4

The heat continued and increased. It turned the remaining green of the lawns in Crimea Road into a uniform brown. It turned the sun-lounge at the Rimini into a hot-house. It blistered the backs of Mr Nox’s hands when he sat too long on the tiny flat roof that was one of the attractions of his flat. It ripened the bulging tomatoes in General Sanctuary’s glass-house and it affected Mr Turtle. It warmed his bald head as he sat through an afternoon in the park, and afterwards as his body cooled he shivered and switched on the electric fire. Sir George Ponders watched the blue stripes fade on his front door cover and mentioned the fact to his wife. Mr Swabey-Boyns pulled the blinds down, for of all things he loathed sunlight.

The eight men went their ways, living their lives as they had grown used to living them. They spoke daily of the heatwave, and to a varying degree they remembered that which gave them an interest in common.

‘I shall be glad when the end of the year comes,’ Sir George confessed to Lady Ponders. ‘I have felt undertones of something or other at committee meetings of late. One becomes tired of sitting round a table.’

‘You must not worry. You have done it for longer than the others. And being always in the Chair is now clearly a wearing business.’

‘Jaraby should make a better hand of President than I did. In a way I feel I have failed in this final official position. I have filled so many, it seems a shame.’

‘Mr Jaraby is still full of beans. But he is the kind of man who suddenly snaps in half, like a brittle twig, and then that is that. My dear, you have aged in a more dignified way. Gradual processes are the happier too.’

‘Perhaps so. Certainly Turtle snapped into dotage in an alarming manner. He is like an old, old ghost.’

‘I wish Mr Jaraby would not telephone you quite so often. Is it always necessary?’

‘He is selected to step into my shoes. He imagines we have much to discuss. He has an eye for detail.’

‘I would not like to be married to him.’

‘No. And you are safe in saying it – there cannot be much chance that you will experience that now. It is Turtle I worry about. We must try and entertain him now and again.’

Mr Turtle was ashamed of himself. He was ashamed that he could make no hand of the loneliness that had crept upon him. He was ashamed that he could let his mind wander so, and watch it wander and not care; that he had to ask so often for words to be repeated to him, and had invented a story that he was deaf. When the committee had last met, for instance, it had seemed to Mr Turtle that the men around the table were not at all what they were but Ponders major, Sole, Cridley, Jaraby, Swabey-Boyns, Nox, Sanctuary: the boys they had been, sitting thus to arrange a rugger team or talk some inter-House business. To Mr Turtle they seemed fresh-faced and young, starting out on a life that he had finished with; patiently and kindly waiting for him to find his way from the basement to the room, and not blaming him at all, because they accepted that he should make mistakes.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said the man on the seat in the park. Mr Turtle repeated his question.

‘Oh, it is ten to four,’ said the man, and smiled. Mr Turtle nodded and smiled back. He let a minute or two go by, then he said:

‘What weather!’

The man shook his head, as if to say: ‘It is too much of a good thing.’ It was a large head, its face pink and fleshy, with a small black moustache, and spectacles to which had been added clip-on lenses of shaded glass.

‘I read somewhere,’ said Mr Turtle, poking at the gravel with his stick, ‘that our unreliable weather is due to bombs.’

‘Ah yes, yes.’

‘The flat I live in is not designed for this kind of carry-on. It messes up the food, and the woman who does for me complains. I dare say you have similar problems, sir?’

‘Ah yes. I keep birds. Though originally tropical, they have by now had to become used to the vagaries of these isles. Budgerigars.’

‘Little coloured ones? I have seen them about. In the houses of friends. Cage-birds they’re called.’ It occurred to Mr Turtle that he had forgotten to take his pill after breakfast. He rooted in his waistcoat pocket and finally brought one to light. Fumbling and unsteady, his hands were inefficient. The bones beneath the flesh seemed fragile, as delicate as chalk. ‘My medicine. I cannot offer you a share. Unless you have a heart condition.’

The man shook his head. Mr Turtle said:

‘Birds are interesting.’

‘Ah yes.’ The man’s voice was pitched high, not unlike a bird’s itself.

‘I found them interesting as a child. Their eggs especially. I remember the thrush’s was nice. Is that the greeny one, speckled?’

‘My interest is in the one breed only.’

‘I think it is a speckled one; unless there has since been a change. You will understand, sir, a considerable period has elapsed.’

The man nodded. After a silence he volunteered, rather unexpectedly, that the day was his birthday. ‘I am forty today. Though still young, it is a blow to leave the thirties behind. This is the middle of middle age.’

‘Well, congratulations.’

Abruptly the man spoke with great speed, stumbling over the words: ‘I say, look, I recognize your tie. We attended the same school. Forgive my mentioning it, but I am embarrassed about funds. Now say so at once if I should leave the subject, but could I perhaps prevail upon you – five pounds or less would see me through. I am owed a lot for birds. But you know, I sell a lot to ladies in distressed circumstances. They do not always pay on the nail.’

‘Oh dear, have I misled you? I do not think I could have a bird. The woman who does for me is strict, she would not take to the trouble of an animal about the place. Mrs Strap. She is rather hard to get along with.’

‘Sorry. I meant a loan. I am being hasty, I know, but since we come from the same school – well, it’s a bond – though I have known you but a matter of minutes – five pounds or less would fit the bill – I could pay you back by post or in this park. I would not ask – I can promise you my credit is good – oh, shall I go? Have I embarrassed you?’

‘No, sir, I enjoy a bit of company. The error is mine, I had imagined you were selling me a bird in a cage. I knew I could not manage it, and found myself in an awkwardness. I wished to refuse as politely as I could. Is five pounds sufficient? It will not go far, you know.’

‘Well, seven goes further.’

‘Take seven. That is my school tie I am wearing. Mind you, not the one I wore at school, but the tie of our Association. The Old Boys’ Society, of which I am a committee member.’

‘What I am saying is that I, too, was at the School, though in fact I do not belong to the Association. Three guineas a year is a little beyond the means of a bird-fancier.’

Mr Turtle, having parted with seven pounds and absorbed the facts the man proclaimed, became excited: an acquaintance had become a friend, or, if that was rushing things, there was at least the promise of a future for this chance meeting. He tapped the head of his stick with his left hand, flapping the fingers rapidly. He proffered his right hand for the man to shake, which the other, as pleased as Mr Turtle, promptly did.

‘What a happy coincidence!’ exclaimed Mr Turtle. ‘You must have been there – when?’

‘Nineteen thirty-seven to forty-two.’

‘Well, well. I of course was much earlier. Nineteen-o-six to nineteen-eleven. Burdeyon was Headmaster. And the great H. L. Dowse died in my day.’

‘Were you in Dowse’s?’

‘No, I was with the less illustrious – heavens, I’ve forgotten the man’s name!’

‘I was in Dowse’s. I didn’t much care for those years. I don’t remember much about them even. Not wishing to, I put them from my mind. There was a big brown photograph of Dowse somewhere.’

‘Many of my companions fell in the war. Sanctuary, who was my junior, rose to great heights. He is now a – a general. General Sanctuary, you may have heard of him?’

‘Ah yes.’

‘He too is – is a member of the committee. Was the food always cold at weekends? I remember that well, winter and summer.’

‘Maybe it was. Your memory is better than mine. I seem to see brown, flat sausage rolls on Sundays for tea. I sat next to a radiator in Dining Hall and would put my porridge behind it. I remember that because they beat me for doing it. When they beat me I was sick. I used to vomit in the lavatory.’

‘My name is James Turtle.’

‘Mine is Basil Jaraby. I must go, I fear. I have seed to buy. Due to your kindness my birds shall dine well tonight. If I might have your address I will put the money in the post when, as it were, my ship comes home.’

The man went. Mr Turtle watched the baggy figure move through the quiet park and felt sorry that the occasion had not lasted longer. He should have suggested a cup of tea near by, or issued an invitation for the young man to visit him. He had been preoccupied trying to bring to mind his Housemaster’s name and had allowed the chance to slip. At least he had been firm about the bird, for, though the man was kindly, a bird in a cage would have meant that Mrs Strap would be nasty. He would be obliged to show her his will again, to confirm afresh that he was leaving her a thousand pounds.