‘You’re interested in the wrong revolution, mate. Free love, Hitch.’
‘Mm. Listen. Before you expatiate on the business suit, tell me what her advice was…Mart, you’re tranced. The advice that will serve me all my active life.’
‘Oh yeah. Sorry. Well. She said, and she said it in the tone of a patient agony aunt, she said, When you’ve got a real session in front of you, Martin, then this is the key. Don’t come. Those were her words.’
‘…Don’t come?’
‘Don’t come. Not till the very end. It’s the answer. I swear you’ll have a much better time.’
We both ordered fresh drinks.
‘And not coming till the end, Hitch–it transforms the whole experience. Three hours. A few rests and cigarette breaks, but no fucking around with recovery times or anything like that. And it improves your concentration. You steady yourself and you pace yourself. You settle down to it.’
‘I think I see…Is she older than you, d’you think?’
‘She’s taller than me. By a couple of inches. And yeah, she might have a couple of years on me too. Maybe thirtyish. She definitely had uh, seniority.’
‘Let me impress that on my memory. Just in case. Don’t…come.’
‘Don’t come. And I wasn’t going to come after dinner either. Not till the end. And I was thinking about the next morning, too, and worrying whether the not-coming rule would still apply. But then…She was surprising enough before dinner. And during. But after dinner she…’
Quality control
After dinner – Phoebe had soup with plenty of bread, potted shrimps with plenty of toast, a gurgling, farting beef stew, a crème brûlée with brandy snaps, and a double helping from the cheeseboard with plenty of oatcake – Martin proudly walked her back to Hereford Road, and looked on with some complacence as she marshalled her keys…The moral atmosphere Phoebe imposed was partly familiar to him; and that atmosphere was one of normlessness, of obscure improvisations and compromises, and rippled by counter-currents and different ways of going about things. Who cared, though, at this stage?*5 Awaiting ingress to Phoebe’s mansion flat, he was vibrantly intrigued. Now he moved closer and smoothed his hands over her hips, then her waist, then her midriff, cherishing great schemes and projects, huge exertions and initiatives, epic undertakings…
‘Is that your middle name?’ he mouthed into her brown nape. ‘Kontakt?’
‘That’s there for business reasons.’ She turned. ‘I’m plain old Phoebe Phelps. Well. Goodnight!’
It was something more piercing than disappointment (it felt like a thrust, it felt like a spear through his very soul). But he at once regrouped and said lightly, ‘Oh, that’s a shame – but I understand. Munich tomorrow.’
‘Yes, tomorrow night…Come here a second.’
She stepped back out through the arch and into the firmly replenished breeze and the amber lamp. With an unlit cigarette poised between her fingers she slowly stretched her arms at shoulder height.
‘I’ll just have a lazy day and won’t even get out of bed before three. So it’s nothing to do with Munich…Even now I’ll be staying up for a while. And I won’t be washing my hair.’ She kissed his neck. ‘And it isn’t that I’m not…But no!’
He said, ‘In that case I don’t understand.’
She considered him. ‘Ah, you’re looking all brave…Not what you had in mind. What you had in mind isn’t hard to guess. Mm, and then you’d round it all off with a sweaty one in the morning where you come as fast as you can. Then off to work on the tube with your bacon sandwich. Or am I completely wrong?’
He could have said she was wrong about the bacon sandwich; but he just waited.
Sadly, slowly, she shook her head. ‘The idea of that’, she said, ‘makes me think, God, what a waste, what a tragic waste. To me that seems truly feckless, just frittering it away like that.’
‘Frittering what away?’
‘The element of – of surprise. Why d’you put perishables in the fridge? So they don’t go off, they don’t “turn”. As you see I’ve got very firm views on how to keep things good and fresh. Based on principles I picked up, Mr Amis, from what I do.’
‘From the entrepreneurial sphere.’
‘Really obvious stuff like don’t live off your capital. And quality control.’ She was looking at him with general benevolence, diluted by amusement and some pity. ‘Why doesn’t everyone do it my way?…Well! Have you enjoyed our date?’
‘Oh yes. Very much.’
‘You may want to retire while you’re winning, Mart. You should – if it’s a quiet life you want. There are loads of girls who can give you a quick smelly one in the morning. Withdraw, retire. If you choose not to I’ll tell you what lies ahead.’
And she told him…To proceed with this, he already felt sure, would be to invite many varied hardships. Then she added,
‘And it’s even worse than that. I used to have “affairs”, when I was young and innocent, but now I only do it with the same man once. That’s why I’m so thorough. Once.’
‘Once?’
‘Once. With a few rare exceptions. And it’s even worse than that.’ And she told him. ‘So then, Martin. I’ll see you around.’
He was thinking. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘the even worse thing isn’t as bad as the worse thing. I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I’m going to pursue this. Withdraw, retire? Where to? No, I’m not giving up. So. When do you get back from Germany?’
—————
‘Enfin, Little Keith. The business of the business suit.’
It was nearly two by now, so we were in Luigi’s, the Italian caff on Red Lion Street, ordering our meat breakfasts and the first carafe of Valpolicella. I said,
‘For a start it’s not just the business suit, is it. It’s the whole ensemble. You know it’s not like she’s taking off a denim miniskirt and a fucking tank top.’
‘Or a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a fucking sloppy joe.’
‘Yeah. Or even
