“Yes, go on, George, teach the Miss,” the other old men chorused, delighted that George was colouring and shuffling like a schoolboy.
Reluctantly, he lumbered to his feet and he and Ursula moved over to the table where the shove ha’penny board lay in state.
As I watched him teaching her I realised, not for the first time, the deviousness of women in general and of Ursula in particular. It was perfectly obvious that she not only knew how to play shove ha’penny but probably could have beaten George at it. But her fumbling attempts to learn from him and the sight of him patting her shoulder with his enormous carunculated hand as gently as though he were patting a puppy was a delight to watch. Ursula lost gracefully to him and then insisted on buying drinks all round — for which I had to pay since she had no money.
By now, the old men, flushed and enthusiastic, were practically coming to blows over who should play her next. Ursula, armed with her indispensable evening newspaper, disappeared briefly into the Ladies before coming back to challenge all comers.
George, wiping the froth off his magnificent moustache, lowered himself onto the oak trestle beside me and accepted a cigarette.
“A fine young woman, sir,” he said, “a very fine young woman, even though she’s a foreigner.”
The curious thing is that he did not use the term foreigner in the way that most villagers in England would use it to describe somebody who had not actually been born in the village. He was firmly convinced by Ursula’s particular brand of English that she must indeed come from the Continent or some savage place like that. I did not disillusion him.
I had known Ursula for about a year when one day she phoned me and dropped a bombshell.
“Gerry!” The voice was so penetrating that I had to hold the receiver away from my ear. It could only be Ursula.
“Yes,” I said resignedly.
“Darling, it’s me, Ursula.”
“I never would have guessed it,” I said. “You’re so much quieter, so much more dulcet. That soft voice, like the cooing of a sucking dove.
“Don’t be silly, darling. I phoned you up because I’ve the most wonderful news and I wanted you to be the first to know,” she said breathlessly.
What now, I wondered? Which one of her numerous friends had achieved sonic awful success due to her Machiavellian plottings?
“Tell me all,” I said, resigning myself to at least half an hour of telephone conversation.
“Darling, I’m engaged,” said Ursula.
I confess that my heart felt a sudden pang and a loneliness spread over me. It was not that I was in love with Ursula; it was not that I wanted to marry her — God forbid! — but suddenly I realised that I was being deprived of a charming companion. I was being deprived of somebody who could always lighten my gloom, and who had given me so many hours of pleasure. And now she was engaged, doubtless to some hulking idiot, and all this, our lovely friendship, would change.
“Darling?” said Ursula. “Darling? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m still here.”
“But, darling, you sound so glum. Is anything the matter? I thought you’d be pleased!” Her voice sounded plaintive, uncertain.
“I am pleased,” I said, trying to cast away selfishness, trying to cast away the remembrance of Ursula telling me of a friend who’d gone to Venice and who’d had a gondolier every night. “Really, my love, I’m as pleased as Punch. Who is the unlucky man?”
“It’s Toby,” she said. “You know Toby.”
“But I thought he was an incoherent?” I said.
“No, no, Silly. Not that Toby, a completely different one.”
“I’m glad of that. I thought that if he was an incoherent he would have had difficulty in proposing.”
“Darling, you don’t sound a bit like you,” she said, her voice worried and subdued. “Are you angry with me for getting engaged?”
“Not at all,” I said acidly. “I’m delighted to know that you’ve found somebody who can stop you talking long enough to propose. I never could.”
“Oooo!” said Ursula. “You’re jealous! Darling, how wonderful! I never knew you wanted to propose to me. When was it?”
“Frequently,” I said, tersely, “but fortunately I managed to stamp the desire underfoot.”
“Oh, darling, I am sorry. Are you going to go all silent and. withdrawn and morass?”
“I’ve not the slightest intention of turning myself into a bog for your benefit,” I said with some asperity.
“Oh, darling, don’t be so silly. I thought you’d be pleased. As a matter of fact I was hoping we could meet...” Her voice trailed away.
What a cad I was being, I reflected. What a monstrous, inhuman cad. Here was the girl virtually asking me to set the seal on her nuptials and here was I behaving like a fifteen-year-old. I was contrite.
“Of course we can meet, my sweet,” I said. “I’m sorry I was rude. It’s just that I can’t get used to the idea of you being engaged. Where do you want to meet?”
“Oh, darling, that’s better. Why don’t we dance away the evening? Let’s go to the Tropicana... Do let’s, darling!”
Dance away the evening until ten o’clock, I thought to myself The Tropicana was a particularly revolting nightclub of the sort that blossom suddenly like puffballs, have their brief moment of contributing to human misery and then mercifully disappear into obscurity. Of all the places she could have suggested Ursula could not have picked one that I disliked more.
“Right,” I said with enthusiasm, “but can we have dinner first?”
“Oh darling, yes. Where?”
“How about the Grill Room? I’ll book a table.”
“Daarling!” breathed Ursula. “The first place we had lunch together. Darling, you are romantic.”
“Not particularly. It’s just the only place that serves good food,” I said austerely.
“Darling, I love you... Even if you are oppressive. Lovely food, and then dancing. Oh, I’ll meet you at the Grill at eight, darling, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re pleased. I love you and love you for ever.”
I put the phone back and realised what I’d lost.
I realised what I’d lost even more when I met her, for she brought her fiancé with her. He was a handsome young man, quite obviously besotted by Ursula, with a very limited vocabulary. But he seemed nice enough. The Grill Room, as I rather suspected, was packed and so the three of us had to sit uncomfortably at a table designed for two. Toby didn’t have much to say for himself but that scarcely mattered as Ursula talked quite enough for two of them. When we’d finished dinner we went on to the Tropicana where the band was blaring. Here, Toby and I solemnly took it in turns to propel Ursula, chattering madly, round and round the floor. It was a thoroughly miserable evening from my point of view. After that, I didn’t see Ursula for a long time. I’d heard that she’d eventually got married and that she’d had a baby. I felt that now she was safely ensconced on her wedding bed that she would drift out of my life altogether. But again I was wrong. One day the phone rang, and it was Ursula.
“Darling! It’s me, Ursula!” she said.
“Good heavens!” I said, surprised. “Where have you been all these years?”
“Darling, I got married,” she said. “I’ve had a baby.”
“So I heard,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“Darling, I’ve been stuck down in the country for so long. I’ve got to come into Bournemouth to-day to do some shopping. I wondered whether we could meet?”
“Are you bringing your husband with you?” I asked cautiously.
“No, darling, I’m just coming on my own,” she said.
“Well, in that case, by all means let us meet. I’ll buy you lunch. But first I’ll meet you in the Cadena for coffee.”