”What did I say? Well, it doesn’t matter. Drink again, both.”
Danby took a gulp of champagne and gave the glass to Lisa. She drank looking up at him, returned the glass, and leaned back towards Bruno, stroking his knotted hand and thin stick-like spotted arm.
”Ah, you have such lovely hands-and those half moons, just like-“
Lisa leaned forward and kissed him close to his still-moving mouth and then rose quickly. She made a movement as if giving a benediction and retreated towards the door.
”I’ll just show her out-be back-“ Danby mumbled. He fell out of the door after Lisa. He stared at her in the grey darker light of the empty landing, then with a rather timid and deliberate movement took hold of the sleeve of her brown mackintosh and pulled her across the landing and into Nigel’s room, which was empty. He stared down at her.
”Look, you were so kind, so good to him-“
”I’m used to old people.”
”Would you really come again to see him?”
”Of course, if he’d like it. But he may have forgotten tomorrow.” She spoke quickly and rather brusquely as if resuming a professional role. She pulled the yellow scarf up over her head, tucking heavy locks of dark brown hair back into the upturned collar of her coat.
”He won’t have. You’d have time, some morning?”
”Mornings would be impossible except at the weekend.
I’m working in a probation officer’s office at Poplar. I come home by tube every day about five-thirty. I could come after that.”
”Could you come tomorrow?”
”I’d better telephone first. I’ll ring up when I’m leaving work. Would someone be in then?”
”Yes, yes, I’ll see to it that I am. I can’t tell you how grateful-“
Danby ran down the stairs after her. The hall door was open. It was lighter outside now, a grey damp metallic light shed from gleaming clouds. He caught a glimpse of Diana talking to Will Boase, who was painting the iron railings in front of the house. Diana turned towards Danby and waved, her pink and white harlequin arm raised like a signal in the empty glittering street. Danby hesitated, waved, and then closed the door behind Lisa. He came back into the sad brown obscurity of the house and sat down upon the stairs. Suddenly he began to shed tears.
15
Adelaide, who could hear through the open door that somebody was coming down the stairs, attempted to release her hand, which Will had gripped. Will resisted, squeezing her fingers painfully hard and thrusting his bulky body up against her. Adelaide kicked him as violently as she could on the ankle and pulled herself away. In the doorway she ran into Mrs. Greensleave, who had been regarding the last part of the struggle with amusement.
“Would you mind telling Mr. Odell that I’m just outside when he comes down?”
Adelaide said nothing, but went on down the stairs into the kitchen, which was below the level of the street. The kitchen was rather like a dugout and smelt of damp earth. From here she could both see and hear Mrs. Greensleave and Will, who were now in conversation beside the railings, out lined in a fugitive brightness of cloudy sun. Adelaide studied Mrs. Greensleave’s legs.
”What a pretty colour of blue you’re painting the railings,” said Mrs. Greensleave.
”Yes, it is rather good. A sort of Cezanne blue.”
”Oh, you know about Cezanne! Good for you. Did you choose the colour or did Mr. Odell choose it?”
”I chose it. Mr. Odell doesn’t know one colour from another.”
”I’m not surprised! Do you work here?”
”I am working here, but I don’t work here.”
”How absolute the knave is!”
”Shakespeare. I’m the odd-job boy.”
”And a very learned one! Do you work for a firm or on your own?”
”I’m what they term self-employed. And as I’m not a very exacting employer I’m usually unemployed. I’m on National Assistance.”
”Oh, hard luck.”
”For doing nothing, it’s princely.”
”I see you’re a philosopher, too! What’s your name?”
”Will.”
”Would you come and paint our house, Will?”
”Why?”
”I’d like to help you. And our house needs painting.”
”Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
”I can see you’re good at painting, being an admirer of Cezanne!”
”I’m good at better things than painting.”
”What else are you good at?”
”Drawing, photography, acting-“
”Acting? That explains your knowledge of Shakespeare.”
”My general culture explains my knowledge of Shakespeare.”
”Sorry, Will! Yes, I can see you as an actor. You’ve got a fine head. And if I may say so, I like the way you trim your moustache.”
”You’ve got a fine head too. I could do your photograph.
Make you look even more stunning.”
”Maybe. I’ll think about it! You’re a nice boy, Will. Are you what’s her name’s boy friend, the maid, what is her name?”
”Adelaide. Adelaide de Crecy.”
”Dear me, what a grand name.”
”What a grand girl.”
”Well, I wish you joy.”
”Where’s your house?”
”Kempsford Gardens, by West Brompton tube station, I’ll write it down.”
”Maybe I’ll telephone you. Maybe I won’t.”
”Oh please do! Keep still a moment, Will, you’ve got some blue paint in your hair. I’ll just try to wipe it off with this bit of paper. You’ve got such nice hair, it seems a pity to dye it blue!”
Adelaide opened the kitchen window a little so that she could close it again with a resounding crash. She selected the last but one teacup of the older Wedgwood set and dropped it on the stone floor. Then she left the kitchen, slamming the door behind her, and went into her own room. She saw that there was a long streak of blue paint on the skirt of the frilled chiffon dress which she had put on for Danby’s day at home. She took off the dress and kicked it into a heap in the corner. She took off her Irish enamel necklace and matching bangle. She put on her oldest overall and lay down on the bed. A few tears overflowed from her eyes.
Danby had not shared her bed last night or the night before. There was nothing very unusual in this but it always depressed her. The night before he had left a note saying he would be in very late. Last night there had been something a trifle self-conscious about the way in which he had said, “Not tonight, I think, Adelaide-I’ll go in my own place tonight. I want to read a bit.” He never read, as she knew perfectly well, since he was too tired and too tipsy when he came to bed to do anything except make love and fall asleep, and indeed he very often fell asleep in the middle of the love-making and had to be shifted by savage jabs and shoves which still failed to wake him up. Last night his light had gone out and his snores had been heard immediately after he had left her.
Adelaide lived in a perpetual state of anxiety in a world of important signs the exact bearing of which constantly eluded her. She lived like an animal, seeing nothing clearly beyond her immediate surroundings, hiding at movements, sniffing, listening, waiting. She could see the kitchen, the paint on her dress, the broken Wedgwood cup. But even Stadium Street was already a mystery to her: and the two largest portents in her life, Danby and Will,
