In Pursuit of the English

by Doris Lessing

  I fetched my son, and at once he vanished into the basement with Aurora. Later, exhausted with the warmth and the welcome of the family downstairs, he fell asleep, saying he liked this house and he wanted to stay in it.

  This upset me, because in the meantime I had decided it was impossible; in spite of my having suddenly understood that this was indubitably a garret, and that I had fulfilled the myth to its limit, and without any conscious intention on my part. There was no room in this garret to put a typewriter, let alone to unpack my things. I would have to start again.

  Then I remembered Flo had said something about rooms downstairs. I went down to see Rose about it.

  When she opened her door to me I at first did not recognize her; she looked like her own daughter. She had just taken a bath, and wore a white wool dressing-gown. Her black hair was combed loose, and her face was pale, soft and young, with dark smudges of happiness under the eyes. Her mouth, revealed, was small and sad, She said, with formality, ‘Come in, dear. I’m sorry the room is untidy.’ The room was very small and neat; it had a look of intense privacy, as a room does when every-article means a great deal to the person living in it. Rose had brought her bed and her small easy chair and her linen from her own home. The curtains and bedcover had pink and blue flowers; and there was a cherry-pink rug on the black-painted floor. That everything she touched or wore should be perfectly clean and tidy was important to her; she was one of the most instinctively fastidious people I have ever known. Now she pushed forward her little blue-covered armchair, waited until I had sat down, and said, smiling with pleasure: ‘I’m glad you came. I like some company.’

  ‘I came to ask about the room Flo mentioned – is there another one free in the house?’

  At once she looked sorrowful and guilty; and by now I knew her well enough to understand why. Her loyalties were in conflict. She said: ‘I don’t rightly know. You’d better ask Flo.’ She blushed and said hastily: ‘Of course that place upstairs isn’t fit for a pet cat, let alone a woman with a kid.’ She added: ‘But Flo and Dan’ll be good to that kid of yours. They really like kids.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘That’s the trouble.’ ‘I see your trouble,’ she said. She hesitated. ‘If there was a room going, and I’m not saying because I don’t know – it’s like this, see – Flo and Dan are new in this house business, they have fancy ideas about the rent they’re going to get. And they never thought they’d let that dump upstairs at all – see, at least, not for so much. Of course, you’re a foreigner, and don’t know yet.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask Flo, then.’

  ‘Yes, that would be better for me. I’m a friend of hers, see?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘About that other place you saw – did you see it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I began to tell her, but she knew about the house. ‘I know because I get to know all sorts of things, working in that shop. But was there anything about someone kicked out?’

  ‘A Mr MacNamara.’ I said. Her face changed with rich suddenness into a delighted appreciation.

  ‘Mr MacNamara, is he? The son of a rich lord from Ireland?’

  ‘I don’t know about the lord.’

  She sat on the bed, and regarded me patiently.

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t,’ she said. ‘If he’s Mr MacNamara to you, then watch out. You didn’t give him money, did you?’

  I admitted it. To my surprise, she was not scornful, but worried for me, ‘Then watch out. He’ll be after some more. Didn’t you see what he was like?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It’s hard to explain …’ I began, but she nodded and said: ‘I know what you mean. Well, don’t you feel too bad. He’s got a real gift for it. You’d be surprised the people he diddles. He did my boss out of twenty quid once, and to this day she wonders what came over her. And now you take my advice and have nothing to do with him. Mr MacNamara. Well I remember when he was a barrow-boy, and he knows I remember it, selling snaps and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails for what he could get. But even then he had his head on the right way, for the next thing was, he had his own car and it was paid for. That’s the trouble with him – it’s not what you call a spiv, at least, not all the time. One minute he’s got his hand in the gas-meter and the next he’s doing real business.’

  ‘Well, thank you for telling me.’

  She hesitated. Then she said in a rush: ‘I like you, see. We can be friends. And not everyone’s like Flo – I don’t want you to be thinking that.’ She added guiltily – ‘It’s because she’s a foreigner, it’s not her fault.’

  ‘What kind of a foreigner?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything against her; don’t think it. She’s English really. She was born here. But her grandmother was Italian, see? She comes from a restaurant family. So she behaves different. And then the trouble is. Dan, isn’t a good influence – not that I’m saying a word against him.’

  ‘Isn’t he English?’

  ‘Not really, he’s from Newcastle. They’re different from us, up in places like that. Oh no, he’s not English, not properly speaking.’

  ‘And you?’

  She was confused at once. ‘Me, dear? But I’ve lived in London all my life. Oh. I see what you mean – I wouldn’t say I was English so much as a Londoner, see? It’s different.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘You going out?’ she asked, offhand.

  ‘I thought of wandering about and having a look.’

  ‘I understand.’

  I did not know she wanted to come with me. Coming to a new country, you don’t think of people being lonely, but having full lives into which you intrude. But she was looking forlorn, and I said: ‘Don’t you go out in the evenings?’

  ‘Not much. Well, not these days I don’t. It gives me the ’ump, sitting around.’

  ‘Flo said you were engaged to Dan’s brother.’

  She was very shocked, ‘Engaged!’ She blushed. ‘Oh no, dear. You mustn’t say things like that, you’ll put ideas into my head.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Flo said you might be marrying him.’

  ‘Yes, that’s so. I might be, you could say that.’ She sighed. Then she giggled, and gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. ‘Engaged! The things you say, you make me laugh.’

  Flo’s voice sounded up the stairs: ‘There’s a gentleman to see you. Rose, tell her there’s a gentleman.’

  ‘How does she know I’m with you?’

  She said: ‘It’s easy to think Flo’s stupid. Because she is. But not about knowing what goes on.’

  ‘But I don’t know anyone,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, go on. Don’t you know who it is?’

  ‘How should I?’

  ‘It’s Mr Bobby Brent, Mr MacNamara to you. Silly.’

  ‘Oh!’ I got up from the chair.

  ‘You’re not going,’ she said, shocked. ‘Tell Flo to send him off.’

  ‘But I think I’m interested, after what you’ve said.’

  ‘Interested?’

  ‘I mean. I’ve never met anyone tike him before.’

  She was puzzled. Then, unmistakably hurt. I did not understand why. ‘Yes?’ was all she said. She turned back to her dressing-table and began brushing her hair out.

  Rose’s yes was the most expressive of monsyllabies. It could be sceptical, give you the lie direct, accuse you, reject you. This time it meant: Interested, are you? Weil. I can’t afford to be interested in scoundrels. Fancy yourself, don’t you?

  Whenever, in the future. I was interested in a person or a situation which did not have her moral approval, she would repudiate me with precisely that – Yes?

  But her good heart overcame her disapproval, for she said as I left the room: ‘If you must you must. But don’t let him get his hands on to your money.’

  Flo was in the hall with Mr MacNamara. As I came down the stairs he was saying: ‘It’s a little matter. A hundred nicker. And it’d double itself in a year.’ He had the full force of his hard brown stare on her. She was bashfully l
anguishing, like a peasant girl. She tore her gaze away from his face, to say almost absently: ‘I told your friend. I told him for you. You’ve got a flat with us.’

  ‘Yes. I have,’ I said. Flo was again looking up into his face. ‘Dan’d know best,’ she said. ‘You must talk to Dan.’

  ‘I’ll talk it over with him. But I want you to talk it over with him first, Mrs Boh. You’ve got a real head for business. I can see at a glance.’

  ‘Well, dear, I ran a restaurant over in Holborn right through the war, dear. I ought to know my way about. A real big restaurant. I had three girls working for me. Dan was in the navy. But I did all right, I can tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure you did, Mrs Bolt. Ah yes, the war was a difficult time.’

  ‘We carried on and did our best.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, and began to go upstairs. Instantly Mr MacNamara came after me.

  ‘There’s a little matter we should discuss,’ he said.

  ‘But she’s fixed up, dear. Ever so nice, with us.’

  ‘Four rooms, kitchen and bath and a telephone, three and a half a week.’ I came downstairs again. ‘And there’s another matter.’

  ‘Can we see it now?’

  ‘I’ll take you.’

  I said to Flo: ‘if I can get it, I will. I really do need more room, you know.’

  She nodded, her eyes, now thoughtful, on Mr MacNamara.

  We two went to the door, and I heard her shrieking as we went out: Rose, Dan. Rose. Dan …

  ‘You know Miss Jennings?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’ll meet her,’ he said darkly. ‘You mustn’t believe all you hear.’

  ‘Rose Jennings?’

  ‘People are not to be trusted. Not since the war.’

  Now he had me on the pavement, he was thinking out his tactics, while making a pretence at examining his watch. ‘My man won’t be in for fifteen minutes. I’ll take you to a pub near here. The best pub in London. They have nothing but vintage beers.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  He began walking me fast down the street, into an area that had been laid flat. About five acres of earth had been cleared of rubble, and was waiting for the builders. ‘Nice job, that,’ said Mr MacNamara, nodding at it. ‘One bomb – did the lot. All that damage. Nice work.’

  We walked past it. Mr MacNamara began sending me furtive glances, sideways.

  ‘Know where you are?’ he asked casually.

  I had, because Rose had walked me past here, but I said, ‘No, I’ve no idea.’ His furtiveness cleared into triumph and he said: ‘These bombed areas are confusing.’ We had now walked three sides of the square, and he hesitated. ‘It’s not so far now,’ he said, and turned to complete the fourth side, which would take us back to our starting point at the bottom of the street the house was in. I walked willingly beside him, feeling him watch me. He was anxious, We had now made the full square, and he said: ‘Now do you know where you are?’ For a moment I did not answer; and at once a baffled angry look filled his eyes. His body was tense with violence. Nothing was more important to him, just then, than that I should not have seen through his trick.

  ‘It seems miles,’ I said.

  ‘That’s because you don’t know the ropes,’ he said, relaxing, the violence all gone. ‘Seen that building before?’ – pointing to a house a couple of hundred yards away from Flo’s and Dan’s house.

  ‘They all seem alike,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Mind you. I’ve been thinking, it might not be possible for you to see that flat this evening. But I’ll telephone to make sure.’ He strode into a telephone box, and went through the motions of telephoning. He emerged with a brisk air. ‘My client isn’t in, after all.’

  ‘That seems a pity.’

  ‘I’ll take you for the drink I promised, in any case.’ He applied a tender pressure to my upper arm; but lost interest in the gesture almost at once; his face was already dark with another pressure.

  ‘I’m taking you to this pub,’ he said, ‘because it’s famous.’

  We went into a glossy lounge bar, and he said casually to the barman: ‘I’ll have two of the usual.’

  ‘What’s your usual?’ said the barman.

  ‘I’m used to service,’ he began, but the barman had turned away, as if accidentally, to serve someone else. Mr MacNamara took me to a free corner table, and said. ‘This is the best firm in England. Their liquors are all vintage. You know what vintage is?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  Delighted, he said: ‘I do. I mix with the best people. I’m going to marry the daughter of a member of parliament.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Yes. Her father is a lord.’

  ‘Rose told me your father was a lord, too, from Ireland.’

  His body tensed with anger. He narrowed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. Then he controlled himself. The violence in him so strong his whole body quivered as he damped it down. ‘I told you, you shouldn’t believe Rose Jennings. She can’t tell truth from falsehood. Some people are like that.’ He thought a moment and came out with: ‘Actually, my real name’s not MacNamara. It’s Ponsonby. I use MacNamara for business. But I’m Irish all right. Yes, from the Emerald Isle.’

  ‘I hope you’ve managed to get Mrs MacNamara somewhere to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Well of course she’d not really Mrs MacNamara. To tell you the truth, I don’t quite know what to do with her. She was going to marry a client of mine. He rang me up this morning – he’s off to Hong-Kong, on business. He left her in my charge.’

  ‘Poor girl.’

  ‘I’ve fixed her up for the night in a hotel in Bayswater.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But perhaps Mrs Bolt can fix her up tomorrow. She said she had a room.’

  ‘Oh, she did, did she?’

  ‘Of course it’s not what Miss Powell is used to. But then these days we take what we can get. Like you, for instance, You could afford much better if you were offered it.’

  The barman now came over and said: ‘What’ll you have.’

  ‘Two light ales,’ said Mr Ponsonby.

  When the barman brought the ales, Mr Ponsonby said; ‘I say. You’re not going to serve me that? I’m used to the best.’

  The barman studied him a moment, his good-humoured eyebrows raised. Then he picked up the glasses, set them on the counter, interposed his back between him and Mr Ponsonby, and after whistling a soft tune between his teeth, lifted them round and set them down again.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mr Ponsonby. He handed the barman silver, and gave him a shilling tip.

  ‘Some mothers do ’ave ’em,’ remarked the barman to the air, still whistling, as he returned behind the bar.

  Mr Ponsonby was saying to me: ‘I could put you on to a good thing. A hundred nicker. That’s all.’

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ I said.

  He examined me for some time, in silence. It was extraordinary how frankly he did this, as if the necessity to do so made him invisible to me; as if he scrutinized me from behind a barricade.

  ‘Mr MacNamara,’ I said. ‘You’re making a mistake about me. I really don’t have any money.’

  This remark seemed to reassure him. ‘Ponsonby,’ he said, ‘Well, I’ll show you you can trust me.’ He reached his hands into his pockets. From one he brought out military medals, about a dozen of them. From another a packet of papers. Matching one to another on the table he showed me citation after citation for bravery, etc., to Alfred Ponsonby. Among them was the DSO.

  ‘I was in the Commandos,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Yes, they were the best days of my life.’ He replaced the medals in one pocket and the papers in the other and said: ‘I keep fit, just in case. Ju-jitsu. There’s nothing like it.’

  ‘I think it’s time I got back.’

  He examined me again. Then he leaned himself forward to me, the surface of his brown eyes glazed with
solicitude. ‘I would really like to see you fixed up. I can see you are a little disappointed with me. Oh, don’t deny it. I could see, when I telephoned and my client wasn’t in. But I’ve a special interest in you.’ His gaze went blank while he searched for words. Then he smiled intimately into my eyes with a brown treacly pressure. ‘Now I want to put something to you. I can get that flat for you tonight — just like that!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘But I must put something down for the landlord. It would cost five pounds and it would be worth it.’

  ‘I must get back,’ I said and got up.

  Without a change of tone, he said: ‘I’ll take you over tomorrow night.’ Consulted his watch. ‘Eight o’clock.’ And again, narrowing his eyes. ‘No, an appointment at eight. Eight-fifteen. I’ll make an appointment.’

  ‘Good.’

  To get from the pub back to the house was five minutes walking. He faced towards the house. His face was twisted with conflict. ‘Know where we are?’

  ‘No.’

  Smiling with cruelty, he walked me right around the bombed space, watching my face all the time. Anxiety crept into him. At the bottom of the street he hesitated and said: ‘Do you know what I’ve just done?’

  ‘Not an idea.’

  Half from pleasure at having tricked me, and half from anxiety I might find out, he said: ‘I’ve taken you a long way round. You never noticed it. Got to keep your eyes open in this city. But you’re all right with me. You can trust me.’

  ‘I know I can.’ I said. We were at the front door.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, tenderly.

  I went inside and up the stairs. Rose appeared and said, ‘Are you all right, dear?’