Роберт Эйкман - The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

As Griselda and Kynaston passed into the summer night, the clock on the local Crematorium struck midnight, an intimation repeated a few minutes later by the doubtless more accurate clock at the Palace of Westminster.

‘I should have told you about Lotus.’

‘She’s no affair of mine.’

‘I never expected to see her again. It’s Monica Paget-Barlow’s fault. She misled me.’

‘I see.’

‘All the same she’s rather splendid.’

‘Miss Paget-Barlow?’

‘But I’m quite finished with her none the less. She lacks your glorious independence.’

‘I’ve lost the thread.’

‘You’ll come on the picnic?’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘Don’t be jealous. It’s absurd of you. Really it is.’

‘I’m not jealous. I have another engagement.’

‘What?’

Without particularly thinking. Griselda answered the truth. ‘I’m spending the day with my friend Peggy Potter.’

‘Where are you going?’

Regrettably, Peggy, with her passion for the provisional, always, when possible, refused to agree upon a plan in advance.

‘Does that matter?’

‘Bring her with you. There’ll be a crowd. She’ll pass unnoticed.’

‘No, thank you. She’d hate that.’

They were walking southwards down Tottenham Court Road, as Griselda did not care to risk the passage of the back streets at midnight. Outside Goodge Street Station, Kynaston stopped, again took hold of Griselda’s elbows, and said: ‘Griselda, I love you with all my heart.’ He seemed to mean it. But as he spoke a lift arrived, and they were pushed about by a load of tired revellen and resentful night workers.

Absurd though the declaration was, Griselda had too soft a heart to feel unmoved. ‘Where will you go tonight?’ She asked sympathetically.

‘I’ve made arrangements . . . Please marry me.’

‘No, Geoffrey. It’s impossible . . . You’ll be all right?’

‘I’ll be far from all right if you won’t marry me. Besides I’ve got a slight headache.’

‘When do you take up your job?’

‘On Liberation Day. Next Wednesday. It’s a job for a D.Litt. There’s very little money in it.’

‘Poor Geoffrey! I really must go. I shall miss the last tube.’ Griselda had previously intended to walk.

‘You won’t need an address for me as I shall look in the shop every day.’

‘No please, Geoffrey, I’m sure there’ll be trouble with Mr Tamburlane.’

‘Yes. I suppose there may.’

‘I wonder if Mr Tamburlane’s still alive? Poor Mr Tamburlane.’

‘Promise to come on the picnic and we’ll leave it at that for the moment. I’ve got a lot of things to do anyway before I’m tied by the leg on Liberation Day. Promise, Griselda.’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Ten o’clock next Sunday at Juvenal Court. Bring your own lunch. Tell your friend to bring enough for the two of you.’

‘Good night, Geoffrey.’

‘May I kiss you?’

‘No.’

He kissed her. Although it was Goodge Street Station and another lift had come up, Griselda realized that Kynaston really had feelings. It was most surprising.

Despite her efforts, he felt her respond.

‘Griselda darling . . .’

But Griselda had been swept away by a flood of sad ineluctable memories and a posse of half-drunken suburbans on their way to Hendon, Edgware, and Trinity Road, Tooting Bec.

The tide of grief because Louise had been lost was so overwhelming, and the prospect of Sunday spent alone with Peggy so depressing (fond of Peggy though she was), that when she arrived back at Greenwood Tree House, Griselda, though it was late by Peggy’s standards, knocked at her friend’s door. With so many weightier cares to keep her from sleep, Griselda knew that she would lie awake all night unless she settled the matter of the picnic before the retired.

‘What is it?’

‘It is I. Griselda. Please let me in.’ Peggy always locked her door.

There was a curious sound of shuffling and putting away, which continued for an unexplained time. Then the key was turned and Peggy stood in the doorway.

‘Come in Griselda,’ she said quite pleasantly.

‘You needn’t have bothered to put on your dressing-gown.’

Peggy said nothing.

‘Do get into bed again. I can quite easily talk to you in bed.’

‘I’d rather not. Sit down.’

They sat formally in the room’s two chairs. Peggy must have been putting away her clothes and underclothes, as none were visible.

‘Had you anything in mind for Sunday?’

‘Need we settle so long beforehand? After all, it’s not work. Can’t we leave it till the time comes?’

‘We’ve both been asked on a picnic.’

‘Both?’

‘I’ve been asked and asked to bring you.’

‘I see. Will the people like me? Seeing that they don’t know me or I them. I should hate to spoil your day.’

‘Of course you won’t spoil my day, Peggy. I hardly know the people myself. I shall be glad to have you for company.’

‘Are they a married couple?’

‘There’s to be quite a number of people, I believe. You’ll be able to pass unnoticed, if you wish.’

‘Not if they’re my sort of person, I hope. And obviously not if they’re not my sort of person,’ said Peggy, patiently smiling. ‘ Are they my sort of person? You won’t mind my asking.’

‘Not exactly,’ replied Griselda thoughtfully. ‘But I’m sure you’ll like them. I do,’ she added without particular regard for truth.

‘Could I let you know later?’

‘No. I want to know now. Or I shan’t sleep.’

‘All right, I’ll come. Thank you for asking me.’

‘Thank you for coming.’

‘I suppose it must be important to you. There’s someone expected? Somone in particular?’

‘Nothing like that. Just a group of old friends. Very pleasant people,’ replied Griselda, seeing mental pictures of Lotus flagellating Barney with the towel and Barney trying to beat out Kynaston’s brains.

XXIII

When Griselda arrived at the shop next morning, Mr Tamburlane was taking down the shutters as usual.

‘Since I had to hurry away last night, let me at once whisper in your hymeneal ear, Miss de Reptonville,’ he exclaimed as she approached.

‘Are you quite safe, Mr Tamburlane?’

‘I glow. I bask. I kindle.’

‘Then that’s all right.’ Griselda entered the dusky shop with its smell of scholarship.

‘Advance the nuptials. Miss de Reptonville. It’s the best thing you can possibly do. Afterwards you can throw the traces right over and – your tastes being what they are, of course – Society will do nothing but smile upon you.’

‘Please don’t concern yourself.’

‘In my anachronistic way I feel called to advise you; both as your employer and also quasi-paternally.’

‘It shows thought, Mr Tamburlane.’

‘But perchance the plough has entered the furrow without aid from me?’

At that point a young man came into the shop and saved the situation by calling, in an affected voice, for the Complete Incubology of St Teresa of Avila, which had to be got up from the basement.

None the less, all day Mr Tamburlane made himself quire a nuisance with his sympathetic but entire misunderstanding of Griselda’s situation. Nor did the heat help.

Saturday was really hot.

‘Need we go tomorrow?’ enquired Peggy, as she lay beside Griselda in the Park, her head on an old copy of ‘Headway’.

‘It may not be so hot.’

‘Then it will be raining. It’s August.’

‘Look at that duck.’

‘That’s a widgeon.’

‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t want to spoil it for you.’