'Yes, I heard you,' said Bruce. 'You don't have to do it again.'
She was silent, and then: 'Are you always so bad-tempered?' she asked in
English.
'Always,' snapped Bruce, 'is one of the words which should be eliminated
from the language.'
'Since it has not been, I will continue to use it. You haven't answered
my question: are you always so bad-tempered?'
'I just don't like balls-ups.'
'What is balls-up, please?'
'What has just happened: a mistake, a situation precipitated by
inefficiency, or by somebody not using his head.'
'You never make balls-up, Bruce?'
'It is not a polite expression, Shermaine. Young ladies of your
refinement do not use it.' Bruce changed into French.
'You never make mistakes?' she corrected herself Bruce did not answer.
That's quite funny, he thought - never make mistakes! Bruce
Curry, the original balls-up.
Shermaine held one hand across her middle and sat up straight.
'Bonaparte,' she said. 'Cold, silent, efficient.'
'I didn't say that-' Bruce started to defend himself.
Then in the glow from the dash light he saw her impish expression and he
could not stop himself; he had to grin.
'All right, I'm acting like a child.' 'You would like a cigarette?' she
asked.
'Yes, please.' She lit it and passed it to him.
'You do not like-' she hesitated, 'mistakes. Is there anything you do
like?'
'Many things,' said Bruce.
'Tell me some.' They bumped off the end of the causeway and Bruce
accelerated up the far bank.
'I like being on a mountain when the wind blows, and the taste of the
sea. I like Sinatra, crayfish thertnidor, the weight and balance of a
Purdey Royal, and the sound of a little girl's laughter. I like the
first draw of a cigarette lit from a wood fire, the scent of jasmine,
the feel of silk; I also enjoy sleeping late in the morning, and the
thrill of forking a queen with my knight. Shadows on the floor of a
forest please me. And, of course, money. But especially I like women who
do not ask too many questions.'
'Is that all?'
'No, but it's a start.'
'And apart from - mistakes, what are the things you do not like.'
'Women who ask too many questions,' and he saw her smile.
'Selfishness except my own, turnip soup, politics, blond pubic hairs,
Scotch whisky, classical music and hangovers.'
'I'm sure that is not
all.'
'No, not nearly.'
'You are very sensual. All these things are of the senses.'
'Agreed.'
'You do not mention other people. Why?'
