by Barbara Pym
'Oh, I see,' said Rupert flatly, wondering if Sophia and Penny had contrived the whole thing between them on purpose to spite him. Women were so deceitful that he could well believe it. 'But I wanted to take her out,' he went on almost peevishly. What was he to do with the evening now, he wondered, as he walked home. It was the tradition that one took a girl out on the evening of a wedding day and now here he was left in his study with the prospect of an evening spent alone correcting proofs.
As he sat despondently at his desk, the telephone rang. But it was only Esther Clovis, reminding him that he had promised to give a paper at the first autumn meeting of a certain learned society and asking if he had decided on the subject and title.
'Yes — "The Wiles of Nice Women in a Civilized Society",' he said quickly and hung up before she could exclaim or question.
***
A few days went by before he could make up his mind to approach Penelope with another invitation. He would make her wait, he decided, but then it occurred to him that if he made her wait too long it might well be too late.
He discovered from Sophia that she was now working in an office near St Paul's Cathedral and he looked forward to calling on her suddenly one day, taking her by surprise so that she could not refuse a casual invitation to lunch. But when, at half-past twelve, he went into her office and asked for her he was told that she had already gone.
Feeling rather dispirited he began to walk up towards the cathedral. On the steps a boys' band was playing the Pilgrims' Chorus from Tannhäuser, a piece he always found particularly depressing. It was better, though not much, when they changed to 'Land of Hope and Glory'. He went on aimlessly and found himself round at the back of the building among the heaps of broken marble. In the middle of one such pile, as if on rocks at the seaside, sat a woman — middle-aged of course — drinking tea from a plastic cup, the traffic swirling in front of her. If only this could have been Penelope, he thought, what a splendid and unusual place for a love scene!
Coming into the gardens he found himself among the office workers sitting on the iron chairs, some with sandwiches, others with knitting or books, and still others with their eyes closed and faces raised in the mild sunshine. Here, at the end of a row, sat Penelope, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.
She hasn't seen me, he thought, and I must go carefully and not say anything to annoy or upset her. For the tears that seem romantic and even fitting in Rome on the Spanish Steps at night would be quite otherwise in St Paul's churchyard at lunchtime.
