‘I’ll admit it to you: the whisky has loosened my tongue, Miss Winton. You understand what I mean?’
Miss Winton smiled at Mr Morgan. There was sweat, she noticed, on the sides of his face. He said with vehemence: ‘Ridiculous, the place being photographed. What do they want to do that for, tell me?’
‘Magazines take an interest. It’s a contemporary thing. Mrs Neck was saying that this flat is well-known.’
‘You can’t trust Mrs Neck. I think it’s a terrible place. I wouldn’t be comfortable in a place like this.’
‘Well–’
‘You could report me for saying a thing like that. You could do that, Miss Winton. You could tell them I was intoxicated at twelve o’clock in the day, drinking a tenant’s liquor and abusing the tenant behind his back. D’you see what I mean, madam?’
‘I wouldn’t report you, Mr Morgan. It’s no business of mine.’
‘I’d like to see you up here, madam, getting rid of all this trash and putting in a decent bit of furniture. How’s about that?’
‘Please, Mr Morgan, I’m perfectly happy –’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Mr Morgan.
Bianca returned with glasses and bottles. Mr Morgan said:
‘I was telling Miss Winton here that she could report me to the authorities for misconduct, but she said she never would. We’ve known one another a longish time. We was never drinking together though.’
Bianca handed Miss Winton a glass that felt cold in Miss Winton’s hand. She feared now what Mr Morgan was going to say. He said:
‘I intoxicate easily.’ Mr Morgan laughed, displaying darkened teeth. He swayed back and forth, looking at Miss Winton. ‘I’ll put in a word for you,’ he said, ‘no bother at all.’
She was thinking that she would finish the drink she’d been given and then go away and prepare lunch. She would buy some little present to give Bianca, and she would come up to the Runcas’ flat one morning and hand it to her, thanking her for her hospitality and her thoughtfulness.
While Miss Winton was thinking, that, Mr Morgan was thinking that he intended to drink at least two more of the drinks that the girl was offering, and Bianca was thinking that it was the first friendly morning she had spent in this flat since her arrival three weeks before. ‘I must go to the WC,’ said Mr Morgan, and he left the kitchen, saying he would be back. ‘It’s most kind of you,’ said Miss Winton when he had gone. ‘I do hope it’s all right.’ It had occurred to her that Bianca’s giving people the Runcas’ whisky and gin was rather different from her giving people a cup of coffee, but when she looked at Bianca she saw that she was innocently smiling. She felt light-headed, and smiled herself. She rose from her chair and thanked Bianca again and said that she must be going now. Her dog came to her, wishing to go also. ‘Don’t you like the drink?’ said Bianca, and Miss Winton finished it. She placed the glass on the metal draining-board and as she did so a crash occurred in the Runcas’ large sitting-room. ‘Heavens!’ said Miss Winton, and Bianca raised a hand to her mouth and kept it there. When they entered the room they saw Mr Morgan standing in the centre of it, looking at the floor.
‘Heavens!’ said Miss Winton, and Bianca widened her eyes and still did not take her hand away from her mouth. On the floor lay the flowers that Mrs Runca had earlier arranged. The huge vase was smashed into many pieces. Water was soaking into the Afghanistan carpet.
‘I was looking at it,’ explained Mr Morgan. ‘I was touching a flower with my fingers. The whole thing gave way.’
‘Mrs Runca’s flowers,’ said Bianca. ‘Oh, Mother of God!’
‘Mr Morgan,’ said Miss Winton.
‘Don’t look at me, ma’am. Don’t blame me for an instant. Them flowers was inadequately balanced. Ridiculous.’
Bianca, on her hands and knees, was picking up the broken stalks. She might have been more upset, Miss Winton thought, and she was glad that she was not. Bianca explained that Mrs Runca had stayed away from her boutique specially to arrange the flowers. ‘They’ll give me the sack,’ she said, and instead of weeping she gave a small giggle.
The gravity of the situation struck Miss Winton forcibly. Hearing Bianca’s giggle, Mr Morgan laughed also, and went to the kitchen, where Miss Winton heard him pouring himself some more of the Runcas’ gin. Miss Winton realized then that neither Bianca nor Mr Morgan had any sense of responsibility. Bianca was young and did not know any better; Mr Morgan was partly drunk. The Runcas would return with people from a magazine and they would find that their property had been damaged, that a vase had been broken and that a large damp patch in the centre of their Afghanistan carpet would not look good in the photographs. ‘Let’s have another cocktail,’ said Bianca, throwing down the flowers she had collected and giggling again. ‘Oh, no,’ cried Miss Winton. ‘Please, Bianca. We must think what’s best to do.’ But Bianca was already in the kitchen, and Miss Winton could hear Mr Morgan’s rumbustious laugh.
‘I tell you what,’ said Mr Morgan, coming towards her with a glass in his hand. ‘We’ll say the dog done it. We’ll say the dog jumped at the flowers trying to grip hold of them.’
Miss Winton regarded him with surprise. ‘My dog?’ she said. ‘My dog was nowhere near the flowers.’ Her voice was sharp, the first time it had been so that morning.
Mr Morgan sat down in an armchair, and Miss Winton, about to protest about that also, realized in time that she had, of course, no right to protest at all.
‘We could say,’ said Mr Morgan, ‘that the dog went into a hysterical fit and attacked the flowers. How’s about that?’
‘But that’s not true. It’s not the truth.’
‘I was thinking of me job, madam. And of the young missy’s.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Miss Winton, ‘as you have said, Mr Morgan.’
‘They’ll say what was I doing touching the flowers? They’ll say to the young missy what was happening, was you giving a party? I’ll have to explain the whole thing to the wife.’
‘Your wife?’
‘What was I doing in the Runcas’ flat with the young one? The wife will see through anything.’
‘You were here to mend a water-pipe, Mr Morgan.’
‘What’s the matter with the water-pipes?’
‘Oh really, Mr Morgan. You were repairing a pipe when I came into the flat.’
‘There was nothing the matter with the pipes, ma’am. Nor never has been, which is just the point. The young missy telephones down saying the pipes is making a noise. She’s anxious for company. She likes to engage in a chat.’
‘I shall arrange what flowers we can salvage,’ said Miss Winton, ‘just as neatly as they were arranged before. And we can explain to the Runcas that you came to the flat to mend a pipe and in passing brushed against Mrs Runca’s flowers. The only difficulty is the carpet. The best way to get that damp stain out would be to lift up the carpet and put an electric fire in front of it.’
‘Take it easy,’ said Mr Morgan. ‘Have a drink, Miss Winton.’
‘We must repair the damage –’
‘Listen, madam,’ said Mr Morgan, leaning forward, ‘you and I know what we think of a joint like this. Tricked out like they’ve got it –’
‘It’s a question of personal taste –’
‘Tell them the dog done the damage, Miss Winton, and I’ll see you right. A word in the ear of the authorities and them Runcas will be out on the street in a jiffy. Upsetting the neighbours with noise, bringing the flats into disrepute. I’d say it in court, Miss Winton: I seen naked women going in and out of the penthouse.’
Bianca returned, and Miss Winton repeated to her what she had said already to Mr Morgan about the drying of the carpet. Between them, they moved chairs and tables and lifted the carpet from the floor, draping it across two chairs and placing an electric fire in front of it. Mr Morgan moved to a distant sofa and watched them.