'Right, sir.'
There was a pause. Pearce played a short run rapidly, then slowly. Townsend looked up from the piano.
'Shall we run through it again, Major? I've got plenty of time myself.'
'No, I don't think so. Let's leave something in hand for the performance. Thank you both for coming. Now what time shall we say on Sunday? Two-thirty at the church? Can I give you a lift to the village, Mr. Townsend? Sure? See you both on Sunday, then.'
Conscious of having bundled them out rather, Ayscue began wandering slowly round his hut, hands in pockets. A final play-over of the Roughead piece would not in fact have been wasted, but he had decided against it to make certain that his interest stayed alive, that the trio-sonata remained untouched by the mingled anxiety and boredom that had infiltrated other concerns of his. He had abandoned his scheme of a unit magazine. The only contribution of substance had been the anonymous poem. This, when asked for it by Leonard earlier that afternoon, he had handed over without question, without any of the personal concern he had felt on first reading it. Determining its authorship and that of the poster about the Anti-Death League had begun to suffer the process, odiously familiar over the past few years, of ceasing to involve him and becoming something that merely nagged at him for a time, until he woke up one morning and added it to the list of his evasions. And when had he last thought about Pearce's situation? And then there was Churchill's news, reported by Hunter the previous evening. Ayscue knew he must work out some means of helping, but felt he had become unable to solve such problems. He was afraid that quite soon he would no longer be capable of any action.
There was a knock at the door. When it opened, Nancy rushed in as if she had spent the previous hour in a cage instead of running about the camp. She was followed by one Tighe, who had replaced Evans as Ayscue's batman at the first opportunity after the League meeting.
'All right, sir?' asked Tighe. 'Or do you want me to take her round again?'
'No, they've gone now, thank you. Here.'
Ayscue handed over five shillings.
'Have a drink with me, Tighe.'
'Thank you, sir.'
Was he really very much surprised and slightly puzzled, or only pretending to be? Ayscue gave it up. When Tighe had gone, he stooped down and took Nancy's head onto his knees.
'Would you like another little run?' he asked. 'Say if you're too tired.'
The telephone rang.
'Ayscue here.'
'Call for you, sir… You're through to Major Ayscue.'
'This is the museum,' said Lucy's faintly hoarse voice. 'Could you come over, do you think?'
'I'm afraid this evening isn't very convenient. I have to take the chair at a lecture here.'
'A lecture?' She sounded puzzled, no doubt wondering if this was a code phrase she was expected to interpret on the spot.
'Yes, a lecture. By somebody called Caton. On American and South American armed forces and their public image. What you might call a very real lecture. An actual lecture, so to speak.'
'Oh. Oh, I see. But I wasn't thinking of this evening. I meant straight away.'
'Is it urgent? Is anything wrong?'
'I think it is rather. Urgent, I mean. It's… Mr. James?'
'What's the trouble?' asked Ayscue, trying not to sound frightened.
'Well… he won't get up. He's gone to bed and he won't get up.'
'Is he ill?'
'Not exactly. He just won't get up.'
'You mean because of…'
'Yes.'
Ayscue hesitated. 'I don't think I'd be any good to him,' he said. 'Whenever we've talked about this sort of situation in the past, more or less in general, all I've done is make him angry.'
'Well, that would be better than nothing, honestly. Better than him being as he is. You don't know what he's like.'
'All right. Ill come over at once. Of course I will.'
When he had rung off, Ayscue sat for a time staring at the front page of the Roughead sonata. Then he got up, put on his jacket and cap, told Nancy she must stay where she was, and hurried across a corner of the meadow to a hut of the same pattern as his own.
Naidu was sitting on his bed in his shirt sleeves reading a lavishly illustrated work on Georgian furniture he had borrowed from the town library. He put it aside and stood up when Ayscue came in.
'Good afternoon, my dear Willie.'
'Hullo, Moti. Can I ask you a favor?'
'By all means, of course. Would you care for a glass of fresh lemonade?'
