Alan Hollinghurst - The Stranger’s Child

‘No, no,’ said Daphne.

Cecil drew out a cigar case from a surprising pocket. ‘I’ve got two, if you’re tempted to try again,’ he said, and uncapped the stiff leather sheath to show her the tops of them. They made her think of soldiers, or the cartridges in Hubert’s rifle. She saw it might be wittier not to answer, and he seemed amused by her condescending smile. She knew she should call to her mother, but sighed just to think of the objections, and followed Cecil out into the garden, leaving the french window ajar.

It was quite a bit colder than last night, though she was not going to mention it. She said, ‘Cecil, I think I shall always associate In Memoriam with you!’

‘Well…’ – Cecil was fussing with a lighted match and making impatient appreciative noises as he drew on the cigar. Then the newly conjured smoke was all around them.

‘Shall we sit here?’

‘Let’s walk on,’ said Cecil, moving her along past the windows of the sitting-room. ‘We’ll see what the stars are up to, shall we?’

‘All right,’ said Daphne, and as he crooked his arm she reached up to slip her hand through it. As well as everything else, there was something entirely proper about Cecil; he perhaps wasn’t even aware of her happy sense of play-acting, her toss of the head in the dark as she took his arm. Then George’s jacket, merely slung round her shoulders, slipped off.

‘Here, let me help you.’ In the gloom on the edge of the lawn Cecil held the coat and patted her shoulders when she’d got it on.

‘I must look like a tramp,’ she said, her hands covered by the sleeves, silky linings cold for a moment on bare arms, the weight and smell of the thing hugged round her.

‘Do it up,’ said Cecil, his cigar between his teeth. And again his large hands seemed to take care of her, to be larger and more capable than ever. Then he offered his arm once more.

They went on a few leisurely paces, Daphne happily self-conscious, Cecil a touch reserved, though she wasn’t sure of his face, and perhaps he was merely working out the stars. She wondered if he was thinking of the hammock again – and was embarrassed to think of it herself after what had happened. She knew he’d had three or four glasses of wine; decisions would come easily to him, though to a sober person they might seem whimsical and delayed. She looked up, above the silhouette of the tree-tops. ‘I fear it’s too cloudy tonight, Cecil,’ she said.

Cecil huffed out another cloud of rich, sour smoke, and cackled vaguely. ‘Were you in the woods for long this afternoon?’ he said.

‘This afternoon, oh, not really.’

‘You didn’t get much of a walk.’

‘Well, when I met you I came home, of course.’

She felt him press her arm more tightly against his side, and the beautiful grown-up presence of Cecil, his height and his muscular warmth under evening dress, and even his voice, which she’d once thought so cutting and grand, slightly turned her head. ‘It must have been someone else we saw earlier on. I said to Georgie, “Isn’t that Daph?” but by the time he looked whoever it was had gone.’

‘Well, it could have been. Did you call?’

‘You know, I wasn’t sure.’

‘Lots of people do walk there.’

‘Of course,’ said Cecil. ‘Anyway, you didn’t see us.’

Daphne felt again she was missing something, but was carried along by the excitement of making conversation, and squeezed his arm reassuringly. ‘I would have said hello if I had.’

‘I thought you would.’

‘To be honest, it’s George. He doesn’t want me tagging along.’

Cecil made a low disparaging murmur, and they turned round. ‘You can see a bit better now,’ he said. ‘There’s the famous rockery!’

‘I know…’ She felt he was still rather mocking the rockery, and it emboldened her. ‘Cecil,’ she said, ‘when may I come to Corley?’

‘Mm…? To Corley?’ – it was as though he’d never heard of such a place, and certainly had no memory of his earlier invitation. Then he laughed. ‘My dear girl, whenever you like.’

‘Oh… thank you.’

‘Whenever you like…’ he said again, expanding into his decision in a tone which seemed oddly to undermine it. ‘I suppose it won’t be till the Christmas vac now, will it, probably.’

This seemed as good as never to Daphne. ‘No, I suppose.’

‘Get Georgie to bring you over.’

They moved on, towards the dark outline of the rockery, which at night might truly have been taken for a greater and more distant outcrop. Daphne said, huskily casual, ‘I imagine I could come by myself.’

‘Would your mother allow that?’

‘I am quite grown up, you know,’ said Daphne.

Cecil said nothing. He pressed forward with his usual confidence; she thought she should say, ‘There’s a step there’ – she half-yelled it as he stumbled and lurched down hard on his right leg, caught himself but pulled her with him, and then lurched again to save her and grip her.

‘Oh Christ, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine…!’ – wincing where he’d trodden heavily on the edge of her foot.

‘Whenever we go out, we seem to end up taking a tumble, don’t we!’

‘I know!’

‘And now I’ve lost my dratted cigar.’

They were face to face, her heart still lively from the shock, and he put his arms round her waist and pulled her against him, so that she had to turn her cheek to his cold lapel. He moved a hand up and down on her back, over the warm tweed of George’s jacket. ‘Blasted steps…’ he said.

‘I’m all right,’ said Daphne. She rather dreaded looking at her shoe, when they got in, but Cecil was at a disadvantage, and she knew at once that he could never be blamed for anything. She said quietly, ‘I can’t think how those steps got there;’ then went one better, ‘Those bloody steps!’

Cecil gave a sigh of a laugh across her hair. ‘Oh child, child…’ he said, with a softness and a sadness she had never heard before, even from her mother. ‘What are we going to do?’

Daphne eased herself a fraction freer. She wanted to play her part, felt the privilege of Cecil’s attention, it was awfully nice being held so tightly by him, but there was something in his tone that worried her. ‘Well, I suppose you’re going to have to pack.’

‘Hah…’ said Cecil, again with a strange despairing note, like his poetry voice.

‘I think… shall we go back in?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Can you keep a secret, Daph?’

‘As a rule,’ said Daphne.

‘Let’s keep this a secret.’

‘All right.’ She wasn’t sure if she understood. Falling over a step wasn’t much of a secret, but Cecil was clearly embarrassed by it.

His hands relaxed slightly, and travelled down almost to her bottom as he smiled and murmured, ‘You know, it’s been splendid getting to know you.’

‘Oh… well…’ she said, somehow paralysed by his hands. ‘That’s what we’re all saying about you. There’s never been anything like it!’

He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, like sending her to bed, but then the tip of his nose moved down her cheek and he kissed her beside her mouth, in his cigar breath, and then, completely without expression, on her lips. ‘There,’ he said.

‘Cecil, don’t be silly,’ she said, ‘you’ve been drinking,’ and he tilted his face sideways and pushed his open mouth over hers, and worked his tongue against her teeth in a quite idiotic and unpleasant way. She pushed herself half-free of him; she was alarmed but kept her composure, even laughed rather sarcastically.

‘You don’t mind if I kiss you?’ said Cecil dreamily.

‘I don’t call that kissing, Cecil!’ she said.