'Don't you know me, April?' said Maisie; and at once April shrieked with delight and jumped up and threw her arms around her.
When they had embraced and kissed, April turned to the other women in the kitchen and said: 'Girls, this is the woman who did what we all dream of. Formerly Miriam Rabinowicz, later Maisie Robinson, she is now Mrs. Solomon Greenbourne!'
The women all cheered as if Maisie were some kind of hero. She felt bashful: she had not anticipated that April would give such a frank account of her story--especially in front of Emily Pilaster--but it was too late now.
'Let's have a gin to celebrate,' April said. They sat down and one of the women produced a bottle and some glasses and poured them drinks. Maisie had never enjoyed gin, and now that she was accustomed to the best champagne she liked it even less, but she knocked it back to be companionable. She saw Emily sip hers and grimace. Their glasses were immediately recharged.
'Well, what brings you here?' April said.
'A marital problem,' Maisie said. 'My friend here has an impotent husband.'
'Bring him here, my love,' April said to Emily. 'We'll sort him out.'
'He's already a customer, I suspect,' Maisie said.
'What's his name?'
'Edward Pilaster.'
April was startled. 'My God.' She stared hard at Emily. 'So you're Emily. You poor cow.'
'You know my name,' Emily said. She looked mortified. 'That means he speaks to you about me.' She drank some more gin.
One of the other women said: 'Edward's not impotent.'
Emily blushed.
'I'm sorry,' the woman said. 'Only he usually asks for me.' She was a tall girl with dark hair and a deep bosom. Maisie thought she did not look very impressive in her grubby robe, smoking a cigarette like a man; but perhaps she was attractive when she was dressed up.
Emily recovered her composure. 'It's so strange,' she said. 'He's my husband, but you know more about him than I do. And I don't even know your name.'
'Lily.'
There was a moment of awkward silence. Maisie sipped her drink: the second gin tasted better than the first. This was a very bizarre scene: the kitchen, the women in deshabille, the cigarettes and gin, and Emily, who an hour ago had not been sure what sexual intercourse consisted of, discussing her husband's impotence with his favorite whore.
'Well,' April said briskly, 'now you know the answer to the question. Why is Edward impotent with his wife? Because Micky's not around. He can never get hard if he's alone with a woman.'
'Micky?' said Emily incredulously. 'Micky Miranda? The Cordovan Minister?'
April nodded. 'They do everything together, especially here. Once or twice Edward has come in on his own but it never works.'
Emily was looking bewildered. Maisie asked the obvious question: 'What, exactly, do they do?'
It was Lily who answered. 'Nothing very complicated. Over the years they've tried several variations. At the moment what they like is, the two of them go to bed with one girl, usually me or Muriel.'
Maisie said: 'But Edward really does it, properly, does he? I mean, he gets hard, and everything?'
Lily nodded. 'No question of that.'
'Do you think that's the only way he could ever manage it?'
Lily frowned. 'I don't think it matters much exactly what happens, how many girls and so on. If Micky is there, it works, and if he's not, it doesn't.'
Maisie said: 'Almost as if Micky is the one Edward really loves.'
Emily said faintly: 'I feel as if I'm in a dream, or something.' She took a long swallow of gin. 'Can all this be true? Do these things really go on?'
April said: 'If you but knew. Edward and Micky are tame by comparison with some of our customers.'
Even Maisie was startled. The thought of Edward and Micky in bed together with a woman was so odd it made her want to laugh out loud, and she had to make an effort to suppress the chuckle that bubbled up in her throat.
She recalled the night Edward had discovered her and Hugh making love. Edward had been uncontrollably aroused, she remembered; and she had felt intuitively that what inflamed him was the idea of fucking her immediately after Hugh. 'A buttered bun!' she said.
Some of the women giggled.
'That's right,' April laughed.
Emily smiled and looked puzzled. 'I don't understand.'
April said: 'Some men like a buttered bun.' The whores laughed louder. 'It means a woman who's just been fucked by another man.'
Emily started to giggle, and in a moment they were all laughing hysterically. It was a combination of the gin, the weird situation, and the talk of men's peculiar sexual preferences, Maisie thought. Her use of the vulgar phrase had released the tension. Every time the laughter eased one of them would say 'A buttered bun!' and they would all collapse into giggles again.
At last they were too exhausted to laugh anymore. When they quietened down, Maisie said: 'But where does this leave Emily? She wants to have a baby. She can hardly invite Micky to bed with her and her husband.'
Emily looked miserable.
April caught her eye and held it. 'How determined are you, Emily?' she said.
'I'll do anything,' said Emily. 'Really, anything in the world.'
'If you mean that,' said April slowly, 'there is something we could try.'
Section 4
JOSEPH PILASTER FINISHED OFF a large plate of grilled lamb's kidneys and scrambled eggs, and began to butter a slice of toast. Augusta often wondered whether the customary bad temper of middle- aged men had to do with the amount of meat they ate. The thought of kidneys for breakfast made her feel quite ill.
'Sidney Madler has come to London,' he said. 'I have to see him this morning.'
For a moment Augusta was not sure who he was talking about. 'Madler?'
'From New York. He's angry about Hugh's not being a partner.'
'What is it to do with him?' Augusta said. 'The insolence!' She spoke superciliously but she was bothered.
