Her feelings about Danby had changed without rendering her any the less slavishly in love. She had been completely captivated by his easy charm, his good looks, and the atmosphere of cheerfulness which he carried about with him. She was also strangely moved by the legend of the dead wife, whose photograph she dusted on the drawing-room piano. Big dark brooding eyes, heavy serrated dark hair, pale intense oval face, pouting finely shaped small mouth. Whenever Danby spoke of his wife, which he did quite often, the note of his voice changed and his eyes changed and there was something serious and almost alien about him, even if he was supposed to be laughing. Adelaide liked this. It gave an alluring touch of mystery to what might otherwise have seemed too easygoing, too open. She found Danby altogether godlike, a sort of smiling vine-leaf-crowned forest deity, full of frolics but also full of power. From the first he used to smack and pat her a good deal, but then he smacked and pat ted the men at the printing works and the barmaid at the Balloon and the girl in the tobacconist’s and the temporary char woman and the milkman. One day he came into her bedroom, looked at her very gravely for some time in silence, then kissed her, and said, “What about it, Adelaide?” She nearly fainted with joy.
Danby as a lover was a little less godlike. It was not that she felt that he was unreliable. He had most seriously, at the start, informed her that he intended their liaison to be lasting and that he would provide for her in her old age. Adelaide, who was not thinking about her old age and who would have accepted Danby’s suggestion on any terms whatsoever, listened with some puzzlement to those protestations. Later she was glad of them. At moments when she felt, as she later occasionally felt, that she was giving up a great deal for Danby, it was a consolation to think that at least she had gained some thing permanent.
She did not really mind not altogether enjoying it in bed. She was anxious about contraception. She was pleased that he was pleased, and had been very moved by his tenderness and delight on learning that he was the first. It was just, she reflected, that any man, as soon as you get to know him well, turns out to be totally selfish. Danby did exactly what he wanted and never seemed to think that this might not suit Adelaide perfectly. Adelaide found it difficult in fact to recall the specific issues upon which he had crossed her, but she retained a vague sense of not being sufficiently considered. Perhaps, working deep in the whole situation was Danby’s assumption that she was not socially his equal. Adelaide sometimes felt the assumption, nebulous, pervasive, profound. She felt, almost physically, his selfishness and her own defenselessness, on long nights, after they had made love, as she lay awake wondering what that huge paunchy sweating hairy body was doing in her bed. But the discovery of his frailty, even his ordinariness, only made her love him all the more.
Will meanwhile remained terrifyingly single-minded. He settled into a condition of amazement at Adelaide’s reluctance and confident expectation of her imminent capitulation. She put a great deal of energy into persuading him that there was no one else. She began to build up a picture of herself as a natural spinster. Once she thought it might be helpful to hint that she was a Lesbian, but Will got so upset and angry that she decided not to develop that idea. He never seemed to suspect Danby, largely because Will belonged to the sector of humanity that was entirely blind to Danby’s charm. Will thought Danby an ass. Time, who will take over the most improbable arrangements and make them seem steady and commonplace, took over this one. Adelaide stopped being frightened of Will’s finding out about Danby, though she still had occasional moments of panic. She got used to coming over on Sundays and accepting Will’s touchy nervy electrical devotion. She gave him money out of a small store which she was building up out of donations which Danby gave her to spend on clothes and which she promptly banked. There was usually a bad patch after lunch, after Auntie had retired, when Will would be pressing and possibly cross. But she was getting better at managing him. She had even begun a little to enjoy having, in this rather inconclusive sense, Will as well.
Although Adelaide had received, where Will was concerned, the same revelation of masculine total selfishness as she had received about Danby, she still thought of him as somehow noble and distinguished. She admired his social confidence, his sturdy conviction that he was “working class.” In fact he was not really “working class.” A versatile Bohemianism had rendered him classless. She even admired his ability to be un employed without anxiety. He really was talented. He had lately shown her a series of drawings of monsters which he had done, weird embryos and hideous bristly creatures with half-human faces, which frightened and impressed her. There were some pornographic drawings too of which she had accidently seen one and it had made her feel quite sick. There was a force of violence in Will which she feared but which also a little thrilled her. But she remained circumspect and wary in her dealings with him and fell into playing the part of a sort of nagging sister.
Auntie was pottering in the hall, about to retire to rest. Adelaide was washing up. Will was sitting at the table smoking.
”What does old Bruno do all day?”
”He plays with his stamps. He reads those books about spiders over and over. He rings up wrong numbers on the telephone. He reads the newspapers.”
”It must be awful to be so old, Ad. I hope I don’t ever grow old.”
”He’s got awfully hideous too. He looks like one of your monsters.”
”Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what he looks like now, poor old bastard. Those stamps of his must be worth a packet.”
”Twenty thousand pounds, I heard Danby say.”
”Who’ll get them?”
”Danby, I suppose.”
”Do you know anything about stamps, Ad?”
”No. You used to collect them, do you remember?”
”Yes. Nigel used to pinch my best ones. Nigel’s a natural thief.”
”And you used to punch him. You’re a natural bully.”
”Maybe. I wonder if Bruno has any Cape triangulars.”
”What are Cape triangulars?”
”Cape of Good Hope triangular stamps.”
”He has some triangular ones. I saw them. Don’t know what kind they were. Could I have your coffee cup?”
”Ad, do you see a lot of those stamps?”
”How do you mean? Yes. I spend half my life picking them up off the floor and putting them away and bringing them out again-“
”How are they mounted? Are they in books?”
”They live in a box, in drawers, between sheets of cellophane. A lot of them are just loose in the box. He’s got them into an awful jumble.”
”Could you look and see if he has any Cape triangulars? I’ll show you a picture of one.”
”Why are you interested? You chucked stamps long ago. It’s a child’s game.”
”Twenty thousand pounds isn’t a child’s game, Ad.”
”People must be mad to pay that money.”
”A Cape triangular sold last week for two hundred pounds, I read in the paper.”
”I expect you wish you had one.”
”I’m going to have one, Ad.”
”What do you mean? How are you going to get it?”
”You’re going to get it for me out of Bruno’s collection.”
”Will!”
”Just one.” Adelaide stopped washing. She turned round from the sink and stared at her cousin. Will was sitting with his thick legs stretched straight out, the heels of his heavy boots making yet another pair of permanent dints in the soft brown linoleum. He was looking up at Adelaide with a dreamy sly expression which she remembered from childhood.
”You want me to steal one of Bruno’s stamps! You’re not serious!”