reappearance and romp gleefully about her. She decided, I must go round and visit everyone, I must have a tete-a-tete with everyone, even Theo. She felt like a doctor. The thought restored her to good humour. Not that she was exactly out of humour. But she had felt ever since the cuckoo woke her from a short sleep soon after four, an uneasiness, a sense of jarring. She later traced this unusual sensation to its origin in the presence of Ducane, indeed in the consciousness of Ducane. If the others were out of sorts she could cure them. She was aware of what she called their nerviness as something separate from herself upon which she could operate externally. But John's depression, his tendency to be 'horrid', affected her intimately. Things between herself and John were for the moment, for the moment only, dislocated and out of tune. Kate reflected rather ruefully that she thought she knew very well what it was that caused this momentary disharmony. She only hoped that John did not know it too. Kate had certainly had a splendid fortnight in Tangier. What she did not propose to explain was that she had spent a very large part of this fortnight in bed with Octavian. Hot climates affected Octavian like that. Indeed, she had to admit, they affected her like that. After a long and vinous lunch they had positively hurried back to the hotel each day. Octavian could hardly wait. It amused Kate to think that if Ducane knew this he would probably be not only jealous but shocked. We're as bad as those cuckoos, she thought to herself, only of course we're monogamous and good, while they're polygamous and bad! It was true that she was plump and brown and healthy and energetic and relaxed, just as John had said, full of wine and olives and Mediterranean sunshine and – Was it possible that John knew? He must have missed her terribly. And now on her return, at that electrical moment of resuming contact, he might especially resent her belonging to another and somehow sense in her that luxurious belongingness. He can sort of smell it, she thought. Then she wondered, perhaps he can literally smell it? Was this scientifically possible? She must ask – well, no, that was another piece of scientific information for which she could hardly ask the twins. Kate laughed aloud. 'What is it?' said Ducane. How peevish he sounded today. 'Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking about those dogs. Never –mind, I don't think their antics are fit for your ears. I haven't the vocabulary anyway, I'd have to draw it!' Ducane did not seem disposed to pursue the matter of the dogs. He began pounding his nose with his handkerchief, staring straight ahead of him into the wood. The sex-mad cuckoos darted past again with their irregular side-slipping flight. Cucuckoo. He looks his least attractive at this time of year, Kate was thinking. He murders his poor nose so, it's quite red, and his eyes are always watering. He doesn't look a bit like the Duke of Wellington now. His face is a nice colour, though, that reddish brown, and so glossy and shiny where the bones stick out, I think he's got even thinner. It suits him actually. How oily his hair looks, it darkens it like black rats' tails; I expect it's the heat, perspiration perhaps. Poor fellow, he is sweating. Why does he wear that ridiculous flannel shirt on a day like this? I must give him a nylon one. We're out of key, she thought. I'm clumsy with him today. But it'll pass. Just being silent together like this helps. I knew from the start that I'd have to work at this. Men are so obtuse, they don't understand that one has to work at a relationship. If things aren't quite in harmony they get grumpy and desperate at once. I can't possibly kiss him yet. He doesn't desire me, she said to herself, at the moment he doesn't desire me. How does one know? Then she thought, and I don't desire him. But this cloud between us will pass. We must just get quietly used to each other again. I won't fuss him or press him. I'll just leave him to himself a little and attend to something else. She said aloud, 'John, do you mind if I just glance through my letters to see there's nothing awful? There's always such a pile when one gets back from holiday, it's quite a chore. I've got them all here in the basket and if you don't mind I'll just sort them out. You stay here if you like, or perhaps you'd rather walk down to the sea. You might meet Barbie coming back from her ride.' gate up-ended the Spanish basket and strewed about thirty letters about on the dry pale yellow mats of the hay. She leaned forward and began turning them over and laying them out in rows. Ducane, suddenly interested, leaned forward too, inspecting the letters. Then with a soft hiss he reached out a long arm and snatched up a brown envelope which lay at the end of one of the rows. Fingering the letter he turned to face Kate, frowning and narrowing his blue eyes against the sun. The frown made his face look even bonier and thinner, a wooden totem anointed with oil. Kate felt a sudden slight alarm. He looked so stern; and her first thought was, he's jealous of someone. Who can it be? He's recognized someone's writing. Kate, who was on very affectionate terms with a number of men, preferred for humane reasons to keep her friends in ignorance of each other. However, the writing upon the envelope, a rather uncultured hand as far as she could see, seemed unfamiliar. 'What is it?' she said playfully. 'You're stealing my mail!' She reached out for the letter but Ducane withdrew it. 'Whatever is it, John?' 'Will you do me a great favour?' said Ducane. 'Well, tell me what it is.' 'Don't read this letter.' Kate looked at him with surprise. 'Why?' 'Because it contains something unpleasant which I think you shouldn't see.' 'What sort of thing?' 'It's – it's something concerning me and another person. Something that belongs entirely to the past. A malicious busybody has written to you about it. But there is absolutely no point in your reading the letter. I will tell you about the whole thing myself later on, now if you wish it.' Kate had turned sideways and they faced each other knee uh to knee. The hem of the striped dress brushed the hay. She did not know what to think. She was still a bit alarmed by Ducane's sternness, though relieved to find that the misdemeanour in question appeared to be his rather than hers. She thought, perhaps it's to say that he was once a homosexual. He might not understand that I wouldn't mind. She felt very curious about the letter. 'But if it's to do with the past and you're going to tell me anyway, why shouldn't I see the letter? What harm can it do? I 'It's better not to touch pitch. A really malicious letter should be read once only and destroyed, or best of all not read at all. These things lodge in the mind. One must have no truck with suspicion and hatred. Please let me destroy this letter, Kate, please.' 'I don't understand,' said Kate. 'This letter, whatever it says, can do you no possible harm with me. How little you trust me! Nothing can harm or diminish my love for you. Surely you know that.' 'It's a sense datum,' said Ducane, 'a sense datum. It's something which you would find it hard to forget. Such things can be poisonous, however much love there is. I am to blame, Kate. But I would rather explain the thing to you myself in my own way. Surely you can appreciate that.' 'No, I can't appreciate it,' said Kate. She had moved forward so that their knees were touching. 'And I don't know what you mean by a «sense datum». It's much better that I should read the letter. Otherwise I shall be endlessly wondering what was in it. Give it to me.' 'No.' Kate drew away a little and laughed. 'Aren't you rather taxing my feminine curiosity?' 'I'm asking you to rise above your feminine curiosity.' 'Dear me, we are moral today. John, have some common sense! I'm dying to know what it's all about! It can't possibly harm you. I love you, you ass!' 'I'll tell you what it's all about. I just don't want you to see this ugly thing.' 'I'm not as frail as all that!' said Kate. She snatched the letter from him and stood up, retreating behind the wooden seat. pucane looked up at her gloomily, and then leaned forward to hide his face in his hands. He remained immobile in this attitude of resigned or desperate repose. Kate was now very upset. She hesitated, fingering the letter, but her curiosity was too strong. She opened
