“I’m called Bertie,” he said politely.
“And I’m Antonia,” said Antonia.
Bertie squinted at Antonia. “I think my Mummy must be wrong about you,” he said.
340
“Oh yes?” said Antonia. “What does Mummy say about me?”
“She said that you wear blue stockings,” said Bertie. “But I don’t think you do, do you?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Antonia. “Oh really?”
she said. “You’re right. Mummy has got it wrong.” She paused.
“Tell Mummy that you asked me about that, and I said to tell her that I don’t wear blue stockings. Will you tell her that?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “If she listens. Sometimes she doesn’t listen to what I say. Or what Daddy says either.”
Antonia smiled. “That’s sad,” she said. “But surely somebody listens to you, Bertie. What about at school? Surely your teacher listens to what you have to say.”
Bertie looked down at his feet. “Miss Harmony listens sometimes,” he said. “But not always. She didn’t listen to me when I said that I didn’t want to be Captain von Trapp in
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Antonia. “But perhaps there wasn’t anybody else who wanted to play the part. Maybe that’s why you had to do it.”
“But there were plenty of people who wanted to be Captain von Trapp,” said Bertie. “There’s a boy called Tofu. He really wanted to be Captain von Trapp. But she wouldn’t let him.”
“But I’m sure that he would understand.”
Bertie shook his head. “No,” he said. “He didn’t. And there’s a girl called Olive. She wanted to be Maria, but wasn’t allowed to be. She didn’t understand either.”
“Dear me,” said Antonia. “But I’m sure everything will go well in the end.”
“No it won’t,” said Bertie. “And now Tofu and Olive both hate me.”
Antonia stared down at Bertie. He was a most unusual child, she thought; rather appealing, in a funny sort of way, and she found herself feeling sorry for him. These little spats of childhood loomed terribly large in one’s life at the time, even if they tended to disappear very quickly. It was not always fun being a child, just as it had not always been fun being a medieval Scottish saint. Poor little boy!
“Well, cheer up, Bertie,” said Antonia. “Even if things aren’t going well in
Bertie shook his head. “I don’t think that Daddy is pleased,”
he said. “He said that the new baby is a mistake. That’s what he said. I heard him telling Mummy that.”
Antonia raised an eyebrow. “Oh well,” she said. “Everybody will love him or her. I’m sure they will.”
“And then Daddy said we should call the new baby Hugo,”
went on Bertie.
“That’s a nice name!” said Antonia quickly.
“Because that’s the name of Mummy’s friend,” said Bertie.
“He’s called Dr Fairbairn. Dr Hugo Fairbairn.”
Antonia bit her lip. Oh goodness! One should not encourage this sort of thing, but she could not resist another question, just one more question.
“And Dr Fairbairn,” she asked. “What does he think of all this?”
“He’s mad,” said Bertie. “Really mad.”
“I see,” said Antonia. “Well I suppose that . . .” She tailed off. It was easy to imagine him being angry, he probably did not plan for things to work out this way.
Now Bertie, who was enjoying his conversation with Antonia, came up with a final piece of information. He had been told of his mother’s pregnancy one day in the Floatarium. Irene had been in her flotation chamber, speaking to Bertie, who was sitting outside, and that was where she had told him of the imminent arrival of a new sibling. Bertie, whose understanding of the facts of life was rudimentary, had misinterpreted her and had concluded that his mother had become pregnant in the flotation chamber itself.
“Mummy became pregnant in the Floatarium,” Bertie now explained. “That’s where it happened.”
Antonia picked up her shopping bag. This was wonderful.
She had a great deal to tell Domenica when she came back.
Why did she bother going to the Malacca Straits when all this 342
was going on downstairs? Anthropology, she thought, like charity, surely begins at home.
Antonia entered Domenica’s flat and thought about her encounter with Bertie on the stair. It had been a
