While much of Europe was falling to German advances and British soldiers were piling up on the beaches of Dunkirk, a number of ‘heap big pow-wows’, as Basil called them, took place in the smoke-filled offices of Broadcasting House in the course of which BBC administrators and representatives from the Ministry of Information sought to protect their personal agendas. Basil, of course, would have none of it. The subject of his programme, he said, was Britain on the brink and if that wasn’t dynamic enough for his overlords then he would gladly turn in his stopwatch and let someone else take the strain.
Favourable comments in the press and reports from the CBC that several regional stations in North America had picked up the programme for re-broadcast indicated that Speaking Up’s blend of reportage, comment and discussion was having the desired effect and Basil vowed that, within the parameters required by military censorship, he would continue to deliver what the public wanted without treating listeners on either side of the Atlantic like dolts.
Susan barely had time to bathe, change her clothes and snatch a few hours’ sleep as crises piled on crises and the production staff struggled to keep on top of the news.
She saw little of Bob outside the studio save for an occasional snatched ‘lunch’ in the flat in Rothwell Gardens and heard nothing at all from Danny who was probably as busy as she was and not, she told herself, sulking.
‘Not a word?’ Vivian said.
‘Not so much as a postcard.’
‘You have written to him, haven’t you?’
‘A couple of letters. I haven’t had much time.’
‘Didn’t he reply?’
‘No.’
‘Why haven’t you telephoned him?’
‘He isn’t allowed personal calls.’
‘Doesn’t his silence concern you?’ said Vivian.
Susan hesitated. ‘I suspect he’s playing tit-for-tat and he’ll come round in his own good time.’
‘For God’s sake, girl, he’s your husband. You can’t just prance about as if you were footloose and fancy-free.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk.’
‘That’s the second time you’ve told me that,’ Vivian said. ‘May I point out that I’m an old maid and Basil’s a widower and that anything we choose to do hurts no one. Let me ask you one question and beg the favour of a straight answer: do you think Danny would do this to you?’
‘Do what to me?’
‘Take a lover,’ Vivian said.
‘He wouldn’t dare.’
‘I see,’ said Vivian. ‘What’s sauce for the goose is not – repeat not – sauce for the gander?’
‘Be all right if I were a chap, wouldn’t it?’ Susan said. ‘Give me one good reason why a girl shouldn’t have a little bit of fun too.’
‘Is that all it is, a little bit of fun?’
‘Not so little, if you must know.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re in love with Robert Gaines?’
‘Of course not. I’m not in love with anyone.’
‘What about Bob Gaines, what if he’s in love with you?’
‘He’s not that much of a fool,’ Susan said. ‘It’s a fling, that’s all, a nice little fling for both of us.’
‘Well, I just hope you’re right,’ said Vivian. ‘And I just hope that Danny doesn’t catch on.’
‘Fat chance of that happening,’ Susan said, ‘given that he’s chained hand and foot to a desk in Evesham.’
Monday, mid-afternoon: they lay together in sweltering heat in a few hours stolen from their hectic schedules.
‘Don’t fall asleep,’ Bob said.
‘If I do, I’ll never waken up,’ Susan said.
‘Have you anything round here to eat?’
‘Not much,’ Susan said. ‘Eggs, I think.’
‘Fresh?’
‘Probably not.’
He moved against her, cupped her breast and touched her nipple lightly with his thumb. The window was open an inch or two but there was no breeze and the air in the flat was stale and lifeless. Something was going on in Rothwell Gardens, some vaguely military thing, but neither Bob nor she had the energy to look out to see what the shouting was about.
‘Are you working this evening?’ Susan asked.
‘No option. I’ve promised the Post a piece on the paddle-wheelers that made the run to Dunkirk. It’s a gift of a subject and I have all the notes I made in Ramsgate so it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to knock off.’
‘We also need your material for Tuesday, remember.’
‘You never let up on a guy, do you?’
The sheet that had covered them had been discarded and she could see all of him, no part hidden. He was flaccid now and had carefully removed the rubber and, like a true blue gentleman, had wrapped it in a handkerchief and hidden it in his shoe to dispose of later.
She said, ‘Why did you never have children?’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘With your wife: children?’
‘What the hell sort of a question’s that?’
‘I’m just curious.’
‘What sort of a father do you think I’d make,’ he said, ‘when I spend nine-tenths of my life out in the field?’
‘Like a farmer.’
‘Foraging for news; yeah, right.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to have a son?’ Susan said.
‘You’re not trying to tell me you’re pregnant, are you?’
‘Not even in jest, darling; not even in jest.’
The sound of gunfire from the gardens was startlingly loud in the cloying afternoon heat.
‘Shooting traitors, I expect,’ said Susan.
‘Blanks,’ Bob told her. ‘Home Guard drill, maybe.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Pearl didn’t – let’s be polite about it and say she just wasn’t ready for motherhood.’
‘You mean she didn’t like sex.’
‘Oh, yeah, she liked sex well enough. She just didn’t like doing it with me.’
Susan sat up. ‘Why ever not?’
‘She thought I was too demanding.’
‘You are, you know, far too demanding.’
‘Is that a complaint?’
‘Far from it.’
‘Look,’ he said, not moving, ‘I really must shove off.’
She lay back on the pillow. ‘Me, too. Baz will have fits if I’m not back by four. The running order for Tuesday’s gone to pot. Major Cazalet’s been called away, apparently, and left us rather stranded.’
‘Who’s doing the piece on the Emergency Powers Act?’
‘At the moment, no one. The ministry are griping at the very idea. We’re trying to persuade Walpole to do it but he isn’t at all keen.’
‘Viv?’
‘Basil thinks it should be a man.’
‘That won’t please her highness,’ Bob said.
‘Wouldn’t know. She’s not speaking to me these days.’
‘Because of us?’
‘I think she’s worried about her brother.’
‘Have they arrested him yet?’ Bob said.
‘No, but they should have. He’s a black-hearted villain through and through.’
‘How well did you know him?’
‘Not as well as he’d have liked.’
Another round of rifle fire peppered the air, followed, anomalously, by the blast of a whistle as if the drill were a football match governed by the rules of fair play.
‘Proudfoot wasn’t one of them then?’ Bob said.
‘One of them?’
‘One of your paramours.’
‘Just how many “paramours” do you think I’ve had?’
‘Dozens for all I know,’ Bob said.
‘One,’ Susan said. ‘Just one.’
‘And a husband?’
‘Husbands don’t count.’
‘Well, who am I to disagree?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.’ She tangled her legs with his and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘Forgive me?’
‘Nothing to forgive.’
‘Did you love her – your wife, I mean?’
‘She was the only girl in Paterson, the only girl for me.’
‘As it turned out she wasn’t, was she?’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ Bob said. ‘It was my mistake, not Pearl’s. Hey, enough with the Freudian stuff. I really do have to go home and do some work.’ He kissed her on the nose and swung his feet to the floor. ‘Who’s first for the bathroom?’
‘I am,’ Susan said.
The building and its plumbing had baked in hot sunshine for weeks and the water from the taps was cool but not cold. She stood upright in the bath in the cramped half-tiled bathroom and, squeezing a sponge with both hands, trickled water over her breasts and belly.
Danny had nailed plyboard across the pebble glass window and the room, even in daylight, was dark. She had left the door to the kitchen open an inch to let in light but the flow of water from the taps and the gurgle of the cistern above the lavatory drowned out sounds from the living room.
Crouching, she splashed water into her lap, then, refreshed, stepped out of the bath and dried herself with the big bath towel that Danny had given her last Christmas.
She was relaxed after lovemaking but aware that time was pressing. If she couldn’t find a cab it would take her all her time to make it back to Broadcasting House by four o’clock. She had eaten nothing since breakfast. She would pick up a sandwich from the snack bar at Green Park or, if the worst came to the worst, scrounge something from Larry who always had food to spare. She pulled out the bath plug, wrapped the towel around her and padded through the kitchen into the living room.
Danny, motionless as a statue, stood in front of the empty hearth, arms folded across his chest.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘The glasses?’ Susan said. ‘They suit you. How long have you been here?’
‘Couple of minutes.’
‘Who told you? Was it Vivian?’
‘No one told me. I came up to town to collect my spectacles an’ dropped in on the off-chance you’d be here. I didn’t mean to intrude.’
The bedroom door opened. Barefoot and struggling into his pants, Bob came into the living room.
‘Susan, I thought I heard …’ he began.
‘Robert,’ she said, ‘I’d like you to meet my husband.’
‘Oh, peachy,’ Bob Gaines said, ‘just peachy,’ and, not knowing what else to do, stepped forward to shake Danny’s hand.