I n the heart of the West End, there are many quiet pockets, unknown to almost all but taxi drivers who traverse themwith expert knowledge, and arrive triumphantly1 thereby2 at Park Lane, Berkeley Square or South Audley Street.
If you turn off on an unpretentious street from the Park, and turn left and right once or twice, you will find yourselfin a quiet street with Bertram’s Hotel on the right-hand side. Bertram’s Hotel has been there a long time. During thewar, houses were demolished3 on the right of it, and a little farther down on the left of it, but Bertram’s itself remainedunscathed. Naturally it could not escape being, as house agents would say, scratched, bruised4 and marked, but by theexpenditure of only a reasonable amount of money it was restored to its original condition. By 1955 it looked preciselyas it had looked in 1939—dignified, unostentatious, and quietly expensive.
Such was Bertram’s, patronized over a long stretch of years by the higher échelons of the clergy5, dowager ladies ofthe aristocracy up from the country, girls on their way home for the holidays from expensive finishing schools. (“Sofew places where a girl can stay alone in London but of course it is quite all right at Bertram’s. We have stayed therefor years.”)
There had, of course, been many other hotels on the model of Bertram’s. Some still existed, but nearly all had feltthe wind of change. They had had necessarily to modernize6 themselves, to cater7 for a different clientele. Bertram’s,too, had had to change, but it had been done so cleverly that it was not at all apparent at the first casual glance.
Outside the steps that led up to the big swing doors stood what at first sight appeared to be no less than a FieldMarshal. Gold braid and medal ribbons adorned8 a broad and manly9 chest. His deportment was perfect. He receivedyou with tender concern as you emerged with rheumatic difficulty from a taxi or a car, guided you carefully up thesteps and piloted you through the silently swinging doorway10.
Inside, if this was the first time you had visited Bertram’s, you felt, almost with alarm, that you had reentered avanished world. Time had gone back. You were in Edwardian England once more.
There was, of course, central heating, but it was not apparent. As there had always been, in the big central lounge,there were two magnificent coal fires; beside them big brass11 coal scuttles12 shone in the way they used to shine whenEdwardian housemaids polished them, and they were filled with exactly the rightsized lumps of coal. There was ageneral appearance of rich red velvet13 and plushy cosiness14. The armchairs were not of this time and age. They werewell above the level of the floor, so that rheumatic old ladies had not to struggle in an undignified manner in order toget to their feet. The seats of the chairs did not, as in so many modern high-priced armchairs, stop halfway15 between thethigh and the knee, thereby inflicting16 agony on those suffering from arthritis17 and sciatica; and they were not all of apattern. There were straight backs and reclining backs, different widths to accommodate the slender and the obese18.
People of almost any dimension could find a comfortable chair at Bertram’s.
Since it was now the tea hour, the lounge hall was full. Not that the lounge hall was the only place where you couldhave tea. There was a drawing room (chintz), a smoking room (by some hidden influence reserved for gentlemenonly), where the vast chairs were of fine leather, two writing rooms, where you could take a special friend and have acosy little gossip in a quiet corner—and even write a letter as well if you wanted to. Besides these amenities19 of theEdwardian age, there were other retreats, not in anyway publicized, but known to those who wanted them. There was adouble bar, with two bar attendants, an American barman to make the Americans feel at home and to provide themwith bourbon, rye, and every kind of cocktail20, and an English one to deal with sherries and Pimm’s No. 1, and to talkknowledgeably about the runners at Ascot and Newbury to the aged22" target="_blank">middle-aged21 men who stayed at Bertram’s for the moreserious race meetings. There was also, tucked down a passage, in a secretive way, a television room for those whoasked for it.
But the big entrance lounge was the favourite place for the afternoon tea drinking. The elderly ladies enjoyedseeing who came in and out, recognizing old friends, and commenting unfavourably on how these had aged. Therewere also American visitors fascinated by seeing the titled English really getting down to their traditional afternoontea. For afternoon tea was quite a feature of Bertram’s.
It was nothing less than splendid. Presiding over the ritual was Henry, a large and magnificent figure, a ripe fifty,avuncular, sympathetic, and with the courtly manners of that long vanished species: the perfect butler. Slim youthsperformed the actual work under Henry’s austere23 direction. There were large crested24 silver trays, and Georgian silverteapots. The china, if not actually Rockingham and Davenport, looked like it. The Blind Earl services were particularfavourites. The tea was the best Indian, Ceylon, Darjeeling, Lapsang, etc. As for eatables, you could ask for anythingyou liked—and get it!
On this particular day, November the 17th, Lady Selina Hazy25, sixty-five, up from Leicestershire, was eatingdelicious well-buttered muffins with all an elderly lady’s relish26.
Her absorption with muffins, however, was not so great that she failed to look up sharply every time the inner pairof swing doors opened to admit a newcomer.
So it was that she smiled and nodded to welcome Colonel Luscombe—erect, soldierly, race glasses hanging roundhis neck. Like the old autocrat27 that she was, she beckoned28 imperiously and, in a minute or two, Luscombe came overto her.
“Hallo, Selina, what brings you up to Town?”
“Dentist,” said Lady Selina, rather indistinctly, owing to muffin. “And I thought as I was up, I might as well go andsee that man in Harley Street about my arthritis. You know who I mean.”
Although Harley Street contained several hundreds of fashionable practitioners29 for all and every ailment,Luscombe did know whom she meant.
“Do you any good?” he asked.
“I rather think he did,” said Lady Selina grudgingly30. “Extraordinary fellow. Took me by the neck when I wasn’texpecting it, and wrung31 it like a chicken.” She moved her neck gingerly.
“Hurt you?”
“It must have done, twisting it like that, but really I hadn’t time to know.” She continued to move her neckgingerly. “Feels all right. Can look over my right shoulder for the first time in years.”
She put this to a practical test and exclaimed, “Why I do believe that’s old Jane Marple. Thought she was deadyears ago. Looks a hundred.”
Colonel Luscombe threw a glance in the direction of Jane Marple thus resurrected, but without much interest:
Bertram’s always had a sprinkling of what he called fluffy32 old pussies33.
Lady Selina was continuing.
“Only place in London you can still get muffins. Real muffins. Do you know when I went to America last year theyhad something called muffins on the breakfast menu. Not real muffins at all. Kind of teacake with raisins34 in them. Imean, why call them muffins?”
She pushed in the last buttery morsel35 and looked round vaguely36. Henry materialized immediately. Not quickly orhurriedly. It seemed that, just suddenly, he was there.
“Anything further I can get you, my lady? Cake of any kind?”
“Cake?” Lady Selina thought about it, was doubtful.
“We are serving very good seed cake, my lady. I can recommend it.”
“Seed cake? I haven’t eaten seed cake for years. It is real seed cake?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. The cook has had the recipe for years. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.”
Henry gave a glance at one of his retinue37, and the lad departed in search of seed cake.
“I suppose you’ve been at Newbury, Derek?”
“Yes. Darned cold, I didn’t wait for the last two races. Disastrous38 day. That filly of Harry’s was no good at all.”
“Didn’t think she would be. What about Swanhilda?”
“Finished fourth.” Luscombe rose. “Got to see about my room.”
He walked across the lounge to the reception desk. As he went he noted39 the tables and their occupants. Astonishingnumber of people having tea here. Quite like old days. Tea as a meal had rather gone out of fashion since the war. Butevidently not at Bertram’s. Who were all these people? Two Canons and the Dean of Chislehampton. Yes, and anotherpair of gaitered legs over in the corner, a Bishop40, no less! Mere41 Vicars were scarce. “Have to be at least a Canon toafford Bertram’s,” he thought. The rank and file of the clergy certainly couldn’t, poor devils. As far as that went, hewondered how on earth people like old Selina Hazy could. She’d only got twopence or so a year to bless herself with.
And there was old Lady Berry, and Mrs. Posselthwaite from Somerset, and Sybil Kerr—all poor as church mice.
Still thinking about this he arrived at the desk and was pleasantly greeted by Miss Gorringe the receptionist. MissGorringe was an old friend. She knew every one of the clientele and, like Royalty42, never forgot a face. She lookedfrumpy but respectable. Frizzled yellowish hair (old-fashioned tongs43, it suggested), black silk dress, a high bosom44 onwhich reposed45 a large gold locket and a cameo brooch.
“Number fourteen,” said Miss Gorringe. “I think you had fourteen last time, Colonel Luscombe, and liked it. It’squiet.”
“How you always manage to remember these things, I can’t imagine, Miss Gorringe.”
“We like to make our old friends comfortable.”
“Takes me back a long way, coming in here. Nothing seems to have changed.”
He broke off as Mr. Humfries came out from an inner sanctum to greet him.
Mr. Humfries was often taken by the uninitiated to be Mr. Bertram in person. Who the actual Mr. Bertram was, orindeed, if there ever had been a Mr. Bertram was now lost in the mists of antiquity46. Bertram’s had existed since about1840, but nobody had taken any interest in tracing its past history. It was just there, solid, in fact. When addressed asMr. Bertram, Mr. Humfries never corrected the impression. If they wanted him to be Mr. Bertram he would be Mr.
Bertram. Colonel Luscombe knew his name, though he didn’t know if Humfries was the manager or the owner. Herather fancied the latter.
Mr. Humfries was a man of about fifty. He had very good manners, and the presence of a Junior Minister. Hecould, at any moment, be all things to all people. He could talk racing47 shop, cricket, foreign politics, tell anecdotes48 ofRoyalty, give Motor Show information, knew the most interesting plays on at present—advise on places Americansought really to see in England however short their stay. He had knowledgeable49 information about where it would suitpersons of all incomes and tastes to dine. With all this, he did not make himself too cheap. He was not on tap all thetime. Miss Gorringe had all the same facts at her fingertips and could retail50 them efficiently51. At brief intervals52 Mr.
Humfries, like the sun, made his appearance above the horizon and flattered someone by his personal attention.
This time it was Colonel Luscombe who was so honoured. They exchanged a few racing platitudes53, but ColonelLuscombe was absorbed by his problem. And here was the man who could give him the answer.
“Tell me, Humfries, how do all these old dears manage to come and stay here?”
“Oh you’ve been wondering about that?” Mr. Humfries seemed amused. “Well, the answer’s simple. They couldn’tafford it. Unless—”
He paused.
“Unless you make special prices for them? Is that it?”
“More or less. They don’t know, usually, that they are special prices, or if they do realize it, they think it’s becausethey’re old customers.”
“And it isn’t just that?”
“Well, Colonel Luscombe, I am running a hotel. I couldn’t afford actually to lose money.”
“But how can that pay you?”
“It’s a question of atmosphere…Strangers coming to this country (Americans, in particular, because they are theones who have the money) have their own rather queer ideas of what England is like. I’m not talking, you understand,of the rich business tycoons54 who are always crossing the Atlantic. They usually go to the Savoy or the Dorchester.
They want modern décor, American food, all the things that will make them feel at home. But there are a lot of peoplewho come abroad at rare intervals and who expect this country to be—well, I won’t go back as far as Dickens, butthey’ve read Cranford and Henry James, and they don’t want to find this country just the same as their own! So theygo back home afterwards and say: ‘There’s a wonderful place in London; Bertram’s Hotel, it’s called. It’s just likestepping back a hundred years. It just is old England! And the people who stay there! People you’d never come acrossanywhere else. Wonderful old Duchesses. They serve all the old English dishes, there’s a marvellous old-fashionedbeefsteak pudding! You’ve never tasted anything like it; and great sirloins of beef and saddles of mutton, and an old-fashioned English tea and a wonderful English breakfast. And of course all the usual things as well. And it’swonderfully comfortable. And warm. Great log fires.’”
Mr. Humfries ceased his impersonation and permitted himself something nearly approaching a grin.
“I see,” said Luscombe thoughtfully. “These people; decayed aristocrats55, impoverished56 members of the old Countyfamilies, they are all so much mise en scène?”
Mr. Humfries nodded agreement.
“I really wonder no one else has thought of it. Of course I found Bertram’s ready-made, so to speak. All it neededwas some rather expensive restoration. All the people who come here think it’s something that they’ve discovered forthemselves, that no one else knows about.”
“I suppose,” said Luscombe, “that the restoration was quite expensive?”
“Oh yes. The place has got to look Edwardian, but it’s got to have the modern comforts that we take for granted inthese days. Our old dears—if you will forgive me referring to them as that—have got to feel that nothing has changedsince the turn of the century, and our travelling clients have got to feel they can have period surroundings, and stillhave what they are used to having at home, and can’t really live without!”
“Bit difficult sometimes?” suggested Luscombe.
“Not really. Take central heating for instance. Americans require—need, I should say—at least ten degreesFahrenheit higher than English people do. We actually have two quite different sets of bedrooms. The English we putin one lot, the Americans in the other. The rooms all look alike, but they are full of actual differences—electric razors,and showers as well as tubs in some of the bathrooms, and if you want an American breakfast, it’s there—cereals andiced orange juice and all—or if you prefer you can have the English breakfast.”
“Eggs and bacon?”
“As you say—but a good deal more than that if you want it. Kippers, kidneys and bacon, cold grouse57, York ham.
Oxford58 marmalade.”
“I must remember all that tomorrow morning. Don’t get that sort of thing anymore at home.”
Humfries smiled.
“Most gentlemen only ask for eggs and bacon. They’ve—well, they’ve got out of the way of thinking about thethings there used to be.”
“Yes, yes…I remember when I was a child…Sideboards groaning59 with hot dishes. Yes, it was a luxurious60 way oflife.”
“We endeavour to give people anything they ask for.”
“Including seed cake and muffins—yes, I see. To each according to his need—I see…Quite Marxian.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just a thought, Humfries. Extremes meet.”
Colonel Luscombe turned away, taking the key Miss Gorringe offered him. A page boy sprang to attention andconducted him to the lift. He saw in passing that Lady Selina Hazy was now sitting with her friend Jane Something orother.
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1
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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modernize
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| vt.使现代化，使适应现代的需要 | |
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cater
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| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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scuttles
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| n.天窗( scuttle的名词复数 )v.使船沉没( scuttle的第三人称单数 )；快跑，急走 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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cosiness
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| n.舒适，安逸 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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arthritis
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| n.关节炎 | |
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obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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beckoned
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practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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grudgingly
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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pussies
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| n.（粗俚） 女阴( pussy的名词复数 )；（总称）（作为性对象的）女人；（主要北美使用，非正式）软弱的；小猫咪 | |
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raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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knowledgeable
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| adj.知识渊博的；有见识的 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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tycoons
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| 大君( tycoon的名词复数 )； 将军； 企业巨头； 大亨 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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