The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“Your last remark made it sound as if you were about to say that it was time young people fended for themselves, instead of being spoon-fed by the state.”

Rollison chuckled.

“And that is exactly what I feel about some youngsters. Don’t you?” The question came very quickly and there was a glint in his eyes.

She hesitated; and then laughed in turn.

“I suppose I do, about some. Have I given the impression that I—and the hostel supporters, are overindulgent towards the girls?”

“You have, rather,” said Rollison frankly. “Will you have another gin and French?”

She looked speculatively at her glass, before saying:

“No thank you. Mr. Rollison—”

“Yes?”

“I really am deeply troubled, and I really think from what I’ve heard of you that you are perhaps the only man who both could and would help. It is true that the girls are indulged in some ways. The problem of each differs in kind, of course, and each one needs special treatment and consideration. I try to give both, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. I do need help.”

“What is so special about these girls?” Rollison asked gently.

“It is this: each of the girls has some very special talent, a talent which could be going to waste. Each—as you were so quick to realise—has had a most unsatisfying affaire with a man—or men. Several have in fact been married and deserted, most have had an illegitimate child. You might say as many do, that these young women have asked for trouble, that their rejection of the conventions has made them forfeit some of their rights in society. To me, that is not the most important factor. I do not simply say that these girls need the special care of society because in a way they have been victims of it. I believe absolutely that each should be, and can be, a wholly responsible person in her own right, and that most of these girls can be not only responsible for themselves but of value to the community. But that too is beside the point, as I see it.”

“Ah,” said Rollison. “Is it very rewarding to help them?”

He saw on the instant that he had caused offence, but did not understand why: it had not been his intention. Naomi Smith’s expression changed, she put her glass down, placed a hand on the arm of her chair and stood up quickly and with unusual grace. No-one had ever looked at him with greater intensity or directness.

“I really don’t see any purpose in staying,” she said. “Thank you for sparing some of your time, Mr. Rollison.” She moved towards the door.

At the same moment, Jolly appeared in the other doorway, and said :

“Luncheon will be ready in five minutes, sir.” He realised what was happening and broke off, looking at the Toff as if pleading for guidance on what course to take.

Rollison waved him away and moved after Naomi Smith, who was half-way towards the front door. He passed her and put a hand on the door knob, but did not turn it.

“What did I say wrong?” he demanded.

“You know very well what you said.”

“I remember every word,” he admitted, “but I can’t see what made you take offence.” He turned the knob very slowly and with obvious reluctance. “Certainly, none was intended, but if you feel as touchy ever your young women as this perhaps it’s better for me not to try to help. Presumably we would have to work together.”

He opened the door wide—on to a landing and a flight of stone steps; this old terrace house had been converted into four flats, one on each floor, of which this was the top. He was not angry, but troubled.

He had a strange feeling that this beautifully groomed, hitherto very composed woman was on the point of tears. Certainly her eyes seemed to have become much brighter, and her lips appeared to be compressed to stop them quivering.

“Wasn’t that remark intended to be taken literally?” she asked.

“I asked you if it were very rewarding to help—” He broke off as understanding dawned. His face relaxed and his eyes actually laughed at her. “Now I see what a boner I dropped! It sounded as if I were asking if you were being well-paid.”

“It most certainly did!”

“It wasn’t even remotely in my mind,” Rollison said earnestly. “I really wanted to know whether you find it rewarding as a—as a vocation. I’ve somehow always associated guardians of fallen angels as somewhat more forbidding than you.” He put a hand lightly on her arm. “Please come back.”

She averted her gaze.

“Thank you for explaining,” she said. “I’m sorry I took offence.”

“It was an unbelievably clumsy remark,” said Rollison contritely. “Would you like to tidy up before lunch?” He was leading the way back into the big room, only to lead the way out of it by the other door. “Bathroom there,” he said, pushing a door open an inch or two.

She went in, her gaze still averted; and he felt sure that there were tears in her eyes.

He went back to the sitting room, puzzled and frowning. If she were really living on her nerves to the extent her reaction to the misunderstanding seemed to imply, how had she managed to keep up appearances when she had first arrived? He rang for Jolly. There was a spacious dining alcove one step up from the main room, and he drew curtains aside revealing a dining-table already set, Sheraton chairs and a long and graceful sideboard. Steaming vegetables stood on a hot-plate and there was a bottle of wine, the cork drawn. Before Naomi Smith returned, he had put two slices of Spanish honeydew melon on the table, laid so that two people could sit opposite each other.