Brief Encounter

by Alec Waugh

  Wednesday would come; it would be raining, he would drive round in one of the clinic’s cars and find her gone: with not a word, with no explanation. But she could not let him know. She did not know his address. She could find it out, of course, from directory enquiries. But that would involve her ringing up his home, probably when he was not there himself. She would find herself talking to Melanie. How would she explain herself? She might create impossible complications for her doctor.

  She could, of course, write to him at the clinic. But would he get it in time? Had he a post box? He probably did not have much correspondence addressed to him there. He might not ask for letters when he arrived.

  Probably her only course was to go in on the Tuesday. To leave a letter with Grace; to say, ‘You remember that man who called to take me out to lunch. The one who created something of a scene, well if he does come in on Wednesday, could you give him this.’ She would offer no explanation. She would let Grace draw her own conclusions. That might be the best thing to do.

  So her thoughts ran, while she lay back among her pillows, looking at Graham as he stood at the window, wondering whether ‘it would clear up’.

  At breakfast the weather was the chief topic of conversation.

  ‘What’ll we do if it really rains,’ said Dominic.

  ‘What’ll you do,’ Graham corrected him. ‘I’ve plenty of things to keep me occupied. You should be in the same position.’

  ‘I suppose Ilse will go into Winchester.’

  ‘She always goes into Winchester on Saturdays.’

  ‘What does she do in Winchester?’

  ‘That’s her business, isn’t it?’

  ‘I wonder if she’s got a boyfriend?’

  ‘Not really, Dominic. That’s not at all the kind of thing you should be wondering.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if she has. I know several much plainer girls who do.’

  ‘No, really, Dominic, you must change the subject. Ilse will be back from the kitchen any moment.’

  ‘Well, what shall we do anyhow this afternoon if it rains. And I guess it’s likely to.’

  Nothing seemed likelier in fact. By ten o’clock, the rain had developed into a steady persistent downpour. There was nothing about it to suggest that here was the final, the clearing shower. How many cricketers had not cheered themselves with that cliché.

  ‘Even so,’ Graham reminded them, ‘the match hasn’t been cancelled yet.’

  ‘Hasn’t this rain cancelled it?’

  ‘Nothing can cancel it except the secretary of the other side.’

  Anna smiled to herself. That was Graham all over. How punctilious could you get. A game was on until the home side called it off, even if it meant driving out in the rain, sitting under a leaking corrugated iron roof; and eating a tepid tea because the home side had provided it. She knew her husband better than the children knew their father. And she was glad that he was the way he was. She got a masochistic pleasure out of the discomfort to which she would be subjected during the afternoon. And as likely as not he would make it up to her when the day was over, in the way that a well cherished husband could. All the same she owed it to her children to save them from too rigorous an afternoon.

  ‘You’ll be ringing up their secretary I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘If I can find his telephone number.’

  ‘That should be easy. It’ll be in the book.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he has a telephone.’

  ‘He must have.’

  Graham laughed. ‘You assume that everyone has a telephone. But that’s far from being the case. I don’t know their secretary, but he’s quite likely to be a very humble person, who when he has to telephone, does it at the post office.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it then?’

  ‘I’m going round to see our secretary. He hasn’t got a telephone, by the way.’

  Graham was away half an hour. He shook his head on his return.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘Bert and I went over to the Crown. That’s where Bert does his telephoning. He doesn’t believe their secretary has a telephone. At any rate it isn’t on his stationery. So we rang up “The Beetle and Wedge” at Dunston. We got on to the publican. He didn’t know where the secretary was. He had an idea that he had gone out on some job. He’s a carrier. They expect him back in before lunch, but they can’t be sure.’

  ‘What’s their weather like?’

  ‘Much the same as here.’

  ‘Then they must know that there’s no chance of playing.’

  ‘That’s what they said.’

  ‘Then didn’t you agree to call it off?’

  ‘How could we with their secretary away? He’s very touchy, stands on his own dignity. They weren’t in the least worried. He’ll turn up sometime they say.’

  ‘And in the meantime what are we to do?’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do. I’ll ring up ‘The Beetle and Wedge’ in an hour’s time. In the meantime, I’ll have another go at the crossword puzzle.’

  His absorption in the crossword puzzle always fascinated her. He would spend an hour on it, asking her advice, giving a little chuckle of self approval when he solved an awkward light. Then suddenly he would throw the paper down. ‘It’s no good,’ he would say. ‘I must give myself a break, then I’ll come back fresh to it.’

  He would busy himself with some household chore. There were always plenty of small things to do about the house. But within half an hour he would be back at it again, and very soon he would be giving another of his long deep chuckles. ‘Yes. That’s it, of course, centurion. Why didn’t I think of that right away? It’s wonderful how quickly one gets the answer if one comes back fresh to it.’

  She had an idea that he was not very good at crossword puzzles. When she looked at the paper next day she always noticed that there were six or seven gaps in it; but his absorption in it was complete.

  ‘What you really enjoy about the weekends is the crossword puzzle,’ she would often say.

  ‘Well and why not?’ he would retort. ‘One has to be interested in something.’

  She wondered if her doctor was a crossword maniac. It was astonishing how little she knew about him. She seemed to know him so well, so much better than she knew Graham in spite of their seventeen years together. But how many little things there were about him that she did not know. Did he smoke cigars, for instance. He didn’t smoke cigarettes. But he did smoke cheroots. He had taken one out that afternoon at the mystery players. ‘I wonder if I’d be allowed to smoke this here, I suppose I shouldn’t.’ He had put it back in his case. She liked seeing a man smoke a pipe. Graham always smoked a pipe. He was a pipe man. But somehow she did not think of her doctor as a pipe man.

  The cricket match as all village matches was due to start at 2.30. The notice in the Crown that gave the list of the players announced that a bus would leave the Crown at 1.30. Dunston was half an hour away. That should give the side time to get dressed and ready by 2.25. Graham would join the team at the Crown, see them into the bus and then follow on in his own car. However unpunctual other sides might be, he was resolved that Shenley should set a good example. Lunch, in consequence, was ordered for 12.30.

  The boys remonstrated. ‘Surely Daddy you aren’t going out there in this weather.’

  ‘Unless Dunston rings up before half past one, we shall.’

  ‘But it makes no sense. Does it, Mummy?’ Alistair protested. Anna gave him no support.

  ‘This is one of those points on which we must accept your father’s ruling.’

  ‘Are there any points on which we don’t accept his ruling?’

  ‘He and I never argue in front of you but in the evenings when you two are quietly tucked up, we talk things over between ourselves and decide what will be best for all of us.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The family sat down to lunch punctually at half past twelve. ‘Any news yet?’ asked Alistair.

  ‘No, no news yet.’


  ‘I bet there’ll be no cricket.’

  ‘That’s what I think myself.’

  ‘Dominic and I have decided that we don’t want to go.’

  ‘You haven’t got to. You can stay here if you’d prefer.’

  ‘What about our tea. Ilse will be away.’

  ‘You’ll have to get it for yourselves.’

  ‘We’ve never had to do that before.’

  ‘Then it’s high time you began. It’s easy to boil a kettle; you can slice yourself some bread. There’s a cake in the larder. There’s some fruit in the “frig”. It should be a fine picnic for you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The boys relapsed into silence. It was a good lunch: a mixed grill with new peas and new potatoes. They attacked it with relish. By the time they had finished it they were in a better humour.

  ‘What are we going to do this afternoon,’ Alistair asked.

  For that their father had a ready answer. ‘During the term time you always grumble about having to go to school. Now that you haven’t got to go to school, you can amuse yourselves with all the things that you want to do in term time.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘The playroom cupboard is full of toys.’

  ‘They’re all old toys.’

  ‘I’ve been playing cricket with the same bat for three years now.’

  ‘That isn’t the same thing.’

  ‘Perhaps it isn’t.’

  Anna came in from the kitchen with a large open fruit tart, lined with raspberries.

  ‘I’ve made this specially for you,’ she said. ‘There’s some thick cream too to go with it.’

  Once again they relapsed into silence. Graham looked at his watch. ‘Ten past one. I think I’ll be going over to the Crown to see how things are. Provided the game’s not been cancelled, I’ll drive back and pick you up, once I’ve seen the team off.’

  He found six or seven of his side in the bar.

  ‘Any news yet from Dunston.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr. Jesson.’

  ‘Then I’ll give them one more chance.’

  He called ‘The Beetle and the Wedge’. The publican was an old friend of his. ‘Any sign yet of that secretary of yours?’

  ‘Afraid not, Mr. Jesson.’

  ‘And nobody can call off the match till his return?’

  ‘You know what Arthur’s like.’

  ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘He’s very touchy and he is out on this job, and the rain’s delaying him. He’ll come back in a bad temper anyhow. If he came back and found the game had been called off, well it wouldn’t be too good for me, his wife’s a cousin of my missus. They’re both terrified of Arthur. They’d take it out on me. My life wouldn’t be worth living for a week.’

  ‘I see, I see, and what about your captain, is he there now?’

  ‘Yes, he’s here.’

  ‘Would it do any good if I had a word with him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so, no. He’s frightened of Arthur too. He’s making the best of a bad job.’

  ‘That means he’s putting away a tankard or two of that good beer of yours.’

  ‘Exactly, Mr. Jesson.’

  ‘In that case there’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll be over shortly.’

  He went back into the bar.

  ‘I’m sorry boys,’ he said. ‘They are all afraid of that sergeant-major secretary of theirs. I see their point. Let’s all have a drink together first and then face the deluge.’

  He turned to the publican. ‘Half a pint for everyone,’ he said. ‘Five minutes to down it, then we’re on our way.’

  It was still raining steadily when the five minutes were up.

  ‘All for the ark now, boys,’ he said. ‘Think of Noah and how long he had of it.’ They embarked in a good humour.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as you are,’ he assured them.

  He found the two boys waiting beside their mother in the hall.

  ‘So you’ve decided to come after all,’ he said.

  ‘We thought we might as well.’

  ‘I’m glad of that. We’ll try to make it not too bad for you. Anyhow you’ll get a better tea there than you’d have made for yourselves at home.’

  ‘That’s what we thought.’

  He patted Anna’s knee, as she slid into the car beside him. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not worrying.’

  ‘I don’t believe you are. That’s one of the things that makes you very special.’

  ‘If you marry an Englishman, you have to accept the English weather.’

  In point of fact, she did not mind at all. She was not putting on an act. You had to accept the English weather. It was their weather that made the English how they were. Naturally they were unenthusiastic and undemonstrative. They would spend weeks preparing for a garden party or bazaar and then have the whole thing rained-out. They always had to have a shrug in reserve for everything. All that trouble over getting the right cakes and arranging the flowers in the arbours. Yet knowing all the time that their preparations might be useless, that everything would have to be moved indoors at the last moment. They would show no disappointment. That was the way things were in England, and in the mornings they would not grumble. ‘It may clear up,’ they’d say.

  And sometimes it did clear up and you’d get one of those incredible afternoons full of scent and colours, of butterflies and bird song when the president of the immortals seemed to have poured out all his treasures with a wild prodigal improvidence, just to show you what he could do when he tried. It was those afternoons that wove that streak of poetry through the fabric of English life. That was one of the chief paradoxes of English life, that it should have produced so much poetry, such supreme poetry. ‘One of the first things to realize about the English,’ Graham had once said, ‘is that they are all poets at heart; that they all write poetry even though most of it isn’t any good: not only long-haired aesthetes but stodgy stockbrokers. Every man in the world has a locked drawer in his desk. A Frenchman will have love letters in his: an Englishman will have unpublished sonnets.’

  I’m glad I married an Englishman, she thought.

  It was still raining when they reached ‘The Beetle and Wedge’. The Secretary was standing on its threshold, a beer mug in his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he said. ‘I was delayed. I rang up “The Crown” and found you had left five minutes before.’

  ‘That’s how it is then, isn’t it?’

  Graham could not have been more congenial.

  ‘I did my best,’ the secretary went on, ‘it was one of those things. The rain.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of a game this afternoon, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have dragged you out here for nothing.’

  ‘That’s perfectly all right.’

  ‘We had arranged for you to have a tea, but the ladies cancelled it.’

  ‘Naturally. Of course.’

  ‘On their own initiative, they did.’

  ‘On whose else could they have done it.’

  ‘Exactly, all the same …’

  Arthur was nonplussed, he knew that he was in the wrong: that he had messed things up. He had expected the Shenley side to be indignant. Then in defending himself, by starting an argument, he would have managed to put himself in the right and them in the wrong. Graham’s equanimity disarmed him.

  Anna listening from the car, chuckled. The whole incident made her feel very proud of Graham.

  ‘So there’s nothing for us to do but get on our way home,’ said Graham, ‘let’s hope for better luck next year.’

  He turned back to the bus that had brought out his side. ‘There it is, boys. There’s nothing for us to do but to take our ark back home, but what I do suggest is that you look in at our house first. We’ll fix up some refreshments.

  By the time the team eventually dispersed s
hortly after five o’clock, everyone was prepared to agree that they had thoroughly enjoyed their day.

  By now the rain had stopped. ‘If we had only had a little more patience,’ Graham said. ‘I believe we could have had a 45 minutes each way match. When they come over to us, we won’t call the match off till five.’

  He really was a remarkable man, Anna thought, he does know how to get the best of everything. If he weren’t so cheerful, everyone’s spirits would be as sodden as the rosebushes. She wondered what kind of a day her doctor had had. It would be fun comparing notes about their different days; then with a stab of remorse she remembered that she would not be comparing notes with him, that she would not be going into Winchester on Wednesday. In all human probability, they would never meet again.

  IX

  Next morning the sky was clear. Graham woke early, shortly before seven. He stood at the window looking out at a garden that glistened in the sunlight. ‘I think I’ll go to early service,’ he said. ‘Then I can miss matins. Matins always bores me.’

  ‘It doesn’t excite me. I wish I could come with you to the early service.’

  ‘I wish you could too, but there wouldn’t be any point.’

  They had discussed that together in their first weeks of marriage. There was no point in her going to the early service if she could not take communion. Did the service mean much to him, she had asked. He had shrugged. It was something that he had taken in his stride. He had been confirmed at school in his second autumn, along with most of the other boys of his own age. He had appreciated the poetry of the confirmation classes, the sense of importance that was given him by the private interviews that he had had with his housemaster and with the headmaster. The interview with the housemaster was popularly supposed to include some indirect references to the facts of life. He had been himself rather innocent in that direction. In his last week of his preparatory school, the boys who were leaving had been addressed by their headmaster. ‘If you have been a filthy little beast at school,’ he had said, ‘how can you ask some pure girl to be your wife?’ He had not known what he was referring to. He had expected 18 months later that his housemaster would be more explicit; his housemaster had, however, assumed that Graham because he was a reasonably robust athlete was better informed on those matters than in fact he was, and had contented himself with asking whether he had found confirmation had been of any help to him. He had found that that particular question often led a boy to make a spontaneous confession.