«Bradley, would you like some coffee? There's a stall there.»
«No.»
«Let's sit down somewhere.»
«Nowhere to sit.»
We passed between two lorries loaded with milky-white boxes of dark cherries and came out into the open. It was becoming dark, lights had come on revealing the sturdy elegant military outline of the vegetable market, resembling a magazine, a seedy eighteenth– century barracks, though quiet at this time and sombre as a cloister.
Opposite to us the big derelict eastern portico of Inigo Jones's church was now in view, cluttered up with barrows and housing at the far end the coffee stall referred to by Julian. Some mean and casual lamplight, itself seeming dirty, revealed the thick pillars, a few lounging market men, a large pile of vegetable refuse and disinte– rating cardboard boxes. It was like a scene in some small battered Italian city, rendered by Hogarth.
Julian seated herself on the plinth of one of the pillars at the lark end of the portico, and I sat down next to her, or as near next to her as the bulge of the column would allow. I could feel the thick filth and muck of London under my feet, under my bottom, behind my back. I saw, in a diagonal of dim light, Julian's silk dress hitched up, her tights, smoky blue, coloured by the flesh within, her shoes, also blue, against which I had so cautiously placed my own.
«Poor Bradley,» said Julian.
«I'm sorry.»
«Was it the music?»
«No, it was you. Sorry.»
We were silent then for what seemed ages. I sighed and leaned back against the pillar and felt a few more tears, late-comers to the scene, quiet and gentle, come slowly brimming up and overflowing. I contemplated Julian's blue shoes.
Then Julian said, «How me?»
«I'm terribly in love with you. But please don't worry about it.»
Julian whistled. No, this does not quite convey the sound she made. She let her breath out thoughtfully, judiciously.
After a while she said, «I thought perhaps you were.»
«How on earth did you know?» I said, and I rubbed my face and dabbed my lips with my wet hand.
«The way you kissed me last week.»
«Oh really. Well, I'm sorry. Now I think I'd better go home. I'll be leaving London tomorrow. I'm very sorry to have spoilt your evening. I hope you'll excuse my animal behaviour. I hope you haven't dirtied your pretty dress. Good night.» I actually got up. I felt quite empty and light, able to walk. First the flesh, then the spirit. I started to walk away in the direction of Henrietta Street.
Julian was in front of me. I saw her face, the bird-mask fox-mask very intense and clear. «Bradley, don't go. Come and sit down again, just for a moment.» She put her hand on my arm.
«Come back. Please.»
I came back. I sat down again and covered my face. Then I felt Julian's hand trying to come through the crook of my arm. I shook her off again. I felt determined and violent, as if at that moment I hated her and could kill
