said, ‘I want you to meet my college friend, Paul Westerfield. What do you think -1 just met Paul in the lobby. We were in the same math class at college. Isn't that incredible?'
'You already know Mr Westerfield?'said Mrs Livingstone Cordell, barely able to voice her words.
'Don't mind my mother,' said Barbara to Paul Westerfield. 'She thinks any guy under fifty who comes within half a mile of me is a possible husband. She doesn't know that I'd rathei drop dead than walk out with one of you monsters from the math class. This is Livy. He's my stepfather, my second actually.'
'What are you doing in Paris, Paul?' asked Livy.
'A little sight-seeing, I thought,' said Paul. 'I'm on my way to London to interview Dr Bertrand Russell about the book he wrote with A. N. Whitehead.'
'And I thought I might as well stop off in Paris to meet some of the professors of math at the Sorbonne.'
'Barbara can introduce you to plenty of professors,' chipped in Mrs Livingstone Cordell.
'Mommy, I was studying art, if you remember. Paul needs no introduction from me. He's known throughout the world for his papers on permutations and the binomial theorem. I was just the coed who used to sit behind him in class and tell him when he had holes in his socks.'
Paul Westerfield laughed and cleared his throat and blushed all at the same time.
'Well, that's it,' said Barbara. 'Those are my parents. Don't let us hold you up. It was a real nice surprise to bump into you like that.'
'It was mutual,' said Paul. 'Goodbye, folks.' He walked rapidly away.
'Anyone got any ideas how we should spend the day?' asked Barbara brightly.
12
Alma was convinced that she could persuade Walter not to go with his wife Lydia to America. She was confident that he was going to fall in love with her. She had learned from the novels of Ethel M. Dell that true love will surmount any obstacle. She was not discouraged by the difference in their ages. She had no conscience about Walter being married. He had not married Lydia for love. If Lydia abandoned him to go to America, he was entitled to accept another's love. He would turn to Alma, and to such happiness as he had never known. It would be the highest plane of love, two minds in harmony. When he kissed her, she would hear the music of the spheres.
She conceded that it was probably too soon to expect the music of the spheres on Sunday, in their walk to the heronry in Richmond Park, but it was not impossible. As they strolled leisurely along the quiet footpaths, they would exchange more confidences about their lives. Gradually they would discover things in common, the hopes and fears and likes and dislikes that chance had given them to share.
But the walk was disappointing. Walter made no attempt at intimate conversation. He talked about the care of teeth. He described the structure of a tooth, as if Alma's deepest wish was to know the difference between canines and incisors. He recommended brushing teeth at least twice daily. He enumerated substances to use. He explained why precipitated chalk was good and camphorated chalk was bad, because it cracked the enamel. He warned her not to use an acid mouth wash or an iron tonic, unless it was in the form of pills.
It may have been that he intended to impress her with his expert knowledge, but he did not. Alma felt neglected. She had not come to Richmond Park for this. While he talked on, she tried to explain it to herself. Perhaps he was struggling with his conscience, drawing back from the familiarity that could lead to a liaison. Perhaps he could not trust his inner passion.
Alma said little. It was not possible to bring him round to personal matters.
Yet at the end of the walk when they got back to the Richmond Gate, he said in the same discursive tone of voice he had used all afternoon, 'What a boring companion I have been. Did you know that you can walk right down to the river through the Terrace Gardens? Let's hire a boat for an hour, and I promise not to mention teeth.'
She took his arm as they walked down the steep incline.
His manner altered. The air was cooler near the water, so he took off his jacket and put it round her shoulders.
He was not very expert with the oars. He splashed her several times and apologised profusely. Alma laughed. She was so happy to be noticed that she said it didn't matter, and meant it.
'The last time I was in a boat,' he explained, 'must have been six years ago, and then there were seventy others to share the rowing, so I didn't get much practice.'
'Seventy in a rowing-boat?' said Alma, laughing. 'Whatever were you doing?'
He smiled too. 'Trying to stay alive. Really, it was no laughing-matter. We were survivors from the
'With my father,' answered Walter, i had compassionate leave to help him back from America.'
'The Great Baranov.'
'Once Great, I'm afraid. By 1915 he was too old to be touring in vaudeville. He fell from the highwire and broke his leg. He had tremendous spirit. The night before we sank, he led a protest to the captain because the passengers weren't being told the reason for certain obvious precautions against U-boats. Poor old Dad — he was always spoiling for a fight. Not like me -1 take the line of least resistance.'
'Was he drowned?'
'No. He survived. He had plaster up to his hip and we were in the water over an hour. Eventually one of the lifeboats picked us up.'
'You must have kept him afloat. You're braver than you care to say. You saved your father's life.'
'Yes — but I sometimes wish I hadn't. He was a cripple. He could never work again. Six months after that he hanged himself. He used a length of the wire he used to walk on.'
'Walter, what a dreadful thing!'
'Yes.' He looked down, it was tragic'
Neither of them spoke again for several minutes. Walter rowed slowly in the direction of Twickenham until they reached a stretch where an island divided the stream. On the narrower side an overhanging willow formed a natural arch.
'The place to get my breath back,' said Walter as he steered the skiff towards an iron ring set into the bank. He tied up and shipped the oars. 'Is there room on the cushion for one more?'
She felt a flutter of excitement, the more exquisite for coming after such a disappointing afternoon. She smiled shyly and said, 'Of course there is.' As she made room, she told him, 'You'd better have your jacket back. You'll soon get cold.'
Clutching the willow branches, Walter moved along the boat and sat beside her. 'I'm warm. Just feel my hand.'
She was suddenly aware that the next few moments could uplift her from near-despair into ecstasy. She held his hand with both of hers, feeling its broadness, stroking her fingertips over the fine covering of hair. She did not let go. She said, 'Those people in the lifeboat must have been glad to have had you there.'
'Why?'
'To turn to for support and confidence. You radiate such calm, whatever you may feel inside yourself. It gives strength to others.'
'Does it strengthen you?' he asked in mild surprise.
She looked steadily into his eyes. 'Immensely. It makes me more confident every second.'
He frowned slightly, as if uncertain where this was leading, but he was smiling, too. 'Confident of what?'
She hesitated. She had not imagined in her daydreams of this moment that she would need to indicate in words that she was ready to be kissed. She said impulsively, 'Confident that if I close my eyes, I will not be disappointed.' As soon as she had said it, she shut her eyes, more from shock at her boldness than anything else. There flashed through her mind the mortifying thought that he might still draw back. It was so vivid and appalling that she tugged on his hand and swayed towards him.
Their faces bumped. She felt the rasp of his moustache. She kept her eyes shut tight.
She heard him say, 'Oh, dear. Have I hurt you?'
