Odd Girl Out (26 page)

‘You’ve been so long, I thought you were never coming back.’

Anne sat up in bed and looked at Arabella with expectant trust and affection. ‘It is awful,’ she went on, ‘you’ve hardly been here a fortnight, and
already I can’t think what I’d do without you.’

Arabella looked at her with unaffected delight. ‘Oh
good,
’ she said. ‘Listen: I’ve bought a lot of sensible things for Ariadne, but possibly some rather silly
things for us. How are you feeling?’

‘Much
better. I felt worse after my bath, but that was pardy Mrs Gregory feeling that I must be. What have you bought?’

Arabella told her about the things for Ariadne, and Anne, though she privately thought plaice too good even for such a cat, made no criticism. Arabella’s description of the coley
‘like half-frozen slabs of awfully dirty underclothes’, and the whiting as some sort of decoration that somebody had made of a cheap and unusual material made her laugh and ask for
champagne. ‘Why not?’ she said quickly – more to herself than to Arabella. ‘Edmund wouldn’t mind in the least. He’d be glad that we were enjoying
ourselves.’

‘Let me just tell you about one of the silly things.’

‘Just one, then.’

‘Two huge crabs.’

‘That doesn’t sound particularly silly to me.’

‘But when I got them home, they weren’t at all like you have them in restaurants. They’re – well,
whole,
and I don’t at all know what to do with
them.’

‘Well, you could bring them up here and I could show you. After lunch – or after champagne, anyway. Have you brought any cigarettes?’

‘Yes, but won’t they make your throat sore?’

‘Yes, but I want one.’

‘OK.’

Downstairs, Arabella realized that she had not thought about lunch at all. She would have to make an omelette – the only dish that she knew how to make. She got some champagne and glasses
and decided to give the presents as she felt like it. She put a rabbit on for Ariadne as she had been taught to do, and went back to Anne with cigarettes, the drink, and the presents in a carrier
bag. She felt full of excitement, as she loved giving presents even more than shopping.

After the first glass, Anne said, ‘Can people tell when you have been drinking champagne? On your breath, I mean?’

‘You mean Dr Travers? I bet not, on the whole. The Gauloise won’t fox him though. Not unless you clean your teeth like mad and we open the windows and I let him in with one dripping
out of my mouth. Would an omelette be all right for lunch?’

‘It would be lovely, but there is a cold chicken, or a cooling chicken, in the larder. I asked Mrs Gregory to do it for us, and she’s a brilliant roaster.’

‘Oh well – let’s have that. We can always fall back on my omelettes, and as we might have to fall quite often, the later the better. I can’t make anything else,’
she explained. ‘Perhaps, when you are better, you’d teach me to cook. I really ought to learn and all they taught at the awful place I went to was things like choux pastry, which I
hate, so I didn’t learn properly on purpose. Or do you think it is socially wrong for very rich people to be able to cook?’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, you know. Creating unemployment – that sort of thing. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?’

‘Are you very rich?’

‘I think I must be, because Clara is usually pretty mean about doling out money, but I’ve noticed that since I was twenty-one she jolly well doles it out, if you see what I mean.
Which would argue that whether she likes it or not, some of the dough
is
actually mine. Although I have to ask for it so far. I think when I’m twenty-five – years away –
then I may get control. That’s why she’s so hell bent on getting me married before then. She knows I’d never be manageable once I got my paws on the loot.’

‘But she can’t
make
you marry anyone you don’t want to marry.’

Arabella took a defiant swig. ‘No, she can’t, can she?’

‘What will you do when you do get it?’

‘Ah. That’s the thousand-dollar question. If you want to know, I’ve kept a loose-leaf book for years. With plans in it.’

‘Why loose-leaf?’

‘So that I can tear out the looniest plans when I outgrow them. It stays quite a thin book,’ she added sadly, ‘although I bought six lots of refills.’

‘Will you show it to me some time?’

‘If you swear not to laugh, I might. I’ve never shown it to anyone, you see, on account of that danger. It’s laid out on a double-spread system. One side says “Good for
Arabella” and the other side says “Nice for Arabella”, and so far they don’t seem to fit much. Here’s a present for you.’ She threw the bottle of toilet water on
to the bed and Anne’s lap. Anne was delighted, and Arabella watched her and got the maximum pleasure from her delight.

‘Lovely: I’d run out, and this is one of my favouriYes. I do love being given presents, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know: I don’t get them much. It’s a bit like being known to be a super cook. People wouldn’t ask you out to dinner, because they would always think you
could do it better than they could. People always seem to feel that I could buy a better whatever-it-might-be for myself.’

‘Oh –
poor
you.’

‘
I
don’t mind. Poor rich me, I do love giving presents, though. Here’s another for you.’

‘Arabella – really! You shouldn’t.’

‘Anne – really! I can do what I damn well like.’

This time it was the night-dress. ‘I thought you might as well give Dr Travers some fun for his money.

‘It’s not actually a night-dress,’ she explained, as Anne speechlessly unfolded it. ‘It’s supposed to be what some extraordinary sort of person does nothing in in
the evenings. You do like it, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes. But it seems so –
much.
’

‘Well, you admitted your night-dresses weren’t up to much, and you haven’t
got
to wear it in bed.’

Anne said, ‘If I wasn’t infectious, I’d kiss you.’

Arabella said, ‘I never catch things. Do kiss me.’ She went to the bed, and bent down so that Anne could do this. Anne kissed her face, and inevitably remembering the earlier kiss
that had been quite different, wondered immediately about hurting Arabella’s feelings. The precedent for months had been set: the last thing she could bear to do would be to hurt this
generous, affectionate creature. She moved Arabella’s face so that she could kiss her mouth. When she did this, Arabella kissed her back, with a strength and sweetness of affection, and also,
it seemed to Anne, a hunger for being loved that moved her in more ways than one. She’s never had a man she has loved, Anne knew then. She feels safe with me. It’s as though nobody has
ever loved her, poor darling. She put her hands each side of Arabella’s neck, and stroked the silky hair and soft skin kept warm by the hair. ‘
I
love you, anyway,’ she
said, and then wished very much that she had not put it so badly. But – ‘I love
you,
also,’ Arabella said, and her voice was both warm and light. Everything was all right.
Everything in fact was surprisingly good. They both had some more champagne, and then Arabella fetched the chicken and two little salads that Mrs Gregory had laid out with a bottle of Heinz
mayonnaise.

‘Oh good!’ Arabella had said about the latter. ‘I do so prefer things out of bottles that people have made for everyone. I really adore this stuff, and it is surprisingly
difficult to get in restaurants. I suppose they save money making their beastly own.’

When they had nearly finished, she said, ‘When you’re feeling better, can we take a boat and go for a picnic on the river?’

‘Of course we can. It would be lovely. We really waste the river – Edmund gets back too late – you know, it is all dusk and midges biting away at one. But we could go in the
morning.’

‘Now. I’m going to give Ariadne a substantial snack. You could get into your gown, or whatever it is. Dr T. is due any time now.’

Dr Travers turned up while Arabella was boning the rabbit. She went to the door which she opened with a teatowel wrapped round her hand.

‘What have you done to yourself?’

‘I’m sticky with rabbit. Nothing. Anne is upstairs,’ she added unnecessarily.

‘How is she today?’

‘Better, I think, but it seems to come and go. She doesn’t seem to be having an actual cold.’

When Dr Travers came down, he said, ‘Well, I think you’re right about the cold. I think she’s got glandular fever.’

‘Oh. What does one do about that?’

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. One goes to bed when one feels ill, and gets up when one feels all right.’

‘How long does it go on for?’

‘Seldom longer than three months. Sometimes much less than that. She doesn’t seem a very bad case. Her temperature’s normal at the moment.’

‘Three
months
!’

‘Well – don’t let’s look on the black side of things. She may get over it in a few weeks. By the way, from your point of view, Miss – ’

‘Dawick.’

‘Dawick, if you are the kind of person who’s going to catch it, you’ll catch it, and if you’re not, you won’t.’

‘I’m not,’ said Arabella firmly. She had gone back to the laborious boning of rabbit. Dr Travers smiled at her clumsiness and determination.

‘Well – let her do what she feels like doing. Fairer to other people if she didn’t go to cinemas and things like that, but otherwise . . . Oh, and see she takes her temperature
twice a day. If it goes up a great deal, give me a call. Otherwise I’ll come and see her next week. Her husband’s away, I gather?’

‘Yes – but only for about two weeks.’

‘I have no doubt that you will hold the fort admirably. Who is all that rabbit for? Are you making a pie?’

‘Good God, no. I’m a one-off cook: omelettes. This is for the cat. She has had four kittens, so if you hear of a good home, we’d be most obliged to you.’

‘Right, I won’t forget, but nearly all the homes I visit don’t have any vacancies.’

‘Do you want some tea?’ Arabella asked. He seemed to be hanging about rather, and she thought that possibly English doctors got tea wherever they went.

‘Thank you, no, I must be going. Don’t hesitate to call me if you are worried about Mrs Cornhill.’

And he went.

When Arabella had fed Ariadne a huge meal of rabbit with a bowl of top of the milk, she looked in on Anne, who was reading.

‘Sorry about your whateveritis fever.’

‘It is a bore, isn’t it? Just as well Edmund is away really. He hates me to be ill.’

‘Shall I go and pick things in the garden while you have a rest? Then, if you’re feeling all right, I could bring the crabs up to you and you could show me how to unhinge
them.’

‘That would be lovely. I keep feeling sleepy. Pick some raspberries, there should be a lot more by now. And peas, if you like.’

‘Could I pick some roses as well? Or a mixed bunch of things?’

Ordinarily, Anne would not have liked other people picking her flowers, but she liked the idea of Arabella doing it.

‘I’ll be awfully careful,’ Arabella said.

‘Pick anything you like.’

‘If you want me, use the gong. I’ll hear it easily.’

‘I shan’t want you. I’m perfectly all right, just sleepy.’

‘How long have you – cared – for me, Clint?’

‘I fell in love with you, baby, right from the very first moment I saw you coming out of that movie.’

It’s time
I
got out of
this
movie, Edmund thought with a start. He had been – not exactly asleep – but in a kind of trance where his eyes remained open, he had no
thoughts of any kind, and he had not the slightest idea who Clint was or the girl he was now vociferously kissing. He looked at his watch: he had been in the cinema for well over two hours. It was
nearly seven; he could reasonably make for the Air Terminal. It wasn’t that he wasn’t perfecrty all right: he simply felt dazed and hot and rather thirsty. These feelings soon gave way
to sheer fright at what lay ahead. At the Terminal, he managed to get a double whisky and ginger ale before catching a bus to Heathrow. The bus, after Cromwell Road and Hammersmith, ascended the
M4. The M4. It would be that: the last time he had travelled it had been with Arbell – nearly forty-eight hours ago. He leaned back in his seat and gave himself entirely over to anxiety and
self-pity. If only she was with him now! The bliss – the gorgeous feeling of excitement and irresponsibility! As it was, he was faced with a probably exhausting and unrewarding mission with
all the rigours of being in a country where he could not speak the language. Perhaps, when he reached the airport, he
would
ring Mulberry Lodge. There was a chance that she would answer;
that he would, at least, hear her voice. The bus was full, and next to him sat a man with dark glasses, a soft hat and a cigar, the chronic smoke of which blew steadily in Edmund’s direction.
The bus also contained a child who was whining without pause, and what looked like a honeymoon couple, since they radiated a self-conscious sexual awareness of each other that no amount of staring
into space – hands creeping together as though they led a life of their own – could erase. I’ll get drunk, Edmund thought. That’s what aeroplanes are for. Then I
shan’t care
what
happens. The trouble with this idea, was that he already didn’t care what happened, and that was the trouble. He
wanted
to care. It suddenly seemed urgent
that the wretched bus should arrive in time for him to telephone.

It didn’t. By the time his luggage had been weighed – a long queue – they were calling for his flight number. The telephone boxes also had queues attached to them, so that he
could comfort himself that he hadn’t missed ringing by a hair’s breadth. Through Customs and Passport Control they were put into a bus where they waited interminably – presumably
for those persons brave enough to make telephone calls, risk losing their plane and keep everyone else waiting, Edmund thought. They drove for what seemed like miles to the plane. Everybody managed
to get out of the bus before Edmund, which simply meant that he had a seat between two other people near the front. Where, if you crashed, you had least chance, he thought. He had not had lunch,
and was now longing for some more drink, but this was clearly going to take time. He wondered whether he had married Anne out of cowardice – or some mysterious sense of inferiority. Then he
felt a complex of disloyalties. All men of his age underwent some emotional upheaval, he imagined. He couldn’t actually think of anyone who had, but then, he didn’t know any man well
enough to know that about them. He wanted to look at himself in a glass, but there wasn’t one. The lights of the airport, vari-coloured and in dramatic patterns for the take-off paths, were
reflected in the windows. Stewardesses in their tight, well-cut skirts were mincing or hobbling up and down the gangways, putting up – with infinite patience – with the clash between
first, or rare, experiences and day-to-day routine. ‘No smoking now sir. Fasten your seat belts. Shall I put that on the rack for you? Dinner will be served approximately half an hour after
take-off. Drinks will be served as soon as we are airborne. Would you like a paper? No smoking, I’m afraid, until after take-off.’