boys, actually.’
The waiter, having meticulously removed a covering of red foil from the top of the wine bottle, wiped the cork with a napkin before attempting to draw it. He glanced quickly at Miss Fanshawe to see if he could catch her eye in order to put her at her ease with an understanding gesture, but she appeared to be wholly engaged with her soup.
‘The Reverend Edwards is a law unto himself,’ Carruthers said. ‘Your predecessor was intrigued by him.’
‘Please take no notice of him.’ She tried to sound bracing, looking up suddenly and smiling at the waiter.
‘The headmaster accompanied you on the train, did he, sir?’
‘No, no, no, no. The Reverend Edwards was never on this train in his life. No, it was simply that your predecessor was interested in life at Ashleigh Court. He would stand there happily listening while we told him the details: you could say he was fascinated.’
At this Miss Fanshawe made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a denial.
‘You could pour the Beaune now, Mr Atkins,’ Carruthers suggested.
The waiter did so, pausing for a moment, in doubt as to which of the two he should offer a little of the wine to taste. Carruthers nodded to him, indicating that it should be he. The waiter complied and when Carruthers had given his approval he filled both their glasses and lifted from before them their empty soup-plates.
‘I’ve asked you not to behave like that,’ she said when the waiter had gone.
‘Like what, Miss Fanshawe?’
‘You know, Carruthers.’
‘The waiter and I were having a general conversation. As before, Miss Fanshawe, with the other waiter. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember my telling him how I took forty of Hornsby’s football cards? And drank the Communion wine in the Reverend’s cupboard?’
‘I don’t believe –’
‘And I’ll tell you another thing. I excused myself into Rider Minor’s gum-boots.’
‘Please leave the waiter alone. Please let’s have no scenes this time, Carruthers.’
‘There weren’t scenes with the other waiter. He enjoyed everything we said to him. You could see him quite clearly trying to visualize Ashleigh Court, and Mrs Carruthers in her awful clothes.’
‘He visualized nothing of the sort. You gave him drink that I had to pay for. He was obliged to listen to your fantasies.’
‘He enjoyed our conversation, Miss Fanshawe. Why is it that people like you and I are so unpopular?’
She didn’t answer, but sighed instead. He would go on and on, she knew; and there was nothing she could do. She always meant not to protest, but when it came to the point she found it hard to sit silent, mile after mile.
‘You know what I mean, Miss Fanshawe? At Ashleigh Court they say you have an awkward way of walking. And I’ve got no charm: I think that’s why they don’t much like me. But how for God’s sake could any child of Mrs Carruthers have charm?’
‘Please don’t speak of your mother like that –’
‘And yet men fancy her. Awful men arrive at weekends, as keen for sex as the Reverend Edwards is. “Your mother’s a most elegant woman,” a hard-eyed lecher remarked to me last summer, in the Palm Court of a Greek hotel.’
‘Don’t drink too much of that wine. The last time –’
‘ “You’re staggering,” she said the last time. I told her I had flu. She’s beautiful, I dare say, in her thin way. D’you think she’s beautiful?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘She has men all over the place. Love flows like honey while you make do with waiters on a train.’
‘Oh, don’t be so
‘She snaps her fingers and people come to comfort her with lust. A woman like that’s never alone. While you –’
‘Will you please stop talking about me!’
‘You have a heart in your breast like anyone else, Miss Fanshawe.’
The waiter, arriving again, coughed. He leaned across the table and placed a warmed plate in front of Miss Fanshawe and a similar one in front of Carruthers. There was a silence while he offered Miss Fanshawe a silver- plated platter with slices of roast beef on it and square pieces of Yorkshire pudding. In the silence she selected what she wanted, a small portion, for her appetite on journeys with Carruthers was never great. Carruthers took the rest. The waiter offered vegetables.
‘Miss Fanshawe ironed that blouse at a quarter to five this morning,’ Carruthers said. ‘She’d have ironed it last night if she hadn’t been so tired.’
‘A taste more carrots, sir?’
‘I don’t like carrots, Mr Atkins.’
‘Peas, sir?’
‘Thank you. She got up from her small bed, Mr Atkins, and her feet were chilly on the linoleum. She shivered, Mr Atkins, as she slipped her night-dress off. She stood there naked, thinking of another person. What became of your predecessor?’
