The Paying Guests(66)

Still with fixed, forced smiles on their faces they moved to stand with the boys and girls who had gathered around the gramophone and were noisily debating which record ought to be played next. But they took no part in the discussion. Lilian glanced over her shoulder and spoke in the shadow of the other voices.

‘He’s waiting for you, that chap. What’s his name?’ Her tone was bright, with a quiver to it. ‘You’ve made a conquest there, haven’t you? He’s taken a real shine to you.’

Frances hesitated. Then, ‘It’s your shine,’ she said.

Lilian looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s only taken a shine to me because I’ve taken a shine to you. It’s your shine, Lilian.’

Lilian’s expression changed. She dropped her gaze, parted her lips. Her heart beat harder, jumping in the hollow at the base of her throat in that percussive way that Frances had seen once before. And when it had jumped six times, seven times, eight, nine, she looked up into Frances’s eyes and said, ‘Take me home, will you?’

There was something to the way she said it: a complicity, an assent. Frances felt for her fingers, pressed them, then released them and moved off. Seeing Ewart just beginning to rise from the sofa, she stepped past him without a word. She went out to the hall and quickly began to search among the chaos of hats and bags for her and Lilian’s things.

Looking up after a moment, she found that Ewart had followed her. He was gazing at her in astonishment.

‘You’re not leaving?’

She answered with a try at apology. ‘I’m afraid I must. My friend – My friend isn’t feeling very well.’

He said, ‘I don’t wonder, the way she’s been carrying on! Isn’t there somebody else who could see to her?’

‘It isn’t that, it’s – oh, it’s the heat, I expect. And we have to catch a train. We’ve a long journey home.’

‘You’re only going to Camberwell, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘Well, I go that way. I’ll see you to the station.’

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘don’t do that. My friend – she’s embarrassed. No, really. Please.’

He had dug out his hat, but now stood with it in his hands, uncertain.

‘But we were getting on so nicely.’

‘Yes, it’s been awfully nice to meet you.’

‘And what about our trip?’

‘Oh —’

Netta came out of the front room, a couple of empty glasses in her hands. Frances turned to her in relief. ‘Good night, Mrs Rawlins. It’s been so nice. Lilian and I are leaving now.’

‘Oh, you’re off, are you? Is Ewart seeing you to the station?’

‘No, I’ve told him he mustn’t trouble.’

Ewart said, ‘She says her pal doesn’t want it. She’s isn’t feeling too bright.’

‘Which pal?’ asked Netta, as Lilian appeared.

‘This lady here.’

‘That’s my sister. What’s the matter with you, Lilian?’

Lilian was blinking at the light and at the faces, putting back a strand of hair from her cheek. She said, ‘Nothing’s the matter with me.’ She spoke without meeting Frances’s eye. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Well, if you’re tired, why won’t you let Ewart go along with you? Or, Lloyd —’ Her husband had appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Lloyd, you could walk Lilian and Miss Wray to the station, couldn’t you?’

He slowed for a fraction of a second, then came gallantly on. Of course he could, he said. He’d consider it an honour.

Lilian protested. They mustn’t be silly, it would spoil the party, it wasn’t fair. But she spoke weakly, and Frances could feel the tight little charm of intimacy and expectation that had wound its way around the two of them begin to unravel. She put on her hat. Ewart put on his. Lloyd took out his pocket watch and tried to recall the times of the trains. Frances looked from face to face and wanted to hit someone – really wanted it, feeling a rush of despair and frustration at the idiocy of it all. At last, with a burst of false laughter, and in what, she realised, were her worst schoolmistressy tones, she said, ‘We’re two grown women, good heavens! I think we can be trusted to walk to the station on our own!’

In the awkward pause that followed, Netta drew in her chin. She tapped her husband with her knuckles. ‘There you are, Lloyd, the girls don’t need you. They’re too modern.’ She spoke partly in support of Frances; partly, Frances thought, in mockery of her. ‘Ewart, take your hat off and come back inside.’

Ewart took the hat off, but did not move. Frances held out her hand to him, saying, ‘I do hope we’ll meet again.’

He looked sulky now, as if she had played him a dirty trick. Perhaps she had. But she couldn’t be sorry. She couldn’t be guilty. She couldn’t, couldn’t! The door was open, and she and Lilian were inching towards it. More smiles, more handshakes, more apologies… And then they were free, going out of the house like swimmers. Or so, anyhow, it seemed to Frances, for directly the door was closed again and the clamour of the party was behind them she lifted her arms, put back her head, feeling unmoored, suspended, lapped about by the liquid blue night.