Mr Summers quacked a laugh.
“Women are extraordinary,” Middlewitch went on, in a loud voice. “There’s my sister in law, now. So quiet she makes you ask yourself if by any chance she knows what’s what, but then, as they say, still waters run profound. But to get on with what I was saying, I remember the time they were married, and the usual jokes got flying. It’s seven years back now. She sat there as though she had no idea in a million what it was all about. And afterwards the same, mind you. You know how things have a way of cropping up. In the ordinary run, I mean. Well whenever there’s anything the least bit rude, not dirty, mind, but a trifle on the risky side, she sits there like she was miles away. Yet the moment I got back repatriated, and they had a little do in my honour, she was on at me the whole evening. I thought at first she had changed, for with all respect to Ted (that’s my old lady’s other boy), she never seemed to be what I’d call a passionate woman. Now I’ve seen more of her, I’m dead certain she’s just the same as ever. No, it’s women’s curiosity, Summers, there you are. Wanted to know what we did about girls all that time behind the wire. Kept on coming back to it, too. Did I feel embarrassed, and I’m not a man who colours easily! Then Ted, when he saw I was getting a bit hot under the collar, he chipped in as well. Gave me an insight into their married life for the first time, I can tell you. If you follow me, there was something in how they backed each other up, so as to make me speak out.”
Charley cleared his throat. He had a faint glow from the whisky, was beginning to enjoy himself. He was thinking that, in another quarter of an hour, he would be liberated, free to talk. Because he had something, a sort of block in his stomach, which, in the ordinary way, seemed to stand between him and free speech. He looked at his empty glass. “Have another,” he said.
“Thanks, I will. Extraordinary meeting you like this,” Mr Middlewitch replied. “No, it’s curiosity,” he went on, “they’re the same as cats, when you scratch with your finger under the newspaper, which have to come and see what you’re about. They’re like this. They know you’ve lived the most unnatural damned life through no fault of your own for years, so want to get under your skin. Because it wasn’t only Yvonne. Practically every girl I know had a go at me. Turned it to very good advantage, too, I did, on more than one occasion, I can tell you.”
Charley grunted.
“Perhaps that’s what they intended,” Mr Middlewitch said. “You never can be certain. There’s that about the little ladies, you never know, not even afterwards.”
“It’s not only the women,” Charley rather surprised himself by bringing out, as he paid for his round of drinks.
“Oh that other kind, men like that,” Mr Middlewitch announced, “I’ve no time for ’em. Sticking their noses into other people’s private affairs like one of those horrible little dogs, poms they’re called, aren’t they, that go snuffling and yapping at every bit of dirt on the side. But you’re one of the quiet ones, Summers. They must go for those big eyes of yours in a big way, the ladies, I mean. What about a bite to eat now? John has the table ready, they look after me in this little place. Yes,” he said, and it appeared as if he spoke only out of civility, for his voice was entirely free from any note of interest, “I’ll bet you could tell a true story or two on that score. But I know your type,” he said, looking round the dining room for acquaintances, and he waved a hand, “I know your type,” he repeated. “Mum’s the word where you’re concerned,” he said.
After Charley had asked for beer and had been overruled, his host making the point that, when there was whisky, it was a sin not to drink it, he ventured on a remark.
“It’s funny your mentioning what you did just now,” Charley said. “I had an experience just the other day.”
“I know your sort,” Mr Middlewitch replied, hardly listening, still on the look-out round this crowded room for old mugs, or pretty faces.
“Done nothing about it,” Charley continued. He took a long pull at his whisky and soda, then warned himself he’d be drunk in a minute.
“Have you met old Ernest Mandrew?” Mr Middlewitch demanded. “He’s a big noise these days.”
But Charley, like any very silent man, was not to be put off once he had begun.
“Asked me to come down to see them,” he drawled. “Parents of a girl I used to meet. Wasn’t much of a party. But as I was leaving the old man up and slipped me an address. Just like that. You see I was friends with the daughter, who’s dead now.” Here he paused. Then out it came. “Had a child by her as a matter of fact,” he boasted, denying Rose a second time. “Yet there he was, giving me the address of a widow.” Charley took another gulp, leant back unburdened.
“A widow?” Mr Middlewitch echoed. “Oh boy. I say, remind me to go across to Ernie Mandrew when we’re through, will you? I’ve got a bit of news will interest him, only I’m so damned forgetful these days. What were we saying?”
But Charley, for the time at any rate, had had his say. He was staring at the glass he held. His face, it is true, was very sad, but his mind was a concentrated blank. He felt the relief in his stomach.
Mr Middlewitch glanced at him.
“Yes,” he said, “we all of us came back to what we didn’t expect. There’s a number of people dropped out in everyone’s lives. I’m not sure, but they do seem a long time over our soup.”
He tried to catch the waitress several times, while Charley looked about, well satisfied.
“A widow you said, eh?” Mr Middlewitch began once more. Summers nodded. “Dark or fair?”
Mr Summers had never considered this.
“Red,” he replied, from habit.
“Oh boy, a redhead.”
“At least I don’t know. Haven’t seen her,” Charley mumbled.
“Haven’t seen her still?” Mr Middlewitch echoed. “Then you must be getting your oats, right enough. Of course, I grant there’s a lot of it around. That’s only human nature, with the numbers of men there are overseas. But a redhead with freckles, I don’t understand you, man?”
Charley was not to be drawn. He sat there, smiling.
“Well, any time you feel like,” Mr Middlewitch continued, “just pass over that address to me. I can’t say I’ve a lot of free time on my hands, but no doubt she could be fitted in, at a pinch. I don’t doubt at all, really.”
As the waitress brought their soup, he ordered two more whiskies.
“Steady,” Charley said.
“Well it all comes out of E.P.T., doesn’t it? Carry on. Don’t stint. Lord knows we’ve done without more than Scotch these last few years. Reminds me of the first girl I saw, when I got off that Swedish boat they sent us home in. You know, the first ordinary girl. She was a wizard blonde.”
If Charley had not had the whiskies he might have let this pass, but as things were he said, “Ah.”
“Well, I mean to say,” Mr Middlewitch took him up, sensing a response at last. “After all those years without a taste of it, nothing but men, getting to realize there’s damn all in human nature, don’t tell me you didn’t find that out, that there’s not a man, when you get down to bedrock, isn’t a twirp through and through, well then, to step off that boat of repatriated maniacs gone a bit crazy for having been released, and then to see a blonde out shopping, or whatever she was about, and free as air, I ask you. There was such a howl went up I thought the dock buildings would blow down.”
“And her?” Charley asked, becoming talkative.
“She never turned a curl. I’ve often thought about this since. She was used to it, you see. Very likely she might be the dock superintendent’s daughter, anyway she seemed to have the run of that place. You on to what I’m getting at? All the hundreds of thousands of service men coming and going in a port. Well, I mean, it’s war isn’t it, c’est la guerre. Makes brutes out of women.”