Quartet in Autumn (11 page)

Now the problem of lunch presented itself. Edwin had a sandwich in the office but he was not quite ready to face the others, so decided to go to a coffee house in Southampton Row, where he sat brooding in a curtained alcove, drinking strong Brazilian coffee.

A pair of lovers sat opposite him but he did not notice them He was thinking about his own funeral — he would hardly rate a 'Memorial Service' — a proper Requiem, of course, with orange candles and incense and all the proper ceremonial details. He wondered if Father G. would outlive him and what hymns he would choose ... A clock struck two and he realized that he ought to be getting back.

Norman looked up sourly as Edwin entered the room. Something had apparently 'come up' and Norman was having to deal with it.

'Nice work if you can get it — going to a Memorial Service at twelve and staying out three hours,' Norman commented.

'Two hours, twelve minutes,' said Edwin, consulting his watch. 'You could have come too if you'd wanted to.'

'Was it a beautiful service?' Letty asked. As an infrequent churchgoer she had the impression that services of this type were always beautiful.

'I wouldn't say that exactly,' said Edwin, hanging up his overcoat on a peg.

Marcia caught a mingled whiff of coffee and alcohol as he passed her to go to his table. 'What've you been up to?' she asked, but did not expect an answer.

Twelve

T
HE
ORGANIZATION
WHERE
Letty and Marcia worked regarded it as a duty to provide some kind of a retirement party for them, when the time came for them to give up working. Their status as ageing unskilled women did not entitle them to an evening party, but it was felt that a lunchtime gathering, leading only to more than usual drowsiness in the afternoon, would be entirely appropriate. The other advantage of a lunchtime party was that only medium Cyprus sherry need be provided, whereas the evening called for more exotic and expensive drinks, wines and even the occasional carefully concealed bottle of whisky or gin — 'the hard stuff, as Norman called it, in his bitterness at being denied access to it. Also at lunchtime sandwiches could be eaten, so that there was no need to have lunch and it was felt by some that at a time like this it was 'better' to be eating - it gave one something to do.

Retirement was a serious business, to be regarded with respect, though the idea of it was incomprehensible to most of the staff. It was a condition that must be studied and prepared for, certainly — 'researched' they would have said — indeed it had already been the subject of a seminar, though the conclusions reached and the recommendations drawn up had no real bearing on the retirement of Letty and Marcia, which seemed as inevitable as the falling of the leaves in autumn, for which no kind of preparation needed to be made. If the two women feared that the coming of this date might give some clue to their ages, it was not an occasion for embarrassment because nobody else had been in the least interested, both of them having long ago reached ages beyond any kind of speculation. Each would be given a small golden handshake, but the state would provide for their basic needs which could not be all that great. Elderly women did not need much to eat, warmth was more necessary than food, and people like Letty and Marcia probably had either private means or savings, a nest-egg in the post office or a building society. It was comforting to think on these lines, and even if they had nothing extra, the social services were so much better now, there was no need for anyone to starve or freeze. And if governments failed in their duty there were always the media — continual goadings on television programmes, upsetting articles in the Sunday papers and disturbing pictures in the colour supplements. There was no need to worry about Miss Crowe and Miss Ivory.

The (acting) deputy assistant director, who had been commanded to make the presentation speech, wasn't quite sure what it was that Miss Crowe and Miss Ivory did or had done during their working lives. The activities of their department seemed to be shrouded in mystery — something to do with records or filing, it was thought, nobody knew for certain, but it was evidently 'women's work', the kind of thing that could easily be replaced by a computer. The most significant thing about it was that nobody was replacing them, indeed the whole department was being phased out and only being kept on until the men working in it reached retirement age. Yet under the influence of a quick swig of sherry, even this unpromising material could be used to good effect.

The deputy assistant director stepped into the middle of the room and began to speak.

'The point about Miss Crowe and Miss Ivory, whom we are met together to honour today, is that nobody knows exactly, or has ever known exactly, what it is that they do,' he declared boldly. 'They have been — they are — the kind of people who work quietly and secretly, doing good by stealth, as it were. Good, do I hear you ask? Yes, good, I repeat, and good I mean. In these days of industrial unrest it is people like Miss Ivory and Miss Crowe' — the names seemed to have got reversed, but presumably it didn't matter — 'who are an example to us all. We shall miss them very much, so much so that nobody has been found to replace them, but we would be the last to deny them the rewards of a well
-
earned retirement. It gives me much pleasure on behalf of the company and staff to present each of these ladies with a small token of our appreciation of their long and devoted service, which carries with it our best wishes for their future.'

Letty and Marcia then came forward, each to receive an envelope containing a cheque and a suitably inscribed card, the presenter remembered a luncheon engagement and slipped away, glasses were refilled and a buzz of talk broke out Conversation had to be made and it did not come very easily once the obvious topics had been exhausted. As the party went on, people divided most easily into everyday working groups. It was the most natural thing then for Letty and Marcia to find themselves with Edwin and Norman, and for the latter to make some comment on the speech and to suggest that from what had been said he supposed they would spend their retirement setting the motor industry to rights.

Marcia was glad to be with people she knew. When she met other members of the staff she was conscious of her breastlessness, feeling that they must sense her imperfection, her incompleteness. Yet on the other hand she liked to talk about herself, to bring the conversation round to hospitals and surgeons, to pronounce in a lowered, reverent tone the name of Mr Strong. She could even, if it came to that, take some pleasure in saying 'my mastectomy — it was the word 'breast' and the idea of it that upset her. None of the speeches and conversations dealing with her retirement had contained any references to breast (hope springing eternal in the human) or bosom (sentiments to which every b. returns an echo), as they might well have done had the deputy assistant director's speech been more literary.

It was of course generally known that Miss Ivory had undergone a serious operation, but the dress she was wearing today — a rather bright hyacinth blue courtelle — was several sizes too big for her skinny figure, so that very little of her shape was visible. People at the party who did not know her were fascinated by her strange appearance, that dyed hair and the peering beady eyes, and she might have provided unusual entertainment if one had had the courage to attempt a conversation with her. But one never did have quite that sort of courage when it came to the point. Ageing, slightly mad and on the threshold of retirement, it was an uneasy combination and it was no wonder that people shied away from her or made only the most perfunctory remarks. It was difficult to imagine what her retirement would be like — impossible and rather gruesome to speculate on it.

Letty, by contrast, was boringly straightforward. Even her rather nice green-patterned jersey suit and her newly set mousy hair were perfectly in character. She had already been classified as a typical English spinster about to retire to a cottage in the country, where she would be joining with others like her to engage in church activities, attending meetings of the Women's Institute, and doing gardening and needlework. People at the party therefore talked to her about all these things and Letty's natural modesty and politeness prevented her from telling them that she was no longer going to share a country cottage with a friend but would probably be spending the rest of her life in London. She knew that she was not a very interesting person, so she did not go into too much boring detail with the young people who enquired graciously about her future plans. Even Eulalia, the black junior, gave her an unexpectedly radiant smile. Another, whose thick, smooth straight neck rose up like a column of alabaster, the kind of girl it was impossible to imagine engaging in any of the mundane office jobs like typing or filing, suggested brightly that she'd be able to watch the telly in the afternoons, and Letty began to realize that things like this were, after all, one of the chief joys of retirement. She could not admit to this kind girl that she hadn't even got a television set.

Inevitably everyone had to get back to work and eventually Letty and Marcia found themselves in their own office with Edwin and Norman.

The two men seemed pleased with themselves. In their time they had attended a good many retirement parties and this one apparently came up to the standard which was measured by the number of times the sherry bottle went round.

'Of course sherry's a bit livery midday,' said Norman, 'but it's better than nothing. It does have its effect.' He swayed slightly in a comic manner.

'I find two glasses quite enough,' said Letty, 'and I think my glass must have been refilled when I wasn't looking because I feel quite...' She didn't really know how she felt or how to describe it; she was certainly not drunk but neither tiddly nor tipsy seemed suitably dignified.

Marcia, who had taken nothing but a small glass of orange juice, gave a tight-lipped smile.

'At least you won't have a drinking problem when you retire,' Norman teased.

'I hate the stuff,' she declared.

Letty found herself thinking about the lonely evenings ahead of her in Mrs Pope's silent house. Perhaps it would be as well not to have a bottle of sherry in her room ... She had got on quite well with Mrs Pope so far, when she was out all day, but would it be the same when she retired? Obviously the arrangement could only be temporary. One did not relish the idea of spending the rest of one's life in a north-west London suburb. There was no reason why she shouldn't find a room in a village somewhere near where Marjorie and her husband would be living — Marjorie had hinted in her last letter that she would welcome something of the kind, she didn't want to lose touch after all these years ... Or she might go back to the west of England where she was born. She told herself, dutifully assuming the suggested attitude towards retirement, that life was still full of possibilities.

Letty began clearing out her office drawer, neatly arranging its contents in her shopping bag. There was not much to be taken away — a pair of light slippers for the days when she needed to change her shoes, a box of paper handkerchiefs, writing paper and envelopes, a packet of indigestion tablets. Following Letty's example, Marcia began to do the same, muttering as she did so and stuffing the contents into a large carrier bag. Letty knew that Marcia's drawer was very full although she had never seen inside it properly, only caught glimpses of things bulging out when Marcia opened it. She knew that there was a pair of exercise sandals in which Marcia used to clump around in the days when she had first bought them, but she was surprised to see her take out several tins of food — meat, beans and soups.

'Quite a gourmet feast you've got there,' Norman remarked. 'If only we'd known.'

Marcia smiled but said nothing. Norman seemed to be able to get away with these teasing comments, Letty thought. She had turned aside, not wanting to see what Marcia was taking out of the drawer. It seemed an intrusion into Marcia's private life, something it was better not to know about.

'It will seem funny without you both,' said Edwin awkwardly.

He did not really know what to say now that it had come to the point. None of them knew, for it was the kind of occasion that seemed to demand something more than the usual goodbye or goodnight of the end of an ordinary working day. Perhaps they should have given the women a present of some kind — but w
bat?
He and Norman had discussed it, but decided in the end that it was altogether too difficult 'They wouldn't expect it — it would only embarrass them,' they had concluded, 'and it's not as if we were never going to see them again.' In the circumstances it was much easier to assume this but without going into too much detail about it. For of course they would all meet again — Letty and Marcia would revisit the office, 'pop in' some time. There might even be meetings outside the office — a kind of get-together for lunch or 'something'... even if it was beyond imagining what that something might be, at least it made it easier for them all to go on their separate ways assuming a vague future together.

Thirteen

'Y
OU
'
LL
BE
RETIRING
,' Janice Brabner had said. 'Have you thought at all what you're going to do?'

'Do?' Marcia stared at her blankly. 'What do you mean?'

Well...' Janice faltered but, as she afterwards recounted, pressed on regardless. 'You'll have a good deal of time on your hands, won't you — time that you gave to your job?' Marcia had never revealed what exactly her job was but Janice guessed that it hadn't been particularly exciting. After all, what kind of job could somebody like Marcia do? She wished she wouldn't keep staring at her in that unnerving way, as if she had no idea what was meant by Janice asking what she was going to do when she retired.