Balefanio - tmp0

"Satan's Kiss," said Edward Blake.

He had greeted Eric quite warmly, and yet, as Eric always felt, with a sarcastic grin. He looked very ill, iller than ever. His face was streakily grey, as though his cheeks had been rubbed with an india-rubber, and there were sharp lines on either side of his mouth. His big pale eyes were mocking and full of light. His sallow nicotine-stained fingers were mere bones. The signet ring was quite loose on his hand, and Eric noticed how it shook as he lifted his glass.

"Is there any left?" Maurice asked.

"Unfortunately not."

"Well, be an angel and make some more."

"I'm afraid we've used all the Angostura Bitters."

"It won't be quite the same kind of kiss as the last," said Margaret Lanwin.

"No two kisses are alike," said Edward.

As he talked, his mouth gave a nervous sideways twitch and he spoke deliberately, as though he had to concentrate on pronouncing the words. It pro­duced the effect of something said in a foreign language.

Eric sipped the cocktail, which was, he thought, very nasty. It tasted rather like cough-mixture. But Maurice declared it was even better than the last.

"How on earth do you do it, Edward? You are marvellous.!'

Edward didn't answer. He smiled.

"If it's not a terribly rude thing to say, Maurice," said Margaret Lanwin," I'm nearly dying of hunger. All those fascinating things on the sideboard are making my mouth water."

"I hope you don't mind all this cold stuff," said Maurice.

But he really apologised to Edward, not to Margaret.

At lunch, Edward ate scarcely anything, al­though he refused nothing. He drank a great deal —first of College ale, which Eric found terrifically strong; then of brandy, which Maurice produced with cigars. As he drank he seemed to become steadier. His hand no longer shook.

Maurice was telling him about Currie's Sun­beam. "By God," said Maurice, "that was a mar­vellous bus. You know, Edward, you ought to get a car."

"What does one do with a car?" Edward asked.

"One drives about, of course. I mean, it's miles cheaper when you want to get anywhere."

"But I never do want to get anywhere."

"I'm sure Maurice would exercise it for you," said Margaret, smiling.

She obviously didn't mean to be malicious, but Maurice answered rather shortly:

"I don't quite see what the point of that would be."

Later, Edward did a balancing trick with a

knife, two glasses and an orange. It was not a very difficult trick. The principal wonder lay in Edward's being able to do it. He seemed to hold himself steady by sheer will. And Maurice kept repeating:

"Edward, you are marvellous."

"Can you do this?" said Edward, picking up the knife and addressing only Maurice. He had turned in his chair, away from the others. He slowly opened his fist, until the knife seemed to cling unsup­ported to the palm.

"How on earth do you do that?" Maurice asked, round-eyed.

"Just watch once more."

Edward sat smiling, holding the knife aloft like a snake-charmer. From the tone of his voice, he and Maurice might have been alone together in the room. Eric suddenly glanced at Margaret Lanwin. She smiled back at him.

"No, I haven't an idea. Do tell me, Edward."

"Watch once more."

Maurice watched.

"Oh, you might tell me!"

"Do you see how it's done?" asked Edward, suddenly turning to Eric.

Eric felt himself blushing angrily as he answered:

"Yes."

He picked up the knife, holding Edward's faintly mocking gaze with his own. Slowly, awk­wardly, he opened his hand.

"Oh, how clever of you!" said Margaret.

"I believe I see how it's done now," said Maurice.

Edward was silent. He only smiled, filled him­self another glass of whisky. Eric flushed a deeper red. There was a long pause.

"I ought—it's time I was going," said Eric abruptly.

"Oh, Eric," said Maurice, with sudden concern; "you can't go yet."

But Eric had already risen to his feet. Margaret Lanwin looked at her watch.

"Where can I find out about trains?"

"In the Porter's Lodge," said Maurice. "I'll show you."

But he obviously didn't want to leave Edward Blake.

"Oh, by the way, Edward," he said, "hadn't we better go and see the room I've booked for you? You mayn't like it."

Rather to his own surprise, Eric found himself saying to Margaret:

"If you care to come with me, I can find out about the trains at our Lodge."

She rose at once.

"Thank you very much." Turned to Maurice:

"And thank you very much indeed for my wonderful lunch."

To Edward she said:

"Shall I see you again?"

"Come back here for tea," said Maurice—"the

only thing is, if we don't happen to be here—I mean—you won't mind------?"

Margaret smiled:

"I think I'll go straight to the station; thank you, all the same. I've promised to hold your mother's hand tonight at a ghastly party."

"Give her my love."

"I will. Good-bye and thank you again. Good­bye, Edward. Enjoy yourself."

"I'll endeavour to," said Edward, making her a bow.

Eric followed Margaret out. They walked along the street in silence.

"That's King's, isn't it?" asked Margaret, at length.

"Yes," Eric answered, and added:

"Have you been here before?"

"Once. Ages and ages ago. Before the War."

After they'd talked to the College porter about trains, Eric said:

"I say—if you care to—I'll make you a cup of tea in my room. It wouldn't take a second. And there's no point in going to the station yet."

She smiled: "Thank you very much."

"This is nice," she said, when he had shown her into the sitting-room. She wandered round the shelves, picked up 'Cunningham' and turned over a few pages, tapped 'Stubbs' thoughtfully with her forefinger as if testing its solidity. Eric was a little embarrassed by the strangeness of her presence

there. Aware of her semi-bohemian elegance, her aura of sex—for she was very attractive, certainly, although probably somewhere near forty—he got the kettle, filled it, lit the gas-ring on the landing, put his head into the cupboard for cups. When he came in with the tea she was on her knees at the fender, poking up the fire.

"It must be rather a nice life here, I should think," she said; and Eric did not demur, did not even condemn her in his own mind as stupid.

There was a long silence. Then Margaret asked, as if half speaking to herself:

"I suppose you're a great friend of Edward Blake's?"

"I've known him a very long time," said Eric. "He was a friend of my father's."

She did not appear to notice anything in his tone.

"Yes, I see," was all she said.

There was another pause. They talked in a desultory way about indifferent topics. Then Mar­garet said she must really be going. Eric offered to accompany her to the station. She refused, smiling:

"I've made quite enough of a nuisance of myself already.''

III

Eric asked at the office for the number of Mr. Blake's room. Upstairs, in the corridor, he met a maid with a breakfast-tray. The shoes still stood outside several doors. He had not realised that half-past nine might be considered by some people as early. And he wished now that he hadn't brought his books and gown. There was a lecture at eleven. Plenty of time to make a second call at his College. But he had thought: Why should I put myself out? For him.

Angrily, Eric was aware of his red hands. Out-of-doors it was cold. And he could feel how untidy his hair was. He smoothed it clumsily, slung his gown over his other arm, dropped his books, cursed, picked them up and knocked at number eleven.

Complete silence. Eric waited, half-raised his hand to knock again, let it fall. He had an almost overwhelming impulse to run away, and might have done so, had not the chambermaid reappeared at the end of the passage. Drawing himself together,