Rose settled herself on the wall and spat pips at a lamppost.
Who sold the tea? I asked.
Oh, that? He got hit. That was before the war. She spoke as if it was a different century. You dont get tea and a bun for a penny now. She looked lovingly around her. I was born here. In that house down there. That one with the brown door. Manys the time Ive sat here with my little brother when he was driving my mother silly. Or sometimes my stepfather got into one of his moods and Id clear out and come here for a rest, in a way of speaking. He used to make me mad, he did. She lapsed into a silence of nostalgic content. A man slowly cycled down the street, stopping at each lamp-post. Above him, while he paused, a small yellow glimmer pushed back the thick grey air. Soon the houses retired into shadow. Pools of dim light showed wet pavements. Rose was quiet beside me, a huddled little figure in her tight black coat and head-scarf.
It was long after the sky had gone thick and black behind the glimmering lamps that Rose came out of her dream of childhood, She stretched and said: Wed better be moving. But she didnt move without reluctance. At any rate, the blitz didnt get it. Thats something to be glad about. And the bombs fell around here. God knows what they thought they were trying to bomb! She spoke indifferently, without hate. I expect the planes got lost one night and thought this would do as well as anything. The Americans do that, too, they say they just get fed up flying around in the dark, so they drop their bombs and nip home for a cup of tea.
As we walked back, she said: Ill have to get a hurry on. Ive got to help Flo with the washing-up or shell get the pip.
Do you have to help her?
No. Not really. But Ive got into the habit of it. Shes like that I dont want to say anything I shouldnt. But you just watch yourself and dont let yourself get into the habit of doing things, Im telling you for your own good.
At the bombed site her gait and manner changed. She withdrew into herself and became suspicious, looking into peoples faces as they passed as if they might turn out to be enemies. I couldnt imagine this Rose, all prim and tight-faced, spitting pips with a laugh. In our street of great decaying houses she clutched at my arm for a moment and said. This place gives me the ump sometimes. Its not friendly, not like what Im used to. Thats why.
Bobby Brent was coming out of the side door from the basement, a natty brown hat pulled down over his eyes. When he saw us, he frowned; then smiled. You thought Id forgotten our appointment, he said. Well, you dont know me. Then it struck him: he examined his watch and exclaimed. I say! Its half-past nine. We agreed eight-fifteen.
Oh, come off it, Bobby, said Rose giggling. You do make me laugh.
He gritted his teeth; forced his lips back in a smile. Ill take you over now, he said to me. Of course, the one I tried to get for yous gone; nobody to blame but yourself. But theres another. Just right for you.
Rose was leaning against the gate-pillar, watching him satirically. Wait a moment, she said to him, and pulled me inside the front door.
She took my handbag from me, opened it, and removed all the money from it. IIl keep this till you come back, she said. Ive left you two shillings, thatll be enough. Now, if you want this room next to me, its a good thing you go off with Bobby. Itll make Flo nervous. And theyre doing ever such a deal, the three of them.
What sort of deal? Why dont you stop Flo?
Oh no, its like this. If Bobby wants, for arguments sake, five pounds, then dont let him have it. But if its a hundred and it looks all right, thats different, see? Bobbys got an idea for a club, a night-club or something. Dan is going to lend him a hundred. And theyre talking how to get money out of you.
But I havent any.
Yes, I know, she said, giggling. Dont mind me, but I did sort of keep my face straight, as if I thought you had money, because it makes me laugh, Flo and Dan, when they get the itch. There are two sorts of people in the world, she concluded, the kind that get money, like Flo and Dan and Bobby. Thats because they think about it all the time. And people like us. Well, it takes all sorts. See you tomorrow. Ill put your money under your pillow.
Bobby Brent said as I joined him: Theres just one kind of person that I cant stand. The envious ones. Like Rose Jennings. Shes eaten up with it.
Wheres the flat?
Around the corner.
We walked half a mile in silence. Hows Miss Powell? I asked, I dont mind telling you, shes a real problem to me. Shes got it into her head she wants to marry me. Bad luck, I said. The trouble with women is, theyre monogamous. I know. Its all very badly arranged. What do you mean my arrangements arent crystallized. Never mind, youll feel different when youre married to the daughter of the lord. Im not so sure. Women never understand. They tie a man down. They expect him to live the same life, day after day. Well. I was in the Commandos three years, and now I expect to call my life my own. Cheer up. It looks as if there might very well be a war soon. You cant count on it, he said.
We were now in a hushed and darkened square, and outside a large house. The name on the doorbell we pushed was Colonel Bartowers. The door opened to show a martial old man, with protruding stomach, red face, and an aggressive blue stare.
Were here on business. My names Ponsonby Alfred Ponsonby. He thrust a card into the Colonels hand. The Colonel stood his ground, looking at him up and down, raising his white eyebrows in a terrifying way. We understand you have premises to let.
The Colonel fell back, astonished, and we were in the hall. The Colonel looked at me, and said blankly: Well, come inside, now youre here. How on earth I havent even sent it to an agent He pulled himself together. Well, I dont know, these days you cant even think of moving without getting in hordes of however. Im very glad. Come in.
He showed us into a living-room. It was charming. This was the England I had read about in novels.
As a matter of interest, said the Colonel to me, how did you hear about this flat?
Mr Ponsonby strode forward and announced: My cousin from Africa asked me to find her a flat. I tried to catch the Colonels eye, but Mr Ponsonby was in the way. Im in the business, as my card shows. There would be no fee to either lessor or lessee.
A question of philanthropy, said the Colonel gravely; and Mr Ponsonby fell back, spelling out the word to himself. Blood is blood, he offered at last.
Oh, quite, said Colonel Bartowers. He sighed and said: Well, I suppose I might as well show you the flat, in case I decide to go abroad. You mentioned Africa? he said to me.
My cousin has just come, said Mr Ponsonby, trying to get between the Colonel and me, but he was brushed aside, and the Colonel took my arm.
I was myself in Southern Rhodesia for ten years. A little before your time. I expect, I left in 1905. Do you remember And he began reciting names which are part of the history of the Empire. This is the kitchen, he said, waving his hand at it, ft was equipped like an American kitchen. All the things one needs in a kitchen. I believe. So my wife said. She ran off with someone else last year. No loss. Not really. But ! dont use the kitchen. I eat out. Now, tell me, did you ever meet Jameson? I suppose not.
In the bedroom he absently opened one cupboard after another, all filled with lush blankets and tinted linen of all kinds, shutting the doors before I could properly savour them. All the usual things for bedrooms hot bottles, electric bottles and so on. Never use the things myself. Now, tell me, did you ever go shooting down Gwelo way? He told a story of bow he had shot a lion in the chicken-run, in the good old days. But perhaps things have changed, he remarked at last.
I think they have, rather.
Yes, so I hear. He threw open another door. The bathroom, he announced, before shutting it. I caught a glimpse of a very large room with a black and white tiled floor, and a pale pink bath. A bit cramped, he said, but in these days.
Well, I think thats all, he said at last. Shall we have a drink on it? He produced a bottle of Armagnac; then he looked at Mr Ponsonby, for the first time in minutes, and frowned. Theres a pub round the corner, he said putting back the bottle. In the pub he ordered two drinks for me and for him, added a third as a calculated afterthought, and turned his back on Mr Ponsonby, Now, he said, his fat red face relaxing. We can talk. For the space of several drinks I said yes and no; and in the intervals of his monologue, the Colonel ordered, with brusque dislike, another for Mr Ponsonby, who was reacting to this situation in a way which disconcerted me, I expected him to be angry; but his eyes were focused on some plan. He watched the Colonels face for some time while he pretended to be listening to his talk. Then he turned away and got into conversation with a man sitting next to him. I heard phrases like a good investment and thirty per cent spoken in a discreet, almost winning voice.
That Bulawayo campaign. The best days of my life. I remember lying on the kopje behind my house and taking pot-shots at the nigs as they came to the river for water. I was a damned good shot, though I say it myself. Of course, I still shoot a bit, grouse chiefly, but its not the same. It was a good life, say what you like. He shot a pugnacious blue glance at me and demanded: From what I hear theyll be taking pot-shots at us soon, getting their own back, hey? This idea seemed to cause him a detached and almost kindly amusement, for he guffawed and said: I used to get good fun with those nigs. Damn good fellows some of them. Sportsmen. Good fighters. Ah, well. He sighed and put down his glass. Two more of the same.
Closing time, sir.
Blast, This damned country. Cant stand it. Its a nation of old women these days. Its the Labour Government. Petticoat government, thats what I call it. Thats why Im thinking of getting out again. To Kenya, I thought. Ive got a cousin. Id go back to Rhodesia, but my wife, blast her, is there with her new husband. Not big enough for both of us. The trouble is, though, once youve lived out of England, you cant really settle in it. Too small. I expect youll find that, too. I remember I came back on leave after that Bulawayo campaign and asking myself. How the hell did I stick England all those years. I still ask myself.