The downstairs was divided into two halves by a lattice screen, and lit by table lamps made from Chianti bottles. When an olive-skinned waiter hurried towards them, he expected him to address Caroline by her Christian name. But he only said:
Table for two, sir?
The menu cards were enormous, almost as large as a sheet of newspaper.
Some of this stuff's rather expensive.
Don't worry. I robbed my money box this morning.
She surveyed the menu, and asked finally:
Do you like escargots?
He admitted that he had never tried them.
Let's both have some. Do you like garlic?
Love it.
Good. Shall we be pigs and have a dozen each?
When the snails arrived, she instructed him in the use of the small tongs, and insisted that he drink the melted butter from the shell, after the soft, black body had been extracted and eaten. They had another gin and lime, followed by a bottle of hock. He began to feel relaxed and slightly irresponsible. He admitted to her:
I wasn't looking forward to this evening at all.
No. Why not?
I was a little nervous that we wouldn't get along. Do you know something? I haven't taken a girl out for the past five years.
Good Heavens! What did you do? Take a monastic vow?
No. Just stayed in my room, mostly. Or in the British Museum Reading Room.
But why? You're not shy…
No. I was looking for something… if you see what I mean.
She asked, smiling: For what?
The roast chicken arrived, and gave him time to consider his answer. He said finally:
The same thing Rimbaud was looking for. A vision.
She said immediately: I've been trying to read a book about him, but it's full of French quotations. He wanted to derange his senses or something, didn't he?
Yes.
Did you try that?
No. I tried some disciplines. But nothing happened.
And what do you intend to try now?
Funnily enough, I'm closer to it now than ever before. Do you know what a catalyst is?
No.
It's a thing that causes a chemical reaction without getting altered itself. You make sulphuric acid gas by heating oxygen and sulphur dioxide. But you have to heat them over platinised asbestos. Otherwise nothing happens. But the platinised asbestos doesn't change. Well, Austin has been like platinised asbestos for me. I had a lot of elements inside me that didn't mix. I had a lot of knowledge that didn't mean anything to me. Since I met him last Friday, I've started feeling alive for the first time in years.
She asked, pouting:
Don't I come in anywhere?
Of course you do. If it hadn't been for Austin, I wouldn't have met you, would I?
How did you meet Austin?
He told her while he ate. He was still telling her after the meal, when they went upstairs for coffee. Half way up the stairs, she stopped and turned her head towards him, whispering:
You know, I'm a little tipsy.
She swayed backwards slightly, and he put both hands around her waist to steady her. She gripped them in hers for a moment and pulled them tight, then released them. He was feeling too well-fed and somnolent to be excited by the gesture, but it increased the sense of comfort and certainty he felt with her. As they drank coffee, she asked suddenly: Do you think Gertrude's attractive?
He stared hard at his cup, and said critically:
Yes… she's attractive.
But not your type? she prompted him.
No… It's not that. It's the simplicity of the way she sees things. She puzzles me.
Puzzles you? Why on earth should she puzzle you?
She's either brilliantly dishonest or so primitively simple-minded that I can't even conceive of it. Mind, I can understand people being simple Bible Christians, and thinking the Bible's the beginning and end of everything. But she doesn't strike me as having that type of mind. You'd think she'd read Virginia Woolf, and patronise the local young writers.
She does!
Yes… I suppose she does. Do you know anything about her life before she came to live in Hampstead?
No. Mummy's never talked about her. But she did drop something once when I wasn't supposed to be listening. There mas a man once.
And what happened?
I don't know, really. Why are you so interested? Have you got designs on her?
You brought the subject up!
I expect I did. Anyway, I think she's got designs on you.
On my salvation, you mean.
Well… She's rather lonely up there. That's why I go up to stay some nights. I think she'd like it if you went up there more often.
Hasn't she any other close friends?
No. She used to see rather a lot of a painter once. But that stopped…
You mean she had an affair?
Oh no. He was half her age. A man named Glasp.
Oliver Glasp?
Yes, why?
I've heard of him. A friend of Austin's, I think.
Yes. I think Austin took him there for the first time.
Why did he stop going there? Do you know?
Yes. He had some kind of a breakdown and went into a mental home. She never talked about it much, but I think they quarrelled as well.
They had both finished their coffee. He asked her:
Shall we go?
She slipped down off the stool, and picked up her gloves. He asked:
Where would you like to go now? Back into Soho for a drink?
I don't mind. Where would you?
Let's walk anyway. I've had too much to eat.
The night was cold and windless; there were no stars.
She asked:
Would you like to visit a couple of girl friends of mine? They live on a boat on Chelsea reach.
How do we get there?
It's a ten-minute walk.
Shall we buy some wine to take?
That's a good idea. I don't suppose they'll have anything to drink. They're both actresses, but they're out of work at the moment.
They bought a bottle of hock at a wine shop, and walked on past the town hall. A hundred yards further on they could see the glow of a bonfire.
That'd be the party Frankie mentioned. We don't want to go, do we?
