“Darling! It’s me, Ursula!” she said.
“Good heavens!” I said, surprised. “Where have you been all these years?”
“Darling, I got married,” she said. “I’ve had a baby.”
“So I heard,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“Darling, I’ve been stuck down in the country for so long. I’ve got to come into Bournemouth to-day to do some shopping. I wondered whether we could meet?”
“Are you bringing your husband with you?” I asked cautiously.
“No, darling, I’m just coming on my own,” she said.
“Well, in that case, by all means let us meet. I’ll buy you lunch. But first I’ll meet you in the Cadena for coffee.”
“Marvellous, darling. I’ll be there at eleven o’clock,” she said.
At eleven o’clock promptly she appeared through the doors of the Cadena café and I could see instantly that she was well on the way to expecting her second child. Apart from the protuberance of her stomach she had a glowing air about her, like rose petals in sunshine.
“Darling!” she screamed. “Darling! Darling!”
She flung her arms round me and gave me a prolonged kiss of the variety that is generally cut out of French films by the English censor. She made humming noises as she kissed, like a hive of sex-mad bees. She thrust her body against mine to extract the full flavour of the embrace and to show me that she really cared, really and truly. Several elderly ladies, and what appeared to be a brigadier who had been preserved (like a plum in port) stared at us with fascinated repulsion. You could tell, from their expressions, that they expected me to rip her clothes off her and rape her there, on the sacred floor of the Cadena. I tore myself loose from her with an effort.
“I thought you were married,” I said.
“I am darling,” she said. “Don’t you think my kissing’s improved?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sit down and have some coffee.”
“Can I have an ice cream?” she asked.
“All right,” I said.
I ordered a coffee and an ice cream.
“Well, I must say, you’re looking blooming,” I said.
“Do you think so?”
“I think you’re looking wonderful. I see you’re going to have another one.
She took a large mouthful of ice cream and spoke through it rather indistinctly.
“Children are absholutely marvelloush.”
“So I believe,” I said.
She swallowed her mouthful of ice cream, leant forward and tapped my wrist with her moist spoon to gain my full attention.
“Do you know what they say?” she inquired in her penetrating voice.
Every table in the restaurant suspended operations and waited expectantly. I felt I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.
“No,” I said. “What do they say?”
“Why,” she said, waving her spoon happily, “contraception is a woman’s work.”
We had coffee and then I took Ursula shopping, and later we went to lunch.
“Do you miss me, darling?” she enquired as she sipped at her wine.
“Of course I miss you,” I said. “You were always one of my favourite girlfriends.”
“Isn’t it a pity that one can’t have boyfriends and be married?” she said.
“Well, you can always try,” I suggested.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” she said. “But you are sweet.”
“Think nothing of it,” I said.
“Anyway, I don’t suppose you’d like me now,” she said, wistfully. “I’ve reformed. I’ve become very dull.”
“Do you think so?” I asked, thinking how vital and sweet she was still.
“Oh, yes,” she said, looking at me solemnly with her great blue eyes. “I’m afraid I’m now what they call one of the petty beaujolais.”
“Yes, but a vintage year,” I said, raising my glass.
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Fillets of Plaice Page 20
