Роберт Эйкман - The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

Luncheon ended with Carlsbad plums in honey, halva, black coffee, and (at Lotus’s expense) Green Chartreuses all round. There was some disputation, more or less affable, as they allocated among themselves liability for their respective parts of the bill; during which one of the business men who constituted the main element among the customers, approached Griselda and insisted on presenting her with a large bunch, almost bouquet, of Christmas roses.

‘You look so happy,’ he said, ‘that I should like you to have it.’ Since the beginning of their meal, he had spent his luncheon hour searching the cold streets and stuffy shops. Instantaneously and for an instant it almost made Griselda feel as happy as she looked.

Then Barney was making a speech, and all the waiters and some of the bar and kitchen staff, had entered the room to listen to it. Lotus sat sneering slightly, which only made her more seductive than ever; and indeed it was not the best speech which even Griselda had ever heard. The business men listened like professionals, and at suitable moments led the applause. The speech ended by Barney announcing that now they would leave the happy couple alone together; at which, despite the hour, there was a pleasant round of cheers. Barney then spoke to a waiter, who flashed away. In a moment he was back and speaking in Barney’s ear.

‘I have ordered,’ said Barney, ‘a taxi; and what is more, paid for it. It is yours to go anywhere not more than ten minutes away, or a mile and a half, whichever is the less.’

Everybody leaned from the windows of the Old Bell and cheered as the happy pair entered the taxi, which, having been decorated with white streamers at lightning speed by the driver, was already surrounded by a cluster of strange women, haggard as witches with Christmas shopping.

‘Best of luck,’ screamed Freddy Fisher and threw a toy bomb which he had acquired next door at Gamage’s for the purpose. Considering its cost, it was surprisingly efficacious.

‘Where to?’ enquired the driver.

There seemed nowhere to suggest but back to the attic flat.

XXXI

Griselda wondered when the mysteries would begin.

It seemed not immediately. In the taxi, Kynaston concentrated upon his achievement in routing and evading his father (which had, indeed, impressed Griselda considerably); and in the flat, having changed his suit, he continued alluding to the same subject. He described the wretchedness of his childhood for more than an hour and a quarter, a topic with which Griselda was fairly sympathetic; then unexpectedly said ‘I think we’d better go to the pictures. I feel we should celebrate, and all the cinemas will be shut tomorrow.’

Griselda quickly made tea (neither were especially hungry after their platesful of venison at luncheon) and they found their way through the fog to a double-feature programme which did not come round again until past nine o’clock. Most of the time Griselda sat with Kynaston’s arm round her. She found it pleasant, but detrimental to concentration upon the films. However, it being the programme immediately before Christmas, the films were undemanding.

‘Let’s go to Lyons,’ said Kynaston. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunity for home cooking in the years ahead.’ He smiled at her affectionately. Griselda smiled back, though suddenly she had wondered what the food was like at the Carlton.

At Lyons, however, the big new Corner House at St Giles’s Circus, the food was, as usual, unlike the food anywhere else, though the ornate building was full of fog, through which the alien waiters called to one another in little-known tongues above the tumult of the orchestra. Griselda and Kynaston ate Consommй Lenglen, turkey and Christmas pudding, followed by portions of walnuts; so that it was nearly eleven before they left.

When they emerged, their heads spinning with Viennese music, the fog was so thick that the busmen had gone on strike, leaving their vehicles standing about the streets and blocking most of the other traffic. In some of the buses passengers bearing holly and rocking-horses, were defining and proclaiming their rights; in some, mistletoe was being hoisted; and in some, tramps were beginning to bed down for the holiday. Every now and then a bus became dark, as its battery failed or miscarried. Over all could already be felt the spirit of Christmas.

‘Let’s look for the tube.’

But when they found it, the Underground had ceased to run. Across the entry was a strong iron gate, bearing the notice ‘Special Christmas Service’, surrounded by little figures of Santa Claus.

‘Let’s walk. Do you mind, Griselda?’

‘Of course not, Geoffrey.’

‘Fortunately I’m good at finding the way.’

‘I can’t see my feet.’

Allowing for errors of direction, and the further time consumed in retracing their steps, the walk took until a quarter to one. By the time she reached their attic flat, Griseida’s legs were cold, her respiration clogged, and her spirits chastened.

Kynaston left her alone in their bedroom (where his single divan bed had been supplemented by its double) to undress. Almost at once she was in bed. Rather charmingly, Kynaston then appeared with a glass of hot milk and some bread and treacle.

‘Would you like a hot water bottle?’

‘It’s lovely of you, Geoffrey, to work so hard, but I don’t use them.’

‘I do.’

‘That’s all right.’

Kynaston disappeared again and was gone some time. After the hot milk, Griselda felt not anticipatory but comatose. Ultimately Kynaston returned. He wore pyjamas. He must have changed in the sitting room.

He crossed to Griselda’s bed, where she lay with her eyes shut.

‘You look tired, darling. I suggest we just sleep. There’s all day tomorrow.’

Griselda opened her eyes. ‘Yes, darling, let’s just sleep.’ He kissed her lips fondly.

All the same it was disappointing. Griselda could not resolve how disappointing.

Kynaston put out the light.

‘I think we’d better keep to our own beds. For tonight. Else we might spoil things. Because I’m sure you must be cold and tired.’

‘I agree.’ But Griselda was now perfectly warm and, for some reason, much less tired.

She rolled round and round in her bed several times.

Then without warning in the darkness Kynaston said ‘Are you a virgin?’

And when Griselda had explained the position, he said ‘I expect we’ll be able to manage;’ then sighed and began to snore.

On Christmas Day Griselda became quite fond of Kynaston. He performed unending small services, and seemed to be filled with happiness every time she smiled. He spent the morning writing a sonnet, while Griselda made a steak-and-kidney pudding. In the afternoon he attempted to codify some new plastic poses, while Griselda mended his clothes. At about the time of the King’s broadcast, however. Griselda became aware of an undefined, unacknowledged strain. At dinner it seemed to have affected Kynaston’s appetite: a very unusual circumstance. Griselda herself continued more cheerful than she had expected. Kynaston’s slight nerviness seemed to make him more attentive than ever, almost anxiously so; and the immediate future aroused interest and curiosity.

After dinner, Kynaston began to read The Faery Queen aloud. Fortunately he did this very well. Every now and then he broke off while Griselda made some more coffee in a laboratorial vessel of glass and chromium which Lotus had given them as a wedding present. On one of these occasions Griselda noticed that Kynaston’s hand shook so much that he spilled the coffee into the saucer.

‘Is anything wrong, darling? You’re shaking like a leaf.’

‘I’m not used to so much happiness.’

‘Does happiness make you tremble?’