”That’s why you’re upset.”
”Yes. More champagne?”
”Thanks. But what’s he like?”
”Rather brutal and preoccupied. But he’ll be nice to you.”
”I can’t think what on earth we’ll talk about,” said Bruno. His left hand strayed vaguely over things on the counterpane while the right conveyed the trembling glass to his lips. Champagne still cheered.
”You’d better see him some morning. You’re best in the mornings.”
”Yes. It’ll have to be Saturday or Sunday then. Will you let him know?”
”Yes. May I leave you now, Bruno? There’s a man waiting in a pub. Here’s Nigel the Nurse to take over.”
Soft-footed Nigel pads in and Danby leaves. Nigel’s lank dark hair sweeps round his pale lopsided face and projects in a limp arc beneath his chin. His dark eyes are dreamy and he is many-handed, gentle, as he tidies Bruno up for suppertime. The stamps are put away, the Evening Standard neatly folded, Bruno’s glass of speckled golden champagne filled. again to the brim. Some of it spills upon the white turned-down sheet as the crippled spotted hand trembles and shakes. Such an old
”Want to go to the lav?”
”No, thanks, Nigel, I’m all right.”
”Not got cramp again?”
”No cramp.”
Nigel flutters like a moth. A pajama button is done up, a firm support between the shoulderblades while a pillow is plumped, the lamp and telephone moved a little farther off,
”I am going to see my son, Nigel.”
”That’s good.”
”Do you think forgiveness is something, Nigel? Does something
Too much champagne. Nigel is drinking out of Danby’s glass. Nigel flutters like a moth, filling the room with a soft powdery susurrus of great wings.
8
Danby straightened his tie and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a large-browed woman with very faded sand-coloured hair tucked well back behind her ears. The image of Miles vanished. “I say-Hello-I-“
”You’re Danby.”
”Yes. You’re Diana.”
”Yes. Oh good. I’ve been longing to meet you. Come in. I’m afraid Miles is out.”
There was some faint music playing in the background.
Danby followed her through the dark hall into a room into which the last evening sun was palely shining. Outside, through French windows, there was a pavement wet with recent rain, interspersed with bushy clumps of grey and bluish herbs. A very faint steam was rising from the sun-warmed pavement. But Danby had not taken his eyes off the woman.
The music, Danby now became aware, was dance music, old-fashioned dance music, a foxtrot, something dating from Danby’s youth and stirring up a shadowy physical schema of memories. A slow foxtrot. Diana turned it down to a back ground murmur.
”How nice of you to call.”
”Well, I could have telephoned, but I was passing by and thought I’d drop in.” Danby in fact had found himself much troubled by a craving to see Miles again. “It’s about Miles seeing Bruno? I’m so glad he’s going to, aren’t you?”
”Yes. I wonder would Saturday morning be all right? Miles doesn’t work on Saturdays?”
”Sometimes he does, but he can always not if he wants to.”
”About eleven then.”
”You know, you’re not a bit like what I expected.”
”What did you expect?”
”Oh something-well, it’s hard to say-“
”Miles’s description of me was unflattering?”
”No, no, no, it wasn’t that. I thought you’d be older, and not so-“
”Handsome?” They both laughed. The room was a variegated brightly coloured room, full of plump little rounded armchairs covered in chintz. There was a tall white
The girl, for so he immediately thought of her, was wearing a blue woolen dress without a belt, very short. She was plump inside the sheath of the dress, rounds of breasts, stomach, buttocks, well suggested and smoothed over. Her eyes were a rich unflecked brown, and her longish straight hair, now the sun was shining on it, gleamed a metallic silvery gold. She had a straight decisive nose and an intent faintly hungry enigmatic expression. Danby apprehended at once a certain sense of drama, a sense of her initiative. A nervy magnetic girl such as he did not often meet now. A rather severe hedonist.
”And am I like how you expected?”
”I’m afraid I didn’t really think much about you at all. But I shall think about you now.”
”You are polite.” They both laughed again. “Have a drink,” said Diana. “Miles has given up. Isn’t it awful?” She took bottles of gin and vermouth and sherry and small cut-glass tumblers out of a white cupboard.
Danby took the drink gratefully. The ritual of drinking, the time of day, the encapsulated moment of the first evening drink, always produced for him a rush of pure happiness along the veins. This occasion seemed, with its element of surprise, peculiarly perfect.
”I like a drink at this time of day, but I don’t like drinking alone.”
”Then I’m glad I called to provide you with a drinking companion!”
”I’m glad you called! Miles is so clammed up about his family.”
”Family, yes, I suppose I count as a family connection.”
”I think family ties are
”Depends on the family rather. What do you do, Diana?”
”What do you mean what do I do? I’m a housewife. I know what you do.”
”I’m a businessman I suppose. Or a printer. I never really think what I am.”
”I never really think what I am either. But I imagine that’s because I’m not anything.”
”You don’t go out to work?”
”Good heavens no. I’m unemployable.”
”You dust?”
”The char dusts. I garden, I cook, I rearrange the ornaments.”
”Creative.”
”Don’t be silly. Have another drink.”
”When’s Miles coming?”
”Not till late. He’s at some office gathering he couldn’t get out of. He
”I don’t imagine Miles is very social.”
”He isn’t. He hates people.”
”You obviously rather like them.”
”Well, I’m a good deal matier than Miles is. Can I come and see Bruno too?”
