never have guessed! The hotel bill to find its way to Mrs da Tanka’s husband, who would pass it to his solicitor. Breakfast in bed, and remember the face of the maid who brought it. Pass the time of day with her, and make sure she remembered yours. Oh very nice, the man in the pub said, very nice Mrs da Tanka was – or so he was led to believe. He batted his eyes at Mr Mileson; but Mr Mileson said it didn’t matter, surely, about Mrs da Tanka’s niceness. He knew his duties: there was nothing personal about them. He’d do it himself, the man in the pub explained, only he’d never be able to keep his hands off an attractive middle-aged woman. That was the trouble about finding someone for the job.
‘I’ve had a hard life,’ Mrs da Tanka confided. ‘Tonight I need your sympathy, Mr Mileson. Tell me I have your sympathy.’ Her face and neck had reddened: chirpiness was breaking through.
In the house, in a cupboard beneath the stairs, he had kept his gardening boots. Big, heavy army boots, once his father’s. He had worn them at weekends, poking about in the garden.
‘The lease came to an end two years ago,’ he told Mrs da Tanka. ‘There I was with all that stuff, all my gardening tools, and the furniture and bric-a-brac of three generations to dispose of. I can tell you it wasn’t easy to know what to throw away.’
‘Mr Mileson, I don’t like that waiter.’
Mr Mileson cut his steak with care: a three-cornered piece, neat and succulent. He loaded mushroom and mustard on it, added a sliver of potato and carried the lot to his mouth. He masticated and drank some wine.
‘Do you know the waiter?’
Mrs da Tanka laughed unpleasantly; like ice cracking. ‘Why should I know the waiter? I do not generally know waiters. Do
‘I ask because you claim to dislike him.’
‘May I not dislike him without an intimate knowledge of the man?’
‘You may do as you please. It struck me as a premature decision, that is all.’
‘What decision? What is premature? What are you talking about? Are you drunk?’
‘The decision to dislike the waiter I thought to be premature. I do not know about being drunk. Probably I am a little. One has to keep one’s spirits up.’
‘Have you ever thought of wearing an eye-patch, Mr Mileson? I think it would suit you. You need distinction. Have you led an empty life? You give the impression of an empty life.’
‘My life has been as many other lives. Empty of some things, full of others. I am in possession of all my sight, though. My eyes are real. Neither is a pretence. I see no call for an eye-patch.’
‘It strikes me you see no call for anything. You have never lived, Mr Mileson.’
‘I do not understand that.’
‘Order us more wine.’
Mr Mileson indicated with his hand and the waiter approached. ‘Some other waiter, please,’ Mrs da Tanka cried. ‘May we be served by another waiter?’
‘Madam?’ said the waiter.
‘We do not take to you. Will you send another man to our table?’
‘I am the only waiter on duty, madam.’
‘It’s quite all right,’ said Mr Mileson.
‘It’s not quite all right. I will not have this man at our table, opening and dispensing wine.’
‘Then we must go without.’
‘I am the only waiter on duty, madam.’
‘There are other employees of the hotel. Send us a porter or the girl at the reception.’
‘It is not their duty, madam –’
‘Oh nonsense, nonsense. Bring us the wine, man, and have no more to-do.’
Unruffled, the waiter moved away. Mrs da Tanka hummed a popular tune.
‘Are you married, Mr Mileson? Have you in the past been married?’
‘No, never married.’
‘I have been married twice. I am married now. I am throwing the dice for the last time. God knows how I shall find myself. You are helping to shape my destiny. What a fuss that waiter made about the wine!’
‘That is a little unfair. It was you, you know –’
‘Behave like a gentleman, can’t you? Be on my side since you are with me. Why must you turn on me? Have I harmed you?’
‘No, no. I was merely establishing the truth.’
‘Here is the man again with the wine. He is like a bird. Do you think he has wings strapped down beneath his waiter’s clothes? You are like a bird,’ she repeated, examining the waiter’s face. ‘Has some fowl played a part in your ancestry?’
‘I think not, madam.’
‘Though you cannot be sure. How can you be sure? How can you say you think not when you know nothing about it?’
