In the heart of the West End, there are many quietpockets, unknown to almost all but taxi drivers who traverse them with expert knowledge,and arrive triumphantly thereby at Park Lane, Berkeley Square or South Audley Street.
If you turn off on an unpretentious street from thePark, and turn left and right once or twice, you will find yourself in a quiet street withBertram's Hotel on the right hand side. Bertram's Hotel has been there a long time. During the war, houses were demolished onthe right of it, and a little farther down on the left of it, but Bertram's itself remained unscathed. Naturally it could not escape being, as houseagents would say, scratched, bruised and marked, but by the expenditure of only areasonable amount of money it was restored to its original condition. By 1955 it lookedprecisely as it had looked in 1939 – dignified,unostentatious, and quietly expensive.
Such was Bertram's,patronised over a long stretch of years by the higher echelons of the clergy, dowagerladies of the aristocracy up from the country, girls on their way home for the holidaysfrom expensive fishing schools. ("So few places where a girlcan stay alone in London but of course it is quite all right at Bertram's. We have stayed there for years.")
There had, of course, been many other hotels on themodel of Bertram's. Some still existed, but nearly all hadfelt the wind of change. They had had necessarily to modernise themselves, to cater for adifferent clientele. Bertram's, too, had had to change, but ithad 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 doorsstood what at first sight appeared to be no less than a Field Marshal. Gold braid andmedal ribbons adorned a broad and manly chest. His deportment was perfect. He received youwith tender concern as you emerged with rheumatic difficulty from a taxi or a car, guidedyou carefully up the steps and piloted you through the silently swinging doorway.
Inside, if this was the first time you had visitedBertram's, you felt, almost with alarm, that you hadre-entered a vanished world. Time had gone back. You were in Edwardian England once more.
There was, of course, central heating, but it wasnot apparent. As there had always been, in the big central lounge, there were twomagnificent coal fires; beside them big brass coal scuttles shone in the way they used toshine when Edwardian housemaids polished them, and they were filled with exactly the rightsized lumps of coal. There was a general appearance of rich red velvet and plushycosiness. The armchairs were not of this time and age. They were well above the level ofthe floor, so that rheumatic old ladies had not to struggle in an undignified manner inorder to get to their feet. The seats of the chairs did not, as in so many modernhigh-priced armchairs, stop halfway between the high and the knee, thereby inflictingagony on those suffering from arthritis and sciatica; and they were not all of a pattern.There were straight backs and reclining backs, different widths to accommodate the slenderand the obese. People of almost any dimension could find a comfortable chair at Bertram's.
Since it was now the tea hour, the lounge hall wasfull. Not that the lounge hall was the only place where you could have tea. There was adrawing-room (chintz), a smoking-room, (by some hidden influence reserved for gentlemenonly) where vast chairs were of fine leather, two writing-rooms, where you could take aspecial friend and have a cosy little gossip in a quiet corner – and even write a letter as well if you wanted to. Besides these amenities ofthe Edwardian age, there were other retreats, not in any way publicised, but known tothose who wanted them. There was a double bar, with two bar attendants, an American barmanto make the Americans feel at home and to provide them with bourbon, rye, and every kindof cocktail, and an English one to deal with sherries and Pimm'sNo. I, and to talk knowledgeably about the runners at Ascot and Newbury to the middle-agedmen who stayed at Bertram's for the more serious racemeetings. There was also, tucked down a passage, in a secretive way, a television-room forthose who asked for it.
But the big entrance lounge was the favourite placefor the afternoon tea drinking. The elderly ladies enjoyed seeing who came in and out,recognising old friends, and commenting unfavourably on how these had aged. There werealso American visitors fascinated by seeing the titled English really getting down totheir traditional afternoon tea. For afternoon tea was quite a feature of Bertram's.
It was nothing less than splendid. Presiding overthe ritual was Henry, a large and magnificent figure, a ripe fifty, avuncular,sympathetic, and with the courtly manners of that long vanished species; the perfectbutler. Slim youths performed the actual work under Henry'saustere direction. There were large crested sliver trays, and Georgian silver teapots. Thechina, if not actually Rockingham and Davenport favourites. The tea was the best Indian,Ceylon, Darjeeling, Lapsang, etc. as for eatables, you could ask for anything you liked –and get it!
Oh this particular day, November the 17th,Lady Selina Hazy, sixty-five, up from Leicestershire, was eating delicious well-butteredmuffins with all an elderly lady's relish.
Her absorption with muffins, however, was not sogreat that she failed to look up sharply every time the inner pair of swing doors openedto admit a newcomer.
So it was that she smiled and nodded to welcomeColonel Luscombe – erect, soldierly, race glasses hanginground his neck. Like the old autocrat that she was, she beckoned imperiously and in aminute or two, Luscombe came over to her.
"Hallo, Selina, what brings you up to Town?"
"Dentist," said LadySelina, rather indistinctly, owing to muffin. "And I thoughtas I was up, I might as well go and see that man in Harley Street about my arthritis. Youknow who I mean."
Although Harley Street contained several hundreds offashionable practitioners for all and every ailment, Luscombe did know whom she meant.
"Do you any good?" heasked.
"I rather think he did," said Lady Selina grudgingly. "Extraordinaryfellow. Took me by the neck when I wasn't expecting it, andwrung it like a chicken." She moved her neck gingerly.
"Hurt you?"
"It must have done, twisting it like that, butreally I hadn't time to know." Shecontinued to move her neck gingerly. "Feels all right. Canlook over my right shoulder for the first time in years."
She put this to a practical test and exclaimed.
"Why I do believe that'sold Jane Marple. Thought she was dead years ago. Looks a hundred."
Colonel Luscombe threw a glance in the direction ofJane Marple thus resurrected, but without much interest: Bertram's always had a sprinkling of what he called fluffy old pussies.
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 they had something calledmuffins on the breakfast menu. Not real muffins at all. Kind of teacake with raisins inthem. I mean, why call them muffins?"
She pushed in the last buttery morsel and lookedround vaguely. Henry materialised immediately. Not quickly or hurriedly. It seemed that,just suddenly, he was there.
"Anything further I can get you, my lady? Cake ofany kind?"
"Cake?" Lady Selinathought about it, was doubtful.
"We are serving very good seed cake, my lady. Ican recommend it."
"Seed cake? I haven'teaten seed cake for years. It is real seed cake?"
"Oh, yes, my lady. The cook had had the receiptfor years. You'll enjoy it, I'msure."
Henry gave a glance at one of his retinue, and thelad departed in search of seed cake.
"I suppose you've beenat Newbury, Derek?"
"Yes. Darned cold, I didn't wait for the last two races. Disastrous day. That filly of Harry's was no good at all."
"Didn't think shewould be. What about Swanhilda?"
"Finished fourth." Luscomberose. "Got to see about my room."
He walked across the lounge to the reception desk.As he went he noted the tables and their occupants. Astonishing number of people havingtea here. Quite like old days. Tea as a meal had rather gone out of fashion since the war.But evidently not at Bertram's. Who were all these people? TwoCanons and the Dean of Chislehampton. Yes, and another pair of gaitered legs over in thecorner, a Bishop, no less! Mere Vicars were scarce. "Have tobe at least a Canon to afford Bertram's," he thought. The rank and file of the clergy certainly couldn't, poor devils. As far as that went, he wondered how on earth people like oldSelina Hazy could. She'd only got twopence or so a year tobless 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 andwas pleasantly greeted by Miss Gorringe the receptionist. Miss Gorringe was an old friend.She knew every one of the clientele and, like Royalty, never forgot a face. She lookedfrumpy but respectable. Frizzled yellowish hair (old-fashioned tongs, it suggested), blacksilk dress, a high bosom on which reposed a large gold locket and a cameo brooch.
"Number fourteen," saidMiss Gorringe. "I think you had fourteen last time, ColonelLuscombe, and liked it. it's quiet."
"How you always manage to remember these things, Ican't imagine, Miss Gorringe."
"We like to make our old friends comfortable."
"Takes me back a long way, coming in here. Nothingseems to have changed."
He broke off as Mr. Humfries came out from an innersanctum to greet him.
Mr. Humfries was often taken by the uninitiated tobe Mr. Bertram in person. Who the actual Mr. Bertram was, or indeed, if there ever hadbeen a Mr. Bertram was now lost in the mists of antiquity. Bertram's had existed since about 1840, but nobody had taken any interest in tracingits past history. It was just there, solid, a fact. When addressed as Mr. Bertram, Mr.Humfries never corrected the impression. If they wanted him to be Mr. Bertram he would beMr. Bertram. Colonel Luscombe knew his name, though he didn'tknow if Humfries was the manager or the owner. He rather fancied the latter.
Mr. Humfries was a man of about fifty. He had verygood manners, and the presence of a Junior Minister. He could, at any moment, be allthings to all people. He could talk racing shop, cricket, foreign politics, tell anecdotesof Royalty, give Motor Show information, knew the most interesting plays on at present –advise on places Americans ought really to see in England however shorttheir stay. He had knowledgeable information about where it would suit persons of allincomes and tastes to dine. With all this, he did not make himself too cheap. He was noton tap all the time. Miss Gorringe had all the same facts at her fingertips and couldretail them efficiently. At brief intervals Mr. Humfries, like the sun, made hisappearance above the horizon and flattered someone by his personal attention.
This time it was Colonel Luscombe who was sohonoured. They exchanged a few racing platitudes, but Colonel Luscombe was absorbed by hisproblem. And here was the man who could give him the answer.
"Tell me, Humfries, how do all these old dearsmanage to come and stay here?"
"On you've beenwondering about that?" Mr. Humfries seemed amused. "Well, the answer's simple. They couldn't afford it. unless –」
He paused.
"Unless you make special prices for them? is thatit?"
"More or less. They don't know, usually, that they are special prices, or if they do realise it, theythink it's because they're oldcustomers."
"And it isn't justthat?"
"Well, Colonel Luscombe, I am running a hotel. Icouldn't afford actually to lose money."
"But how can that pay you?"
"It's a question ofatmosphere…. Strangers coming to this country (Americans, inparticular, because they are the ones who have the money) have their own rather queerideas of what England is like. I'm not talking, youunderstand, of the rich business tycoons who are always crossing the Atlantic. Theyusually go to the Savoy or the Dorchester. They want modern decor, American food,all the things that will make them feel at home. But there are a lot of people who comeabroad at rare intervals and who expect this country to be – well,I won't go back as far as Dickens, but they've read Cranford and Henry James, and they don'twant to find this country just the same as their own! So they go back home afterwards andsay: 'There's a wonderful place inLondon; Bertram's Hotel, it'scalled. It's just like stepping back a hundred years. It justis old England! And the people who stay there! People you'dnever come across an
ere else. Wonderful old Duchesses. They serve all the old Englishdishes, there's a marvellous old-fashioned beefsteak pudding!You've never tasted anything like it; and great sirloins ofbeef and saddles of mutton, and an old-fashioned English tea and a wonderful Englishbreakfast. And of course all the usual things as well. And it'swonderfully comfortable. And warm. Great log fires.'"
Mr. Humfries ceased his impersonation and permittedhimself something nearly approaching a grin.
"I see," said Luscombethoughtfully. "These people; decayed aristocrats, impoverishedmembers of the old County families, they are all so much mise en scene?"
Mr. Humfries nodded agreement.
"I really wonder no one else has thought of it. ofcourse I found Bertram's ready made, so to speak. All itneeded was 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," saidLuscombe, "that the restoration was quite expensive?"
"Oh yes. The place has got to look Edwardian, butit's got to have the modern comforts that we take for grantedin these days. Our old dears – if you will forgive mereferring to them as that – have got to feel that nothing haschanged since the turn of the century, and our travelling clients have got to feel theycan have period surroundings, and still have 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 degrees Fahrenheit higher than English people do. We actuallyhave two quite different sets of bedrooms. The English we put in one lot, the Americans inthe 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 ifyou want an American breakfast, it's there – cereals and iced orange juice and all – or if youprefer you can have the English breakfast."
"Eggs and bacon?"
"As you say – but agood deal more than that if you want it. kippers, kidneys and bacon, cold grouse, Yorkham. Oxford marmalade."
"I must remember all that tomorrow morning. Don't get that sort of thing any more at home."
Humfries smiled.
"Most gentlemen only ask for eggs and bacon. They've – well, they'vegoo out of the way of thinking about the things there used to be."
"Yes, yes…. I rememberwhen I was a child…. Sideboard groaning with hot dishes. Yes,it was a luxurious way of life."
"We endeavour to give people anything they askfor."
"Including seek 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 MissGorringe offered him. A pageboy sprang to attention and conducted him to the lift. He sawin passing that Lady Selina Hazy was now sitting with her friend Jane something or other.
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