into Lucy's bedroom. They went over the price list together a final time. At the end of it Catharine was pretty confident about everything except the bottled beers and stouts.
'I'll never get all those lagers right,' she said.
'What does it matter? What's so awful about looking at a list? You can't expect to have it all off by heart the first evening. Anyway, I've just noticed they go in alphabetical order. The Esbjerg's the most expensive, then the Gesundheit and then the Lyre. And the price goes down threepence between the first two and three- hapence between the second and third. Just half as much.'
'Good, that is a help.'
'I hope this won't turn out to be too much for you, Cathy. I've realized it's getting on for two hours' travel by car every day. But you're a good strong girl, and I thought after being cooped up in that disgusting place all those months you wouldn't mind rushing about a bit. Now we've got to decide what you're to wear. It's Mr. Eames we have to consider really. Strike the happy medium between what he'd think was tarty and what he'd think was dowdy. It won't be quite plain sailing. I tell you what, I think I'd better have another little sleep. I was late last night and as far as I can remember I look like being late again tonight. You go and have a lovely bath and then bring all your best things in here and we'll go through them together.'
By six o'clock they had finally settled on a blue sleeveless linen jacket, a pleated skirt, sandals and gold earrings, and Catharine was arrayed in these as she sat and talked to Lucy, who in turn was in the bath. She looked at Lucy's body as its owner soaped it. It seemed to her a prettily molded body with delicate skin, and touching it would not have revolted her, but she could not imagine what it would feel like to want to do so. At this distance Dr. Best's ideas, whose unexpectedness and difficulty she had taken as an extra proof that they were right, struck her as amateurish and affected. He talked as if he had forgotten all about going to bed with people, if he had ever known. But how was he going to keep his eye on her?
'Are you all right, Cathy?'
'Yes, fine. A bit nervous. It's all so public, you see. I know I can look after myself with just one or two of them to deal with at a time, but it's probably not so easy when there's a whole crowd of others there listening and getting ready to laugh. You know what they're like; you've been in pubs.'
'Not for some time, actually, until the other day with you. But you're looking at things the wrong way. You should be expecting somebody marvelous to turn up. It's about due for that to happen to you, goodness knows.'
'Yes, I suppose it might happen.' The difficulty was in deciding whether somebody was really marvelous or would only go on seeming to be until it was too late. Catharine felt she was slightly worse at this now than she had been when fifteen.
'That's the spirit. When you get back you can sneak up to bed if you want, or come into the drawing- room and mingle with the throng. You wouldn't have to mingle too thoroughly, I'll see to that. I can always keep the wrong sort away from you, you remember, even if you can't. Mr. Stoker should have you back here by quarter past eleven, so there'll be some of the evening left if you fancy it. That's him hooting now. Off you go, Cathy. Good luck with the lagers. Enjoy yourself.'
Catharine arrived at the White Hart in good time, hung up her coat in the alcove next to Eames's office and went into the saloon. There were half a dozen people drinking there, all of whom turned to stare at her. The barmaid already on duty, a round-faced nineteen-year-old called Anne, raised the leaf of the counter to let her through.
'Nothing very much for you next door, Cath. Couple of peasants on brown ales and four of those soldiers, three of them on large pink gins and the other on angostura and soda. Can't think what he gets out of it, can you? I've been charging him ninepence a go. You'll have it easy for a bit but it'll start filling up after seven. Give me a shout if you want me for anything.'
Catharine went through the communicating doorway into the lounge bar and came face to face with a young man in khaki standing on the other side of the counter. Immediately she remembered having seen him on her way to her last interview but one with Dr. Best. She was startled and could tell that he was too. Neither spoke for a moment.
'I've seen you before,' he said in a clear voice. 'At the…'
'Yes. At the mental hospital. I came out the day before yesterday.'
'I knew you straight away.'
She could not stop herself saying, 'And I knew you straight away.'
'I know.'
She noticed his finely shaped ears and square hands. 'You'd better tell me what you want to drink. We can still talk.'
'Yes. Three large pink gins and a dash of angostura bitters with soda. Friend of mine on the wagon. I'm called James Churchill.'
'Catharine Casement. Any particular kind of gin?'
'I think the Plymouth. That's a pretty name.'
'Half of it's not too bad. Would you like some ice?'
'Yes, please.'
'In all of them?'
'Yes, please. How do you mean?'
'The Casement's somebody else's name. But I never see him. But I don't seem to be able to divorce him. He's in London. I live about fifteen miles away.'
'You're not usually a barmaid, are you?'
'No, I'm not usually anything very much. This is my first day. That'll be seventeen and three altogether.'
