LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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