‘Have a drink, Margo?’
Margo said that was a good idea and I squeezed through to the wet counter and floated a ten-shilling note on a pool of beer. When I returned to her Margo said:
‘Tell me straight, what do you think of Nigel?’
Nigel? Playing for time I sipped my beer, wondering why I drank the stuff since I disliked it so much. I said:
‘Oh, I like Nigel.’
‘Do you really?’
‘Well, he’s all right. I mean –’
‘Sometimes, Mike, I think Nigel is the most awful bore.’
I remembered. Nigel was plump and talkative. Nigel would tell you anything you might ever wish to know. When Nigel got going there was, in truth, no stopping Nigel. Nigel was Margo’s husband.
I drank some more beer. It was cold and tasteless. I said nothing.
‘Nigel and I had a barney last night.’
‘Oh God!’
Margo told me about the barney. I listened dejectedly. Then I bought some more drink, and this time I changed mine to whisky. Someone had once told me that Jo had a husband too. Both marriages were considered to be heading for the rocks.
Suddenly Margo stopped about Nigel. She leered at me and said something I didn’t catch. From the next few sentences, I realized she was telling me I’d make a good husband.
‘I suppose I would,’ I said.
‘I’m not in love with you or anything,’ Margo said, swaying.
‘Of course not.’
After the pub we went off to have some lunch. All the way in the taxi I thought about Lucy.
We went to an Italian place in Soho that was too expensive and not particularly good. Swann told us the history of his life and ate only series of cassatas. I found a telephone on the stairs and rang up Lucy.
‘Hullo, Lucy. What are you doing?’
‘What d’you mean, what am I doing? I’m standing here talking to you on the telephone.’
‘I’m getting drunk with people in Soho.’
‘Well, that’s nice for you.’
‘Is it? Wish you were here.’
Lucy would be bored by this. ‘I’ve been reading Adam Bede,’ she said.
‘A good story.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you had lunch?’
‘I couldn’t find anything. I had some chocolate.’
‘I telephoned to see how you were.’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘I wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Oh come off it. It’s just a voice.’
‘Shall I tell you about it?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t know why.’
‘Shall we meet some time?’
‘I’m sure we shall.’
‘I’ll ring you when I’m sober.’
‘Do that. I must get back to Adam Bede.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
I replaced the receiver and stood there looking down the steep stairs. Then I descended them.
‘What on earth shall we do now?’ Swann said. ‘It’s four o’clock.’
‘I want to talk to Mike,’ Margo announced. ‘Nobody’s to listen.’
I sat beside her and she began to speak in a limping whisper. ‘I want your advice about Nigel, Mike.’
‘Honestly, I scarcely know him.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Look, I think there’s something the matter with Nigel.’
I asked her to be specific. Instead she turned her assertion into a question. ‘Mike, do you think there’s something wrong with Nigel?’
‘Well –’
‘Be frank now.’
‘I tell you, I don’t know him. For all I know he may have an artificial stomach.’
‘Nigel hasn’t an artificial stomach, actually.’
‘Good.’
‘I don’t know why you should think that about him. He doesn’t even have trouble with his stomach.’
‘Well, then, what’s the matter with the man?’
‘I think he’s probably mental.’
‘Well, for God’s sake get him attended to, Margo.’
‘You think I should?’
‘Certainly I do. Unless you like his being mental.’
Margo giggled. She said:
‘He’s taken to doing such odd things. I mean, I don’t know where this is going to stop.’
‘Odd things like what?’
‘Like bringing home elderly women. He comes in with these women, explaining that he has been attending some meeting with them and has brought them back for coffee. It’s quite alarming – Nigel with four or five old ladies trailing behind him. They stay for ages. I’ve no idea where he gets them from. I think he imagines he’s being kind.’
‘What does Nigel say?’
‘He says they haven’t finished their meeting. They just sit around writing little notes. Nobody says anything.’
‘I think it’s all very interesting. I’m sure there’s some quite simple explanation. I don’t think you’ve really investigated the matter, Margo.’
‘Let’s leave this place,’ Swann said.
We went to another place, called the Blue Goat. It was one of those clubs where you can drink in the afternoon without having to watch striptease. Margo tried to go on about Nigel, but I said firmly that I didn’t want to hear anything more about Nigel. I talked to Jo.
‘Jo,’ I said, ‘do you know a girl called Lucy Anstruth?’
‘Small, plump, balding a little?’
‘No. Lucy is a very beautiful person.’
‘Not the same girl.’
‘Tall, fair, very blue eyes. Moves like a cat.’
‘Don’t know her.’
‘She says unexpected things. She’s half Swedish or something.’
‘Mike, would you guess I was half Welsh?’
‘No. I want to ask you about Lucy –’
‘But I don’t know her.’
‘I don’t know what to do about Lucy.’
‘You sound like Margo. Margo doesn’t know what to do about Nigel. Nobody knows what to do about anyone else. God! May I have some more vodka?’
‘Yes. As I say –’
‘I want a triple vodka.’
I ordered the vodka. Beside us, Swann and Margo were sitting in preoccupied silence; they weren’t even listening to what we were saying. Margo caught my eye and opened her mouth to speak. I turned my back and handed Jo her drink.
‘Something’s the matter with Margo’s husband,’ Jo said. ‘Poor Margo’s terribly worried.’
‘Yes, I know all about it. Margo has been telling me.’
‘I like Nigel, you know.’
‘Perhaps you can help him straighten himself out. We were talking about something else. I was telling you –’
‘Seems Nigel brings women home.’
‘Yes I know, Jo.’
‘Bit rough on Margo.’
Margo heard this. She shouted: ‘What’s rough on Margo?’ and then the conversation became general. I went away to telephone Lucy.
‘Lucy?’
‘Hullo. Is that Mike?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hullo, Mike.’
‘Hullo, Lucy.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m feeling funny. But Lucy?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m not trying to be funny. I’m not being amusing.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the Blue Goat.’
‘Wherever’s that?’
‘It’s lined with leopard skin. Jo and Margo and Swann are here too.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Just other people.’
‘Nice of you to ring, Mike.’
‘Margo’s husband Nigel brings women home. I wondered perhaps if you had a word of advice I could give her. She’s worried about the women. They come in groups.’
‘Oh, Mike, I don’t know about things like that. I wouldn’t know what to do. Honestly.’
‘Sorry, Lucy; I just thought you might.’
‘The doorbell’s ringing. Goodbye, Mike. If I were you I’d go home.’
Swann said he wanted tea. We left the Blue Goat and walked in dazzling sunshine towards Floris.
Margo began again about Nigel.
Swann said he knew a man who would do Nigel a world of good. He couldn’t remember the treatment this man offered, but he said it was highly thought of.