie,' they said, 'knows her job.' It praised 'this detective story for dealing with poisons in a knowledgeable way, and not with the nonsense about untraceable substances that so often happens. Miss Agatha Christie,' they said, 'knows her job.'

I had wanted to write my books under a fancy nameMartin West or Mostyn Greybut John Lane had been insistent on keeping my own name, Agatha Christieparticularly the Christian name: he said, 'Agatha is an unusual name which remains in peoples' memories.' So I had to abandon Martin West and label myself henceforth as Agatha Christie. I had the idea that a woman's name would prejudice people against my work, especially in detective stories; that Martin West would be more manly and forthright. However, as I have said, when you are publishing a first book you give way to whatever is suggested to you, and in this case I think John Lane was right.

I had now written three books, was happily married, and my heart's desire was to live in the country. Addison Mansions was a long way from the park. Pushing the pram there and back was no joke, either for Jessie Swannell or for me. Also there was one permanent snag: the flats were scheduled to come down. They belonged to Lyons, who intended to build new premises on the site. That is why the lease was only a quarterly one. At any moment notice might be given that the block was to be pulled down. Actually, thirty years later, our particular block of Addison Mansions was still standingthough now it has disappeared. Cadby Hall reigns in its stead.

Among our other activities at the weekend, Archie and I sometimes went by train to East Croydon and played golf there. I had never been much of a golfer, and Archie had played little, but he became keenly appreciative of the game. After a while, we seemed to go every every weekend to East Croydon. I did not really mind, but I missed the variety of exploring places and going long walks. In the end that choice of recreation was to make a big difference to our lives. weekend to East Croydon. I did not really mind, but I missed the variety of exploring places and going long walks. In the end that choice of recreation was to make a big difference to our lives.

Both Archie and Patrick Spencea friend of ours who also worked at Goldstein'swere getting rather pessimistic about their jobs: the prospects as promised or hinted at did not seem to materialise. They were given certain directorships, but the directorships were always of hazardous companiessometimes on the brink of bankruptcy. Spence once said, 'I think these people are a lot of ruddy crooks. All quite legal, you know. Still, I don't like it, do you?'

Archie said that he thought that some of it was not not very reputable. 'I rather wish,' he said thoughtfully, 'I could make a change.' He liked City life and had an apt.i.tude for it, but as time went on he was less and less keen on his employers. very reputable. 'I rather wish,' he said thoughtfully, 'I could make a change.' He liked City life and had an apt.i.tude for it, but as time went on he was less and less keen on his employers.

And then something completely unforeseen came up.

Archie had a friend who had been a master at Cliftona Major Belcher. Major Belcher was a character. He was a man with terrific powers of bluff. He had, according to his own story, bluffed himself into the position of Controller of Potatoes during the war. How much of Belcher's stories was invented and how much true, we never knew, but anyway he made a good story of this one. He had been a man of forty or fifty odd when the war broke out, and though he was offered a stay-at-home job in the War Office he did not care for it much. Anyway, when dining with a V.I.P. one night, the conversation fell on potatoes, which were really a great problem in the 191418 war. As far as I can remember, they vanished quite soon. At the hospital, I know, we never had them. Whether the shortage was entirely due to Belcher's control of them I don't know, but I should not be surprised to hear it.

'This pompous old fool who was talking to me,' said Belcher, 'said the potato position was going to be serious, very serious indeed. I told him that something had to be done about ittoo many people messing about. Somebody had got to take the whole thing overone man to take control. Well, he agreed with me. "But mind you," I said, "he'd have to be paid pretty highly. No good giving a mingy salary to a man and expecting to get one who's any goodyou've got to have someone who's the tops. You ought to give him at least"' 'and here he mentioned a sum of several thousands of pounds. 'That's very high,' said the V.I.P. 'You've got to get a good man,' said Belcher. 'Mind you, if you offered it to me, I wouldn't take it on myself, at that price.'

That was the operative sentence. A few days later Belcher was begged, on his own valuation, to accept such a sum, and control potatoes. 'What did you know about potatoes?' I asked him.

'I didn't know a thing,' said Belcher. 'But I wasn't going to let on. I mean, you can do anythingyou've only got to get a man as second-in-command who knows a bit about it, and read it up a bit, and there you are!' He was a man with a wonderful capacity for impressing people. He had a great belief in his own powers of organisationand it was sometimes a long time before anyone found out the havoc he was causing. The truth is that there never was a man less able to organise. His idea, like that of many politicians, was first to disrupt the entire industry, or whatever it might be, and having thrown it into chaos, to rea.s.semble it, as Omar Khayyam might have said, 'nearer to the heart's desire'. The trouble was that, when it came to reorganising, Belcher was no good. But people seldom discovered that until too late.

At some period of his career he went to New Zealand, where he so impressed the governors of a school with his plans for reorganisation that they rushed to engage him as headmaster. About a year later he was offered an enormous sum of money to give up the jobnot because of any disgraceful conduct, but solely because of the muddle he had introduced, the hatred which he aroused in others, and his own pleasure in what he called 'a forward-looking, up-to-date, progressive administration'. As I say, he was a character. Sometimes you hated him, sometimes you were quite fond of him.

Belcher came to dinner with us one night, being out of the potato job, and explained what he was about to do next. 'You know this Empire Exhibition we're having in eighteen months' time? Well, the thing has got to be properly organised. The Dominions have got to be alerted, to stand on their toes and to co-operate in the whole thing. I'm going on a missionthe British Empire Missiongoing round the world, starting in January.' He went on to detail his schemes. 'What I want,' he said, 'is someone to come with me as financial adviser. What about you, Archie? You've always had a good head on your shoulders. You were Head of the School at Clifton, you've had all this experience in the City. You're just the man I want.'

'I couldn't leave my job,' said Archie.

'Why not? Put it to your boss properlypoint out it will widen your experience and all that. He'll keep the job open for you, I expect.'

Archie said he doubted if Mr Goldstein would do anything of the kind.

'Well, think it over, my boy. I'd like to have you. Agatha could come too, of course. She likes travelling, doesn't she?'

'Yes,' I saida monosyllable of understatement.

'I'll tell you what the itinerary is. We go first to South Africa. You and me, and a secretary, of course. With us would be going the Hyams. I don't know if you know Hyamhe's a potato king from East Anglia. A very sound fellow. He's a great friend of mine. He'd bring his wife and daughter. They'd only go as far as South Africa. Hyam can't afford to come further because he has got too many business deals on here. After that we push on to Australia; and after Australia New Zealand. I'm going to take a bit of time off in New ZealandI've got a lot of friends out there; I like the country. We'd have, perhaps, a month's holiday. You could go on to Hawaii, if you liked, Honolulu.'

'Honolulu,' I breathed. It sounded like the kind of phantasy you had in dreams.

'Then on to Canada, and so home. It would take about nine to ten months. What about it?'

We realised at last that he really meant it. We went into the thing fairly carefully. Archie's expenses would, of course, all be paid, and outside that he would be offered a fee of 1000. If I accompanied the party practically all my travelling costs would be paid, since I would accompany Archie as his wife, and free transport was being given on ships and on the national railways of the various countries.

We worked furiously over finances. It seemed, on the whole, that it could be done. Archie's 1000 ought to cover my expenses in hotels, and a month's holiday for both of us in Honolulu. It would be a near thing, but we thought it was just possible.

Archie and I had twice gone abroad for a short holiday: once to the south of France, to the Pyrenees, and once to Switzerland. We both loved travellingI had certainly been given a taste for it by that early experience when I was seven years old. Anyway, I longed to see the world, and it seemed to me highly probable that I never should. We were now committed to the business life, and a business man, as far as I could see, never got more than a fortnight's holiday a year. A fortnight would not take you far. I longed to see China and j.a.pan and India and Hawaii, and a great many other places, but my dream remained, and probably always would remain, wishful thinking.

'The question is,' said Archie, 'whether old Yellowface will look kindly on the scheme.'

I said hopefully that Archie must be very valuable to him. Archie thought he could probably be replaced with somebody just as goodheaps of people were milling about wanting jobs still. Anyway, 'old Yellowface' did not play. He said that he might might re-employ Archie on his returnit would dependbut he certainly could not guarantee to keep the job open. That would be too much for Archie to ask. He would have to take the risk of finding his place filled. So we debated it. re-employ Archie on his returnit would dependbut he certainly could not guarantee to keep the job open. That would be too much for Archie to ask. He would have to take the risk of finding his place filled. So we debated it.

'It's a risk,' I said. 'A terrible risk.'

'Yes, it's a risk. I realise we shall probably land up back in England without a penny, with a little over a hundred a year between us, and nothing else; that jobs will be hard to getprobably even harder than now. On the other hand, wellif you don't take a risk you never get anywhere, do you?'

'It's rather up to you,' Archie said. 'What shall we do about Teddy?' Teddy was our name for Rosalind at that timeI think because we had once called her in fun The Tadpole.

'Punkie'the name we all used for Madge nowwould take Teddy. Or motherthey would be delighted. And she's got Nurse. Yesyesthat part of it is all right. It's the only chance we shall ever have, I said wistfully.

We thought about it, and thought about it.

'Of course -you -you could go,' I said, bracing myself to be unselfish, 'and I stay behind.' could go,' I said, bracing myself to be unselfish, 'and I stay behind.'

I looked at him. He looked at me.

'I'm not going to leave you behind,' he said. 'I wouldn't enjoy it if I did that. No, either you risk it and come too, or notbut it's up to you, because you you risk more than I do, really.' risk more than I do, really.'

So again we sat and thought, and I adopted Archie's point of view.

'I think you're right,' I said. 'It's our chance. If we don't do it we shall always be mad with ourselves. No, as you say, if you can't take the risk of doing something you want, when the chance comes, life isn't worth living.'

We had never been people who played safe. We had persisted in marrying against all opposition, and now we were determined to see the world and risk what would happen on our return.

Our home arrangements were not difficult. The Addison Mansions flat could be let advantageously, and that would pay Jessie's wages. My mother and my sister were delighted to have Rosalind and Nurse. The only opposition of any kind came at the last moment, when we learnt that my brother Monty was coming home on leave from Africa, My sister was outraged that I was not going to stay in England for his visit.

'Your only brother, coming back after being wounded in the war, and having been away for years, years, and you choose to go off round the world at that moment. I think it's disgraceful. You ought to put your brother first.' and you choose to go off round the world at that moment. I think it's disgraceful. You ought to put your brother first.'

'Well, I I don't think so,' I said. 'I ought to put my husband first. He is going on this trip and I'm going with him. Wives don't think so,' I said. 'I ought to put my husband first. He is going on this trip and I'm going with him. Wives should should go with their husbands.' go with their husbands.'

'Monty's your only brother, and it's your only chance of seeing him, perhaps for years years more.' more.'

She quite upset me in the end; but my mother was strongly on my side. 'A wife's duty is to go with her husband,' she said. 'A husband must come first, even before your childrenand a brother is further away still. Remember, if you're not with your husband, if you leave him too much, you you'll lose him. That's specially true of a man like Archie.' That's specially true of a man like Archie.'

'I'm sure that's not so,' I said indignantly. 'Archie is the most faithful person in the world.'

'You never know with any man,' said my mother, speaking in a true Victorian spirit. 'A wife ought ought to be with her husbandand if she isn't, then he feels he has a to be with her husbandand if she isn't, then he feels he has a right right to forget her.' to forget her.'