by Alec Waugh
‘A bad day for Winchester,’ said Graham.
She nodded. In the mood that she was in, she felt that any day would have been bad for Winchester. How should she dress the part. Last Wednesday her heart was buoyant and she had put on pants. This time she put on a stern, business-like coat and skirt.
‘You look very brisk and efficient today,’ Grace said.
‘That’s what I am trying to suggest to myself,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve a suspicion that that’s what I’ll need to be. I shall be surprised if my Mrs. Gaines isn’t round this morning.’
She was right in expecting that. At eleven o’clock Mrs. Gaines was there. She was wearing a lightweight dark blue raincoat that made her look almost smart. She was not wearing a hat; and her hair which was cut short had been brushed down tidily. Her left eye was still discoloured, but the swelling had gone down.
‘You look a different person this morning,’ Anna said.
‘I am a different person. Bill’s come back.’
‘That’s good news, isn’t it.’
‘It’s “yes” and “no” to that.’
‘What makes it “no”?’
‘The mood ’e came back in.’
‘What kind of a mood?’
‘Bad tempererd. Surly. She kicked ’im out. ’Ad enough of ’im, she ’ad. And I’m not surprised. What did she want with the likes of ’im. ’E’s nothing to look at and she is quite a looker. ’E ’asn’t any money either. Not what the likes of ’er calls money. ’E’s strong. I’ll give ’im that; manly in ’is way. I will say that for ’im. But she could do better for ’erself than that. Marching orders that’s what ’e got from ’er. And was ’e mad. ’Olds me to blame for it, ’e does. Says if I ’adn’t gone round and made a scene, it would be still all hunky dory. Maybe ’e’s right there too. The last straw that’s what I was, I guess.’
‘But you’ve got him back. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I thought I wanted. But was I right to want it: that’s what I’m asking myself now.’
She was ready, Anna could see well, to go on talking for an hour. She has enjoyed her time in hospital. She still wanted to be a centre of attention.
‘What about Tommy?’ Anna asked. ‘Is he going back to school.’
‘Yes, ‘e’s going back to school. Likes it there, too, ‘e does.’
‘That at least is all to the good.’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘Of course it is. Tommy is a bright boy. I know you realize that. If he works really hard during the next five years, he should make quite a position for himself. The years of eleven to sixteen are the most important ones.’
She delivered herself of quite a little speech. At the end of it she stood up. ‘And now, Mrs. Gaines, I have to say goodbye. As you see, I’ve a lot of papers on my desk, and I’ve a long list of appointments lined up for this afternoon. But you’ll keep me in touch won’t you with how everything goes along. I shall be here every Wednesday. I won’t miss another Wednesday, I can promise you. I feel that it was all my fault this happened. My not being here, I mean.’
She held out her hand. She took Mrs. Gaines by the wrist. She had to pull hard to get her to her feet. She had to drag at her to get her to the door. ‘Now, don’t forget, Mrs. Gaines, whenever you’re in any trouble to come round here, and I’ll do my best.’
Back at her desk, Anna opened the book in which she listed the activities of her various clients. Ten lines completed Mrs. Gaines’ dossier for the moment. She hesitated before deciding to mention that her absence that unlucky afternoon was responsible in part for Mrs. Gaines’ collapse.
Some of our clients, she noted, become overdependent on the particular official who attends them. Perhaps this is a danger.
Had it though been all her fault, she asked herself. In the long run hadn’t it turned out for the best. If Mrs. Gaines had not gone round to her Bill’s ‘bit’, there would never have been the flare up which had resulted in Bill getting ‘his marching orders’. One did one’s best, and often it turned out for the worst. One shirked a responsibility and the trouble solved itself.
The morning moved steadily along. It was still raining when the hour hand reached the one. He’ll be coming round by car, thought Anna. Grace was in her room when a small green Volkswagon drew up beside the kerb. Grace noticed it.
‘A car coming round, just when we are closing up. And a man getting out. Oh Anna, it’s that good looking doctor who called round on you the other day.’
Anna laughed, ‘That’s who it is. He’s come to take me out to lunch.’
‘He has?’ Grace’s eyes opened wide. She started to speak: but no words came.
‘But I won’t be back late, I promise you. So long.’
She opened her umbrella in the doorway.
‘So you’ve got your wish at last,’ she said.
‘And booked a table on the way here.’
It was a cosy corner table that he had booked, a table with banquette seats. A small long necked bottle was cooling in a steaming ice bucket.
‘An Alsatian Reisling,’ he said. ‘You said a glass of wine but I thought a half bottle would be enough if we’re going to have a cocktail first.’
‘Is that what we are going to have?’
‘I think so, what’ll you have.’
‘Have you any preference yourself?’
‘I’ve got a weakness for the dry martini.’
‘Like your weakness for bath buns?’
‘It’s only a recently acquired weakness, not like bath buns from childhood. What would you like, something Italian: a negroni?’
She shook her head.
‘I don’t often have martinis, but I’d like one with you.’
‘On the rocks?’
She shook her head. ‘I like that first, very cold strong bite.’
They laughed together. How easy it was for them to laugh together.
‘What is the tie you are wearing?’
‘Free Forester.’
‘Is that rather grand?’
‘It can be: but it needn’t be. In my case it doesn’t mean a lot. Knowing the right people at the right time.’
‘It goes well with your suit anyhow.’
He was wearing a grey country style suit that had a thin pale blue stripe. He looked very healthy in it. He wasn’t well dressed in the way that Graham was; he was not modish, but he always managed to look comfortably at his ease. He inspired confidence in himself as a doctor, in the same way that Graham did as a solicitor. A solicitor needed to suggest authority, conformity; a sense of status. Graham did that with his Savile Row suits and Jermyn Street shirts. Her doctor with his loose fitting, well cut country clothes suggested a reasonable regard for health and diet.
The wine waiter brought the two martinis on his tray. The glass was cold against her lips and the strong mixture sent a shudder along her nerves. He smiled at her shudder.
‘Don’t you think it’s a little like that first dive into a cold lake. A shock to everything, and then a second later, heavens how well you feel.’
She nodded. That was the way it was.
‘I remember that you said a cheese salad and a glass of wine. I thought that a salmon salad would be better. Salmon is good for such a little time.’
And he was right, as of course he would be. I can leave everything to him, she thought. Everything but everything. The salmon was very good. How at home with him she was; how at home with herself she was when she was with him. Such peace, such peace.
Yet even so she was conscious today of a slight difference, a slight restraint. Was it because of those two hours after lunch; that peace, that rapture. They had reached a certain point. They had to go forward. They could not go back.
‘You sound as though you had something on your mind,’ she said.
‘Fancy your spotting that, fancy your guessing that.’ He paused. ‘We’re very close you know.’
‘I hoped we were.’
Thei
r eyes met, searchingly. She waited. It was for him to tell her, not for her to probe.
‘Yes, something has happened. I’ve been offered a job in Australia; something I hadn’t angled for. It was like being a Free Forester, knowing the right people at the right time. It’s in a place called Paradise Springs. They mine nickel there. Nickel’s a valuable commodity these days. All metals are. Only, of course, you can’t mine anything without producing dust. And dust means sickness. The people out there had read that article of mine in the medical journal. They know about the work I’ve done. They want me out there. It’d be quite a jump from a country G.P. to a consultant, and the Australians, they’re a forward looking people.’
He paused. There was a question in his look.
‘What does Melanie think of it?’ she asked.
‘She isn’t attracted by the idea at all.’
‘You mean she wouldn’t want to go there?’
‘Why should she: breaking all her ties with London, with publishing, with her career. Her career means a lot to her, and why shouldn’t it? She’s someone in her own rights and she wants to go on being that. She wouldn’t be anyone in Paradise Springs.’
‘And to you it would be a chance.’
‘The chance I’ve always longed for.’
‘It might be the end of your marriage if you went.’
‘Probably. And why not. There’s not so much at stake in it. We’ve evolved a compromise for ourselves, but … well, it’s nothing real. We could go our separate ways. Neither of us would be missing anything. There aren’t children, nobody would be hurt.’
‘It’s a great chance for you, a chance to begin a whole new life.’
‘I know.’
‘A chance not many people get.’
‘That very few people get.’
‘It should make you very happy.’
‘It would have done five weeks ago.’
‘Five weeks ago?’
‘Five weeks ago I hadn’t met you.’
He leant towards her. Her hand lay on the banquette between them. He laid his over it. Its pressure on hers was firm, yet gentle: as he always was with her.
‘If I were to go to Australia, we might never meet again. Anyhow we should be different people when we did. I don’t feel I can run that risk. It’s …’ He paused. She let the pause continue. She wanted to hear all he had to say: she didn’t want to interrupt: to introduce her point of view.
‘You’re different,’ he said. ‘I feel differently with you. I’m nearly 40. There’ve been women in my life. Of course there have. I’ve thought myself in love. I’ve been in love. It’s been exciting. But, never before, never once have I had the sensation of my whole self being turned inside out.’
She sighed: a sigh that came from the depths of a deep well of happiness. This was what she had longed to hear.
‘With you I’m myself in way that I’ve never been before. You make me feel myself complete,’ he said.
I too, she thought, I too. But she did not say it. He knew without her telling him that it was the same with her. He did not need to put her in the confessional. She was grateful to him for that. He did not need to be assured. He took control. He assumed, he gave, he took.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ he said. ‘These snatched half hours, never alone, without any privacy.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’
They had reached the point from which there was no going back. They had to go forward now.
‘Would it be possible for you to go back by a later train tonight?’ he asked.
‘How much later?’
‘Two, three hours. Could you?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
She was thinking quickly. There was no special reason for her getting home on time. No dinner guests. She could cook up an alibi, if she had five minutes to think one out. ‘Two, three hours. I could manage that,’ she said.
He went into his explanation right away.
‘A friend of mine, another doctor, has a flat near here. Very near. He has to be away this evening. He’s lent me the key to his flat. This is the address.’ He handed her a slip of paper. 15c Courtfield Gardens, Sussex Avenue.
‘If you go there straight from your bureau, you will find me waiting. It’s better for us not to go together.’
‘Of course, of course.’
She looked at him thoughtfully. How matter of fact it was. Yet she was grateful for its being so. He was so competent. It was one of the things about him that she respected. He was so very much a man of the world. He was ready for every situation. Had he borrowed this flat before? She supposed he had. He would not be the man he was if he hadn’t. This flat or some other flat.
‘Quite often,’ he said. ‘I do borrow his flat, when I need to stay in Winchester a night. The flat’s a pied a terre for him. He lives near Oxford.’
She smiled. He had guessed her thought: she was grateful to him for having done so. But it did not matter. Nothing mattered except that for two or three hours they would be alone together. She looked at her watch. A quarter to two.
‘I’d better be on my way,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to fix up my alibi before Grace comes back.’
She had devised a quick solution. There was an Italian woman, living in Winchester, the wife of one of the masters at the college, with whom she had found one of those curiously close relationships that can spring up between two expatriates. She was a Florentine. If they had met in Rome, they would probably have felt no particular kinship for one another, but here in England where they had no other compatriot acquaintances, they had built up a genuine fondness for one another. It was such a relief to be able to talk Italian, now and then. They compared notes on clothes and hairdo’s. They met every three weeks or so. They told each other things that they could tell no one else. She would provide an alibi.
As Anna had expected, her friend was home for lunch. ‘Sandra,’ she said, ‘you have got to rescue me. I’m in a minor fix.’
‘If it was a major fix, you could rely on me.’
‘It might become a major fix if you don’t rescue me.’
‘I’ll rescue you.’
‘As you know, I always catch the 18.21 from Winchester. I want tonight to catch a train that leaves three hours later. I want you to provide an excuse for my catching that later train.’
‘Ho, ho, so it’s that way, is it.’
‘You’ve guessed; that’s the way it is. What I suggest is this, that a cousin of yours is unexpectedly in Winchester. You want me to meet her, so that she’ll feel that you aren’t entirely abandoned in this foreign land.’
‘I see.’
‘So you very kindly asked me round for a pre-dinner drink. So that I shall have been at your house between quarter to six and eight o’clock. I don’t think it’s at all likely that Graham will ring up to speak to me. He doesn’t do that kind of thing; but if he does, will you tell him that I have been with you and that I’ve at this very moment started for the station.’
‘That’s understood.’
‘Where shall I say this mythical cousin of yours comes from?’
‘It had better be somewhere near to Florence. Why not Siena?’
‘Why not? I’ve never been there. I’ve always wanted to. I’ll ask her about the Palio.’
‘It’s to be a “she” then, is it?’
‘I think so, yes. Let’s make her a married woman of about our age. What about her name?’
‘Madeleine. How do you like Madeleine?’
‘Madeleine will suit her very well.’
‘Let’s make her dark, and plump. Perhaps a little bit too plump.’
‘Someone who should take a diet?’
They chattered lightheartedly together in the way they did. ‘And very soon now, we must have a real not an alibi occasion,’ Sandra said.
Anna put the receiver back. And now for Shenley.
Ilse answered the call. ‘It’s Anna here. Something has cropped up. It’s rather a bore but
I can’t help it. I’ll be late tonight. You know that Italian friend of mine. She’s got a cousin of hers passing through. She’s asked me to look in for a drink. I’ve not been asked to dinner, so I can’t be very late. Don’t wait for me. I’m bound to be offered something to eat. Is everything all right?’
‘Everything is fine, thank you.’
‘Give the boys my love.’
Grace came back to the office, just as she hung up. Her eyes widened.
‘I hadn’t expected to see you back so soon.’
‘Why not? I’m a most punctilious citizen.’
‘But when you go out on that kind of date.’
‘It wasn’t that kind of a date.’
‘Wasn’t it? Bad luck. He’s very handsome.’
‘I suppose he is. If you like that type.’
‘What type do you prefer?’
‘My husband’s.’
They laughed together. Without being friends, they were friendly with each other.
Two o’clock. In three and a half hours, she would be on her way to Sussex Avenue. She had never been there before. Courtfield Gardens must be a series of old-fashioned flats. 15c. She would ring the bell: the door would open. Two or three hours later, she would be in the street again. She would have taken the step that had been described for her in so many novels. ‘How should I feel if I was in that situation,’ she had asked herself. Well, now she knew; or at least soon would know. It was astonishing how matter of fact it seemed.
He must have been waiting in the hall. The door opened at the first tinkle of the bell. He took her damp coat from her and hung it up. He took her by the wrists: he drew her close, close into his arms. It was a long, slow kiss. It’s going to be all right, she thought. She looked about her. It was a small masculine flat, with a deep chesterfield settee: a roll-top desk. There were bookshelves on either side of the fireplace: there was an oar over the mantelpiece. On the walls were the etchings of school and college that you expect to find in what in Edwardian days was referred to as ‘a man’s den’. It was the kind of flat that she would have expected a friend of his to have.
There was nothing squalid, nothing furtive about it. Had she been afraid of that? She did not think she had. She remembered a novel of Maugham’s in which a delinquent wife in Hong Kong used to meet her lover in a private room in a Chinese junk shop. She had wrinkled her nose the first time she had gone in there. ‘This is very squalid, isn’t it?’ she had said.