including herself, she concluded, which gave a different complexion to the whole matter. It was an accident, she decided; Antonia, I forgive you.
She moved further into the hall. A light was coming from the bathroom, and she looked into that. The floorboards were up, revealing the joists and copper piping below. The sides of the bath enclosure had been removed too, and everything was covered with a layer of dust. She moved away. Dust, or at least dust in such quantities as that, made Domenica’s eyes water –
an allergy with which she had struggled when she had lived in India, where the dust had settled every day, no matter how assid-uously the house servants had swept and polished.
“Domenica?”
She spun round. Antonia had emerged from a door on the other side of the hall and was standing there, her hair slightly ruffled.
178 She Could See the Attraction – It Was the Eyes
“Oh.” It was all that Domenica could manage initially, but then, after a few seconds of hesitation, she added, “I knocked.”
She had not intended to say that, because she had not knocked, but it came out nonetheless.
“I didn’t hear you,” said Antonia. “I was . . . I was busy.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in like this.” She paused. It did not seem to her that Antonia was angry over the intrusion; in fact, it seemed to her that her neighbour looked defensive, as if it was she who had been discovered in the other’s flat.
Domenica continued. “It’s just that I noticed that the plant outside,” she gestured in the direction of the landing. “The plant was damaged. It must have been the workmen. Easily done, of course, with all this stuff being brought in.”
She stopped. A man had appeared in the doorway behind Antonia, a tall man wearing jeans and a checked shirt. He glanced at Domenica, and then looked at Antonia, as if expecting an explanation.
“This is Markus,” said Antonia. “Markus. Domenica.”
The man took a few steps across the hall and shook hands with Domenica. She felt his hand, which was warm, and rough-ened by work.
“Markus is Polish,” said Antonia, straightening her hair with her right hand. “He’s my builder, as you see. We’ve been looking at the plans. That’s why I didn’t hear you.”
Domenica knew immediately that this was a lie, and she knew immediately what had been happening. She was amused. That was why Antonia had been almost defensive at the beginning; she had been caught in the arms of her builder. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that, she thought. One might fall in love with a Polish builder as readily as one might fall in love with anybody else, but it all seemed a bit sudden. Building work had only started a day or two ago; one would have thought that one might wait
. . . what, a week? . . . before one fell in love with the builder.
She turned to Markus. “So, Markus,” she said brightly. “Are you enjoying living in Scotland?”
Markus looked at her gravely. “Brick,” he replied.
She Could See the Attraction – It Was the Eyes 179
“Markus doesn’t have much English yet,” said Antonia. “I’m sure that he’ll be learning it, but at the moment . . .”
Domenica nodded. She turned back towards Markus and, speaking very slowly and articulating each word with great care, she said: “Where are you from in Poland, Markus?”
The builder looked at her again, and Domenica noticed his eyes. She could understand why Antonia had fallen; it was the eyes.
“Brick.”
Domenica turned to Antonia. “Markus says brick a lot, doesn’t he?”
Antonia waved a hand in the air. “It’s all he says,” she answered.
“But then, how many words of Polish do we know? Could we even say brick in Polish?”
Markus now bowed slightly to Domenica. “Poland,” he said.
“Ah yes,” said Domenica. “Poland.”
There followed a silence. Then Markus bowed his head again slightly in Domenica’s direction and walked over to the toolbox from which he extracted an electric drill.
“Well,” said Antonia breezily, “work must get on. How about a cup of tea, Domenica?” She paused, and then added, “Since you’re here.”
Domenica had not intended to stay, but she felt that in the circumstances she could not very well leave, and so she accepted.
They moved through to the kitchen.
“A nice man,” said Domenica.
“Very.”
Domenica waited for Antonia to say something else, but she did not. The electric kettle, switched on without an adequate amount of water inside it, began to hiss in protest. “Will you teach him English, do you think?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” said Antonia. “I suspect that he will prove a quick learner.”
“Well, he’s already learned brick,” said Domenica. “That’s a start.”
“Yes.”
“And the novel?” asked Domenica. “Are you managing to write 180 It Did Not Do to Think About Sex on Heriot Row with all this building going on? Surely it’s a bit difficult to get yourself back into the minds of those Scottish saints of yours while there are electric drills whining away in the background.”
Antonia looked out of the window.
“Their own times were noisy enough,” she said. “I imagine that they had to contend with all the noises that humanity makes when it’s in close proximity with itself. Crying babies. People groaning because they were in pain. That sort of thing. Remember that people didn’t have much domestic room in those days. Our flats would have been considered palaces. They lived in hovels, really.”
She turned and fixed Domenica with a stare – as if in reproach.
54. It Did Not Do to Think About Sex on Heriot Row Domenica felt unsettled when she went out into Scotland Street.
The encounter with Antonia had been unsatisfactory from her point of view: she had entered the flat in a spirit of righteous indignation over the damage to the philodendron. She had expected that Antonia would at least make some attempt at an excuse, even if she did not actually apologise, but none of that had been forthcoming. Indeed, after Domenica had broached the subject, nothing more had been said about the plant, as Markus had appeared in the hall in highly suggestive circumstances. This had completely thrown Domenica; after that, it had been impossible to raise the issue of the plant, which she would now simply have to move into her own flat for a while in protest at her neighbour’s attitude towards its safety. Not that Antonia would necessarily notice, but at least it would be a gesture.
She was not sure how to take Markus. The question of having an affair with somebody with whom one could not communicate in language was an interesting one, and as she walked up Scotland Street, she turned this over in her mind. If one could not say anything to the other, and he could say nothing to you, what remained? All close relationships between people – unless they It Did Not Do to Think About Sex on Heriot Row 181
were purely instrumental – were based on some feeling for the other. That feeling required that one should know something about that person and that one should be able to share experiences. If one could say nothing about the world to one another, then what precisely was the shared experience upon which the relationship was founded? Only the carnal, surely; or could there be spiritual and emotional sharing without language? Human vulnerability, human tenderness – the understanding of these required no words, but could be achieved through gestures, through looking, through mute empathy; a bit boring, though, Domenica thought, once the initial excitement of the physical side of the relationship wore off; if it was to wear off, and sometimes the pulse remained quickened, she understood, for years . . .
But that was another question altogether which she would have to come back to, as she had now reached the corner of Heriot Row, and it did not do to think about sex on Heriot Row.