Bruno's Dream (13 page)

‘“The heyday in the blood is tame”?’

‘I don’t feel at all tame, my dear. What about it?’

‘I’ve told you. I love my husband.’

‘Well, that was a jolly good kiss from a girl who loves her husband. Come on, be a sport, put your arms round me. Or if you can’t manage that, at least laugh at me!’

‘Dear, dear, dear Danby. God, you’re sweet!’ She laughed. Then she threw her arms round him and burrowed her head violently into the shoulder of his jacket.

Danby tried to lift her head. He took hold of her hair and drew it back and kissed her again. ‘Number two. Let’s sit down, shall we?’

There was a small plump tasselled sofa against the wall. There was just room for two. The chilly lucid afternoon sun was beginning to slant into the room. ‘Number three.’

‘I shouldn’t have let you come here,’ said Diana. She was relaxed in his arms now, thrusting back his white hair from his face.

‘But you did because you wanted to see me.’

‘I’m afraid I wanted very much to see you.’

‘Oh goodie!’

‘But it’s all ridiculous, Danby. This is the sort of argument that ends in bed–’

‘Goodie, goodie!’

‘Only that’s not where we’re going.’

‘We’ll see. There’s no hurry. I’ve only kissed you three times. Number four coming up.’

Danby began to unfasten the front of her dress. Her hand fluttered for a moment trying to stop him and then gave in. Burrowing through white lace his hand covered her left breast. They became still, gazing at each other with wide vacant eyes.

After a moment Diana struggled to sit up. Only she did not do up her dress but left it hanging open. ‘Let’s try to talk rationally. Tell me about yourself. You say there was a girl and she went to Australia. How long ago was that?’

‘About four years ago.’

‘And how long had you been together?’

‘Three years.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Linda.’

‘You didn’t think of marrying her?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Danby thought. He had removed his hand from its first wonderful position and was beginning to edge it up a little under her skirt. She was wearing a different dress today, much smarter, a sort of oatmeal silk affair with buttons all the way down. Convenient. ‘She didn’t want it. And I think I couldn’t marry again.’

‘After–Gwen?’

‘After Gwen.’

Diana sighed. ‘Did Linda mind about Gwen?’

‘Linda didn’t mind about anything. She was a cheerful girl.’

‘I wonder if I am. And you’ve been alone ever since?’

‘I’ve been alone ever since.’ Danby did not feel that he was exactly telling a lie. Well, in a way perhaps he was telling a lie. When Diana had asked him the question at the dance hall he had cashiered Adelaide on the spot, provisionally of course. He could probably manage to look after Adelaide somehow. Diana was an enchanting surprise. One would see what happened and meanwhile not to worry. There was no point in putting Diana off right at the start.

Danby was playing his part of the determined seducer a little dreamily. He was not in fact at all sure exactly what he wanted from Diana. He wanted to go to bed with her. That much, in ways which were far from metaphysical, was abundantly clear. But just how the thing would work he had not thought out or even considered. He remained vague, almost impassive, taking each step when he felt an overwhelming urge to take it; as he had that morning felt an overwhelming urge to telephone Diana and ask to see her.

Danby felt no general scruple about going to bed with other men’s wives, though in fact he had rarely done it. He felt that one ought not to cause pain, but a discreetly conducted affair caused no pain, and might produce a great deal of happiness, fresh, gratuitous,
extra
happiness. It was a sense of that extra, of having stolen a march on dull old life, that so much pleased him and made him feel himself, really, a benefactor. He had been a benefactor to Linda and to Adelaide. Why should he not be a benefactor to Diana, who showed every sign of being a rather bored middle-aged wife at a loose end? It was clear that she had intensely wanted to see him again. As for Adelaide, well he might find some way of accommodating them both, and anyway such thoughts were premature. He might not make Diana at all. And if he did, he might find himself very much more in love with her than he yet was. He would deal with these problems as they arose. Meanwhile, the idea of cuckolding Miles, which was not absent from his mind, was rather agreeable. He would get nowhere with Miles. Here was a pleasant way of enlisting, without Miles’s knowledge, Miles’s kind cooperation.

‘A love affair has a beginning, a middle, and an end,’ said Diana. She had captured his questing hand.

‘Well, let’s let this one have a beginning anyway.’

‘Women want things to be forever.’

‘Women have an exasperating habit of talking in general terms. When and where shall we begin?’ There was a difficulty here, of course. He would have preferred not to operate in Miles’s house. But his own was always full of Adelaide.

‘I don’t want a muddle with you, Danby. I’ve got very fond of you. You make me feel happy–’

‘What a lovely thing to say!’

‘And I want that happiness to last. Not to be spoilt by–I could hold you–in a romantic friendship–let me try.’

‘What you keep calling friendship looks to me like a wicked waste and impoliteness to the gods. Confess you’ve surprised yourself Diana. We get on beautifully, don’t we? It doesn’t often happen, you know.’

Danby was indeed impressed by the peculiarly delicious ease of their communication, like an impromptu play with an impeccable form. He was enjoying the argument intensely. He had quite forgotten how delightful it was to flirt with an intelligent woman.

‘Well, I want you as a friend, as a dear thing in my life, with no dramas, just always there–’

‘I can be a dear thing in your life just as well if I’m your lover. Rather better, I should have thought.’

‘No. It’ll set off a drama. And I shall lose you.’

‘At least I notice that you’ve moved from the conditional tense to the future tense!’

‘No, no, I don’t mean–’

‘Anyway I don’t see that there’s much difference between what we’re doing now and going to bed.’

‘Men always say that. You know there is.’

‘You’re not suggesting we meet and don’t touch each other?’

‘No. I want to touch you, to kiss you. But nothing more. Well, I do want more but I think it would be crazy.’

‘Let’s be crazy then. I know what I want. All this touching and kissing would just drive me up the wall.’

‘Oh God. I think perhaps I oughtn’t to see you at all–’

‘Come, come. You’ve already gone too far, Diana. You’re a hedonist, just like me. You
can’t
deprive yourself of me now you’ve got me. Can you now?’

She stared at the cold sunny window and then slowly looked at him. ‘No.’ She slid her arms under his and hugged him with violence. Danby looked down at the silvery golden hair which was tumbled over his sleeve. Holding her tight and questing with his chin he tried to find her mouth. ‘Number–’

Danby became aware that he was staring over Diana’s abandoned head straight into the eyes of a thin dark-haired girl who was standing and looking rather distraught in the doorway.

He loosed Diana, pinching her arms slightly and coughing. Diana slowly lifted her head, looked behind her, and then began quite quietly to do up her dress, her eyes still vague and a little desperate.

‘I’m terribly sorry!’ said the girl in the doorway in a clipped rather prissy voice. She turned as if to go, still hesitating.

‘Don’t go,’ said Diana. She got up and Danby rose too.

‘Danby, this is my sister, Lisa Watkin. This is Danby Odell.’

‘Oh, hello–’ The girl hesitated, extended a hand and gave Danby a crushing grip.

‘Hello. I didn’t know you had a sister,’ he said to Diana, in an effort to make something which sounded like conversation.

Lisa, who had now pressed her hand to her heart, seemed more shocked and upset by the encounter than Diana. She was looking anxiously at her sister. Then suddenly they both smiled and the smile revealed a fugitive resemblance. Only Diana’s smile was lazy and inward, whereas Lisa’s was a more outward smile, like a simple animal manifestation.

‘Well, then, I’ll be off, upstairs.’ Lisa made a quick awkward movement, rather like someone swatting a fly, and jerked out of the door without looking at Danby. The door closed and footsteps receded.

‘Gosh!’ said Danby.

‘It’s all right,’ said Diana, smiling faintly.

They stood separated from each other, stiff and momently chilled.

‘Will she tell Miles?’

‘No. I’ll tell Miles you called in.’

‘Without details, I hope?’

‘Without details.’

‘Better have a pretext. Say I called to say eleven thirty tomorrow, not eleven. Are you sure she won’t tell Miles?’

‘Of course I am. She’s perfectly discreet. She’s perfect.’

‘She isn’t very like you. Is she ill?’

‘No. She’s been ill. She’s all right now.’

‘A pretty sister and an ugly one.’

‘Lisa’s quite good-looking really but you have to know her.’

‘How much older is she than you?’

‘She’s four years younger.’

‘She doesn’t look it. Is she visiting?’

‘No. She lives here.’

‘Oh hell, Diana, how are we going to organise things?’

‘Who says any things are going to be organised?’

‘Don’t start that again. Look, darling, I think I’ll go now. The appearance of sister Lisa has put a cold finger on me. But we’ll meet very soon, won’t we? And don’t decide anything and don’t worry. We’ll see how things are. But we must meet, mustn’t we?’

‘Yes, Danby, I suppose we must.’ She looked away from him down the narrow green garden which was just beginning to quiver a little in the evening light.

‘Well, don’t look so sad about it, my sweet. You’ll telephone me at the works on Monday. If you don’t ring, I’ll ring you.’

‘I’ll ring.

‘Number–I’ve lost count already.’

She stayed beside the French window, her arms hanging, as he had seen her at first, and turned slowly toward the garden leaning her head against the glass. Danby let himself out of the front door. As he turned to walk along toward the Old Brompton Road he looked up and saw a figure at an upstairs window and a pale face staring down at him. The figure hastily withdrew. Danby felt again the sense of chill, the cold finger laid upon his heart. She reminded him of somebody.

13

‘Il est COCU, le chef de gare!’

M
ILES PAUSED OUTSIDE
the house with irritation. He could hear Danby singing inside. Miles had been feeling all the morning as if he were going to a funeral. He was dressed for a funeral. He felt more than a little sick. He savoured the solemnity of his action in coming to see his father, and wished that solemnity to be recognised and respected by all concerned. He smoothed the frown from his face and rang the bell.

‘Il est COCU, le chef de gare!’

Danby opened the door still singing.

‘Ah, you’ve come, good, come in. Adelaide, meet the young master. This is Miles Greensleave. Adelaide de Crecy.’

A preoccupied young woman with a great deal of piled-up brown hair, wearing a blue and green check overall, nodded to Miles and disappeared beyond the stairs.

‘Adelaide the Maid,’ Danby explained. ‘I don’t suppose you want to go up straightaway? I think we’d better have a talk first. Would you like some coffee? Adelaide! Coffee!’

‘I don’t want any coffee, thank you,’ said Miles.

‘Adelaide! No coffee!’

Danby had led the way down some stairs and through a connecting door and entered what appeared to be his own bedroom. ‘Would you care for a drink? Dutch courage?’

‘No, thank you.’

Miles, who had never visited the house in Stadium Street, wrinkled his nose against the smell and the atmosphere of damp. The stairs seemed to be encrusted with earth or moss. Perhaps it was just old linoleum. Danby’s room, though quite large, was masculine and austerely untidy and rather dark: a bedstead with wooden slatted ends, a dressing table covered with a rather dusty litter of ivory-backed brushes and shaving tackle, a bookshelf full of paperback detective novels. The cheap flowered cretonne curtains were transparent with age. The big sash window showed a small garden, partly concrete, partly dark earth, sparsely dotted with dandelions. Above a dark brick wall one of the black graceless chimneys of the power station towered against a restless cloudy sky. It was raining slightly and the pitted concrete was a dark grey. Miles felt a sudden acute depression, a desolation of a quite new quality. He feared the whole experience, he feared its power to distract, to obsess, to degrade. He feared a defilement.

‘Won’t you take off your mackintosh? Adelaide can dry it in the kitchen.’

‘No, thank you. Look, there isn’t anything to say, is there? I’d better see him and get it over.’

‘I just wanted to tell you,’ said Danby in a low voice, ‘that you’ll find him very much changed. I thought I’d better warn you. He doesn’t look like what he used to look like at all.’

‘Naturally I’d expect him to have aged.’

‘It’s not just age. Well, you’ll see. You won’t upset him, will you?’

‘Of course I won’t upset him!’

‘He’s a poor old man. He just wants to be at peace with everybody.’

‘He is expecting me, isn’t he?’

‘Oh God yes. He’s been all agog. Couldn’t sleep last night. You see, he–’

‘Could I see him now, please? I don’t feel in a mood for conversation.’

‘Yes, yes, come on then, sorry–’

Danby led Miles back through the connecting door and up two flights of stairs. The crumbling stuff underfoot was disintegrating linoleum. On the small dark landing Danby opened a door without knocking and marched in. ‘He’s here, Bruno.’ Miles followed.

Miles was vaguely aware of Danby slipping away behind him and closing the door. Miles stared. Then he caught his breath and put his hand to his mouth in a sudden searing heat of shock and horror. He could feel himself blushing with shock and with shame. Bruno had indeed changed.