"She borrows a friend's flat in Leddersford."
"You be careful chum."
"She's not possessive. It's not that sort of affair - " What sort exactly was it, though? I remembered once, through half-closed eyes, watching her take up my shirt from beside the bed and kiss it. When she saw me looking at her she blushed and turned away. I felt myself blushing too.
"It's perfect," I said firmly. "She's wonderful in bed, and she wants nothing else from me."
"She will."
"Not Alice."
"Keep right on believing that, and it won't be long before I see your name in the Sunday papers."
"Phooey," I said. "It's a simple straightforward transaction. Just for the sake of our health, that's all. Besides, it helps me keep myself pure for Susan."
"You've not said much about her lately. The Lampton charm not working?"
"I've been out with her about half a dozen times now. The theatre and the cinema and a five-bob hop. All most genteel. Costs me the hell of a lot of money - flowers, chocolates, and all the rest of it - and I get nothing in return."
"You mean old swine."
"Mind you, she thinks I'm wonderful. Like an elder brother. I keep paying her compliments and I treat her with great respect et cetera et cetera. It's not entirely without effect - I suppose that Wales takes her for granted, the big slob."
"Their daddies will have arranged it all," Charles said. "I don't see why he should put himself out. Damned if I would. You haven't a cat in hell's chance, frankly. Unless you thoroughly misbehave, if you see what I mean."
"I see what you mean. But it's easier said than done. She doesn't want me to make love to her - I can always tell."
"Perhaps you're trying too hard. Why not leave her alone for two months or so? Don't quarrel with her, don't attempt to discover how you stand. Simply stop seeing her. If she's at all interested in you, she'll be a bit huffed. Or she'll wonder what's wrong with her. Remember, she's got into the habit of seeing you, poor bitch. But don't" - he wagged his finger at me - "say a word to anyone else. If you do run across her, behave as if nothing had happened." His face looked very red above his stiff white collar; there was a chess player's intentness in his pale blue eyes. "It should be very interesting. Report back with full details, Sergeant, if you survive."
"She mayn't give a curse whether I see her or not," I said. "She probably won't even notice that I've gone."
"In that case, you'll have lost nothing. And you'll have saved your pride."
"I'd be scared of losing her," I said. "I'm in love with her."
He snorted. "In love with her! Drivel! In lust with her. And Daddy's bank balance. I know you, you scoundrel. Do what Uncle Charles advises, and all will be gas and gaiters."
"I might try it," I said. "Another beer?"
"Wait," Charles whispered as a young man in a Crombie overcoat came through the door. "The Glittering Zombie's being democratic. After all, we went to school with him."
He waved at the newcomer. "Come over here, Cyril." He winked at me. "By Jove, old man, it's nice to see you. What are you having?" He was using his captain's accent, I observed with amusement. It was a wartime acquisition; he'd learned it in ten days flat after he'd seen a young Cockney sublieutenant driven to suicide by the jeers of the Standard English types. He did it rather well; the Glittering Zombie, a simple soul whose father had been a corporation dustman before the war, was, as always, impressed and flattered.
"Let me , Charlie," he said quickly. "Something short, eh?"
I returned to Aunt Emily slightly oiled.
"Hello, love," she said when I came in. "Been with Charles?"
"Talking over old times," I said. "We're going out tonight. I'll have supper at his place."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't really know yet."
"Not far from a bottle, if I know Charles."
She was sitting by the fire with her hands folded. It was quite dark in the Front Room; the fire burned with a kind of restrained brightness, reflecting itself gently from the unscratched furniture. A faint smell of cigars and wine and chocolate still hung over the room. Aunt Emily looked very much like my mother; her face had the same thin elegance and the same air of restrained energy. Aided by the beer and the whisky and the faint sadness of the Front Room, the tears came to my eyes.
"What's up, lad?"
"You made me think of Mother."
She sighed. "Ee, I remember her well as a young lass. She used to run the house after Father died. She wor proper determined, wor your mother. Your grandma had all t'heart knocked out of her when your grandpa wor killed at t'mill. During t'first war, that was, and them coining money then, but not a penny-piece of compensation did your grandma get. T'same people went bankrupt in 1930. T'owd meister shot himself."
"Good," I said.
"It wasn't good for those that wor thrown out of work." She looked at me sternly. "Think on how lucky you are, Joe. T'Town Hall can't go bankrupt. Tha'll never go hungry. Or have to scrat and scrape saving for thi old age."
"It's not so bad in the mills now," I said. "No one's out of work. Dammit, some of the millhands are better off than I."
"Aye," she said, "they can get ten and twelve pounds if they work fifty and sixty and seventy hours a week in t'heat and t'din and t'muck. But how long will it last?"
She rose. "Ah'll make some tea," she said. "Your uncle's having a lay-down and t'boys are out playing." She winked. "So there's only tee and me in t'house, and we'll have a right cup of tea. Ah've been putting a bit aside for you coming home."
Moved by an impulse of affection, I kissed her on the cheek. "Make it so t'spoon'll stand up in it, love," I said. "And I want a pint pot." I kissed her on the other cheek. "You're very good to me, Auntie," I said.
"It's t'beer that's making thee so sloppy," she said, but I could see that she was pleased by the springiness of her step as she went out.
When she came back with the tea I offered her a cigarette. To my surprise, she accepted it. "I am a devil, aren't I?" she said, puffing away inexpertly.
The tea was both astringent and sweet, and she'd put some rum in it. 'That's t'first right cup of tea Ah've had sin' Ah left home," I said.
"Time you had a home of your own."
"I'm too young yet," I said weakly.
"You're old enough. Old enough to be running after all t'lasses in sight, Mi do know."
"No one'll have me, Auntie. I'm not rich enough."
"Fiddlesticks. You're not bad-looking and you have a good steady job. And you're not shy, you're brass-faced, in fact. Don't try to tell me you can't get a lass, Joe Lampton, because Ah'll noan credit it. Haven't you met anyone at this theatre you keep writing about?"
It was no use; I never could withstand her questioning for very long. (I think that perhaps I was unconsciously making up to Mother through her for all the times I'd answered perfectly reasonable questions with boorish grunts or studied vagueness.)
"There's a girl named Susan Brown," I said. "I've taken her out a few times. She's rather attractive."
"Who is she?"
"Her father owns a factory near Leddersford. He's on the Warley Council."
She looked at me with a curious pity. "Money marries money, lad. Be careful she doesn't break your heart. Is she really a nice lass, though?"
"She's lovely," I said. "Not just lovely to look at - she's sweet and innocent and good."
"I bet she doesn't work for a living either, or else does a job for pin money. What good's a girl like that to you? Get one of your own class, lad, go to your own people."
I poured myself another cup of tea. I didn't like its taste any longer; it was too strong, stuffy and pungent like old sacking. "If I want her, I'll have her."
"I wonder how fond you really are of her," Aunt Emily said sadly.