The Girl in a Swing

by Richard Adams

running to waste in a heat-wave.'

  At once she jumped up and, reaching the tap before I

  could, pressed her hand over it and squirted a little, spraying

  jet of water up into my face.

  i'Clean slate? There you are!' She turned the tap off and

  then, searching in my pockets with either hand, helped herself

  to my handkerchief, wiped my face and then her own

  wet wrists and fingers.

  'The swing's nice, too. Is it safe? Will it bear me?'

  'Oh, yes. I got new ropes for Angela only last summer.'

  She sat in it, pushed off with her feet and swung gently to

  and fro, her arms, raised high to the ropes, lifting her breasts

  under her lime-green blouse.

  'D'you think one could make love in a swing?'

  'Oh, that Ro-middley again! I don't think it would be very

  comfortable, do you?'

  She dropped to the ground, lifted her skirt at the back and

  twisted her head round to look at it.

  'Ach, now the seat's made my bottom all grubby! It's

  dry, though - just powder, really. Brush it off, darling,

  please.'

  247

  I slapped and stroked the fragments from her buttocks

  and she embraced me, sighing.

  'Harder, Alan, harder!'

  'There's a perfectly good bed upstairs, you know.'

  'Yes; but supper first, I think. I'm hungry, aren't you?'

  'Yes, I am: what is it?'

  'Glazed spaghetti, I thought. Then everybody has garlic.

  Oh, Alan, do you remember the dinner at the "Golden

  Pheasant"? And the Schnecken? I was longing for you that

  night, do you know that? Do snails really have an effect,

  do you think?'

  'It's only suggestion, really. They just remind you of something

  else you sometimes have in your mouth, that's all.'

  'M'mm, yum! I'm going to pick a bunch of these big white

  daisies and some of the - what is it? - sorrel, and put them

  in the drawing-room.'

  'The sorrel'll drop all over the place.'

  'Never mind; I do that too. Come on, help me, darling.

  You go and pick some of those tall ones over there.'

  We were just drying off the spaghetti when the telephone

  rang. It was my mother. She seemed in excellent spirits, and

  we chatted for several minutes about the beautiful weather,

  the Faringdon sale, a picnic she had been on the day before

  and the progress of Angela's reading. Then she said,

  'Alan dear, I'll tell you why I'm ringing. You'll never believe

  this, but I'm going to a dance on Wednesday night.'

  'Good heavens, Mummy, what fun! Is it the county ball?'

  'No, it's the Young Farmers. The old farmers have to keep

  them in order, you see.'

  'I don't see, but I'm sure it'll be marvellous.'

  'Well, darling, I know it's asking a lot, but do you think

  you could possibly look out my evening dress - you know,

  the sort of goldy one - and the shoes that go with it and one

  or two other things I'll tell you about now, and bring them

  down? I can't afford a new evening outfit, and anyway that's

  a very nice dress and I'd like to have it on Wednesday. But

  there's no time for the post, you see.'

  'Oh, Mummy, I'd love to come down, I really would, but I

  just don't see how I can manage it. There's this Faringdon

  248

  sale to-morrow and then on Wednesday morning I've got an

  appointment with two Americans - really rather important

  customers. Let me think; what can we do? Why don't you

  come up yourself? That'd be lovely.'

  'I could, dear, but I'd rather not if it can be helped. You

  see, I - oh, Alan, I've just thought! What about your beautiful

  Kathe? Couldn't she come down with the things, and

  then she could go to the dance with us? Bill can easily find

  her a partner. It really would be such a help, Alan. I'd be so

  grateful.'

  She was pleading, in effect. It occurred to me that, although

  I disliked the idea of being without Kathe even for

  one night, this was a golden opportunity to create good relations

  and get things on an even keel at last. Conversely,

  a refusal would give offence, as the notices say in pubs. Kathe

  was beyond argument available. On all counts the wisest

  course would be to accede gracefully.

  'Well, Mummy, I think the best thing I can do is just to

  put Kathe quickly in the picture and then ask her to have a

  word with you herself. I'd rather she took the details of your

  things, anyway: I'd only get them all wrong. Hang on a tick.'

  I told Kathe the situation. She grasped the implications

  with her usual swiftness.

  Til have to go, Alan, won't I? We can't refuse. Yes, of

  course I'll have a word with her. You watch the spaghetti

  and grate that cheese, and for goodness' sake don't let anything

  burn.'

  Sticking to my guns in the kitchen, I caught snatches of

  the half-conversation proceeding in the hall.

  'How lovely to be talking to you - oh, ja, I am so happy

  here - yes, Alan is just fine - oh, that will be wonderful, how

  kind of you! So we shall meet at last! No, no trouble at all let

  me get a pencil - in the wardrobe, ja - you say in the top

  drawer - and a gold bag, oh ja - now I will read it over to

  you - to-morrow evening, I am looking forward so much -'

  The plates clattered as I put them to warm under the

  grill. What with that and the running tap I heard no more.

  A minute or tvro later Kathe came back into the kitchen,

  glancing over her list.

  249

  'Kathe, what did you mean, to-morrow evening? The dance

  isn't until Wednesday. Surely you'll go down on Wednesday

  morning, won't you?'

  'My darling, I'm going to save your money! How far is

  Faringdon from Swindon?'

  'About ten or eleven miles.'

  'Yes, silly boy! So you can take me to the train at Swindon

  after the sale to-morrow. Much less fare and then your

  mother thinks, "Ah, how nice of her to come so quickly!"

  Besides, she'll want a little while to look over the clothes

  and things, won't she, if she hasn't worn them for a bit?'

  'So I shall be two nights without you?'

  'Get Deirdre up. She'd love it!'

  'She might, but I wouldn't.'

  'Well, we'd better make the most of to-night, hadn't we?

  But first, after supper, I'm going to get those things together.

  Did you say we had some red chianti, darling? Do give me

  some now, this minute.'

  The sale confirmed my worst fears. Each porcelain item

  seemed to go for a more outrageous price than the last,

  until even Joe was muttering 'Bloody 'ell!' at each bid and

  I could feel the pulse in my temples throbbing with frustration

  and annoyance. The Worcester tea-service was bought by

  the bearded Frenchman for �2,000 after I had dropped out at

  my �1,600 limit. The owls went for �12,500, though with

  Joe's support I got the hawk for �1,000. A pair of Red

  Anchor beggars fetched �1,200 and the Ranelagh dancers

  �1,500. We got our polychrome shepherd and shepherdess

  for �1,500, but with the Miles Mason
dessert service we

  never had a look-in. After a brisk tussle between the Frenchman

  and someone who I thought was probably from Williams's,

  it wait for �2,200.

  'They won't be able to make much profit at that figure,'

  said Joe, 'unless they stash it away in the vaults for a few

  years. That's probably what they will do, the sods.'

  We got some minor items - willow-pattern, Staffordshire

  figures and the like - though even these were hard-won; and

  250

  I bought another Nelson, just for the hell of it, being unwilling

  to see the hero of Trafalgar pass into alien hands. At

  the end of the morning Joe, with the air of one about to flee

  the stricken field, produced a hip-flask of Scotch, took a swig,

  passed it to me without wiping the top and said, 'Well, nil

  illegitimi carborundum, old boy. How about a steak - a nice,

  bloody one - and a couple of pints of? Could you fancy a

  steak, Mrs D?'

  'No, you take Alan,' replied Kathe, smiling at him but

  speaking firmly and decisively. 'I'm going to stay for the job

  lots.'

  'Kathe,' I said in some apprehension, 'what have you got in

  mind? Is there something you particularly want?'

  'Vielleicht.'

  'Well, look, for God's sake don't go mad. We can't afford

  it, honestly.'

  Having said this, I instantly felt ashamed. When had she

  ever been extravagant, unless extravagance lay in accepting

  what I had myself bought for her? And now - a glass snowstorm,

  a Benares bowl, a Present from Weymouth mug?

  'Kathe, I'm sorry, darling. Forgive me! Forget I said it.

  Have a jolly time. I'll bring you back some sandwiches.'

  'If they're ham, don't forget the mustard! Lots of it!'

  When we got back, about an hour and a half later, there

  was a very different 'feel' about the activities in the marquee.

  The foreigners seemed to have gone and the middle-aged

  auctioneer had handed over to a breezy young colleague,

  who was apparently encouraging bidding by word of mouth.

  There were fewer people and a more relaxed atmosphere altogether.

  As far as I could judge these were mostly local

  residents, many of whom plainly knew each other - tweedclad

  ladies (one had a well-behaved spaniel on a lead), several

  obvious representatives of the shopkeeper and r-jnor official

  class, a little group of students, a military-looking gentleman

  with trout flies in his hat, a district nurse in dark-blue uniform,

  a stout, respectable body who looked like a cook. The

  auctioneer was allowing himself numerous quips, sallies

  and pleasantries in the conduct of business.

  251

  'Any more for this handsome triple-note gong? In full

  working order, Cyril, isn't it?' he inquired of the clothcapped,

  green-baize-aproned stalwart who was holding successive

  articles up to view.

  'Yeah, lovely,' replied Cyril; and, picking up the padded

  stick, proceeded to play 'Come to the cook-house door', at

  which there was laughter and applause.

  'Going to Major Brent for five pounds, then - gone!' said

  the auctioneer, and proceeded without delay to extol two

  stuffed green parrots under a glass dome.

  I had now caught sight of Kathe leaning against a tentpole

  on the further side of the marquee. She had an open

  catalogue in her hand, but was plainly not shaping up to

  any active part in the bidding. I wondered what she could

  have in mind. Had she already bought anything and if so,

  what?

  A framed sampler - 'Harriet Snelling, aged 10, her work,

  1855' - came up and fetched �18. Then two North Country

  rosy bowls - pretty, but both riveted - went for �8, followed

  by a set of large-to-small, black wooden elephants. Kathe

  showed not a flicker of interest. I decided that she must have

  some particular purpose, and became more and more intrigued.

  After another ten minutes the young auctioneer reached

  the kitchen stuff. A huge old wooden-rollered mangle ('There

  it is, ladies, over there. Cyril could carry it up front, of

  course, only he strained his Achilles tendon with the stuffed

  bear') failed to get any bids at all, but a great iron frying-pan

  and six ditto spoons were snapped up by a rather masculinelooking

  lady standing next to me. 'Sold to Mrs Rossiter for

  �3!' cried the auctioneer.

  The lots came and went swiftly, each fetching no more

  than a few pounds, if that - sets of jam-jars, earthenware

  teapots, a pair of heavy kitchen scales lacking some of the

  brass weights, a dog-basket, three or four hair-tidies and

  other dressing-table furniture, some mops and brooms and

  so on. Mrs Rossiter was plainly in the market for kitchen

  ware, and in quick succession bought a set of thick white

  plates, two pudding-steamers, a carving-set, bread-knife and

  252

  bread-board and two not-very-nice chairs. For a deal kitchen

  table she went to �50 and got it.

  'It's all good, solid stuff, you know,' she remarked to a

  woman standing next to her, who seemed to be some sort of

  subordinate. 'Not like this rubbish you get in the shops

  nowadays.'

  'Oh, I quite agree, Mrs Rossiter,' replied the good soul. 'I

  do so much agree with you.'

  I wondered whether perhaps they could be running a

  canteen.

  'Now, lot number three hundred,' said the auctioneer.

  'Half a league, half a league onward. What have we here?

  Five nice saucepans, all with their lids, one or two attractive

  odds and ends inside - two small china ornaments, to be

  precise; also a lemon-squeezer and a wooden string-box.

  Lovely set of saucepans! Who'll give me five pounds?'

  'Four pounds,' said Mrs Rossiter, with an air of 'Don't

  you try that stuff with me, my man.'

  Suddenly Kathe swung into action.

  'Five pounds.'

  'Six,' said Mrs Rossiter promptly.

  'Eight pounds,' said Kathe.

  Mrs Rossiter clicked her tongue with annoyance. 'Stupid

  woman,' she muttered to her friend. 'Why can't she bid

  properly? Nine pounds!'

  'Ten,' said Kathe pleasantly, as though correcting her.

  It was clear that Mrs Rossiter regarded this as virtually a

  personal affront. In fact, she was now obviously suffering

  from auctionitis, that dread hysteria against which I had

  warned Kathe. She was going to have the damned saucepans

  if it killed her. I had no idea what Kathe was up to, but I

  feared the worst. I had better get across and stop her before

  the worst befell.

  'Eleven pounds!' said Mrs Rossiter in a tone of finality. She

  might have added, 'And no more of your nonsense, my girl.'

  I was edging my way across the marquee when Kathe,

  with a little laugh in her voice, said, 'Twenty pounds!'

  Several people echoed the laugh. 'Evidently very nice

  things, saucepans,' said the auctioneer. 'That's against you,

  253

  Mrs Rossiter.' He paused. 'Are you all done at twenty

  pounds? All done? Sold! To the y
oung lady on my right.'

  'Who is that absurd young woman, do you suppose?' said

  Mrs Rossiter to her companion. 'She must be out of her

  mind! She's not a local girl - I've never seen her in my life.'

  'She's foreign,' replied the companion. 'Didn't you notice

  her accent? Perhaps she's the wife of one of those foreign

  dealers.'

  'If she is a wife,' said Mrs Rossiter grimly.

  I couldn't resist it. At least I might as well get some fun

  out of Kathe's waste of my money. I leaned forward.

  'She's my wife, actually,' I said. 'Rather nice, don't you

  think?'

  I hadn't the heart to wait for a reply. Mrs Rossiter could

  not possibly not have apologized, which might have brought

  on a serious indisposition. Anyway, I had something more

  urgent to see to. As the auctioneer began addressing himself

  to two electric irons and a drinks mixer ('All firing on

  six cylinders, Cyril?') I shoved my way across to Kathe,

  who was still leaning against the tent-pole.

  'Kathe, please stop now! How much have you spent?

  What else have you bought?'

  She smiled up at me, stood on her toes and whispered in

  my ear, Til tell you, but it's a secret! Nothing! That's the

  only, only thing!'

  'Well, thank God for that! But why go to twenty pounds

  when you didn't have to, for a few saucepans not worth six?'

  Kathe hesitated.

  'I - well, I wonder, Alan - I'll - well, of course I'll explain,

  but could we leave it until I get back from Bristol, do you

  think? You see, I wanted so much to do this by myself and I

  may have been silly, but I hope not.'

  'Whatever are you talking about, darling?' I felt impatient,

  even cross. We had had a bad day and now she had made it

  worse by wasting twenty pounds. We didn't need saucepans

  at Bull Banks. Then I saw that she was pale and sweating;

  clearly what Mr Steinberg would call 'zapped*. At this

  moment I found Joe at my elbow.

  'Anti-climax, old boy,' he said, taking in the situation at a

  254

  glance. 'For some reason or other she was determined to 'ave

  that bloody lot and now she feels as if she'd run five miles.

  I know the feeling - so do you. Come on, let's get her out.'

  Before I could reply, however, Kathe found her tongue.

  'Never mind what I'm talking about, just for now, Alan. Be a

  dear and wait outside for me, will you? Then as soon as I've

  paid for those things and had them wrapped -'

  'Wrapped? What on earth for?'

  'Well, some of them, anyway. Please. I won't be a minute.'

  Joe and I went out on the lawn as requested. Five minutes

  later Kathe joined us, carrying three of the saucepans unwrapped.

  'Take those, Alan, please. I'll be back again in a moment.'

  Returning to the marquee, she came back with the other

  two saucepans, the lemon-squeezer, the string-box and two

  brown-paper parcels.

  'Oh, I feel tired out and yet I've done nothing! Have you

  got the sandwiches, Alan? I'd love a huge one - two huge

  ones. Will you drive me to Swindon now? Good-bye, Mr

  Matthewson. It's been so nice to see you! Next time we meet

  I hope I'll know a bit more about porcelain.'

  As we drove through the summer afternoon my sense of

  proportion returned. What on earth was twenty pounds and

  a little foolishness, compared with Kathe toute entiere a sa

  proie attaches? I pulled in to the near side, stopped the car,

  put my arms round her and kissed her.

  'Dear Alan! What's that for?'

  'He who kisses the Joy as it flies

  'Lives in Eternity's sunrise.' I started the car and drove

  on.

  'How nice for him! Well, dearest, will you do something

  for me ?'

  'You don't have to ask.'

  'Just take these old saucepans and things home with you.

  We might as well keep them. But this parcel I'm taking with

  me to Bristol. Ach nein!' (holding up a finger as I was about

  to speak) Til explain everything when I come back. Is this

  Swindon? Have you any idea about the times of the trains?'

  I stayed twenty minutes with her in the station refresh255

  ment room while she finished the sandwiches and topped

  them off with two sugar-buns, a large bar of chocolate and

  some railway coffee.

  'Oh, that feels much better! And here comes the train.

  Well, as Lee Dubose would say, "Y'all take care now!

  'He wouldn't - there's only one of me, you see. "Y'all" 's

  plural. But I will take care, all the same. And I'll ring you up

  to-night. 'Bye, darling!'

  2O

  THE absence of Kathe brought about in me a kind of inward

  dislocation, so unreasonably extreme that I felt bewildered.