by Alan Judd
When Robert left he was followed into the lobby by Hansford. They stopped by the umbrella stand, the smell of sherry heavy on Hansford’s breath. ‘Can you speak to Tim about that escape-route you were telling me about? When I described it to him he didn’t seem to understand. Looked at me as if I was off my head. Didn’t even seem to realize there was any threat from Orpwood and his crowd. Will you talk to him soon? You never know when I might have to use it. I’ll probably go straight for your room anyway, but it would be nice to have Tim’s in reserve.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’ Something in Dr Barry’s words, or his manner, had made Robert sad. He reacted by being careless and flippant. ‘Have you thought about a gun?’
‘Thought a lot about that. I’ve got a twelve-bore at home but I don’t know what the college view on guns is. Perhaps I should have a word with the President. What do you think?’
‘Automatic?’
‘Lord, no, the old man wouldn’t have one in the place.’
‘Orpwood armed?’
‘Doubt it, but it’s his friends I’m worried about. Look, you will talk to Tim soon, won’t you? I want to get it sorted out.’
‘I will, yes. Where would you keep it – the gun?’
‘Under the bed, I suppose.’
‘Not on your desk?’
‘Might alarm people.’
‘Maybe.’
‘But it’s really all right for me to use your room as a bolt-hole?’
‘Anytime.’ Robert turned away.
Chapter 4
It was the silly season, the most social time of the year. There were tea parties, lunch parties, drinks parties, punting parties, dinner parties, breakfast parties – and parties. College lawns sprouted new celebrants daily.
Michael Mann was celebrating his production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Like his productions, his parties were lavish and subsidised by a wealthy father. He would have been most at home with a film set and one day, perhaps, would have one. Though he was notorious for his outbursts of bad temper and for reducing some of his cast to tears, people flocked to his parties and boasted of knowing him.
Both Robert and Tim were invited and each had at first told the other he wouldn’t go, Robert because he was too busy and Tim because he liked to affect a disdain for social occasions. He admitted, though, that he hated not being invited. Eventually Robert decided he would have time because of a cancelled rehearsal and because he realised Anne would be there, possibly without Dr Barry. Tim changed his mind because Robert had and because Robert had pointed out that Suzanne too might be there. They went late, waiting until it was well underway.
Robert wore his usual T-shirt and jeans and had rushed dinner. Tim had missed dinner, as he often did, on the assumption that deprivation was good for him. He would then eat bowls of cereal and drink Earl Grey tea and whisky through the early hours. He wore cricket flannels, a maroon velvet jacket, a white shirt and bow tie and carried a straw boater. He neither played cricket nor ever once wore a hat, but enjoyed dressing as a period piece.
They walked together through the narrow streets. ‘Enter gentleman and menial,’ said Robert. ‘I should be staggering behind with your trunk.’
‘Nobody’s even looked yet,’ said Tim. ‘The only way I get looked at is if I take my BMW everywhere.’
‘It’s an Oxford problem. So many people trying to be remarkable nobody pays any attention. You could walk naked and they wouldn’t notice.’
‘Some friend of Hansford’s at Christ Church did that last term. Walked into the Bear. They didn’t say anything until he asked for a drink, then they wouldn’t serve him because they reckoned he must be under-age.’
‘Did Hansford come back to you about his escape route?’
‘Come back to me? He almost wiped me out. Went on about it for about forty minutes after I’d just got up. Off his head. I said he could walk in my door and out of my window whenever he liked. Just don’t wake me, that’s all. I went back to bed afterwards.’
The party was held on the lawn of New College cloisters. Laughter and the squeals of girls could be heard from some distance away. The cloisters were cool and dark and both men paused there, narrowing their eyes against the brightness and the vivid green of the lawn. Beneath a large bay tree stood trestle tables laden with drink. People clustered around them, many sitting on the grass, a few who had had papers that afternoon wearing subfusc. Most of the girls were in long summer dresses, with white the predominant colour. A record-player by the tree played some Mozart which Robert felt he probably should know, or perhaps did know.
Robert looked unsuccessfully for Anne. ‘Can’t see Suzanne,’ he said.
‘Nor me,’ Tim moved his boater from one hand to the other, then held it behind his back. ‘If we stand here long enough, though, everyone will see us.’
‘Not sure I want that.’
Tim smiled, ‘Me neither, all of a sudden. I hate entries. Anne’s over there, half left.’
She was talking to another girl, a glass of orange juice held lightly in both hands on top of her stomach. She had her hair up and wore a black hat with a broad brim that curved down over her eyes. She smiled at Robert when she saw him and the other girl followed her gaze.
‘Good hunting,’ he said to Tim. He smiled back at Anne as he moved towards them, then found himself holding the smile for an inordinate time as he stepped around people and over legs and dresses.
Anne introduced the other girl as Jean.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Robert extended his hand but she was not expecting it because few students shook hands, and he had half withdrawn it before she reacted.
They clasped clumsily and briefly. He indicated the sky with his hand, knocking her arm. ‘Beautiful evening. Sorry.’
‘Perfect. That’s all right.’
Anne drank her orange juice.
‘Looks like the world and his wife are here,’ Robert continued.
Jean looked about her as if noticing for the first time. ‘Yes, there are a lot. Are you an actor?’
‘No. Not on stage, anyway.’ He had to repeat it for her. She said she’d seen someone she had to speak to immediately, and moved off.
He addressed the brim of Anne’s hat. ‘Didn’t mean to drive your friend away.’
She looked up. ‘She’s not my friend. We met on our first day in Oxford and have felt obliged to speak ever since. It’s time we called a truce. I was just wondering how to get rid of her when you turned up. Now I know.’
‘That hat looks good. Brings out your eyes.’
She touched it with the tip of one finger. ‘I felt like a touch of flamboyance.’
Her mouth was more firmly compressed than usual, stitched at the corners with a few tiny lines. Her eyes looked full as if something were pressing them from behind. ‘Do you feel all right?’ he asked.
‘Perfectly all right.’
‘You’re drinking orange juice.’
‘I like orange juice.’
Her manner was both hostile and demanding.
‘David’s not here, then,’ he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
‘He’s over there.’
She indicated the far side of the lawn where Dr Barry sat with three actresses from The Dream. One had spread her long white dress like milk on the grass around her. She swayed with laughter at something Dr Barry was saying.
The silences of women engendered in Robert a strong urge to speak yet robbed him of any feeling for what to say. Anne stared at him without remission. ‘Would you rather I went?’ he asked at last. Her brown cheeks were smooth and hard. The brim of her hat cast a decisive shadow across her jaw. ‘I’ll go if you like.’
‘I don’t think you can ever have loved anyone,’ she said slowly.
‘What do you mean?’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tim talking to Suzanne and two other girls. Suzanne shook back her black hair then snatched Tim’s boater from his hand and put it on her head. He witnessed the incident with the cl
arity and unreality of a vivid memory.
Anne smiled at the approach of Michael Mann. He stretched out his arms and bent to kiss her on both cheeks, arching himself so as not to touch her stomach. She winced and laughed as his beard touched her. ‘You feel like a nest of spears.’
‘I’ll shave it off if you promise to let me do it every day.’
He turned to Robert with a confident smile. ‘Nice to see you, Robert. How are rehearsals?’
‘Nice to be here. Thank you. Slow and far to go.’
‘You’ve got Schools coming up, haven’t you?’
‘Coming on quickly.’
‘Hope I can be as calm as you next year. Are you not drinking?’
Robert had not realized he had no drink. ‘No – yes, that is, but not yet.’
Michael laughed and laid his hand on Robert’s shoulder. ‘Over there on the table. Help yourself.’
‘I shall.’ Robert nodded. Anne was smiling now but avoiding his eyes. He was determined not to be dismissed. ‘Congratulations on The Dream,’ he said to Michael. ‘A national success, not just an Oxford one.’ The production had been favourably reviewed in The Times by an occasional drama critic who was known to be enthusiastic about the girl who played Titania.
Michael shook his head. ‘Even so, it was never quite right. You know how it is. Anne – more orange juice?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Robert – you sure?’
‘In a minute.’
Michael raised his hands in mock despair and moved off. Robert looked at Anne. ‘What do you mean?’ Her face seemed to alter as he watched. The texture of her skin softened, her features became less sharp, her lips relaxed.
‘Nothing. I was being selfish and silly. I’m annoyed with David, that’s all.’
‘But I want to know why you said it.’
‘Robert, don’t go on.’
‘Why did you say it?’
She sighed and looked away. ‘It’s only for your own sake that you want to know.’
‘Who’s sake did you say it for, then?’
She was looking again to where Dr Barry still sat with the three girls. ‘You’ve only ever been interested in yourself.’
He tried to sound understanding. ‘Has David upset you?’
‘You weren’t interested in me or the baby.’
‘I was, I am. You went off me.’ It was simple, once said, but it felt brutal. He had never admitted it before. ‘Anyway, you can’t blame me for not being very interested in David’s baby.’
She stared evenly back at him from beneath the hat. ‘What makes you think it’s David’s?’
Tim appeared, clutching four empty glasses in the fingers of one hand. He greeted Anne with elaborately good-humoured courtesy, then turned to Robert with an expression of mock hopelessness.
‘What do you do with a woman who won’t have dinner with you, who says she’s got to work, but has already drunk too much to concentrate?’
‘Give her more,’ said Robert.
Anne smiled at Tim. ‘Better make sure it’s more than you give yourself.’ Without looking again at Robert she turned and walked over towards her husband. He saw her coming and got quickly to his feet.
‘Trouble is, they’re all making a big joke of it now,’ Tim continued. ‘Suzanne started out being much more friendly than I’d expected so I thought I’d push my luck a bit and suggest dinner and then she made me say it again and her friend heard and then the others and now they’re all trying to persuade her and no one’s taking it seriously, least of all her. And I have to pretend I think it’s a joke, too.’
Anne and Dr Barry were arguing. He was holding her lightly by the elbow and making as if to go with her. She was shaking her head. Not wanting to be left standing alone, Robert went with Tim to the drinks table beneath the tree.
Tim ladled out the Pimms. ‘Point is, this is the last night it’s possible before her Schools.’
‘Dinner?’
‘Anything.’
Dr Barry rejoined the girls on the lawn. Anne had disappeared. Tim put the Pimms in Robert’s hand. ‘One more try. See you later.’
Robert watched him rejoin Suzanne and the two other girls. There was a burst of laughter at something he said. Robert’s Pimms disappeared with puzzling rapidity. He poured himself another, feeling unnaturally clear-headed: a bad sign.
‘Why did you cancel tonight’s rehearsal?’ Gina stood before him. Her voice was more abrupt than usual.
‘We overdid it yesterday. They were so tired they weren’t remembering anything. And as most were going to be here tonight they wouldn’t have been much good afterwards.’
‘I didn’t know it was cancelled until I met Stephen on the way here.’
‘Jackie was supposed to have told you.’ Her accusatory tone caused him to suppress any note of apology.
‘Well, she didn’t. We should have rehearsed tonight. We’re nowhere near good enough.’
‘I know, but I decided to give it a rest.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be a perfectionist.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
They stared at each other. He had the impression she was on the verge of smiling.
‘Why did you choose Malcolm?’
‘He was a good Mirabel and I gave him the benefit of the doubt at the audition.’
‘That was a mistake.’
‘I know.’
‘He hasn’t got it. No timing, no dramatic sense. I don’t think it’s going to be a very good production.’
It was true but he wasn’t ready to admit it. ‘You will have to make up for him. Carry him.’
She shrugged and continued to stare. Again he thought she almost smiled. He wondered if she were drunk. She held out her glass. ‘Will you get me another drink?’
He poured himself one as well, feeling exhilarated but bereft of inspiration. ‘What will you do when you leave Oxford?’
She looked amused and scornful. ‘Are you trying to chat me up?’
‘I wondered. I was interested. It’ll pass.’
‘I haven’t thought about what I’ll do.’
‘Go into the theatre.’
‘I’m not that dedicated. Anyway, I’ve got another year, don’t forget.’ She drank and pushed back her hair. ‘I hope you’re not waiting to be asked the same boring question.’
‘You’d get the same boring answer.’
‘That pregnant girl you were talking to – is she the one married to Dr Barry?’
‘Yes.’
‘She must be miserable.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, look at him. And you used to go out with her, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She was smiling now. ‘I don’t believe in marriage. They’re all so wretched. I suppose you do.’
‘I’ve never thought about it.’
‘I don’t believe that, either.’ She continued smiling. ‘Can you imagine yourself loving anyone?’
He shrugged but overdid it and nearly spilled his drink. ‘Why not? As much as I can imagine anyone else, whatever it means.’
‘I can imagine you being horribly passionate and intense but not loving.’
‘You’re not usually so full of compliments.’
‘I think I’m being restrained. Do you love anyone at the moment?’
‘Well, it depends what you—’
She laughed suddenly. ‘You do, don’t you? You’re about to say you’re in love. Which you’re not really, of course.’
‘No, I’m not.’ His denial was more forceful than he’d intended.
‘Not what?’ She laughed again. ‘Come on – not in love or not about to say it?’
He turned away, grinning, and picked up the jug to replenish their glasses. ‘Are you as drunk as I am?’
‘Probably.’ She stood very close. He kept noticing a small blue vein in her neck. ‘Why don’t you take me out to dinner?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to see someone.’
She
raised her eyebrows, turned and walked away. He lifted his brimful glass to his lips whilst watching her but spilled it down his chin and on to his T-shirt. He was still dabbing clumsily at it with his handkerchief when Tim approached him again.
‘Done it,’ said Tim.
‘Well done.’
‘It’ll cost a packet. Not that that matters.’
‘Where are you taking her?’
‘Them. All three of them. To the Elizabeth because they know it’s the most expensive. Not sure that’s true, but never mind. She wouldn’t come alone.’
‘Have a nice time.’
‘The difficulty will be finding a reason for going back to her place afterwards.’ Tim looked from Robert to Dr Barry and back. His tone softened. ‘Come with us, unless you’ve got plans for tonight.’
‘Thanks, but I’m going to go and see someone.’
Tim nodded. ‘Good luck.’
Robert remained beneath the tree. It was dusk now and the lighter-coloured shirts and dresses looked disembodied in the gloom. The sky was still fragile and clear and a few small stars were already showing through. The Mozart had stopped.
Michael Mann was sitting on the grass with a dozen or so people who were all laughing at someone mimicking. Dr Barry and his group of girls moved over to join them. He glanced at Robert but gave no sign of recognition. Robert stepped back behind the trestle tables and walked round two sides of the cloisters, passing slowly from pillar to pillar. On the walls were memorial tablets to men of the college and a long list of the Great War dead. Three or four were disconcertingly recent, victims of accidents, drownings or diseases picked up whilst travelling during the vacs. He still had his Pimms in his hand when he reached the archway. He looked at it, drank it all, then very deliberately placed the empty glass on the low stone wall.
Robert knocked again. There was a light on in the kitchen but that was all. The absence of bikes in the garden meant that the lodgers must also be out. He waited a while at the top of the steps, leaning against the wall. It had not occurred to him that she might not be back. Whenever he was determined on something and prevented by some accidental but crucial factor he persisted with a dogged obstinacy well beyond the point of hopelessness, convinced the state of affairs was so unfair it had to come right. It felt unfair because he had been frustrated by chance, not because he had been defeated in battle or found wanting when the time came to trial. As he waited now, though, he was rewarded; he remembered Anne saying once that Yale Gail had mislaid her keys so frequently that Dr Barry had hidden a spare set beneath the laurel so that she could let herself in. He went on hands and knees into the laurels, feeling carefully because he could see very little, and quickly found the half brick with the keys underneath. He unlocked the door, replaced the keys and went in.
