Lucky Jim

'I don't believe you. But even if it were true I shouldn't care. There's more than enough to keep me going in what I've seen up to now.'

'I warn you it wouldn't do you any good.'

'Why not?'

'To start with, I can't get on with men.'

'What awful rubbish, Christine. Don't you go trying to spin me a hard-luck story like that. A girl like you could have any man she wanted.'

'The ones that want me don't stay about very long, as I told you. And it isn't easy to find one I want.'

'Ah, don't give me that. There are dozens of sensible men about. I can even think of a few in our Common Room. Well, one or two. Well, anyway…'

'There you are, you see.'

'Let's leave that,' Dixon said. 'Tell me: how long are you staying here this time?'

'For a few days. It's part of my holiday.'

'Grand. When can you come out with me?'

'Oh don't be such a fool, Jim. How can I possibly come out with you?'

'No trouble at all, Christine. You can make out you're out with Uncle Julius. From what I've seen of him he'd back up your story.'

'Don't say any more, it's no good. We're both tied up.'

'We can start worrying about that, if we've got to, when we've seen a little more of each other.'

'Do you realize what you're asking me to do? I'm a guest at this place, Bertrand asked me down here, and I'm his… I'm tied up with him. Can't you see yourself how mean it would be?'

'No, because I don't like Bertrand.'

'That doesn't make any difference.'

'Yes it does. I don't say "After you, old boy" to chaps like him.'

'Well, what about Margaret, then?'

'You've got a point there, Christine, there's no question about that. But she's got no real claim on me, you know.'

'Hasn't she? She seems to think she has.'

When Dixon hesitated, he was aware of the utter silence. He turned in his seat, so that he was directly facing her, and said in a less harsh tone: 'Look, Christine. Put it like this. Would you like to come out with me? Forgetting about Bertrand and Margaret for the moment.'

'You know I would,' she said at once. 'Why do you think I let you take me away from the dance?'

'So you did…' He looked at her, and she looked back with her chin lifted and her mouth not quite closed. He put an arm round her shoulders and bent towards the neat blonde head. They kissed more earnestly than before. Dixon felt as if he were being drawn downwards into some dark, vaporous region where the air was too heavy to breathe with comfort and the blood became thin and slack. Her body, half against his, was tense; one breast lay heavily against his chest; he raised his hand and laid it upon her other breast. Immediately her tenseness disappeared, and though her mouth stayed on his she became passive. He understood and moved his hand to her bare shoulder, then let her go. She smiled at him in a way that made his head swim more than the kiss had done.

When he didn't speak, she said: 'Yes, all right, then, but I still think it's a dirty trick. What do you suggest?'

Dixon felt like a man interrupted at his investiture with the Order of Merit to be told that a six-figure cheque from a football pool awaits him in the lobby. 'There's a very nice hotel in the town where we could have dinner,' he said.

'No, I don't think we'd better arrange anything for an evening, if you don't mind.'

'Why not?'

'I don't think we'd better, not just for the moment we'd be bound to start drinking, and I…'

'What's the matter with drinking?'

'Nothing, but don't let's do any drinking together for the time being. Please.'

'All right, then. What about a tea?'

'Yes, a tea'd be fine. When?'

'Would Monday do?'

'No, I can't on Monday; Bertrand's having some people over he wants me to meet. What about Tuesday?'

'Fine. Four o'clock be right for time?' He explained how to get to the hotel where they were to meet, and had hardly finished when the unmistakable and growing sound of a car became audible. 'My God, here they are,' he said, instinctively whispering again.

'What are you going to do?'

'I'll wait until they've started coming in the front door, and then nip out by the window. You close it after me.'

'Right.'

The car began moving along the front of the house. 'You've got all that about where to meet?' he asked.

'Don't you worry, I'll be there. Four o'clock.'

They went over to the window and stood there with their arms round each other while the car's engine, after a terrible rattling roar, died away, and footsteps receded.

'Thanks for a lovely evening, Christine.'

'Good-night, Jim.' She pressed herself to him and they kissed for a moment; then she broke away with 'Wait a minute' and rushed over to where her bag lay on a chair.

'What's all this?'

She came back and thrust a pound note at him. 'For the taxi.'

'Don't be ridiculous, I…'

'Come on, don't argue; they'll be here in a second. It must have cost the earth.'

'But…'

She pushed the money into his outside breast-pocket, frowning, pursing her lips, and waggling her left hand to silence him in a gesture that reminded him of one of his aunts forcing sweets or an apple on him in his childhood. 'I've probably got more than you have,' she said. She propelled him to the window, which they reached just as Welch's voice, in its high-pitched, manic phase, became audible not so far away.' Quick. See you on Tuesday. Good-night.'

He scuttled out and saw her blow a kiss into the darkness while she fastened the window; then the curtain fell back. The sky had cleared a little and there was enough light to see his way by. He moved off down towards the road, feeling more tired than he could remember ever feeling in his life before.

XVI

DEAR Mr Johns, Dixon wrote, gripping his pencil like a breadknife. This is just to let you no that I no what you are up to with yuong Marleen Richards, yuong Marleen is a desent girl and has got no tim for your sort, I no your sort. She is a desent girl and I wo'nt have you filing her head with a lot of art and music, she is to good for that, and I am going to mary her which is more than your sort ever do. So just you keep of her, Mr Johns this will be your olny warning. This is just a freindly letter and I am not threatenning you, but you just do as I say else me and some of my palls from the Works will be up your way and we sha'nt be coming along just to say How do you can bet. So just you wach out and lay of yuong Marleen if you no whats good for you. yours fathfully, Joe Higgins.

He read it through, thinking how admirably consistent were the style and orthography. Both derived, in large part, from the essays of some of his less proficient pupils. He could hardly hope, even so, to deceive Johns for long, especially since Johns had almost certainly got no further with Marlene Richards, a typist in his office, than staring palely at her across it. But the letter would at any rate give him a turn and his dig-mates a few moments' amusement when it was opened, according to his habit, at the breakfast-table and read over cornflakes. Dixon wrote To: - Mr Johns and the address of the digs on a cheap envelope not specially bought for the purpose, sealed the letter up in it, and then, griming his finger on the floor, drew a heavy smudge across the flap. Finally he stuck a stamp on, slobbering on it for further verisimilitude. He'd post the letter on his way down to the pub for a lunch-time drink, but before that he must write up some of his notes for the Merrie England lecture. Before that in turn he must review his financial position, see if he could somehow restore it from complete impossibility to its usual level of merely imminent disaster, and before that again he must meditate, just for a couple of minutes, on the incredible finale to the Summer Ball the previous evening and on Christine.