John Braine - Room at the Top

"You've gorgeous eyes," she said. As she went out she laid her hand on mine for a second. "What's wrong with us young spinsters?" she asked. It was as if Teddy weren't there.

"Don't mind me," he said. "You're quite a boy for the women, aren't you?"

"They queue up just to speak to me."

"You can have June," he said. "She's only a kid. But Mrs. A. - now her I really envy you."

"There's nothing to envy me for."

"She's lovely," he said. His thin tough face was wistful.

"She's all right. Never thought of it."

"By God, I'd think of it. She's - " he searched for the word and then used it rather shamefacedly - "she's a lady. She's a woman too. Every time I see her I sweat and shake - you know."

"You lewd young man," I said. "You know what the Good Book says about committing adultery in your heart."

"Her husband's committing it elsewhere."

"That's no excuse. What's he like, by the way?"

"Wealthy woolman. Sleek and pale, talks well-off."

"Who's the other party?"

"A girl from his office. Young and plump and dumb. It's been going on for a year."

"They're worse than animals," I said indignantly. "Why can't he be content with Alice?"

"She's thirty-four and they've been married nearly ten years and they haven't had any children." He grinned. "I'd help him out. Willingly."

I shrugged my shoulders. "She doesn't attract me in that way." I was thinking about Susan; it gave me a queer little thrill in the pit of my stomach when I remembered. I badly wanted to tell someone, to boast about it discreetly. I rather hoped that Teddy would introduce her name into the conversation and then I could drop a casual statement about our date. He didn't mention her, however, but continued to drool over Alice.

That evening I went to the second rehearsal of Meadowes Farm . Ronnie was in great form, puffing violently at his pipe, running his hands through his hair to indicate nervous tension, and scribbling frantically in his interleaved script. "This evening, people," he said, "you're just bodies . And very fine bodies too, if I may say so. I want you to clarify these moves, and then we can get on with some acting ..."

Alice and I had three torrid love scenes. I expected to find them embarrassing, but she was so impersonal in her attitude, so free of embarrassment herself, that our embraces were like slow dances. We worked so well together that Ronnie didn't have to correct me more than twice each move, which is pretty good at that stage of production. I took my lead from her; which of course was quite correct because I was supposed to be seduced by her.

Ronnie was moved to praise afterwards. "Your love scenes are beginning to shape well already, Joe. I can forsee trouble elsewhere" - he twinkled at me over his spectacles - "you know, the dull necessary business of entrance and exit and sitting down and standing up. You sit down as if - well, I won't be vulgar. And you rise as if you'd sat on a tin tack. And you're most awkward with Anne and Johnny. But with Alice you really come to life."

"Alice would bring a dead man to life," I said. I smiled at her; to my surprise she coloured a little.

When Ronnie had finished speaking to the cast, I followed her off the stage into the auditorium. She took up her coat from where she'd left it in the stalls; I helped her put it on. The second before I took my hands off her shoulders she relaxed against me; it was as impersonal as our stage embraces.

I put on my own coat and sat down beside her. "I followed your suggestions."

"Which suggestions?"

"I phoned Susan. We're going to the ballet." Somewhere in the flies I heard the voices of Ronnie and Herbert: a blue light illumined the stage with its litter of cigarette ends, the trestle tables and Windsor chairs and the horsehair sofa on which I'd been making love to her. It was only a small theatre but suddenly it seemed big and echoing and desolate.

"Susan?" she said. "Yes, I remember." The light turned to a warm pink. "You can't go wrong if you're advised by me. Auntie Alice is always right."

"You're not an aunt," I said. "They're forty and smell of camphor."

She grimaced. I noticed that her chin sagged a little underneath.

"Well at least I don't smell of camphor. I'm behaving like a Woman's Chats auntie, though. Or Juliet's nurse." Her tone seemed bitter.

"But no," I said. "I saw Romeo and Juliet once. She was an evil old bitch. You're nice and exciting. And rather - " I stopped. I was going into dangerous territory.

"Rather what?"

"Don't be angry with me. Promise."

"All right," she said impatiently, "I won't be angry even if it's indecent. I promise."

I floundered. "It seems so silly. I can't - "

"This is just like At Mrs. Beam's ," she said. "You are irritating, Joe. Go on, for God's sake."

"You're rather - no - not pathetic. But lost, like a little girl. As if you were looking for something. Oh God, I sound like a cheap film. Forget I said it, will you?"

She was silent for a moment. Then her eyes moistened. "What a strange thing for you to say. No, I'm not angry, darling." She fished in her handbag. When I gave her a light I was surprised to find my hand trembling.

At that moment George Aisgill came in. He was wearing an enormously thick overcoat, which he wasn't tall or broad enough to carry. He had small well-shaped hands, the nails shining from a recent manicure and he wore not only a signet ring on his third finger but a diamond ring on his little finger. His features were neat and smooth and his moustache looked as if it had been painted on. Despite the manicure and the diamond ring, he didn't look effeminate; though he didn't look masculine either. It was as if he'd deliberately chosen masculinity because it was more comfortable and profitable. I disliked him at sight but in a different way from Jack Wales; there was no real harm in Jack, but George Aisgill had a watchful coldness about him which almost frightened me: he looked utterly incapable of making a fool of himself.

"I've come to take my wife away from you rogues and vagabonds," he said. "My wife having messed up the Fiat."

"This is Joe Lampton," Alice said to him. "My lover."

"Dear me," he said, "I'm sorry. Have I spoiled it all?"

"We've met before," I said.

He gave me a quick exhaustive glance. "I remember," he said. He nodded towards the stage. "How's it going?"

Something in his manner suggested that we were all indulging in a scruffy kind of charade.

"I can't tell you," I said. "You'll have to ask Alice."

"Oh, it's not more than usually bloody," she said in a flat voice. "We continue to amuse ourselves."

Her whole manner had changed with his coming. She wasn't subdued or frightened or overbright; it was very difficult to put one's finger on the difference, but I noticed it at once. She became the sort of person that up to the evening before I'd thought she was - cool, blasé, superior, only half alive.

"You're a Town Hall wallah, aren't you?" he asked me.

The outdated temporary gentleman phrase set my teeth on edge. "Treasurer's."

"Must be a bit dull."

"You'd be surprised," I said lightly. "There's always some businessman trying to fiddle. My God, how those boys hate paying taxes!"

"Not guilty, old man," he said. "My mill's not in Warley,"

"We don't like that either. You're depriving your home town of money."

"When the Council encourages business I'll build a mill at Warley."

"When we find a businessman who thinks our smoke abatement policy isn't merely words, we'll welcome him."

He smiled showing sharp white little teeth. "Where there's muck - "

I was just going to retort that he took damned good care to live outside the muck when Alice broke in.