‘Of course. What is it?’
She paused, as if she had difficulty in selecting her words.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said, bluntly.
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving. I’ve put in for a transfer and it’s been granted. It’ll mean going on to a higher grade.’
‘Oh,’ he said. She would expect more. He groped for the necessary pleasantries.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, untruthfully.
‘So am I,’ she replied, untruthfully.
This is ridiculous, he thought.
‘Where are you going?’
She smirked, glad he’d asked.
‘Sir Jocelyn’s secretary is leaving. She’s pregnant, you know.’
‘No,’ replied Adrian. ‘I didn’t know.’
Oh God, he thought, Miss Aimes and Earl Grey tea. Poor Sir Jocelyn.
‘I’ll miss you,’ he said, feeling the remark was necessary.
‘I regret leaving,’ she said, joining in the charade. ‘But I didn’t think I could miss the opportunity. It means another £300 a year.’
‘Oh, of course not,’ agreed Adrian, quickly, ‘I quite understand.’
They sat staring at each other, completely out of words. There should be instructions, thought Adrian, a book on how to say goodbye to a secretary you didn’t mind losing.
‘When are you leaving?’ he asked.
‘Next Friday.’
‘Oh well, there’s another week then.’
He wondered why he’d said that. It didn’t mean anything. He’d have to buy her a farewell gift, he supposed, some perfume or some flowers or something. He smiled, amused at a sudden thought. Or a home perm.
Miss Aimes smiled back at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘there’s another week.’
‘Would you mind if I left early tonight?’ she said, predictably. She saw the look on his face and added, ‘I’m going up to see Sir Jocelyn’s secretary, to learn the routine.’
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘No, of course not. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘You’re coming straight here?’ she asked, perturbed at the thought of having to arrive reasonably near time.
‘Yes.’ he said. ‘Straight here.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment again.
‘Good night.’
‘Good night.’
Adrian stood at the window after Miss Aimes had gone, looking out at the bird. A pigeon with a broken beak in exchange for Miss Aimes, he thought. One bird for another. Comparably, the pigeon walked more elegantly. He smiled. happy at the swop.
He felt in his pocket, where Pavel’s letter was. Against it was another, one that had been delivered that morning. He didn’t feel like it, but it had to be done. It took him thirty minutes to reach the flat where Anita was living with the other woman. He nodded to the porter as he walked in and the man returned the greeting, recognizing him. The medal ribbon had been sewn on the correct way, Adrian noticed.
‘They expecting you?’
‘No.’
‘I’d better check then.’
‘Yes. You’d better.’
The porter mumbled into the house phone and then said, ‘Miss Sinclair says to go up.’
She was waiting for him by the open door when he stepped out of the lift, smiling pleasantly. Adrian thought how beautiful she was.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
They shook hands. Again he was surprised by how soft and feminine her grip was.
‘Whisky, brandy or sherry?’ she asked, closing the door.
Just like the housemaster’s wife, he decided again.
‘Whisky.’
She handed him the drink, took her usual brandy and sat opposite.
‘How are you?’ she asked, as if they were old friends.
He shrugged, undecided. ‘All right,’ he said.
‘You don’t sound very sure.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Oh.’ She sat, waiting.
‘I had a letter from my solicitor this morning,’ he said. ‘He’s been told by Anita’s solicitor that there was some difficulty in getting any instructions from her. Apparently she isn’t replying to their letters.’
‘No,’ agreed Anne. ‘She isn’t.’
She nodded to the hall table and Adrian twisted, seeing the buff envelopes.
He turned back to her. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Anita isn’t here any more,’ she said.
‘Not here?’
‘She walked out, several days ago.’
‘You mean … that you and she …?’
‘I mean that we had a blazing row and she packed her bags and cleared out and we’re not living together any more.’
‘Oh …’ said Adrian. ‘I’m …’ he managed to stop before completing the sentence, but Anne smiled, guessing he was going to say he was sorry.
‘You’re a funny man, Adrian.’
He said nothing.
‘I don’t know where she is,’ she continued, anticipating his question. ‘I thought she might even have gone back to you, but obviously, she hasn’t.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘she hasn’t.’
‘Is there anywhere else she could have gone?’
Adrian thought, trying to remember relatives.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think there is.’
‘Would you take her back?’
He jerked up at her question. ‘What?’
‘She believes that you’d take her back if she asked you. She’s probably trying to pluck up courage. Would you?’
Again Adrian hesitated before replying. ‘No,’ he said after several moments. ‘No, I don’t think I would. Not now.’
‘I’m surprised,’ said Anne Sinclair.
Adrian smiled at her. ‘To be perfectly honest, so am I,’ he said. He added, seriously, ‘But I don’t think I would.’
‘Poor Anita,’ said the woman.
‘Do you think she’ll contact you again?’ asked Adrian.
Anne laughed. ‘No.’ she said. ‘No, I don’t. She quit work as well. Nobody knows where she is.’
‘If she does get in touch, will you ask her to call me?’
‘Of course.’
Anne was silent for a while, and then she said, ‘I think you would take her back, Adrian. I don’t think you’d want to, but I think you would. You’re too nice. You couldn’t turn her away if you wanted to.’
‘Could you?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘Yes, I could say “no”. But then, I’m not so nice as you are.’
There was a sudden sound from the doorway and then footsteps and Adrian turned. A slim girl stood in the entrance, her red hair tied in a pony-tail and with hardly any makeup. She was very slim, boyish almost, dressed in tight fitting jeans and a shaggy lambskin waistcoat. A disillusioned hippie, judged Adrian. A new week, a new experience. She blushed, deeply embarrassed, at finding someone other than Anne Sinclair in the room.
‘Hello darling,’ greeted Anne. ‘This is Adrian, Adrian Dodds.’
Adrian stood up and turned to face her.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ replied the girl, still confused. She looked at the older woman for guidance, got none and then came back to Adrian. There was a long silence and Adrian got the impression that Anne was enjoying it.
‘I’ll … ah … I’ll make some coffee. Would you like some coffee?’ asked the young girl, ignoring the whisky glass in his hand.
Adrian smiled at her, feeling great pity.
‘Yes. Yes please, I would,’ he said.
They stood watching as the girl, still wearing her lambskin coat, escaped into the kitchen.
Adrian turned back to Anne, who shrugged.
‘Life must go on,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Adrian, ‘yes, of course.’ He paused. ‘I think I’ll go before she comes back.’
She looked towards the kitchen. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that would be kind.’
She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘We won’t meet again, will we?’
‘No,’ said Adrian. ‘We won’t.’