“Did you know about her son?”
“My dear good chap you’re mistaken there, I can assure you. Why, after they’ve been in the straw they’ve a brown line down their little tummies. Well she hasn’t, so what d’you know?”
“And how did you learn?” Charley brought out, in such a voice that Middlewitch swallowed, then, when he did reply, began to bluster.
“Why, I went swimming with her of course,” he lied. “Last summer it was. Took the girl down to Margate.”
“With mines on the beach?”
But Arthur had recovered himself.
“In the Palais de Swim, or whatever they call the place, naturally,” he answered. “Look, you’ll excuse my saying this, old man. You may even think I’m a funny sort of host. But let’s change the subject, shall we? I mean the little lady’s quite a pal of mine. It’s strange. You’ve got the wrong side of one another some time, I know. But that’s nothing to do with this chap,” he said, pointing a finger at himself, “if you get me.”
Then, through his rising, nauseating misery, Summers had, as he thought, a brain wave.
“A written apology is what she should send,” he announced.
“O.K. Enough’s enough. Now what’s to follow? Rose,” Arthur called to the waitress, his patience with the whole subject at an end, “Rose.”
“Sorry,” Charley said. “Suppose I’m a bit upset.”
“I can see that, old man.”
“Her name was Rose. That got me started.”
“All right Summers,” Middlewitch replied with unction, his position restored now Charley had weakened, “all right, but I can’t use any other name for the waitresses, can I? Or call Nance by any other than what I know? See here, old chap. You sit on as you are. Simmer down.” He laughed. “There’s old Ernie Mandrew across the room I must have a word with. And while I’m away I may be able to get hold of Rose to bring us what’s to come. You’ll have another drink of course?” He got up and left.
He managed to stop their waitress. “Look, darling, I’ve got to go,” he said. “See to my friend,” he asked. “He’s more than a bit queer, had a bad war,” he added, “was repatriated, after me as a matter of fact. Fetch him another whisky, like a good girl. I shall be in again tomorrow. He’s stuck on a girl called Rose. Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” He went off laughing.
An hour and three whiskies later, Charley paid the bill and left. When someone else was put in Arthur’s place, at their table, he had hardly noticed.
After Middlewitch got home that night from the office, he was still angry with Summers. As soon as he’d had a wash, however, he began to see the whole matter in a rosier light. The chap had had a rotten time. Girls like Nance should appreciate what Charley, and he, had been through. He would have a chat with her. If he went across now, she would not have gone to work yet. So he knocked at her door.
She did not open up, but called out to ask who might it be.
“Only Art,” he said.
“Why Art,” she said, letting him in. “There’ve been some queer customers around lately,” she explained. “I’m in a state of siege now, I promise.” She was laughing.
“Customers?” he enquired archly, as he settled himself in the best chair. “But Nance,” he said, “you ought to watch out how you express yourself, or you’ll be misunderstood.”
“Well then,” she replied, “don’t you misunderstand for a start. You can’t tell what I’ve had to sit here and listen to these last few weeks. And what’s become of you in all that time? It must be months since I’ve seen you, Art.”
“Oh I’ve been around, here, there, and everywhere, like the scarlet Johnny,” he said. “And by the way, I came across someone who claimed your acquaintance.”
“Go on? What colour was his hair? Ginger?”
“You’re joking,” he objected. “No, it was a chap with me, where they fitted us with our limbs. He was repatriated a bit later than me, as a matter of fact. Charley Summers’ the name.”
“You too,” was all she said, and seemed disgusted. Arthur considered, perhaps this was more serious than he had thought.
“Look Nance,” he said, rushing it, “you and me’s known each other for some little time past. Strictly speaking this is none of my affair. He never told what all this was about. Charley Summers may be a queer card but he’s straight as a die, Nance old girl, straight as a die. And he’s been through a tough, rotten period. I’ve had some in those prison camps. You’d only to go in the guard room and sneeze in front of one of Herr Adolph’s portraits, and it was off to the dark in solitary confinement, right away. They called it inciting the glorious Wehrmacht to revolt. Things may be a bit different, now they see the writing on the wall, but that’s how it was when we were out there. He’s had it Nance, il l’a eu, as our French cousins say. Now, maybe the old lad’s done something to upset you, I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t get anything out of the man myself. But if he did, I shouldn’t take too much notice.”
She sat there.
“Have you finished?” she asked.
“Now what have I said?” he enquired, a bit daunted.
“Did you send that damned lunatic my way?”
“I?” Mr Middlewitch cried. “Not on your life.”
“That’s all right, Art,” she said. “But, you’re a witness to the fact that, since Phil was killed and Mum went off out of these flying bombs, I’ve lived on here very quiet. I’m all right. I don’t need company. Then someone tells this man out of Colney Hatch my address, and the way I am these days I daresn’t open the door for fear it’s him again. It’s my nerves won’t let me. The first time he came he fainted, and the next — oh well, you’ve said it, he’s not normal.”
“This is none of my business, Nance, you needn’t tell me and I respect you for it, but things weren’t easy for us chaps out there. Drop him a line like a good girl.”
“Sakes alive, is that the time?” she cried. “I must be off or I shall be late.” The next day she wrote Charley a note. All it said was, that she did not want to leave things tangled.
She was a good-hearted girl.
Miss Nancy Whitmore sent her note to Charley’s business address, which Middlewitch had given her. By the same post there was a line for Charley from Phillips, who was the sort of man who forgave freely, for old times’ sake. In his letter he asked Charley down over the August holiday, and said for him to bring a girl, though he added, as a wry joke, not the Miss Whitmore he had been taken to visit that once.
Phillips’ letter was marked personal. Dot did not open it. But there was nothing of the kind on Nancy’s envelope. Because of this, she read what Nancy had written. It looked to her like he must really be after this girl. She put it away in the middle of the day’s mail. She was most curious.
As soon as Charley had washed himself and settled down to go through the correspondence, she watched to see how he took it when he came on Nancy’s note. But to her amazement all he did was to laugh, out loud, triumphantly. He thought Rose must be disguising her hand.
Then, when he came to Phillips’ letter, and read the invitation, he was so cynically amused to find the husband specially asking him not to bring the wife, that, because he felt particularly bright this morning, he said to his assistant,
“What are you doing over the holiday, Dot?”
“Me? Why nothing, as per usual, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Care to come along to an old friend of mine in Essex?”
She was astounded. She took it absolutely seriously. She was so surprised she could have kicked herself, after, for what she said next.
“Well, this is a bit sudden, isn’t it?” she brought out. He was embarrassed, because he saw she meant to accept.
“It’s a lovely place, right in the village. Very old,” he said, ashamed of himself. But he could not draw back, not now.