Maeve Binchy - Circle of Friends

But Simon Westward would always know how to handle things like this.

She was silent as she looked at him. Unconsciously imitating his stance, hands behind her back, eyes unflinching, mouth set in a hard thin line. She had dressed carefully, deciding not to wear her best outfit in case he would think she had put it on specially, or had come from Mass. Instead she had worn a tartan skirt and grey cardigan. She had a blue scarf tied around her throat in what she had thought was a jaunty look.

Her glance didn't fall from his stare.

"Would you like a glass of sherry?" he asked, and she knew she had won the first round.

"Thank you."

"Sweet or dry?"

"I don't know the difference. I've never had either." She spoke proudly. There was going to be no aping the manners of her betters from Eve Malone. She thought she saw him raise his eyebrows in surprise that bordered on admiration.

"Then try the sweet. I'll have that too. He poured two glasses.

"Will you sit down?"

"I'd rather stand. It won't take long."

"Fine." He said nothing more, he just waited. "I would like to go to university this term," she began. "In Dublin?"

"Yes. And there are a few things standing in the way."

"Oh yes?"

"Like that I cannot afford it."

"How much does it cost in Trinity now?"

"It's not Trinity and you know that well. It's UCD."

"Sorry, I didn't know, actually."

"For years Trinity wouldn't let Catholics in, and now when it does, the Archbishop has said it's a sin to go so you know it's UCD." He put his hands out as if warding her off. "Peace, peace," he said. Eve continued. "And since you ask, the fees are sixty-five pounds a year for three years for a BA, and after that I would like to do a Diploma in Librarianship so that would be another sixty-five pounds. There would be books to buy. I am talking about one hundred pounds a year.

And?"

"And I was hoping you would give it to me," she said, "Give? Not lend?"

"No, give. Because I wouldn't be able to pay it back. It would be a lie to ask for a loan."

"And how will you live there? You'll have to pay for rooms and everything."

"I told you. It's not Trinity. There are no rooms. I'll get a job in a family, earn my keep. I'd be able to do that. It's just the fees I don't have."

"And you think we should pay them?"

"I'd be very glad if you did." Not grateful, Eve told herself firmly, she had sworn she would not use that word. No matter how much Mother Francis had warned her. Glad was the nearest she could get.

Simon was thinking. "A hundred pounds a year," he repeated.

"It would be for four years," Eve said. "I couldn't really start unless I knew I wouldn't have to come and beg for it every year.

"You're not begging for it now," said Simon. "That's right, I'm not," Eve said. She felt a great pounding in her head. She hadn't known it was going to be remotely like this.

He smiled at her, a genuine smile. "I never beg either, it must be a family trait."

Eve felt a hot flush of anger. Not only was he going to refuse her, he was going to make fun of her as well. She had known that she might be refused, she thought it would be with apologies cold and distant, closing the door firmly, and this time for ever. She had steeled herself against it. There would be no tears. No pleading. Neither would there be recriminations. She had heard enough in the gossip of the town to know that her father had sworn and cursed this family long years ago. She wasn't going to let history repeat itself. She had rehearsed staying calm. "So what do we do now?" she asked in a level voice. There was nothing arrogant or pleading about it.

"That seems perfectly reasonable," Simon said. "What?"

"What you ask for. I don't see any reason why not." His smile was very charming.

She felt that to smile back would put her in some kind of danger.

"Why now?" she asked. "Why not before?"

"You never asked me before," he said simply. "Not personally," she agreed.

"Yes. It's quite different to be asked indirectly, by a religious order who never made any other approach to me."

"What approach might they have made?"

"Oh, I don't know. Hard to say. I can't say I'd have liked them to ask me to tea or to pretend a friendship I didn't feel. But it was rather bald just to ask for money on your behalf as if you hadn't a mind or a voice of your own.

She considered it. It was true. Of course it was also true that she should never have had to ask him or any of the Westwards for what was rightfully hers. And Mother Francis had been sent away twice with a flea in her ear.

But these were not the subjects at issue. And the need was for calm, not for raking up the past.

"I see," she said.

Simon had almost lost interest in it. He was prepared to talk about other things.

"When does term start, or has it started?"

"Last week. But there's late registration."

"Why didn't you register in time?"

"I tried another kind of life. I couldn't bear it." He must have been used to short answers. It seemed to satisfy him.

"Well, I'm sure you won't have missed very much in a few days.

All I ever see in Dublin when I go there is students from both universities drinking coffee and talking about changing the world."

"They might, one day."

"Of course." He was courteous.

She was silent. She couldn't ask him to get the money now, she didn't want to launch into any thanks. The word grateful might slip out. She sipped her sherry thoughtfully.

Their eyes met. "I'll get a cheque book," he said, and went out to the hall. Eve heard him rooting around amongst the papers and documents stacked on the table. By the window the old man sat silently staring with unseeing eyes at the unkempt garden. Out on the lawn the sister who must have been nearly twenty years younger than her elder brother played with a couple of large dogs, throwing them sticks. It was like a foreign land to Eve.

She stood there like the visitor she was, until Simon came back in.

"You'll have to forgive me, I am not saying this in any way to be offensive, but I don't know if your name is Maloney or O'Malone, or what?"

"Eve Malone." She spoke without expression. "Thank you.

I didn't want to go out and check with Mrs. Walsh. It was one or the other, ask you or ask her." He smiled.

Eve did not return the smile. She nodded her head slightly. He wrote the cheque slowly and deliberately, then folded it in half and handed it to her.

Common politeness must make her thank him. The words stuck in her throat. What had she said before, what had been the word which had pleased her? Glad. She used it again. "I'm glad you were able to do this," she said.

"I'm glad too," he said.

They did not use each other's names, and they knew there was no more to say. Eve put the cheque in the pocket of her cardigan and stretched out her hand. "Goodbye," she said.

Simon Westward said exactly the same thing at the same time.

She waved cheerfully at the child who seemed disapppointed to see her go, and walked down the avenue of the house that had been her mother's home with her back straight, because she knew that she was being watched from the house. From the kitchens, from the garden where the dogs were playing, from the drawing room and from a wheelchair.

She didn't let the skip come into her step until she was outside.

In the convent Mother Francis and Kit Hegarty were having lunch in the window of the Community dining room, and a place had been set for Eve.

"We didn't wait for you," Mother Francis said, her eyes anxiously raking Eve's face for the answer.

Eve nodded twice. The nun's face lit up. "I'll go now. I have a lot of things to do. Eve, your meal's in the kitchen. Bring it out and sit here with Mrs. Hegarty like a good girl."