we had a proper relationship.”
Turning his chin very slightly, Colin looked covertly over his shoulder; and then the other way, out of the tail of his eye.
“Just…having a check round,” he said. “I don’t want to run into anybody.”
“You look shifty, doing that.” She seemed amused. “You won’t risk much, will you?”
“You don’t love me,” Colin said heavily. He sat down and pulled up his chair to the table. “You must be playing some sort of game with me.”
“I don’t know what game that could possibly be.”
“Perhaps you’re using me as a study. To extend your professional range.”
She laughed. “You have a curious idea of my job then.”
“Isabel, before I knew you, what did you do at the end of the day?”
She stared. “Substantially, what I still do now.”
“Did you have a boyfriend?”
“I didn’t give anyone up for you, if that’s what you mean. People with an active love-life aren’t found at evening classes.”
“But there have been people?”
“You didn’t think I was a virgin, did you?”
“I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know how it happened, the other night.”
“I have never understood this point of view, that only after so many meetings, so much money spent, so much conversation…I wanted it to happen, or I would have stopped you.”
“I know that. I wasn’t apologising. I just want to know about you. It’s natural, to want to know about the person you love. So you can picture them, when you’re not together. I’d like to know what you do on the nights you’re not with me.”
“I clean the house. And I put my feet up. My job’s quite tiring.”
“Do you like your job? If you’d just tell me about your job, it would be something. When we’re not together you have a way of seeming…nebulous.”
“You’re possessive, Colin.”
“Because you’re evasive.”
“Evasive?” She laughed without humour. “Do you really want to know about my job? Today I met some people who are very evasive.”
“Yes, go on.”
I shouldn’t talk about it, she thought. It’s confidential; no names, but it’s even possible he could know them. I shouldn’t talk about it—oh, but I must, I must. Spit it out. Get the foul taste out of my mouth.
“These people—I’ve been chasing them for weeks. A mother and daughter. They’ll never let me in. I cornered them today.”
“What’s the matter with them?”
“Oh, the daughter’s mildly retarded. She used to come to a Day Centre we run, but she doesn’t want to come any more.” You handled it badly, said a voice inside her. You were brusque and unprofessional; and then you let the situation completely defeat you. Now tell him about it, set out the facts; so that in setting them out you will become sure of what they are. And only the facts; not some silly product of your imagination. “When I saw the daughter I thought for a moment she must be pregnant. She was wearing the strangest clothes, a sort of blue tent. God knows where she found it.”
“Perhaps she
“No, that’s not possible. She never goes out, she has no opportunity. She’s revolting, anyway. No one would want her.”
“You’d be surprised. The unlikeliest people find partners, I always think.”
Isabel shivered.
“What is it, are you cold?”
“No. I’d like another drink, maybe.”
He picked up their glasses and took them to the bar. Her eyes followed him. He may not be much, she thought, but he’s sane, he’s clear, he’s outside all this; he has no truck with the filthy speculations I deal in.
“She gave me a shock,” she said, when he sat beside her again.
“Who? Oh, this girl. Sorry, go on.”
“She’s not a girl really. A woman.”
“Are you worried about them?”
“We’re not supposed to worry. Only to display professional concern. It’s different. You mustn’t identify with your client, or let her life touch yours. It’s professional death, to get involved.”
“It must be hard to stay uninvolved, though. If you see people who are unhappy.”
She shrugged. “It’s not my fault that people are unhappy.”
