The World According to Bertie

when he left for London. Its coming on to the market at just the right time amounted to particularly good fortune, Antonia thought, and indeed there was to be more.

Within six weeks of her signing the lease, the owner asked Antonia if she was interested in buying it. Of course she was able to reply that the difficulty with this was that the flat already had a sitting tenant – herself – and this would require a reduction in A Small Sherry and a Hint of Synaesthesia 49

the price. The owner had been annoyed by this claim, which seemed flawed in some indefinable way, but, wanting to make a quick sale, had agreed to take ?10,000 off the price. Antonia agreed, and the flat became hers. Domenica, though, was hesitant. She was half-hearted in the welcome of her old friend: such friends are all very well – in their place – which is not necessarily on one’s doorstep.

In the early stages of their being neighbours, Domenica had decided that she would not encourage Antonia too much. There had been an invitation to a welcoming drink, but this drink had consisted of a carefully measured glass in which the sherry had occupied only two-thirds of the glass, which was a small glass at that. Anything more than this, she decided, might have sent the wrong signal. Antonia had noticed. She had looked at the sherry glass and held it up to the light briefly, as if searching for the liquid, and then had glanced at Domenica to see if the gesture had registered. It had, and both decided that they understood one another perfectly.

“I know that you were about to offer me another sherry,”

Antonia said about fifteen minutes later. “But I really mustn’t stay. I have so much to do, you know. The days seem to fly past now, and I find that I have to struggle to fit everything in.”

Domenica felt slightly embarrassed. After all, Antonia had shown no signs of living in her pocket, and perhaps it was rather unfriendly to make one’s concerns quite so obvious at this stage.

“You don’t have to dash,” she said. “I could rustle something up for dinner . . .”

“Very kind,” said Antonia. “But I’ve made my own arrangements. You must come and have a meal with me some time soon.

Next month perhaps.”

There was an awkward silence. Next week would have been courteous; next month made her meaning crystal clear. And perhaps had added the belt to the braces.

“That would be very nice,” said Domenica. “No doubt we shall see one another before then. On the stairs maybe.”

“Yes,” said Antonia. “On the stairs.”

50

A Small Sherry and a Hint of Synaesthesia Over the next few days, they did not see one another at all.

It had been an awkward way of establishing the rules of good neighbourliness, but it had worked, and after a while Antonia found herself able to knock on Domenica’s door and invite her in for coffee. The invitation had been accepted – after only a moment’s reflection on what the diary for that day might contain. That content was nonexistent, of course, but one should only accept an invitation immediately if one is happy for the person issuing the invitation to conclude that one had nothing better, or indeed nothing at all, to do. And Domenica certainly did not want Antonia to reach that conclusion. She was sensitive to the fact that Antonia was writing a book, and therefore had a major project, while she did not. There was a very significant division, Domenica believed, between those who were writing a book at any time, and those who were not; a division just as significant as that between those actors who were currently on the stage and those, the majority, who were resting. For this reason, there were many people who claimed to be writing a book, even if this was not really the case. Indeed, somewhere at the back of her mind she remembered reading of a literary prize for such unwritten books, and of how the merits of those works on the shortlist for this prize were hotly debated by those who claimed to know what these unwritten books were all about.

“What are you going to do with this flat?” asked Domenica as she watched Antonia pour boiling water into the cafetiere. It was the wrong question to ask somebody who had just moved into a new flat, but Domenica realised that only after she had asked it. It implied that the new place needed alteration, which, of course, may not have been the view of the new owner.

But Antonia was not offended. “A great deal,” she said, stirring the coffee grounds into the water. She sniffed at the aroma.

“What a lovely smell. Coffee. Certain new clothes. Lavender tucked under the pillowcase. All those smells.”

Domenica nodded. “Do you see smells as colours?” she asked.

“Or sounds as colours?”

Domenica Is Left to Puzzle a Petty Theft 51

“Synaesthesia,” said Antonia. “My father’s one, actually. A synaesthetic.”

16. Domenica Is Left to Puzzle a Petty Theft Antonia poured coffee into a blue- and-white Spode cup and passed it to Domenica. Her guest thanked her and carefully put it down on the kitchen table. The cup seemed familiar – in fact, she remembered that she had one exactly like it in her own flat, one which unfortunately had acquired a chip to the rim, more or less above the handle, just as this cup . . . She stopped herself.

The cup which Antonia had handed her had a chip to the rim at exactly the same place.

She reached out and lifted the cup to her lips, taking the opportunity to examine the rim more closely as she did so.

Yes, there it was, right above the handle, a small chip in the glazing, penetrating as far as the first layer of china, not enough to retire a well-loved cup, but clearly noticeable. She cradled the cup in her hands, feeling the warmth of the liquid within.

Antonia had stolen her china! And if this cup had been removed, then what else had she pilfered during her occupancy of Domenica’s flat?

She looked up at Antonia. It took a particularly blatant attitude, surely, to serve the dispossessed coffee in their own china.