‘Indeed there is. Beryl is knitting like a mad thing. It seems as though she can’t do enough.’
‘It is the biggest event in a woman’s life, Mr Dutt.’
‘And often in a man’s, Miss Efoss.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘We have quite recovered our good spirits.’
‘I’m glad of that. You were so sadly low when last I saw you.’
‘You gave us some wise words. You were more comfort than you think, you know.’
‘Oh, I was inadequate. I always am with sorrow.’
‘No, no. Beryl said so afterwards. It was a happy chance to have met you so.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dutt.’
‘It’s not easy always to accept adversity. You helped us on our way. We shall always be grateful.’
‘It is kind of you to say so.’
‘The longing for a child is a strange force. To attend to its needs, to give it comfort and love – I suppose there is that in all of us. There is a streak of simple generosity that we do not easily understand.’
‘The older I become, Mr Dutt, the more I realize that one understands very little. I believe one is meant not to understand. The best things are complex and mysterious. And must remain so.’
‘How right you are! It is often what I say to Beryl. I shall be glad to report that you confirm my thinking.’
‘On my part it is instinct rather than thinking.’
‘The line between the two is less acute than many would have us believe.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Miss Efoss, may I do one thing for you?’
‘What is that?’
‘It is a small thing but would give me pleasure. May I pay for your tea? Beryl will be pleased if you allow me to.’
Miss Efoss laughed. ‘Yes, Mr Dutt, you may pay for my tea.’ And it was as she spoke this simple sentence that it dawned upon Miss Efoss just what it was she had to do.
Miss Efoss began to sell her belongings. She sold them in many directions, keeping back only a few which she wished to give away. It took her a long time, for there was much to see to. She wrote down long lists of details, finding this method the best for arranging things in her mind. She was sorry to see the familiar objects go, yet she knew that to be sentimental about them was absurd. It was for other people now to develop a sentiment for them; and she knew that the fresh associations they would in time take on would be, in the long run, as false as hers.
Her flat became bare and cheerless. In the end there was nothing left except the property of the landlord. She wrote to him, terminating her tenancy.
The Dutts were watching the television when Miss Efoss arrived. Mr Dutt turned down the sound and went to open the door. He smiled without speaking and brought her into the sitting-room.
‘Welcome, Miss Efoss,’ Mrs Dutt said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’
Miss Efoss carried a small suitcase. She said: ‘Your baby, Mrs Dutt, When is your baby due? I do hope I am in time.’
‘Perfect, Miss Efoss, perfect,’ said Mr Dutt. ‘Beryl’s child is due this very night.’
The pictures flashed silently, eerily, on the television screen. A man dressed as a pirate was stroking the head of a parrot.
Miss Efoss did not sit down. ‘I am rather tired,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I go straight upstairs?’
‘Dear Miss Efoss, please do.’ Mrs Dutt smiled at her. ‘You know your way, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Miss Efoss said. ‘I know my way.’
J. P. Powers, big, forty-three, his face a mass of moustache, said: ‘You must depress the clutch, Miss Hobish. It is impossible to change from one gear to another without you depress the clutch.’
J. P. Powers was aware of his grammatical lapse.
Miss Hobish drove the Austin in a jagged manner down Cave Crescent and into Mortimer Road. Ahead lay Putney Hill and an awkward right turn, across both streams of traffic. Powers prepared himself for the moment, feet ready for the dual controls, fingers poised to jab the starter when the engine stalled.
‘Slowing down signal,’ said J. P. Powers. Then: ‘Change to second, hand signal, indicator. Always the old hand signal: never rely on the indicator, Miss Hobish.’
Miss Hobish edged the car forward, aiming at a bus.
‘Wait for a gap, Miss Hobish. All that traffic has the right of way.’
He had said
