As the first heroic flush of her blitzkrieg passed, she began to grow rather uncomfortable. Merlin continued to stare at her in amazement. Suddenly he started to laugh. His shoulders shook and tears began pouring from his eyes. After a while, it became clear to Agnes that he was actually crying.
‘I think we’d better leave,’ he gasped.
They waded through the suddenly heavy silence in the café and stumbled out into the rain on Upper Street. Tall buses sped by in ebullient sprays of water. Agnes walked as close to Merlin as she dared without actually touching him. He had stopped crying and in fact seemed quite cheerful.
‘Never in my life,’ she announced as they approached Highbury Corner. ‘Never in my life have I made someone cry.’
This was almost a lie. John had once cried like a crocodile for her — over something she’d conveniently done when he’d already decided to leave her, which action his tears consequently justified — but that didn’t count.
‘Look!’ he had said, pointing to a single drop which crawled down his cheek like a snail, leaving a silvery mark. ‘Look what you’ve done — you’ve made me cry!’
He had seemed rather proud of it, and Agnes had not had the heart to suggest that this effusion might be owing to that summer’s exceptional pollen-count, rather than her own cruelty.
‘Well, I was laughing, really,’ Merlin confessed. ‘But it sort of metamorphosed.’
Agnes decided this was probably not the time to take issue with the laughter, certain as she was that in this case she really had precipitated it, and furthermore that she had done so for reasons which were looking less favourable from her own point of view with every passing moment.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I suppose I was rather excessive.’
Merlin laughed.
‘Yes, I had noticed a certain — what shall we say? — a certain defensiveness in your manner these days. Do I take it that the aforementioned hallowed sex are not your favourite gender at the moment?’
‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘And can you blame me?’
‘I suppose not. I’m just being selfish. I like you the way you are — I don’t want you to go changing on me. You were going to be my comfort in old age.’ He took out a tissue and blew his nose. ‘But apart from that minor consideration, you’re free to wield your spear anywhere you want. You didn’t really make me cry, anyway. I’ve got other things on my mind.’
‘Oh,’ said Agnes, trying not to feel offended. ‘So what’s wrong, then?’
‘Woman trouble, I suppose.’
They crossed the road and turned into Highbury Fields. Dark trees dripped heavily around them and the rain grew misty over the grass. Agnes didn’t like the thought of Merlin having woman trouble. It wasn’t the sort of trouble he was supposed to have.
‘So who’s the woman?’
‘What? Oh, my boss, actually.’
‘Your boss? I didn’t know your boss was a woman. That’s really interesting.’
‘Agnes, this is hardly the time for a feminist corporate headcount. I’m trying to bare my soul here.’
‘Sorry. God, Merlin, you’re in love with your boss. How did it happen? Did it just sort of creep up on you?’
‘She did sort of creep up on me, yes. You could say that.’ He pursed his lips into a grim smile and dug his hands in his pockets. ‘But just for the record, I’m not in love with her. She’s in love with me.’
‘What?’
He laughed.
‘Do I have to be pretty and submissive, et cetera, et cetera—’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Well, surely it’s not that hard to believe, is it?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Agnes, wondering if he might just be imagining it. ‘But what form exactly does this — ah — love take?’
‘A good question,’ said Merlin. ‘She’s using it as a power thing, actually. That’s why I’ve been working so late recently. She invents all this work for me, really stupid stuff. She makes me run errands for her just as I’m about to go home. It’s not my job, but it’s all legitimate work, so there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘But mightn’t she just be a slave driver?’
‘You mean, am I just flattering myself? Give me some credit, Agnes. You’ll be asking me if I dress provocatively to go to work next.’
‘I was only trying to help! I just thought it might not be as serious as you think.’
‘It’s bloody sexual harassment is what it is. She puts her hand on my leg every time I go near her desk, for God’s sake.’
‘Well, in that case you can take her to court.’
‘Who’d believe me? You hardly do. Anyway, I’d lose my job, and I can’t afford to right now. God, it’s such bloody poetic justice that this should happen to me!’ He looked up at the darkening sky, blinking and gasping like a fish. ‘Why me? I’m a feminist!’
‘Maybe it’s a sign,’ said Agnes, attempting levity. ‘Maybe your tribe are calling you back.’
‘Maybe.’ He laughed. ‘I shall cultivate the wild man within. Do you know, I could buy an Oriental wife if I wanted one? The perfect wild man accessory.’
‘Where from?’
‘An agency. I saw it in the personals, it’s called “Thai the Knot”. Isn’t that sick?’
‘That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting, in fact, for looking in the personals.’
‘Boys are meant to be disgusting. Girls, on the other hand, must be innocent and pure. I do it all the time, actually. I saw one today which said “Emma Woodhouse desperately seeks Mr Knightley”.’
‘And were you tempted?’
‘No. In fact, it really annoyed me. People are so illiterately romantic these days. Mr Knightley wouldn’t look in the personal columns, for heaven’s sake. The whole point of him is that he’s already there. Women have got some very peculiar ideas. They want to get laid, but they want it to look like Jane Austen.’
Agnes stared at him. They continued walking and she shook her head. Merlin certainly was behaving rather oddly, although this often happened to people, in her experience. One brush with the rudiments of love and they became card-carrying experts on the opposite sex.
‘Where are the proofs for the restaurant section?’ asked Agnes.
‘Sorry, dear,’ said Jean after a lengthy hiatus. ‘I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?’
Greta came into the office and sat down leadenly at her desk. Her eyes were wide and filmy, like a sleepwalker’s.
‘Proofs,’ repeated Agnes. ‘Restaurant section. This week’s issue. Remember?’
‘Someone called,’ interjected Greta, appearing to wake up. ‘There was a call for you earlier, Jean. Some guy.’
‘Who?’ Jean suddenly became mysteriously alert. ‘Who was it? A man, you say?’
‘Yup.’ Greta grinned slyly. ‘He did mention his name, but I forget what it was.’
‘Well, how did he sound?’
‘He sounded kind of — dignified.’
‘Was it a deep voice?’ persisted Jean. ‘Deep and well-spoken, with a slight lisp? A very charming lisp, actually. You’d hardly notice it.’
‘Yup.’ Greta nodded. ‘Sounds like ole Dignified.’
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ said Jean, dashing for the door. ‘I’m just going to my office.’
‘That woman kills me,’ said Greta, yawning. ‘She’s such a card.’
Agnes slammed into the house in a state of considerable distemper. She had been forced by the nonchalance with which the editorial department was approaching its deadline to stay late in the office, working alone while the cleaners emptied bins and vacuumed floors around her. Watching them sanitise the unsavoury detritus of her day she had been besieged by feelings of shame and guilt, and had attempted to engage them in pleasantries. Not beguiled by her condescension, however, they had roundly rebuffed her overtures and left her feeling that a mysterious exchange of power had taken place, the precise manoeuvres of which she was not able to fathom.