Balefanio - tmp0

"Oh, I know. . . . But this time it's different." Margaret's voice was shaking. "Mary, what do you think has happened?"

"My dear, what can possibly have happened?"

"Oh, God knows. Anything. Everything. In the state he's in."

Mary twisted her hair into a bun:

"We're certain to hear tomorrow."

"My God—I can't wait much longer."

Mary rose from the mirror with a sigh. Mar­garet sat huddled on the bed, her shoulders shak­ing with sobs. She was fraying the border of her handkerchief with her teeth.

"If you like, I'll tell them you're feeling a bit rotten. Eaten too much caviare. You stay here. We'll manage somehow without you."

"Thanks awfully, Mary. But I shall be all right in a minute. I am a fool to behave like this."

Mary rummaged in her bag:

"'Ave a drop of Mother's curse?"

Margaret gulped at the flask. Then she came over to the glass, dabbing at her eyes.

"Gosh, don't I look bloody awful?"

"I say, Eric. There's something I want to ask you as a very great favour."

The party was breaking up. Eric had watched Maurice telling his girl to wait for him for a second and come hurrying across the room. He couldn't help smiling a little in anticipation.

"What is it?"

"Well, you see, Eric, it's like this—you know I always get off very unexpectedly—today, for instance, I hadn't an idea until I saw my boss at half-past twelve that I could wangle a night in

Town—as it is, I've got to be back at the Works at nine tomorrow—and, as you know, it's nearly the end of the month and I don't like to keep asking Mary------"

"How much do you want?" said Eric, smiling.

"Well------"

He could see that Maurice was wondering if he still remembered that other little favour, not to mention a ten-shilling note, "just until I get change," the day they'd all gone out together in the car. Eric felt so sorry for Maurice in his em­barrassment that he hastened to say:

"I'm afraid I've only got £2 on me and some silver. Will that be enough?"

Maurice's face cleared with relief:

"Rather. Thanks most awfully, Eric." He grinned and added, with an air of great candour: "I haven't forgotten the—the other, as well, you know."

Never mind that, Eric refrained from answer­ing, lest he should hurt Maurice's feelings.

"And, of course, I'll let you have it first thing tomorrow's post."

"There's no frightful hurry," said Eric.

IV

As the maid brought into the dining-room a silver dish of chestnut cream, Lily was saying with a sigh:

"Yes, the days are really getting longer now."

Eric did not move. His mother did not look at him. She had placed the table-spoon and fork further apart, brushing the tumbler with her silk sleeve, making it faintly ring. A sailor was almost instantaneously drowned. The maid put the dish down on its little mat.

Eric looked at the ceiling. Lily piled up his helping, leaving only a few mouthfuls for herself. She began to eat, with the gestures of one who is never hungry.

Eric looked at the ceiling, at the sky behind the solemn window with its silver-blue silk curtains. He thought: Why need we go through this? Which of us wishes it? His brain was numbed by the warmth of the closed room. Smells of Old Kensington—rotted potpourri and cedar wood burnt on stoves.

He looked at his mother. She smiled. Asked:

"You like this, don't you?"

"Yes. It's my favourite pudding."

Her faint smile did not question the dullness of his answer. She is only, thought Eric, asking: You admit that I've done my part?

Bowing his head, his mind wearily answered hers:

You've done more. You've done everything.

The telephone bell rang. They heard the maid's mincing reply:

"Yes, this is Mrs. Vernon's flat."

"Is that someone for me?" Lily called.

"Yes, m'm. It's Major Charlesworth."

"Does he want me to speak to him?"

"If you could spare a moment, he says."

Lily smiled, rose. She disappeared into the hall. Eric sat listening to his mother's voice. It was quite changed in an instant. Her telephone voice. Gay, almost playful:

"Yes. Yes. Good morning! Yes, I'm going, certainly."

Eric took a nut from the bowl of fruit.

"Yes, I think your best plan would be to take the Underground to Mark Lane and a bus on from there. It puts you down almost at the door."

Back she came into the room. How strange. Eric had the faint, often repeated surprise of seeing that she had after all not turned into a young girl, to match that voice. Yet she did not

seem old. It was difficult to see where her fair hair was mixing with silver. She smiled sadly and brightly:

"It's my little Society, you know."

She smiled. She asked:

"Why don't you come with us next time we meet? I suppose you wouldn't care to?"

"I'm afraid things of that sort aren't much in my line."

Touching the little bell-push concealed beneath the table, she asked:

"Would you like coffee here or in the drawing-room?"

Thinking: I shall be sooner away, he mur­mured :

"In here, if you don't mind."

The coffee things came in. Eric had the tray placed before him. Lily faintly smiled. Ritual survives, he thought. She values that. He placed the spirit-lamp beneath the flask of the percolator.

"You see I've got some new cups?"

"Yes."

"How do you like them?"

He looked at them dully. Cups, he thought. Cups.

"They're very nice."

She seemed pleased.

"I got them at that new shop just opposite the Bank. I don't know whether you noticed it as you came past today?"

"No, I didn't."

Lily sipped her coffee. She said to the maid:

"Just bring in the cigarette-box from the draw­ing-room, please."

It came in. The silver box with the signatures upon it in facsimile of the friends of Father's who'd given it as a wedding present. Inside it was an un­opened cardboard packet of cigarettes.

"Those are the sort you like, aren't they?"

"Yes, thank you. They are."

He broke open the packet, lit a cigarette. He didn't want it. She said:

"Why not take the whole packet?" She smiled sadly. "They'll only get stale."

"Thank you very much."

Obediently, he put them into his pocket. She watched him smoke.

"Have you been back long?"

"Only three or four days."

Why do you ask all this? his mind appealed to hers.

"What part of the country were you in, this time?"

"In South Wales."

Suddenly, she gave a bright, quick, playful smile, like a child asking:

"Tell me the names of the places," then added, as though challenging him laughingly to refuse her: "I like to look them out on the map."

She was extraordinary. She could always astonish

him. He repeated the names dully. She repeated them after him, asking how they were spelt.

"And where shall you go to next?"

"I don't know," he lied.

She smiled. It seemed to him that she under­stood perfectly what he felt, had even taken a gently mocking interest in seeing how far he would allow himself, today, to be questioned.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed. He pre­tended surprise, clumsily, unused to such man­oeuvres :

"I must be in the City in half an hour."

"Must you?" She smiled sadly. They rose. She asked:

"When am I to have the pleasure of another visit?"

He flushed.

"I may be going away again soon. I'll let you know."

"You mustn't come unless you can spare the time. I don't want to keep you from your work."

Again she was sadly mocking. But he would not reply. She asked, as though without object:

"Shall you be seeing the Scrivens before you leave London?"

"I saw them last night. There was a concert."

"Oh, how nice!"

Eric challenged the wistfulness of her tone.