‘You pick up things like that from the sort of people I’ve mixed with. Where are you living?’
‘Off the Edgware Road.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Not very much.’
‘Monica Paget-Barlow says there’s a flat in Juvenal Court. It’s not altogether an ideal home, but I expect it’s better than what you’ve got. Possibly the two of us could afford it? That is if I could settle on something which brought in money steadily.’
‘I’m perfectly content where I am.’
‘You mean you’ve not yet had time to get round to the idea of living with me?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You don’t feel equal to organizing me?’
‘Not even myself.’
‘I’m sorry, Griselda. I’m not really heartless.’
At a neighbouring table, a child was sick on the floor. It was impossible to believe that so small a vessel could have held so much.
‘I’m unhappy.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m glad to have met you. I need a friend.’
‘I’ve always been fond of you, Griselda. You know that.’ He spoke as if his was a hopeless passion of many years standing.
‘Where are you living now?’
‘Friends house me for odd nights.’
‘Are you looking for a job?’
‘The jobs available are mostly rather hell.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m trying to work up my plastic poses.’
‘Do they help?’
‘It’s an extension of Laban’s teaching. But entirely original.’
Across the room a waitress overturned a tray laden with portions of roast veal. She was a pretty girl and several men began to assist her with the re-assembly. But their efforts were competitive and helped very little.
‘Now that I’ve met you I think I’ll close with General Pampero.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘The Liberator of Orinoco. He spent most of his life in exile: naturally in London. The Orinocan Government have just bought the house he lived in. They want someone to curate. Very few Orinocans are allowed out of the country. I know a girl who works in the Embassy. She claimed I was a D.Litt. and got me the offer.’
‘Where’s the house?’
‘Somewhere the other side of Mecklenburgh Square. Quite a healthy neighbourhood.’
‘Why haven’t you moved in already?’
‘I’m afraid of acquiring roots.’
‘You had roots in Hodley.’
Kynaston stopped eating and looked into Griselda’s eyes.
‘Griselda, I suppose you wouldn’t marry me?’
‘I’m in love with someone else.’
‘In love?’
‘Certainly.’
He continued to gaze at her.
‘I’m in love with you.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Of course I’m in love with you,’ he said with faint irritation. ‘You’re unique.’
Griselda said nothing.
‘Let’s stick to realities. Is there any future to this other business?’
Griselda still said nothing.
‘I mean we’ve both made pretty good messes of our lives so far. I think we should cut our losses.’
‘I’m in love with someone else, Geoffrey.’
‘I have an intensely devoted nature. I could make you happy.’
‘Are you happy yourself?’
‘You could make me.’
‘I expect most married couples have exactly those expectations of each other.’
‘They’re perfectly reasonable expectations. People aren’t designed to be happy in isolation like sentries in boxes.’
He seemed startlingly in earnest.
‘What about Doris?’
‘I’m very fond of little Doris but I don’t want to marry her. Besides, as I told you, she’s got TB.’
‘Does she want to marry you?’
‘She can’t marry anyone. She’s very ill. I can only see her once a week.’
‘You do still see her?’
‘Of course, I do. I’m very fond of her. I’m not a monster.’
‘I’d like to see her some time.’
‘I don’t think you’ve much in common. But you can if you want to.’
‘I suppose we haven’t really.’
‘I am glad you can see it. It’ll save a lot of nervous tension and train fares. Will you come and look at this flat in Juvenal Court?’
‘Won’t you live where you work?’
‘The Orinocans have sublet most of the house. The General’s relics hardly fill two rooms. There’ll be an Orinocan Enquiry Bureau in a third room. That’s me too. An Orinocan trading concern have got the rest. But I can’t afford Juvenal Court without you. It’s quite amusing. Friends of mine live in the other flats. Come and see it this evening. The flat won’t stay empty for ever. I’ll call for you.’
‘Geoffrey,’ said Griselda. ‘I must make it plain to you that the chance of my marrying you is entirely and absolutely nil.’
XX
But when the shop shut, Kynaston was lurking outside.
‘After all, I’ve nowhere else to go,’ he said.
He even assisted Mr Tamburlane to put up the shutters: so that Griselda had to introduce him. Though he was reasonably good-looking by modern male standards, his clothes appeared as inappropriate as in Fullers.
Mr Tamburlane seemed unperturbed. After they had stood about on the pavement outside the shop mumbling disconnected generalities, he said: ‘I wonder if the two of you would care to join me in a small repast? I usually go to Underwoods. They know my ways.’ It was the first such invitation Griselda had received from him.
Kynaston immediately accepted for himself and Griselda. They proceeded on foot to a restaurant near the Charing Cross Road. Mr Tamburlane, although the hysteria of the evening rush hour was at its height, and tired workers were flickering and zigzagging across the pavement like interweaving lightning, walked slowly and contemplatively, his eyes directed upwards to a group of swallows swirling after flies, his expression that favoured in coloured representations of the Blessed St Francis.
‘Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow,’ quoted Mr Tamburlane, gazing upwards in a warm and gentle rapture, as the trio clove a passage through the toilers frenzied for the consolations of home.
‘Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow,
Though all things feast in the spring’s guest-
chamber.
How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet?
For where thou fliest I shall not follow,
Till life forget and death remember.
Till thou remember and I forget.’
‘There is no felicity,’ he continued, as they stood outside Swan and Edgars, waiting to cross the road, ‘exceeding that which can ensure upon utter disregard of the consanguineous prohibitions.’
Underwoods claimed to combine the tradition of the English chop-house with that of the cosmopolitan restaurant-de-luxe. The tables were set in dark mahogany boxes, but there were attractive red-shaded lights, and the benches had been ameliorated with padded upholstery. The tablecloths were very white, the cutlery very glittering, and the menu cards large as barristers’ briefs. There were dimly illuminated portaits of Daniel Mendoza and the Boy Roscius. There was a greeny-grey skull in a glass case bearing a silver plaque inscribed with the names ‘William Corder’ in pleasantly extravagant Gothic script. Griselda thought it might well prove the most agreeable restaurant she had so far visited.
Mr Tamburlane seemed to be exceedingly well known, both to the staff and to many of the other customers. Preceded by the head waiter, whom he had greeted with a quiet ‘Good evening, Andrews,’ he advanced between the lines of boxes, frequently acknowledging greetings. Griselda, following him, attracted almost as much interest; and Kynaston came last, looking more unsuitably dressed than ever. There were an unusual number of men in the restaurant; and few of the women but looked exceedingly striking. Under-waiters with long white aprons darted about like trolls.