‘Good.’
‘Mike, you telephoned me at four fifteen. Do you know what time it is now?’
‘What time is it now?’
‘Four thirty-five.’
‘Am I being a nuisance, is that it?’
‘No, no. Just, is there anything I can do for you? I mean, do you want something and feel unable to express yourself?’
‘I’m bored. I’m with these people. Lucy.’
‘Yes?’
‘Who’s that in your flat?’
‘A friend called Frank. You don’t know him.’
‘What’s he doing there?’
‘What d’you mean, what’s he doing?’
‘Well –’
‘Look, I’ll ask him. Frank, what are you doing?’
‘What’s he say?’
‘He says he’s making a cup of tea.’
‘I’m having tea too. In Floris. I wish you were here.’
‘Goodbye, Mike.’
‘Don’t go, Lucy.’
‘Goodbye, Mike.’
‘Goodbye, Lucy.’
When I got back to the others I found them laughing in an uproarious manner. Swann said the cake they were eating was making them drunk. ‘Smell it,’ he said. It smelt of rum. I tasted some: it tasted of rum too. We all ate a lot of the cake, laughing at the thought of getting drunk on cake. We ordered some more, and told the waitress it was delicious. When the enthusiasm had melted a bit Swann said:
‘Mike, we want your advice about Margo’s husband.’
‘I’ve told Margo –’
‘No, Mike – seriously now. You know about these things.’
‘Why do you think I know about these things? I do not know about these things.’
‘All right, Mike, I’ll tell you. Margo’s husband Nigel keeps turning up with groups of old females. Margo’s worried in case the thing develops a bit – you know, tramps, grocers, one-legged soldiers. What d’you think she should do?’
‘I don’t know what Margo should do. Margo, I don’t know what you should do. Except perhaps ask Nigel what he’s up to. In the meantime, have some more cake.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ Swann shouted excitedly. ‘Margo love, why don’t you ask old Nigel what he’s up to?’
Jo hacked affectionately at my face with her great spiked fingers. I guessed it was an expression of admiration rather than attack because she smiled as she did so.
‘But all Nigel says,’ Margo said, ‘is that they haven’t finished their meeting.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Swann, ‘but you don’t press him. You don’t say: “What meeting?” You don’t indicate that you are in the dark as to the nub of their business. Nigel may well imagine that you accept the whole state of affairs without question and expect little else of married life. When you were at the Gents,’ Swann said to me, ‘Margo confessed she was worried.’
‘She had previously confessed as much to me. I wasn’t at the Gents. I was making a telephone call.’
‘Shall
We all nodded. Margo rose, hesitated, and sat down again. She said she couldn’t. She explained she was too shy to telephone her husband in this way. She turned to me.
‘Mike, would you do it?’
‘Me?’
‘Mike, would you telephone?’
‘Are you asking me to telephone your husband and inquire about his relationship with some elderly women who are entirely unknown to me?’
‘Mike, for my sake.’
‘Think of the explanations it would involve me in. Think of the confusion. Nigel imagining I was the husband of one of these women. Nigel imagining I was the police. Nigel asking me question after question. For goodness’ sake, how do you think I would get some kind of answer out of
