He hadn't seen her come in from the far side of the shelter. Below her plastic hat tiny droplets of drizzle winked from the carefully plucked eyebrows. He nodded. 'Don't seem very frequent, do they?' She walked towards him. Nice-looking girl. Nice lips. Difficult to say how old she was. Eighteen? Even younger, perhaps.
'There's one due about now.'
'That's good news.'
'Not a very nice night.'
'No.' It seemed a dismissive reply, and feeling a desire to keep the conversation going, he wondered what to say. He might just as well stand and talk as stand and be silent. His companion was clearly thinking along similar lines and showed herself the slicker practitioner.
'Goin' to Oxford?'
'Yes. I'm hoping to catch the 8.35 train to London.'
'You'll be all right.'
She unfastened her gleaming plastic mac and shook the raindrops to the floor. Her legs were thin, angular almost, but well proportioned; and the gentlest, mildest of erotic notions fluttered into his mind. It was the whisky.
'You live in London?'
'No, thank goodness. I live down in Surrey.'
'You goin' all that way tonight?'
Was he? 'It's not far really, once you've got across London.' She lapsed into silence. 'What about you? You going to Oxford?'
'Yeah. Nothing to do 'ere.'
She must be young, surely. Their eyes met and held momentarily. She had a lovely mouth. Just a brief encounter, though, in a bus shelter, and pleasant — just a fraction more pleasant than it should have been. Yet that was all. He smiled at her, openly and guilelessly. 'I suppose there's plenty to do in the big wicked city of Oxford?'
She looked at him slyly. 'Depends what you want, don't it?' Before he could ascertain exactly what she wanted or what extramural delights the old university city could still provide, a red double-decker curved into the lay-by, its near front wheel splattering specks of dirty-brown water across his carefully polished black shoes. The automatic doors rattled noisily open, and he stepped aside for the girl to climb in first. She turned at the handrail that led to the upper deck.
'Comin' upstairs?'
The bus was empty, and when she sat down on the back seat and blinked at him invitingly, he had little option or inclination to do otherwise than to sit beside her. 'Got any cigarettes?'
'No, I'm sorry. I don't smoke.'
Was she just a common slut? She almost acted like one. He must look a real city gent to her: immaculate dark suit, new white shirt, a Cambridge tie, well-cut heavy overcoat, and a leather briefcase. She would probably expect a few expensive drinks in a plush four-star lounge. Well, if she did, she was in for a big disappointment. Just a few miles on the top of a Number 2 bus. And yet he felt a subdued, magnetic attraction towards her. She took off her transparent plastic hat and shook out her long dark-brown hair. Soft, and newly washed.
A weary-footed conductor slowly mounted the circular staircase and stood before them.
'Two to Oxford, please.'
'Whereabouts?' The man sounded surly.
'Er, I'm going to the station. .'
She said it for him. 'Two to the station, please.' The conductor wound the tickets mechanically, and disappeared dejectedly below.
It was completely unexpected, and he was taken by surprise. She put her arm through his, and squeezed his elbow gently against her soft body. 'I 'spect he thinks we're just off to the pictures.' She giggled happily. 'Anyway, thanks for buying the ticket.' She turned towards him and gently kissed his cheek with her soft, dry lips.
'You didn't tell me you were going to the station.'
'I'm not really.'
'Where are you going then?'
She moved a little closer. 'Dunno.'
For a frightening moment the thought flashed across his mind that she might be simple-minded. But no. He felt quite sure that for the present time at least she had an infinitely saner appreciation of what was going on than he. Yet he was almost glad when they reached the railway station. 8.17. Just over a quarter of an hour before the train was due.
They alighted and momentarily stood together in silence beneath the
'Like a drink?' He said it lightly.
'Wouldn't mind a Coke.'
He felt surprised. If she was on the look-out for a man, it seemed an odd request. Most women of her type would surely go for gin or vodka or something with a bigger kick than Coke. Who was she? What did she want?
'You sure?'
