‘Well, I think he’s saying you need both.’
‘Yeah, but I suppose the prof character…’
‘You mean Bernard?’
‘Yeah, Bernard, I mean, he’s right in a way, isn’t he? We can get on with our lives as humans always have, eating, sleeping, mating, without knowing what’s happening in the universe or why.’
‘Well, I suppose some aspects of science, some technologies, medicine and so on are pretty useful to us.’
‘Yeah, but Stoppard’s not talking about practical science; he’s talking about maths, about the second law of thermodynamics – Newton, Einstein, the end of the universe.’
‘So, what seems most important to you?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, to have a scientific understanding of the universe – as far as that’s possible – or to hell with it.’
‘It has to be to hell with it,’ said Leah, ‘because I can’t get my mind around all this higher maths, these iterated algorithms – so I’m a simple romantic by default. Perhaps as I grow older I will change and morph into a mathematician or a philosopher.’
Jake laughed. ‘I think you are right – human life reverses the historical pattern. In history, romanticism arrives as a reaction to classicism – a break out from the rigidity of the classical world. A “decline from thinking to feeling”, the play calls it, but in life we are all born as romantics, able to feel long before we can think seriously.’
Leah frowned and nibbled on her grissini. ‘I’m not so sure about that. When we are very young we have instincts – to suckle, to cling to our mothers – but that’s not proper feeling. As we grow older we are constantly applying our brains to things, thinking all the time, asking questions of ourselves and others and trying to make sense of the world.’ Leah paused and sipped her wine. ‘You know, little kids – they ask direct questions. Is Grandpa going to die? Do cats go to heaven? They are supremely rational with a strong sense of logic but their feelings are still shallow. At six or seven we may be sad if someone close to us dies but we don’t really feel it. Not deep down. Not like we do when we are older – when we know what death really means…’
Leah’s torrent of words dried up and Jake was suddenly reminded that Leah was only eighteen herself. A teenager wrestling with familiar philosophical questions as well as real-life events. Marianne’s demise, whenever and however it came about, would likely be her first experience of death. He was relieved, therefore, when the arrival of a waiter to show them to their seats blew away the spectre of Auntie Manne, draining the last dregs of her hemlock, which for a moment had floated down between them.
It was Leah, however, who returned to the subject of death. ‘You said you were going to tell me something more about AD?’
‘Yes, as I said, I’m not supposed to know this, but the Chronicle is doing some investigation into AD and Mills told me a bit about it. What they’re interested in is whether all these commercial clinics which have sprung up are bending the law and offering AD to people who shouldn’t qualify. They’ve got a source at one of the clinics feeding them information. Apparently, the clinics are paying commissions to hospitals and GPs to get patient referrals.’
As he talked, Jake sensed that while Leah appeared to be listening politely her mind was elsewhere. ‘I think I’m boring you with all this,’ he said.
Leah smiled. ‘I am listening, but it’s true, I can’t get the play out of my mind. So, Thomasina and Septimus are falling in love at the end? And when she dies we are supposed to understand that Septimus goes to live in the hermitage? So in many ways he is a romantic figure, living the life of a hermit and trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe which were puzzling poor Thomasina.’
‘I suppose you can see him as a romantic figure.’
‘Can you see yourself in a cave then – dreaming of a lost girl?’ said Leah, and for a brief moment Jake thought again of Fran and realised that it was exactly such a black pit at the edge of which his life had, for a time, been precariously balanced. He was also conscious that Leah was now flirting with him, but he saw no reason not to reciprocate.
‘I suppose if the girl was as brilliant and beautiful as Thomasina, then perhaps I might.’
‘Indeed, but where would you find such a girl?’ said Leah. ‘You know, I like the name Septimus – better than Jake, don’t you think? Perhaps I shall call you Septimus – then you will be both my tutor and my pupil.’
‘…quite a challenge.’
‘Mind you, spending the rest of his life in a hermitage was something of a transformation for Septimus and not entirely believable – even as an act of devotion to the tragic Thomasina. From friend of Lord Byron and summer-house shagger, to a lifetime hermit – I don’t think that quite stacks up in terms of character. What about you, Septimus?’ she said, looking hard at Jake. ‘Do you get up to that kind of thing? In the gazebo – with other people’s wives?’
‘Preferably not with other people’s wives,’ said Jake, laughing. ‘And come to think of it, probably not in a gazebo either.’ What he thought, though, as he looked across the table to his now grown-up cousin with her infectious smile and sparkling blue eyes, was shit – bloody brilliant, this girl. Clever, funny and highly shaggable – take her back and fuck her to bits – but I mustn’t. No, I shouldn’t think like that. I must be careful, so far and no further…
He had the same thought when Leah planted a discreet kiss on the edge of his lips to thank him for the dinner. He thought it again when it was clear that she was expecting to come back to his flat and not be put into a taxi or escorted to the nearest tube station; and most strongly did he think it yet again when, back in his flat and almost as soon as the door had closed behind them, he found himself in an embrace with Leah where her tongue was slipping stealthily between his lips. In his mind, it was clear to him that he must resist, but it seemed his body was intent on a different plan, as his left hand moved beneath her hair to caress her neck and his right hand clutched firmly at her bottom.
When they broke from their embrace, Leah disappeared to the bathroom and Jake rearranged his clothing and sat down on the sofa to recover his composure. Just a kiss, an after-dinner kiss – of course that’s fine, can’t be criticised. So perhaps a drink now, tea or coffee, then one more kiss and I’ll call a taxi for her. Jake had hardly gathered his thoughts when Leah was out of the bathroom.
‘Would you like a coffee or another drink?’ he asked. Leah shook her head, came towards the sofa and promptly sat on his lap, twisting her body towards him and with both arms around his neck resumed where they had left off.
The effect of her twisted body on her already short skirt was to further expose her long creamy legs, on one of which Jake rested his hand a little above her knee. As they continued to kiss and his state of arousal grew, he longed to move his hand further up her leg but he was equally determined not to do so, and thus his hand remained, clamped and immobile, on her soft warm thigh. As if she sensed his own struggle, Leah broke off from their kiss and whispered, ‘It’s OK, I want you to touch me,’ and, taking his hand, she moved it up between her thighs until the tips of his fingers met her soft wet flesh.
The effect electrified them both. For Leah, there was a short gasp and her mouth locked back onto his. For Jake, a realisation that he was about to pass the point of no return, made him remove his hand and leap to his feet with Leah still clinging to his neck, so that they both almost toppled to the ground.
‘What the fuck…’
‘Leah, we mustn’t.’
‘What do you mean?’