The Paying Guests(46)

Then, ‘Oh, I see what you’re up to,’ he said, in a tone of reproach.

Frances, just for a second, thought that he was addressing her. But he was talking to the doll.

‘Sailor Sam down here,’ he explained, ‘has got his eye on Lil. Every time I turn my back, he manages to find his way on to her lap.’ He set his glass on the floor and took hold of the doll instead. ‘Up you come, my lad! You’ve had your fun for the evening. You can sit up here on the mantelpiece and keep your wandering hands to yourself… That’s assuming I can find a spot for you amongst all these blessed gewgaws.’ He moved aside the Buddha, the rattling tambourine. ‘Did you ever see such a lot of rubbish in your life, Miss Wray? You know you should never sit too still, don’t you, when Lily’s around? Just in case she pins a bow on you. Not that you wouldn’t look nice with a bow, I’m sure. Sailor Sam thinks so, don’t you, Sailor Sam? But, what’s that?’ He lifted the doll’s leering face to his ear. ‘You aren’t so sure about Lily? You think Lily looks like a – Oh, Sailor Sam, that’s not a very nice word!’

Lilian put out a foot to give him a kick – a proper kick, this time – and he dodged away from it with another snigger. He fitted the doll on to the mantelpiece, making a fuss about crossing its legs, then retrieved his drink and sat down at his wife’s side.

Frances, tired, uncomfortable, unenchanted by Sailor Sam, wondered if she had made a mistake. The glass was sticky in her hand. She had had sherry, wine and a crème de menthe at Mrs Playfair’s, and didn’t at all want another drink. Now that the door was shut, and with the pool of light from the lamp so narrow, the room seemed small and close and she was, she realised, trapped in it. She was trapped in it with Lilian, at whom she couldn’t look without a gulp of dismay. She was trapped with Mr Barber, whom she did not quite trust. And, worst of all, she was trapped with their marriage, their mystifying union, which had evidently passed out of whatever affectionate phase it had recently enjoyed and was already mired in some new quarrel… She didn’t care about the details. Lifting her glass to her lips she thought: I shan’t stay longer than fifteen minutes. She took a sip – a large sip, to hurry the drink down – and instantly began to cough. The mixture had caught in her throat. It seemed all gin.

‘Don’t say it’s too stiff for you, Miss Wray?’ said Mr Barber, his blue eyes wide.

And now the innuendoes were back! Still coughing, she couldn’t answer. She took a second sip to calm the first, then pointedly set the glass aside.

Almost immediately, however, he raised his own glass for a toast, and she was obliged to drink again.

‘Well, here’s to my two-twenty!’ His narrow throat jumped as he swallowed. Wiping the froth from his moustache he said, ‘I tell you what, Miss Wray. I wish my brother Dougie were here. He’s been with his firm for thirteen years, and he’s on less than I’ll be getting. – Not that I mean to stick at two-twenty, mind,’ he added, perhaps feeling that he had given too much away. ‘But now, you see, I shall be right behind another fellow; and his is the job I want. Still, I shan’t be doing too badly. A desk to myself, a telephone, a secretary —’

‘He’s even had his nails done, Frances,’ Lilian broke in. ‘He went for a manicure on his way home from work. Aren’t they fine?’

At that, his expression changed. With a frown at his fingernails he said slowly, ‘I dunno. You women are allowed to spend hours beautifying yourselves, but if a chap tries to smarten himself up he gets chipped about it! I’ve my position to consider now. I’ve an example to set to the juniors.’

‘I suppose it’s a pretty girl that does it, is it?’ Lilian asked him.

‘Well, you suppose wrong, don’t you? It’s a pretty fellow, as it happens. Chap with a wave in his hair, and a lisp.’ He gave Frances a wink. ‘Likes holding my hand just a bit too much for my liking, if you get my drift, Miss Wray?’

Frances, growing hot, reached for her drink again – and saw Lilian, at the same moment, reaching for hers. I’ll stay for ten minutes, she thought. I’ll stay for less than that – for five. He’ll make a fuss about me leaving, but that doesn’t matter…

Already, however, after just three mouthfuls, she could feel the gin inside her, quick and warm, like a friendly flame; the friendliest thing, it seemed to her, that she had encountered in ages. And by the time she had taken a fourth sip Mr Barber had begun to seem a shade less annoying. He told her a couple of office anecdotes, but soon reverted to his theme of the night – his cool two-twenty and what he planned to do with it. There were certain bonds and investments that he had in his sights, he said. There were chaps – connections of his, stockbrokers and bankers – all poised to put first-rate deals his way.

‘Of course,’ he went on, with a swerve of tactic, ‘it doesn’t help a working fellow if he’s got a certain type of wife. I mean the sort of wife’ – his tone became pointed – ‘who likes spending her husband’s money, but who doesn’t understand that, in order for a chap to earn the money in the first place, he has to be made a bit of a fuss of. The sort of wife who sits at home all day in her nightie, reading books about society girls getting ravished by desert princes.’

Lilian made a face at him. ‘You ought to go back to your parents’, then. There aren’t any books there.’