Though Barbara had laid it down as axiomatic that I would not, or could not, get married, she and Harry introduced me from time to time to fresh girls. I was never sure what, if one of them caught my attention, I was supposed to do – I sometimes knew what I wanted to do, but that, of course, was a different matter. I usually met fresh girls when she and Harry gave a party.
Harry and Barbara gave excellent parties. Their drawing-room was big enough to dance in; there was plenty of drink; and the guests covered a wide and entertaining range of society. Their ‘party of the year’ was on New Year’s Eve, when they invited, so they said, everyone they knew, irrespective of social status. Certainly the range in social status of the people who turned up was wide enough to make this explanation seem plausible. There were people from the M.R.C. of rank both some distance above and well below Harry’s; there were distinguished doctors and probationer nurses, professors and laboratory assistants; and a smattering of people connected with the arts – a painter or two, two or three writers, and some journalists. Also there was a collection of persons whose profession was not clearly defined, to say the least of it. I used to look forward to New Year’s Eve at Harry’s.
I had not told Harry and Barbara about my new source of hope. The concept of changing one’s fate by an act of will – especially when it referred to my fate not to get married being changed by an act of my will, such as it was – was not likely to impress Barbara. I was not certain how much it impressed me. I felt cautious about it. I contemplated my will, such as it was.
Before I went to the party I had been seeing off Sybil at Euston. As well as coming to London, for a few days before Christmas, she had managed to fit in a few days after. Barbara had asked me if I would like to bring her to the party.
‘She’s planned to go home,’ I said, hoping to dismiss the idea.
‘Surely some plans are made to be broken?’ said Barbara.
‘They form a small category, compared with that of plans that are meant to be kept.’
Barbara gave me a sidelong penetrating look. ‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘Come alone!’
As that was what I had always intended to do, I felt I might now relax to the extent of assuming a mournful expression.
‘Always alone …’ I murmured, as if I were speaking to myself and not to her.
And yet, when I sat in the bar at Euston after Sybil had gone, I felt genuinely mournful. The recurring pattern had just recurred.
‘A Guinness, please,’ I said.
If I stopped the pattern, in its most immediate sense, recurring, I was not going to see Sybil again. Sybil sitting in buses trying to distinguish male passers-by from female; Sybil standing at bus-stops clutching her beaver-lamb coat round her; Sybil lying quietly on her back reciting soliloquies, long soliloquies, from the plays of Shakespeare … all over, all gone.
I have to say here and now that it never for one moment occurred to me that, if I did get married, it need not necessarily be all over, all gone. To men who did not take getting married seriously, to men who could get married at the drop of a hat, it might have, it would have, appeared differently. Not so to me. I took getting married very seriously indeed. Few men could have taken it more seriously than I intended to take it.
‘And a ham sandwich,’ I said, thinking that if I were going to drink a lot at the party it would be well to have food inside me at the start.
‘The recurring pattern …’ I said to myself, lifting the glass of Guinness to my mouth. ‘Can I break it?’
By the time the waitress brought me the ham sandwich I was shaking my head even more mournfully. I was back again at the contemplation of my will. It’s going to take a long time, I was thinking. A long, long time. There was not a soul, probably not even Robert, who believed I could do it. I ate the sandwich.
All the same, however long it was going to take me to break the recurring pattern, I decided to go home before the party and spruce myself up. There was no need to let everybody know that life had got me down. I put on my newest suit, and a bow tie to indicate that I was more of an artist than a civil servant. Then I walked briskly, if not hopefully, from the block of flats where I lived to Harry’s Edwardian mansion.
It was a warm and drizzly New Year’s Eve that year, and every so often the overhanging ornamental trees in people’s front gardens let fall large drops of accumulated rainwater, plop among the specks of drizzle, on my head. Lights were shining from almost every window of Harry’s house, and as I walked up the drive I could hear the sound of dance-music. There was a clutter of cars in the roadway and drive, and I noticed some bicycles propped against the large cast-iron dog, a greyhound I think it was, which stood heraldically beside the front door.
The eldest of Harry’s children, a boy of nine looking extraordinarily pleased with himself at being allowed up so late, took my coat from me and pointed out to me where his mother was. Already cheered up by the party atmosphere, I kissed Barbara.
‘You look very nice,’ I said. She had altered the way in which her hair was done. Instead of being severely swept up at the sides it hung softly and loosely over her ears. Her skin glowed with high colour, and the confidence in her clear hazel eyes was masked by excitement. Active, strong-minded, and knowing, Barbara nevertheless had a girlish love of giving parties.
‘You do look nice,’ I said. Then I felt the rush of air that preceded Harry’s whirling up to join us.
‘Come along inside!’ he said in a high hallooing voice, while mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘We’ve got some pretty girls for you.’
It crossed my mind that, faithful and respectable husband though Harry might be, the pretty girls were perhaps not invited for the delectation of only his guests.
‘We want you to dance,’ said Barbara. ‘We’ve collected a lot more records for tonight, jivey ones.’
‘Why, how did you know? Jive is my second favourite activity.’ I thought it was a very old quip.
Barbara gave me a satisfied look. ‘I see the connexion!’ she said.
I went first of all to the room where they had rigged up a small bar and helped myself to a drink. The room was crowded. Standing just inside the door, where I had missed him when I came in, was Robert, talking to a man who I saw was Harry’s M.R.C. boss. I caught Robert’s eye and waved to him. Then, having emptied my glass, I had it filled up again and pushed my way through the drinkers to the drawing-room.
Barbara’s description of the records was apt enough. As I reached the door I heard a stirring performance of the ‘Chicken Reel’ coming out of the radiogram. I supposed that although the record happened to have been made a long time ago, it was Barbara’s interest in the ‘contemporary’ that had led her to get it for a party like this. True, in one corner of the room a couple of young men with their hair done in cow-licks – I took them to be lab-assistants – were jiving with their girls: but the rest of the floor was occupied by persons of higher social status indomitably doing the dance they did on all occasions, a sort of walk.
I put down my glass on the nearest ledge and looked round for a partner. Somebody had got to show the flag for persons of higher social status. There was a girl standing quite close to me, watching the dancers while a heavy-jowled man beside her appeared to be advancing the fact that he did not dance as a reason for surreptitiously groping round her waist. I did not blame him. She was dark-haired and comely. Nor did I see why I should not stop him instantly.
‘Why don’t you dance?’ I said to her.
She gave me a surprised half-glance and then laughed.
‘Why not?’ she said. With a twist she was out of his reach and lifting her hand for me to take hold of. ‘I’ve been wanting to …’
She had a pale complexion and she was dressed in a rosy, coral colour. I wondered, somewhat late in the day, if she could dance.
‘Let’s go over there,’ I said, and led her over to where we could congregate with the lab-assistants and their partners.
It was all right – she could dance. A bit too quick on the lead, I thought, but that did not matter: it showed she was anxious to please. I was not looking at her most of the time we danced, because I had been given to understand that in this sort of dance one was supposed to appear abstracted and independent, if not actually schizophrenic. Of course I did glance at her now and then. I was puzzled: she seemed easy-going and relaxed, and yet she was too quick on the lead. How could that be?
The record ended. Before anyone else could forestall him, one of the lab-assistants, both knowing and determined, turned the record over. On the other side was the ‘Dark-town Strutters’ Ball’.
‘Wonderful!’ I said to my partner. ‘Now we’ll really get hep!’
And we did. Her glowing dress spun out this way and that; her short dark hair flopped over her forehead.
‘Now!’ I cried, flicking her right hand downward behind her waist and catching it on the other side – giving it a spiral tug upwards could send her spinning twice without having to be let go. It would have sent her spinning twice without having to be let go, had she not suddenly staggered.
‘Oh!’ she cried.
She was nearly on the floor before I managed to grasp her. I lifted her. As her head came slowly upwards we looked each other in the face, close to, for the first time. I saw grey eyes, brilliantly sparkling, looking into mine, long red lips twitching up at the corners in chagrined laughter –
I could go on with the description, but I cannot wait to come to the point. We were looking each other in the face, close to, for the first time. I thought:
This one’s the right one for me.
Those were the words. I am sorry, but I just did not think anything else. I can see it was a moment that ought to have brought out the highest poetry in me. Grey eyes sparkling, a beautiful mouth, loose dark hair over her forehead, her body panting against mine as I hauled her up from having let her drop on the floor. Oh! the poetry that ought to have surged through me. What did surge through me?
This one’s the right one for me.
Oh! the echoes, if it comes to that, of chapel jokes in my youth about ‘waiting for Miss Right to come along’.
The girl said: ‘I think one of my heels must have come loose.’
‘Oh,’ said I.
Was it love at first sight? Certainly it was at first sight. But love? Love, love, love … Did I hear nightingales singing, waves crashing, bells tinkling, winds blowing? … I cannot say that I did. I just heard one of the flattest sets of words I had ever come across, at regular intervals.
This one’s the right one for me.
Her glance went swiftly round the room, and then came back to me. She did not say anything. Laughing made two lines, like brackets round her mouth, flash into existence and out again. The flat set of words might have been signalled to and fro between us – was she thinking I was the right one for her?
‘I don’t know your name,’ I said.
‘It’s Elspeth.’
I said: ‘Mine’s Joe.’
To my surprise, she blushed. I said:
‘We ought to get somebody to introduce us to each other.’ I straightened my tie. ‘I’m all for the proprieties.’
‘I’m sure we can get somebody to introduce us,’ she said. ‘If you like.’
We were standing at the edge of the dance-floor, and just then the ‘Dark-town Strutters’ Ball’ stopped. A whirling gust of air caught us.
‘What are you two doing?’ We turned to find Harry’s inquisitive eyes moving shrewdly from one of us to the other.
I said we were looking for somebody to introduce us. A look of great cunning came over Harry’s face.
‘I’ll introduce you,’ he said.
I thought: He’s guessed! Harry’s curiosity was insatiable, but that was not to say it was always wildly off the truth.
‘Are you,’ I said to Elspeth while we were being introduced, ‘by any chance Scottish?’
‘No. I’m English.’
Harry was not in the least affected by this attempt at diversion. ‘I think you two ought to come and tell Barbara you’ve met.’ He said to me: ‘Elspeth is one of Barbara’s friends.’
I looked momentarily at Elspeth with fresh eyes. She seemed unconcerned by the revelation. Perhaps, I thought, it might be all right – I did not know what had made me think I might be in for some opposition from Barbara.
I said: ‘Didn’t Barbara mean us to meet?’
Harry burst into laughter. ‘Of course. That’s what we invited her for.’
Elspeth turned on him. ‘Really!’ She was blushing again.
I said to her: ‘Don’t worry!’
She said to me: ‘I’m not, really.’
Harry led us through the doorway into the hall. There we came straight upon Barbara and her mother, who must have been keeping an eye on the dancing.
‘What happened?’ Barbara asked Elspeth.
‘We saw you enjoying yourself,’ her mother said to me.
Barbara’s mother looked like Barbara, only, like many mothers in comparison with their daughters, more so. Her jaw was longer and squarer than Barbara’s, her complexion so much higher in colour that it looked permanently weather-beaten. The look of confidence in her eyes was opaque. Battle-axe, I thought. She said:
‘It’s the first time I’ve seen that kind of dancing.’
Her smile told me instantly that she had viewed my performance not as showing the flag for persons of a higher social status but as abandoning it to join persons of a lower social status. How could I make her see the truth? At that moment I caught sight of myself in a big looking-glass on the wall behind her – a smart chap, in a bow tie, grinning. How indeed?
Barbara said to me: ‘We’re going up to my room to see if we can find a pair of my shoes that will fit Elspeth.’
I said: ‘But aren’t all your shoes the same size?’ I had forgotten that in the romantic hope of making their feet look smaller or smarter or both, women buy shoes of all shapes and sizes.
Elspeth and Barbara exchanged feminine smiles instead of replying to me.
Anyway, I thought, watching Elspeth go up, she would have to come down. I could afford to wait. The fact of which I was convinced was not one that could alter with time.
For want of something to do, I turned to Harry and inquired who the man over there with the heavy jowls was.
‘That’s Barbara’s bookmaker,’ he said triumphantly, and went away.
The man was now standing next to a fair-haired girl, leaning over her shoulder and quietly putting his hand on her waist. His jowls looked heavier than ever.
I was going to point him out to Barbara’s mother, but found that she had gone. I saw Robert coming out of the room where the bar was: with him still was Harry’s boss. He called to me.
‘Joe, will you come over here?’
Harry’s boss and I shook hands. I reminded myself of the rule Robert had formulated for me to obey when I met bosses.
‘We’ve been having an interesting discussion,’ Harry’s boss said. He was about my height, a tough, muscular little man with a leathery, grey face and a croaking voice: he used to make Robert and me think of a shark. We liked him. In the strictest privacy we used to call him The Shark.
I nodded my head. Robert’s rule was for my self-preservation.
‘Very interesting indeed,’ said Robert.
I nodded my head the other way. The rule was, of course, to try not to say anything.
Robert began to say: ‘It was about –’
‘I was telling Robert,’ said Harry’s boss, not being the man to let anyone else speak for him, ‘that you chaps are more fortunate than we are in getting supplies of people to do research.’ He stared at me, showing his teeth slightly – just like a shark.
I tried wagging my head this time.
Harry’s boss gave Robert a glance, as much as to say, ‘Is your friend dumb?’ and continued, undismayed by my handicap, with his exposition.
‘You’ll hear it said that our present budget is too small, that the country ought to be spending more than three and a half millions on medical research. So it ought. But if we had more money we should scarcely know what to do with it. We’ve got plenty of problems we should like investigated, but chaps of the right quality to investigate them don’t exist.’ He aimed a question mid-way between me and Robert. ‘How would you cope with that one? I should like to hear what you’d say.’
I said nothing. I thought Robert must be pleased with me.
Robert began: ‘Lunn and I took steps some years ago to ensure that bigger supplies of research people were made.’
Lunn and I! He really was pleased with me. He really must think I was increasing my reputation with The Shark.
I was so encouraged that from then on I never looked back. Until Harry’s boss shook hands again – ‘That was a very interesting discussion!’ – I did not utter. As we separated Robert gave me a frankly congratulatory look.
Within five seconds of our actually having separated, Harry was at my elbow. A honeyed voice said close to my ear:
‘The Shark’s in good form, tonight, isn’t he?’
I caught a bright sideways glance coming past Harry’s snub nose and said nothing.
‘You know he’s going to put in for another half million on our budget?’
I could not help it – I burst into laughter.
Harry looked hurt. For a moment instead of whirling he seemed to be quite stationary. Then he picked up.
‘I must go and find Barbara’s mother,’ he said busily.
I stayed where I was. In a little while I saw Elspeth looking in the crowd for me. I called to her. When she joined me I said: ‘Let’s go and have a drink!’
‘I think I’ve had enough already.’
‘Let’s dance, then! Will you be all right?’
‘If we don’t do anything too sudden.’
‘Nothing easier.’
I took her on to the dance-floor. The lab-assistant had been deposed from his charge of the gramophone, and low soothing music was coming from it now. A voice crooned.
You are
The breathless hush of springtime …
‘Suits me,’ I murmured.
Elspeth did not hear.
We did a gentle circuit of the room, quarter turns all the way. ‘Did you know that man was Barbara’s bookmaker?’ I said.
‘No. I’d only just met him. Thank you for rescuing me.’
I had rescued her. I brushed my cheek against her hair.
‘What a romantic beginning!’ I murmured, this time loudly enough for her to hear.
As I went on brushing my cheek against her hair, I was unable to see her expression. You cannot have everything.
You are the angel-glow, crooned the voice, taking a more improbable flight,
That lights a star …
This one, I thought, is the one for me. Just that. Why try to think about anything else?
I had never felt like this in my life before. I had fallen in love before; I had fallen, I have to admit, into bed; I had fallen into ecstasy; and, my goodness, I had fallen into error. But I saw all of these things now as things else. In the conviction that this one was the right one for me, I had the feeling, quite new, that I had this time cut all the cackle and come straight to one single, stark, wonderful hoss. It was a traumatic experience, traumatically satisfying. I could have gone on doing the quarter turns all night. Elspeth said:
‘You don’t really have to be quite so un-sudden as this …’
I dutifully swung into a running turn, which ran us backwards into another couple.
And now that moment divine, crooned the voice, brought to the foreseeable misfortune contingent upon apostrophizing one’s love with an inventory, namely having to wind it up,
When all of the things you are
Are mine.
The orchestra went on playing the song over again without the voice, and we sank back into the quarter turns.
‘Isn’t this nice?’ I said.
Elspeth nodded her head so far as that was possible, seeing that we were cheek to cheek.
‘We must meet again.’ It hardly seemed necessary to say that.
She nodded her head again, and that was enough for the time being. We must meet again, again and again.
Soon after this it was midnight, and everyone crowded into the room and we all joined hands for Auld Lang Syne. Then Barbara announced that there was food ready in the kitchen, whereupon everyone crowded out again at twice the speed. I lost touch with Elspeth, and expected to find her in the kitchen. When I got there I saw her trapped on the other side of the room with Harry and Barbara’s mother.
Suddenly, quite close to me, I saw Annette.
‘Has Robert left you on your own?’ I said.
Her eyes were bright, and when she shook her head the bell of hair swung to and fro. She had discarded her shapeless jumper and skirt in favour of a party dress that reminded me of what the girls of fifteen used to wear at our school dances: it was of a shade that used to be called apricot. She was wearing no make-up. She looked charming.
‘Who was the girl you were dancing with?’ she asked.
‘Did I make such an exhibition of myself as that?’
‘One always notices anyone who falls down,’ said Annette.
I burst into laughter, and Annette looked pleased.
‘She’s called Elspeth,’ I said. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I liked her. I should like to know her.’
I could not resist the indiscretion of saying: ‘I hope you’ll have plenty of opportunity.’
Annette said: ‘Are you going to marry her?’
Her tone was simple, sweet, unoffending. I was taken aback.
‘Good God! I don’t know … I’ve only just met her. Give me a chance.’
‘But, surely that’s just what you’ve had. A chance, I mean.’
I hastily crammed a sausage roll into my mouth.
Annette said: ‘I should like you to dance with me before you go. You look as if you know what you’re doing. I don’t.’
‘You could have a few lessons,’ I said sharply. I had great faith in lessons.
Annette shook her head and looked away. ‘I suppose I’m self-conscious,’ she said. I cannot say that she looked specially troubled by the thought.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘Robert doesn’t dance very much.’
‘No.’ I was glancing through the crowd to see if there was any sign of Elspeth getting free. And I was distracted by the word ‘marry’ having been introduced into my thoughts.
Suddenly it occurred to me that Annette appeared to think that I really could get married.
‘Yes, let’s dance!’ I said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll teach you.’
I danced with Annette. There was now no sign of Elspeth. Perhaps she had gone home. Perhaps she felt a little shaken after all. Perhaps somebody had offered her a lift in a car. After I had handed Annette over to Robert, I made a last tour of the house without finding Elspeth. I decided it was time I went home.
As I said goodnight to Harry, I asked:
‘What’s happened to Elspeth?’
Harry gave me a quick look. ‘I thought she was waiting for you to take her home.’
I was on no account going to accept that remark for the start of a conversation with Harry. ‘I expect she’s already gone,’ I said, with such decisiveness that it carried me over the threshold and out into the garden before Harry could try another tack.
The drizzle had stopped, but the bare branches of prunus and lilac still dropped their large drops of water on my head in the darkness. I looked forward to my walk home. I was of the opinion that, unlike most of the guests I had left behind at the party, I was sober.
I thought about Elspeth. I was not dismayed by not having seen her again. I could well do without seeing her again that night, I thought. My conviction that she was the girl for me, the one exactly right for me, was quite enough for me to cope with. For the time being I wanted no more. I walked back up Putney Hill just thinking about it.