As the words came from my lips I felt that they had nothing to do with me. And they hadn't: a part of me felt a great tenderness for her - she was as trustful as a baby - but the most important part of me was continuing the operation according to plan.
She kissed my hand. "They're beautiful. Square and strong."
"They're wicked hands. When they're with Susan they always want to go where they've no business to be."
"Oh, wicked Joe. Wicked hands. So warm too, warm as hot muffins. Oh, you are wonderful, you're the wonderfullest man in the whole world. Do you know, you're not queer a little bit? Most men are like that."
"Not like me."
"Silly billy, of course like you. Now you make me feel awfully old."
Her hands were icy. "We'd better go," I said. "You're cold."
" Not cold," she said. "Never cold with Joekins."
"Dearest Susan," I said. "I'll always keep you warm. But it isn't summer yet, you know."
"I'm not cold, so there."
"Don't argue. Or I'll beat you black and blue."
"I'd like that."
I helped her up to her feet. She put her cheek against mine, standing on her toes. "Joe, do you really love me?"
"You know I do."
"How much?"
"A hundred thousand pounds' worth," I said. "A hundred thousand pounds' worth."
17
Hoylake showed all his dentures in a dazzling smile. "Sit down, won't you, Joe? Cigarette?"
The slight unease which had accompanied me into his office evaporated; obviously he hadn't found out about me and Alice. I had been a little scared of that; local government officials are by no means free to behave as they like in their spare time. There's always the shadow of the Town Hall looming over one; I've known of married officials who've been told either to stop committing adultery or give in their notice. However, I didn't seriously consider the possibility of anything unpleasant happening that morning; I was in far too happy a mood, good fortune seemed to be following me like a huge affectionate dog. I'd been going out with Susan about a month now, and the memory of what had happened last night when baby-sitting at the Storrs' still left a haze of pleasure over my common sense - a world that could hold such pleasure, I reasoned, couldn't possibly be unkind to me in the slightest way.
"It's a miserable day," I said.
Hoylake stopped doodling on his blotter and looked through the window. The sound of the rain filled the room, a sort of rhythmic silence. "The valley's a raintrap," he said. He shuffled the papers on his desk in an undecided yet intent kind of way, as if there were some way of arranging them which would say all he had to say for him. "You've picked up the work here very quickly," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
"Six months now, isn't it?"
"That's right," I said, wondering what the devil he was trying to say.
June came in with a cup of tea. "Ah," he said, "welcome refreshment. Bring Mr. Lampton one, will you, dear?" He sipped his tea as if it tasted bitter. June came in with my own cup, a blue and white Worcester. "That's a very pretty cup," he said. "Does June especially like you?"
"It belongs to me."
"Ah. Quite the sybarite, aren't you?" He put out his cigarette and lit another. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I'll give you a little autobiography, Joe. I was born here in Warley. I've lived here all my life. So have all my family. I married a local girl, and I must say that I've never regretted it. I know Warley like the palm of my hand. In fact, much better, because I don't know the palm of my hand. And I know all the councillors. Especially Councillor Brown. We went to school together."
He paused. The haze in my mind cleared suddenly, and my heart started to pound uncomfortably.
"You've done remarkably well here, Joe. And I'm most gratified to see that you're acquiring the qualifications to do even better. There's plenty of room for promotion here, you know. People rarely stay for long in Warley. They move on to bigger places. They receive more salary, but it costs them far more to live; they generally are presented with the alternative of living either in a scruffy back street or an expensive suburb. It's much more agreeable here - you can live next door to your work and still be, as it were, in the country. You like it here, don't you?"
"Very much."
"Ah. You're a sensible young man." He cleared his throat again. "It's highly likely that you may resent what I'm going to say now. In a sense you're entitled to."
Now it comes, I thought. I kept my face still and expressionless.
"What you do in your spare time is your own business, Joe. Within limits, of course, and I needn't tell you what those limits are."
"Have there been any complaints?"
He lifted up his hand as if warding off attack. "I don't mean that at all, Joe. For heaven's sake don't misunderstand me. Whatever the limits of - of decorum - are, you haven't, I do assure you, transgressed them."
"What's wrong, then?" I looked at him angrily, but his eyes refused to meet mine; the two holes in his skull behind his spectacles were directed at me but I had the impression that his real eyes were somewhere else, scampering round the dark cramped office like mice.
"I'm going to tell you what is wrong. Not that there is, properly speaking anything wrong. Let me put it this way: I'm giving you some advice about living in Warley. I'm speaking as man to man. For your benefit. And because I'm your superior" - he treated me to one of his apologetic twinkles - "you have to listen to the old bore. Well. To continue, you have, I'm sure, some notion of the workings of local government. The most important cog in the machine is, theoretically, the councillor. In practice, however, it is the senior official who runs the show. The councillor can be removed from his post; the official, unless he is dishonest, unbelievably dissolute, or incompetent to the point of idiocy, is abolutely secure. No one can touch him if he does his work properly. If he does his work as well as you do, Joe, no one will attempt to touch him. For their own sakes, not just for his."
The phone rang. "Excuse me, Joe. Hoylake speaking. Yes. Yes. Of course. In about fifteen minutes. I'm engaged now. I'll ring you back. Goodbye." He turned back to me. "As I was saying, for their own sakes. The official is quite safe. But that is all. Promotion is another thing. Promotion, whatever the head of a department may recommend, is dependent upon the majority vote of the Establishments Committee. Then the full council. And, you know, councillors are like sheep. If one powerful personality declares himself unalterably opposed to an official's promotion, the majority will follow him. They'd follow him to curry favour, or because they're indebted to him in some way, or simply because they feel that, since the wise Councillor So-and-So is against the man, there must be something wrong with him. And, of course, there's always the last resort of offering some solid inducement to anyone likely to upset the plans of our hypothetical councillor ..."
"You mean that Councillor Brown - "
He cut in quickly. "I mean nothing of the sort. I'm not discussing Councillor Brown. I said that we went to school together and that I had more than a casual acquaintanceship with him. The only connection you have with Councillor Brown is that you meet him at your interview and that you've met him here once or twice."
"I remember him. A cheerful type. Overplays the part of the blunt Yorkshire businessman, rather."
Hoylake tittered. "Between ourselves, he does. But he's no fool. He rose from nothing, absolutely nothing. I have talked about you with him on several occasions. I said that you were a very promising young man. Highly intelligent. Intelligent enough to seize the point straightaway without any wearisome emotionalism." He offered me another cigarette. I noticed that his case was silver.