She smiled faintly. ‘What should I do, then — buy one of your machines? Do you supply a doorstep-scrubbing machine?’
‘No. There is no market for such a machine. Simply forget about your doorstep.’
‘And have all my neighbours think I’m a slut?’
‘The women maybe. Men think something else. What nice legs this lady has.’
She looked primly down at her plate. Being foreign, he may not have appreciated how personal some of his remarks appeared.
‘It’s true. You have legs like Betty Grable’s. Better.’
‘I’m sure you mean it kindly, but I wish you’d talk about something else.’
‘Not your legs?’
‘Not my legs.’
‘Your chest?’
Her arm jerked and she spilled some soup. She picked her napkin off her lap and rearranged it, trying frantically to think of something to divert him from this tack. ‘I wonder if Antonia will telephone you tonight.’
‘Excuse me, Rosie. My English. I don’t think you understand. I said “chest”. Is it more suitable to say “chests”?’
‘It’s unsuitable however you say it. Perhaps she telephoned you earlier? I dare say she would want you to know she’d arrived safely.’
‘I am so sorry. I think I embarrass you with my bad grammar.’
‘It’s not the grammar.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘It’s the personal things you mention.’
‘I understand. I think I mean bust. Can I say you have a pretty fine bust?’
Through iron persistence she succeeded at length in directing his thoughts to Antonia. It appeared that he didn’t expect a phone call. They didn’t phone each other unless it was necessary. They had nothing to say to each other. ‘Antonia, she doesn’t understand me.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Rose kept her response as bland as possible. Of all the come-ons men resorted to, that was the corniest.
He tried to do better. ‘She has a friend. A man friend. You know?’
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘This friend is off to America soon. Nice new job. Princeton University. Antonia wants to go with him.’
‘Mm?’
‘Yes. It’s true. You can ask her.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking her a thing like that.’
‘Antonia and me, we sleep single.’
Opportunely the arrival of the main course foreclosed discussion of the sleeping arrangements. Hector had ordered Dover sole in breadcrumbs, which he explained wouldn’t spoil his appetite for the curry Rose had promised for the next evening. She didn’t want to be reminded about tomorrow. Getting through the present evening without misunderstanding was as much as she could cope with.
He gave her the cue for a more congenial line of conversation. ‘So you were one of the WAAFs, like Antonia?’
‘Yes. At Kettlesham Heath. I expect she’s told you about it many times.’
‘But I would like to hear from you. What did you do?’
‘I was a plotter, like Antonia. In an underground control room. Very hush-hush. We had to sign a paper promising not to say anything about our work.’
He seemed to find this amusing. ‘Ladies talk so much they can’t keep no secret.’
‘You’re mistaken. We’re much more discreet than the average man.’
‘Yes?’ He gave her a silly grin and she almost lost patience with him. His own life was threatened and he was so complacent that he hadn’t a hope of finding out.
‘Take Antonia. She’s much more guarded than you appreciate. If she has a reason to keep something to herself, nothing will drag it from her.’
‘You think?’
‘I’m certain.’
His expression changed. ‘Rosie, you are right about Antonia. She is a plotter still.’
She hesitated. He was an eager listener and she was on the brink of saying too much. ‘Most of us women have our secret hopes and plans, if that’s what you mean. Anyway, I was telling you about Kettlesham Heath. It was demanding work — sheer hell sometimes — and we couldn’t afford to make mistakes. Actually Antonia was the most reliable of all the girls on watch. She didn’t get tense. She could talk and joke and keep everyone smiling and never lose her concentration.’
‘She was popular?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Plenty of officers went out with her. It’s all right, she told me this.’ ‘Well, yes.’
‘And you, Rosie? Did you have plenty?’
She allowed herself to smile. ‘I wouldn’t describe it in quite those terms. I wasn’t so popular as Antonia. If I’d been asked I’d have gone out with almost any officer with wings. Any of us would. It was a question of prestige. Good looks and age came a long way after rank. They had to have stripes on their sleeves and the more the better. Funny, isn’t it? There were some good-looking fellows among the sergeant pilots, but to go out with them was slumming. It was the service mentality, I suppose. Silly. I married a wing commander.’ She stopped and lowered her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to mention Barry.
Anyone with a modicum of tact would have moved to another subject. Hector sat up in his seat and leaned on his elbows and gave her a penetrating stare as if nothing interested him so much. ‘Tell me, Rosie, do you miss your husband?’
She frowned. His dark eyes locked with hers and it was almost like being interrogated. She wondered for a petrifying moment if he suspected something. Then with a sense of relief she realized what this was about. How typical of a man, she thought. He thinks I’m on the lookout for someone. How can I possibly convey to him that those stories about freshly widowed women falling for the next man who passes the time of day with them are untrue, quite monstrously untrue?
‘I should never have got married.’
‘You don’t miss him, then?’
‘I’d rather talk about something else.’
‘Won’t you try again?’
‘It’s most unlikely.’
‘You will get lonely.’
‘I don’t suppose I will.’
‘You are very pretty. Some fellow will ask to marry you soon.’
It was a long time since anyone had paid her any kind of compliment. In her situation it was inopportune, but better than an insult. Or an interrogation.
‘Shall we look at the menu again?’
He looked mystified. ‘I spoke something wrong?’
It might have been uncharitable, but she had a suspicion that Hector was overplaying the part of the foreigner baffled by English. He’d lived in America and England for fifteen years or so and must have used the language pretty effectively to earn the money he had.
They decided to have coffee instead of desserts. He offered her a liqueur. She thanked him and said no, adding that she didn’t want to stop him from having one. She smoked a cigarette while he had a brandy. She needed the smoke. She’d staunched the flow of personal remarks, but she felt uneasy. His eyes never left hers. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or if he was planning something.
As they were collecting their coats, he suggested she waited inside the restaurant while he fetched the car, which he’d parked in a side street.
‘That isn’t necessary. I’ll take the tube from here. The meal was delicious. Thank you.’ She thrust her arms into the coat and made a decisive move towards the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Rosie!’ He caught up with her outside and clutched her arm to restrain her. ‘I said I will drive you.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Excuse me, but why not?’
She was flustered, so the words that came out sounded more ungrateful than she intended. ‘You wanted a meal and I came with you out of politeness. Now would you please let go of my arm?’