Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  “ You seem to have got yourself into a serious mess.”

  “ Mess isn’t the word! It’s ghastly—and it’s such rotten luck, isn’t it? ”

  “ I wouldn’t describe it as rotten luck.”

  “ It was! I’ve driven that blinking car dozens of times. I can drive that car with my eyes shut. How did I know Harry would grab the wheel just as we were going out of the gate! Look here, David, you might lend me a few quid. If I could raise a fiver I could square up the whole thing. I’ll pay you back—sure as death I’ll pay you every penny.”

  The idiotic thing was that I could not say no. I was annoyed with Ned and disgusted with his underhand dealings—but I was sorry for him.

  “ How much do you want? ” I asked.

  “ Oh, David, you are a brick! How much have you got? ”

  I turned out my pockets. I had a pound and a ten shilling note and some small change. I gave him the notes and returned the change to my pocket.

  “ Is that all? ” he said in disappointed tones. “ Oh, well, it’s better than nothing. I’ll have to get down to the show-rooms early to-morrow morning and see if I can fix things up.”

  I could not help smiling as I went upstairs to my room. Ned was incorrigible. He had treated me abominably but he seemed unaware of the fact. Nothing was his fault; it was all bad luck. Everything that happened to Ned was bad luck. But in spite of my amusement I was uneasy for I realised that unless I could harden my heart he would continue to look upon me as a milch-cow. The fact was I could not afford Ned.

  Presently there was a knock on the door and Beryl appeared.

  “ It’s all right,” she said in a low voice, and she came in and shut the door. “ It’s all right, David. I won’t stay a minute. I just had to talk to you and there’s no chance of talking downstairs.”

  She stood and looked at me. Her face was drawn and pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes.

  “ David,” she continued in the same low voice. “ Why don’t you say something? ”

  “ I’ve got nothing to say,” I told her.

  “ You’re cross! Oh, David, I was afraid you would be cross. It was a frightful party; I know you hated it but it wasn’t my fault.”

  “ It was my fault. I shouldn’t have come. I told you I was no good at parties.”

  “ Listen, David. I didn’t know you’d helped to pay for the party. I didn’t know until last night when we got home and Ned told me. He should have told me before and then I’d have known. Ned and I had an absolutely blazing row. I never want to see him again.”

  “ You’ll see him at supper—in about ten minutes,” I said.

  “ Don’t be horrid! ” she exclaimed, looking at me piteously. “ It wasn’t my fault that we drove off and left you behind. It wasn’t my fault—really it wasn’t. I tried to make Ned stop, but he wouldn’t. Then at last we made him stop and we went back, but you weren’t there. That’s the truth, David. You see how it happened, don’t you? ”

  “ Yes,” I said. “ It’s all right.”

  “ So now you understand, don’t you? ”

  I did not answer that. I took her bag out of the drawer and gave it to her. “ There’s your bag,” I said.

  “ Oh, David! ” she cried. “ Why are you so horrid? I’ve explained everything, haven’t I? ”

  “ No,” I said. “ You haven’t explained why you encouraged me to tell you about my home and then made fun of it.”

  “ I didn’t! ” she exclaimed. “ I don’t know what you mean.”

  “ Oh well, never mind, it doesn’t matter … but you’d better go away.”

  “ I’ll go in a minute. I just came because—because I want to be friends. Please, David! I didn’t mean to be horrid. Say you’ll forgive me.”

  “ All right,” I said uncomfortably. “ But you’d better go away. Miss Bulwer’s room is next door … so you’d better go away.”

  “ Listen, David,” said Beryl, coming nearer and reducing her voice to a whisper. “ Please listen. I like you so much—really and truly. That’s why I wanted to talk to you and explain. I can’t bear us not to be friends. I mean you’re different; I’ve never met anyone like you before. Don’t be cross with me.”

  “ I’ve told you it’s all right.”

  “ You keep on saying it’s all right, but it isn’t,” said Beryl miserably. “ You don’t like me any more.”

  This was so true that I could not deny it. I had liked Beryl quite a lot; she was gay and friendly, and I had enjoyed our evening together at The Three Lamplighters. Now, as I looked at her, I could not believe that I had ever liked her. I had thought her pretty, but now I saw that her eyes were too close together and her skin pasty and unhealthy beneath the layer of powder. It was as if I had been wearing a pair of rose-coloured spectacles and had taken them off.

  “ David, don’t look at me like that! ” she exclaimed.

  “ I’m sorry,” I said, turning away. I was sorry. It seemed unkind, but I could not help it. I was through with Beryl.

  Fortunately at this moment the gong rang and, after I had reconnoitred to see that Miss Bulwer was not prowling about on the landing, Beryl slipped out of my room and ran downstairs. I waited for a few moments and then went down myself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The following evening, walking home after work, I took a different route and, getting lost amongst the maze of streets, found myself in the Covent Garden district. The market was over of course, but there were a few men tidying the place. It was getting dark and the lights were going on. I strolled along looking about with interest and deciding that I must come some morning when the market was in full swing.

  Just round the corner I came upon a little bookseller’s shop; it was in an area below the level of the street. I leant upon the railings and looked down at the lighted window which was full of all sorts and conditions of books. There were old books with shabby covers, and new books with gay jackets, and a whole shelf of cheap editions. The fact is I can never pass a book-shop and although I had no money to spend on books it gave me pleasure to look at them.

  In one corner of the window there was a small card which said FLAT TO LET. TOP FLOOR. I gazed at it for a few moments and then, quite suddenly, I made up my mind to inquire. It would be no good, of course, but still …

  As I went down the steps a man came out of the door; he was a tubby little man with light blue eyes and shaggy brownish-grey eyebrows. His hair was of the same indeterminate colour and his forehead was unusually broad.

  “ I’m just shutting up shop,” he said, looking at me doubtfully. His voice seemed to come from deep down in his chest.

  “ Oh,” I said, hesitating. “ It was just … I see you have a flat to let.”

  “ That’s right. It’s an attic flat—right up on the top floor. If you’re looking for a flat in Mayfair with a lift and a man in uniform there’s no use bothering.”

  “ I wasn’t, really,” I said, smiling. The little man was gruff and obviously a little out of temper, but somehow I could not help liking him.

  He went back into the shop and I followed him.

  “ There have been people here all day,” he continued in a grumbling tone. “ Women with babies, who wanted to know how they could get the pram upstairs; people with rheumatism in their knees, people with pianos and dogs——”

  “ I’ve got none of those things. Not even rheumatism in my knees.”

  He glanced at me from beneath his shaggy brows and there was the ghost of a twinkle in his eye. “ Well, I have,” he said. “ And I’m not going up those stairs again—not for nobody.”

  “ Perhaps I could go and have a look at it, myself? ”

  “ You can if you like. I’ll wait here till you come down and say why it won t suit you.”

  I took the key and hesitated. “ Is it expensive? ” I asked.

  “ No, it’s cheap. The fact is—and I may as well tell you—there’s no bathroom. I could have let it over and over again if it had a b
athroom with chromium-plated fittings. I’ve often thought of putting in a bath but I’ve never got round to it. That’s the truth.”

  “ There’s hot and cold water? ” I asked.

  “ Lord, yes! There’s a good big sink, too. You better go and have a look—that is if you can do without a bath.”

  I thought I could. The fact was that at Mrs. Hall’s one could scarcely ever get into the bathroom and I was used to washing piece-meal.

  “ I’ll tell you what,” he said. “ If the flat suits you I don’t mind letting you have a bath in my own place. I’ve got a little flat behind the shop. This whole house belongs to me; it’s divided into five flats, they’re all let except the top one.”

  “ You’re Mr. Coe? ” I asked. John Coe was the name over the window.

  “ That’s right,” he said. “ You take the key and have a look. We shan’t quarrel about the rent.”

  I went through the shop and up the stairs. It was a very old house, but the woodwork was in good repair. In the old days it must have belonged to a family (perhaps some important family) but now, as Mr. Coe had said, it was divided up and on every floor there were different people with a front-door of their own. I went up and up until I came to the top-landing with a skylight overhead. Here I found a brown-painted door. I put the key in the lock, turned it and went in.

  The door opened directly into a good-sized room with two windows facing west, so that the last rays of the setting sun streamed into it, lighting it with a soft yellow radiance. The room was empty, completely empty.

  I suppose it was foolish of me to have expected the flat to be furnished, but I had expected it so the bare room gave me a shock. I very nearly turned round and went out again. However I had come up all those stairs to see it so I decided to have a look round.

  The flat consisted of two rooms, one opening out of the other, and a small kitchen with an electric stove and a sink and shelves all round. The ceilings were low, but the rooms were well-proportioned. The floor was of plain solid wood, stained with brown varnish, and the walls were distempered in egg-shell blue. When I had had a good look round I went back to the living-room and sat down on the window seat. If only it had been furnished! But it was not furnished and I did not possess a stick of furniture … so it was no good … or was it? How much would it cost to buy what I should need? I should not want much: just a bed and a table and a couple of chairs and a few other odds and ends.

  I had some money in the bank. Mother had said, “ Don’t fritter it away. Keep it until you need it.” Well, I needed it now, didn’t I? Living here, buying my own food and cooking it myself, would cost much less than the boarding-house—and how much more pleasant it would be!

  There was a friendly atmosphere about the little flat and the longer I stayed in it the better I like it. There was peace and privacy; it was like a haven in the turmoil of London.

  Presently I heard somebody coming up the stairs and Mr. Coe appeared in the doorway.

  “ What’s happened to you? ” he inquired crossly. “ I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you must have thrown yourself out of the window or else that you were taking the knobs off the doors. How long does it take to look at two empty rooms and decide that you don’t want them? ” He switched on the light as he spoke and the bare room was illuminated.

  “ I’ve been thinking,” I said.

  “ The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts,” declared Mr. Coe.

  “ Mine are a bit complicated. I like this place no end—but I haven’t any furniture.”

  Mr. Coe said nothing.

  “ Do you think I could buy some furniture second-hand? ” I asked.

  “ Well, of course. That’s what second-hand furniture shops are for.”

  “ I want peace,” I told him.

  “ Peace! Well, I daresay this is just about as peaceful as you could get. Nobody’s going to climb up all those stairs to badger you.”

  “ No, that’s what I thought.”

  He sat down beside me on the window-seat and we discussed the matter. I explained how I was situated and he listened and nodded. He told me that he had a friend in the second-hand furniture trade and would give me an introduction to him if I liked.

  “ Look here,” he said at last. “ I don’t want to rush you into it. Suppose you think it over and let me know. Suppose you sleep on it.”

  But by this time my mind was made up. I was determined to have the flat. I wanted it here and now. I told him so.

  “ All right, it’s yours,” he said, looking at me and smiling.

  It was mine. I looked round my domain with satisfaction. I felt as if a burden had fallen from my back.

  We went downstairs together. The shop was shut; there were big shutters on the windows, it was dim and shadowy, in the book-lined room. Mr. Coe took me into his parlour and set out two glasses and a bottle of rum.

  “ We must seal the bargain,” he said. “ I’m a seafaring man—or was in my young days—so rum’s my drink. I don’t hold with gin, it’s rot-gut stuff. I can give you beer if you’d rather.”

  “ I’ll try your rum, please,” I told him.

  The room was small and full of large old-fashioned furniture and heavy curtains, it was stuffy but very clean. Mr. Coe explained that he had a woman who came in every morning and cleaned the place and cooked his dinner. He suggested that I might have her for an hour three times a week. I said I would if I could afford it. I should have to see how things worked out.

  “ That’s right,” he said. “ You wait and see.” He sat down in an easy-chair and looked round the little room with pride. “ Cosy, isn’t it? ” he said. “ I like being cosy. As a matter of fact I picked up most of this stuff second-hand. If you know what you’re doing you can pick up good furniture for half nothing—even now, you can—but you’ve got to be pretty fly. Good solid stuff is what I like—none of your modern stuff that falls to pieces if you look at it too hard.”

  “ I don’t know much about furniture.”

  “ No? ” he said, looking at me doubtfully. “ Well, it takes experience, of course. Look here, how would you like me to come with you to Mackenzie’s and give you a hand at choosing the stuff? You have to keep your eyes skinned; I mean those second-hand furniture blokes are pretty smart.”

  “ That’s very good of you, Mr. Coe.”

  “ Not a bit! I’d like to. We’ll go round to-morrow when I’ve shut the shop. That suit you? ”

  “ Down to the ground,” I declared. The idea of having Mr. Coe to help me to choose the furniture relieved my mind considerably.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was late when I got back to the boarding-house (supper was nearly over) and as I opened the door of the dining-room I saw them all sitting round the table. Seven faces turned and looked at me—it reminded me of the night I had arrived—but now the faces were no longer strange to me. It flashed across my mind that in a few days I should have left here and, more than likely, I should never see any of those faces again.

  Mrs. Hall was annoyed with me for being late. “ We’ve nearly finished,” she said. “ If you’d said you’d be late—but of course you never thought of that! Some people ’ave no consideration. There’s sausages if you want them—over on the sideboard—you can ’elp yourself.”

  “ They’ll be cold,” said Beryl.

  “ I daresay,” agreed Mrs. Hall. “ People that come in late ’as to put up with cold food. I suppose you think the food ought to ’ave kept ’ot! Well, it ’asn’t been—and it won’t be. Not in this ’ouse.”

  Somehow I did not feel hungry, and the greasy sausages in the cracked dish revolted me. I cut a piece of bread and helped myself to raspberry jam. This was an added insult, of course. Mrs. Hall glared at me.

  “ Mr. Kirke is ’appy to-night,” said Madame Futrelle slyly.

  They all looked at me and I could feel myself blushing.

  “ You see! ” she exclaimed. “ You see ’ow ’e looks ’appy! I wonder what it is that ’as pleased
’im so much.”

  I smiled at her across the table but did not reply.

  “ Mr. Kirke is not going to tell us,” she continued. “ It is a secret … but I think I can guess.”

  “ It’s spring,” said Mr. Kensey. “ We all know what happens to a young man in spring—ha, ha, ha! ”

  “ Can’t you leave him alone! ” exclaimed Beryl angrily.

  “ They can’t,” declared Miss Bulwer. “ There’s no privacy here. Even one’s thoughts are public property, it seems.”

  “ That’s why I’m leaving,” I said.

  “ Leaving! ” exclaimed Mrs. Hall in amazement.

  “ Yes, I shall be giving up my room at the end of the week.”

  “ Well, I never! ” she cried. “ That’s a surprise, that is! I’m sure I’ve done everything I could to make you comfortable.”

  “ Comfortable! ” exclaimed Mr. Kensey. “ D’you call this comfortable? I don’t blame Kirke for moving. I’m not sure I shan’t move myself.”

  “ What d’you want? ” asked Mrs. Hall angrily. “ You get your meals regular. Why don’t you take a room at the Savoy? ”

  “ Regular meals! ” cried Mr. Owen. “ Is that what you call a meal—one sausage for supper! ”

  “ You could ’ave ’ad two if you’d wanted.”

  “ Well I didn’t,” he told her. “ Half-cooked it was—nasty—all red inside.”

  Mrs. Hall left him and returned to me. I was the villain of the piece. “ You never complained,” she said. “ You never said a thing about not being settled. Sly, that’s what I call it! You might ’ave said you was looking for something else.”

  “ I wasn’t looking for something else. I just happened to find the flat by accident. That’s why I was late.”

  “ A flat! ” exclaimed Mrs. Hall. “ You’ve taken a flat! ”