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Authors: Doris Lessing

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BOOK: In Pursuit of the English
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‘You’re not
going
,’ she said, shocked. ‘Tell Flo to send him off.’

‘But I think I’m interested, after what you’ve said.’

‘Interested?’

‘I mean. I’ve never met anyone tike him before.’

She was puzzled. Then, unmistakably hurt. I did not understand why. ‘Yes?’ was all she said. She turned back to her dressing-table and began brushing her hair out.

Rose’s
yes
was the most expressive of monsyllabies. It could be sceptical, give you the lie direct, accuse you, reject you. This time it meant: Interested, are you? Weil. I can’t afford to be
interested
in scoundrels. Fancy yourself, don’t you?

Whenever, in the future. I was interested in a person or a situation which did not have her moral approval, she would repudiate me with precisely that – Yes?

But her good heart overcame her disapproval, for she said as I left the room: ‘If you must you must. But don’t let him get his hands on to your money.’

Flo was in the hall with Mr MacNamara. As I came down the stairs he was saying: ‘It’s a little matter. A hundred nicker. And it’d double itself in a year.’ He had the full force of his hard brown stare on her. She was bashfully languishing, like a peasant girl. She tore her gaze away from his face, to say almost absently: ‘I told your friend. I told him for you. You’ve got a flat with us.’

‘Yes. I have,’ I said. Flo was again looking up into his face. ‘Dan’d know best,’ she said. ‘You must talk to Dan.’

‘I’ll talk it over with him. But I want you to talk it over with him first, Mrs Boh. You’ve got a real head for business. I can see at a glance.’

‘Well, dear, I ran a restaurant over in Holborn right through the war, dear. I ought to know my way about. A real big restaurant. I had three girls working for me. Dan was in the navy. But I did all right, I can tell you.’

‘I’m sure you did, Mrs Bolt. Ah yes, the war was a difficult time.’

‘We carried on and did our best.’

‘Excuse me,’ I said, and began to go upstairs. Instantly Mr MacNamara came after me.

‘There’s a little matter we should discuss,’ he said.

‘But she’s fixed up, dear. Ever so nice, with us.’

‘Four rooms, kitchen and bath
and
a telephone, three and a half a week.’ I came downstairs again. ‘And there’s another matter.’

‘Can we see it now?’

‘I’ll take you.’

I said to Flo: ‘if I can get it, I will. I really do need more room, you know.’

She nodded, her eyes, now thoughtful, on Mr MacNamara.

We two went to the door, and I heard her shrieking as we went out: Rose, Dan. Rose. Dan …

‘You know Miss Jennings?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘You’ll meet her,’ he said darkly. ‘You mustn’t believe all you hear.’

‘Rose Jennings?’

‘People are not to be trusted. Not since the war.’

Now he had me on the pavement, he was thinking out his tactics, while making a pretence at examining his watch. ‘My man won’t be in for fifteen minutes. I’ll take you to a pub near here. The best pub in London. They have nothing but vintage beers.’

‘That would be nice.’

He began walking me fast down the street, into an area that had been laid flat. About five acres of earth had been cleared of rubble, and was waiting for the builders. ‘Nice job, that,’ said Mr MacNamara, nodding at it. ‘One bomb – did the lot. All that damage. Nice work.’

We walked past it. Mr MacNamara began sending me furtive glances, sideways.

‘Know where you are?’ he asked casually.

I had, because Rose had walked me past here, but I said, ‘No, I’ve no idea.’ His furtiveness cleared into triumph and he said: ‘These bombed areas are confusing.’ We had now walked three sides of the square, and he hesitated. ‘It’s not so far now,’ he said, and turned to complete the fourth side, which would take us back to our starting point at the bottom of the street the house was in. I walked willingly beside him, feeling him watch me. He was anxious, We had now made the full square, and he said: ‘Now do you know where you are?’ For a moment I did not answer; and at once a baffled angry look filled his eyes. His body was tense with violence. Nothing was more important to him, just then, than that I should not have seen through his trick.

‘It seems miles,’ I said.

‘That’s because you don’t know the ropes,’ he said, relaxing, the violence all gone. ‘Seen that building before?’ – pointing to a house a couple of hundred yards away from Flo’s and Dan’s house.

‘They all seem alike,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Mind you. I’ve been thinking, it might not be possible for you to see that flat this evening. But I’ll telephone to make sure.’ He strode into a telephone box, and went through the motions of telephoning. He emerged with a brisk air. ‘My client isn’t in, after all.’

‘That seems a pity.’

‘I’ll take you for the drink I promised, in any case.’ He applied a tender pressure to my upper arm; but lost interest in the gesture almost at once; his face was already dark with another pressure.

‘I’m taking you to this pub,’ he said, ‘because it’s famous.’

We went into a glossy lounge bar, and he said casually to the barman: ‘I’ll have two of the usual.’

‘What’s your usual?’ said the barman.

‘I’m used to service,’ he began, but the barman had turned away, as if accidentally, to serve someone else. Mr MacNamara took me to a free corner table, and said. ‘This is the best firm in England. Their liquors are all vintage. You know what vintage is?’

‘No, not really.’

Delighted, he said: ‘I do. I mix with the best people. I’m going to marry the daughter of a member of parliament.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Yes. Her father is a lord.’

‘Rose told me your father was a lord, too, from Ireland.’

His body tensed with anger. He narrowed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. Then he controlled himself. The violence in him so strong his whole body quivered as he damped it down. ‘I told you, you shouldn’t believe Rose Jennings. She can’t tell truth from falsehood. Some people are like that.’ He thought a moment and came out with: ‘Actually, my real name’s not MacNamara. It’s Ponsonby. I use MacNamara for business. But I’m Irish all right. Yes, from the Emerald Isle.’

‘I hope you’ve managed to get Mrs MacNamara somewhere to sleep tonight.’

‘Well of course she’d not really Mrs MacNamara. To tell you the truth, I don’t quite know what to do with her. She was going to marry a client of mine. He rang me up this morning – he’s off to Hong-Kong, on business. He left her in my charge.’

‘Poor girl.’

‘I’ve fixed her up for the night in a hotel in Bayswater.’

‘Good.’

‘But perhaps Mrs Bolt can fix her up tomorrow. She said she had a room.’

‘Oh, she did, did she?’

‘Of course it’s not what Miss Powell is used to. But then these days we take what we can get. Like you, for instance, You could afford much better if you were offered it.’

The barman now came over and said: ‘What’ll you have.’

‘Two light ales,’ said Mr Ponsonby.

When the barman brought the ales, Mr Ponsonby said; ‘I say. You’re not going to serve me that? I’m used to the best.’

The barman studied him a moment, his good-humoured eyebrows raised. Then he picked up the glasses, set them on the counter, interposed his back between him and Mr Ponsonby, and after whistling a soft tune between his teeth, lifted them round and set them down again.

‘That’s better,’ said Mr Ponsonby. He handed the barman silver, and gave him a shilling tip.

‘Some mothers do ’ave ’em,’ remarked the barman to the air, still whistling, as he returned behind the bar.

Mr Ponsonby was saying to me: ‘I could put you on to a good thing. A hundred nicker. That’s all.’

‘I haven’t got it,’ I said.

He examined me for some time, in silence. It was extraordinary how frankly he did this, as if the necessity to do so made him invisible to me; as if he scrutinized me from behind a barricade.

‘Mr MacNamara,’ I said. ‘You’re making a mistake about me. I really don’t have any money.’

This remark seemed to reassure him. ‘Ponsonby,’ he said, ‘Well, I’ll show you you can trust me.’ He reached his hands into his pockets. From one he brought out military medals, about a dozen of them. From another a packet of papers. Matching one to another on the table he showed me citation after citation for bravery, etc., to Alfred Ponsonby. Among them was the DSO.

‘I was in the Commandos,’ he said.

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘Yes, they were the best days of my life.’ He replaced the medals in one pocket and the papers in the other and said: ‘I keep fit, just in case. Ju-jitsu. There’s nothing like it.’

‘I think it’s time I got back.’

He examined me again. Then he leaned himself forward to me, the surface of his brown eyes glazed with solicitude. ‘I would really like to see you fixed up. I can see you are a little disappointed with me. Oh, don’t deny it. I could see, when I telephoned and my client wasn’t in. But I’ve a special interest in you.’ His gaze went blank while he searched for words. Then he smiled intimately into my eyes with a brown treacly pressure. ‘Now I want to put something to you. I can get that flat for you tonight — just like that!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘But I must put something down for the landlord. It would cost five pounds and it would be worth it.’

‘I must get back,’ I said and got up.

Without a change of tone, he said: ‘I’ll take you over tomorrow night.’ Consulted his watch. ‘Eight o’clock.’ And again, narrowing his eyes. ‘No, an appointment at eight. Eight-fifteen. I’ll make an appointment.’

‘Good.’

To get from the pub back to the house was five minutes walking. He faced towards the house. His face was twisted with conflict. ‘Know where we are?’

‘No.’

Smiling with cruelty, he walked me right around the bombed space, watching my face all the time. Anxiety crept into him. At the bottom of the street he hesitated and said: ‘Do you know what I’ve just done?’

‘Not an idea.’

Half from pleasure at having tricked me, and half from anxiety I might find out, he said: ‘I’ve taken you a long way round. You never noticed it. Got to keep your eyes open in this city. But you’re all right with me. You can trust me.’

‘I know I can.’ I said. We were at the front door.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, tenderly.

I went inside and up the stairs. Rose appeared and said, ‘Are you all right, dear?’

‘I hope so.’

‘I hope so, too. I got ever so worried about you.’ She took my arm between her hands and gently tugged me into her room. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I feel real bad, what I’m doing, but you’re my friend now. I must tell you. Flo’s got all in a state about losing you – ’ She giggled, and adjusted her face. ‘Sorry, but it does make me laugh, when Flo sees the pennies slipping through her fingers. Well, because you went out with Bobby Brent, she thinks she’ll let you the room. But Bobby Brent wants it for his fancy woman. So now she’s all torn up, wondering who’ll pay the most.’

‘He will, I should think,’ I said.

‘You don’t know our Bobby.’

‘Is it true he was in the Commandos?’

‘Oh, yes. A real war hero and all. But listen! I’ll show you the room and you can see if you like it.’ She cautiously opened the door and listened. ‘No, Flo’s too busy quarrelling with Dan to snoop.’

‘Well, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be daft. They’re in love. They’ve only been married three years, see? When people are in love they quarrel. Dan got real mad about Bobby. She makes him jealous on purpose, see? Then he gets mad and they quarrel and they make it up in bed. See?’

I laughed. She giggled. ‘Shh,’ she said. We crept into the passage outside her room, and we listened again. Downstairs a din of shouting voices and music. Rose opened a door, and switched a light on. It was a very large room, with two long windows. There was a tiny fireplace at one end. The walls were cracked and the ceiling was stained.

‘Don’t notice the mess,’ Rose whispered. ‘It’s the war. The war damage people is coming in. They’ll fix it. But it’s a nice room, and Dan’ll paint it for you. He’s in the trade, and he’s good at those things, whatever else you can say about him. And if you’re clever with Flo, you’ll get it cheap because of the cracks and all. If you don’t mind me telling you, you don’t treat Flo right at all. I watched you. You’ve got to stand up to her. If you don’t, she’ll treat you bad.’

‘Tell me what to do?’ I asked.

At this direct appeal, she hesitated. ‘I do feel bad,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m Flo’s friend. But I’ll just give you advice in general. She’ll come and see you tomorrow. Don’t just say yes, and thank you. You must bargain with her. I know it’s not nice, how she is, but I put it down to her Italian blood. She likes to bargain.’

‘All right.’ I said. ‘I will. And thank you.’

We crept back to her door, and she said: ‘Tomorrow night, when your kid’s asleep, we’ll go for a walk. It’ll be real nice to have company.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’d like it.’

‘And I’ll show you some ropes around here. You don’t mind me saying it, dear, but you don’t know how to look after yourself. You don’t really.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, never mind, Rome wasn’t built in a day, that’s what I always say. Sleep tight.’

When I got back to my room from taking my son to nursery school next morning. Flo was standing there, with a guilty look. ‘I’ve just put away some things for you,’ she said. ‘To show you how comfortable it is. It is really.’

I said involuntarily. ‘It’s very kind of you, Flo,’ and, as involuntarily she gave a little smile of victory, and said in a cheerful voice: ‘I told you you’d like it up here.’

I summoned the spirit of Rose to my aid, and said: ‘But I don’t want to unpack. Because if I get somewhere with more room. I’ll move.’

All the life went out of her, and she sat despondently on my bed. She sighed. She looked at a pack of cigarettes lying on the bed and said: ‘You’ve got so many lovely cigarettes,
darling, aren’t you lucky.’ The sense of guilt which accompanied all colonials to England, in 1949, overcame me and I said: ‘Help yourself.’ Instantly she became happy again. She picked up the box and handled it, looking at me. Then she carelessly took out a handful, but dropping some in her anxiety lest I might be angry, and pushed them into her apron pockets. She understood that guilt very well by instinct, because later, when I learned to understand the role cigarettes played in that house she would say automatically: ‘We had such a hard time during the war, dear, you wouldn’t believe it.’

BOOK: In Pursuit of the English
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