“I brought you up here to tell you a bit of news, just in case it makes any difference to anything. Bunny’s gone.”
What had he done? With what clumsiness had he floundered in other people’s complex and dimly comprehended business? Playing for time, he asked, “Has he been posted?”
“Oh, no,” said Ralph coolly. “As a matter of fact he hasn’t even left his room. I can hardly expect him to, seeing what he’s spent on the fittings. I shall find another myself, as soon as I can. Still, he’s gone, in a manner of speaking.”
“Ralph, I—I’m most terribly sorry.”
“Sorry? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You mean it’s my fault. There doesn’t seem very much to say. Except that I’d give anything for it not to have happened.”
“Oh, come, Spud, don’t make yourself out a bigger fool than you are. Bunny was a long hangover after a short drunk. Far too long.”
The relief of this was at first enormous. Then he wondered what, exactly, had happened, and whether it hadn’t made Ralph a good deal more unhappy than he cared to admit. “I’m glad if that’s how it is.”
“By the way,” Ralph said in an almost impersonal voice, “I owe you an apology for last time.”
“If you mean about driving me back, you don’t. I can tell you now.” With more satisfaction than he liked to admit to himself, he explained about the water-jug.
“Good God, what a corny one to have fallen for.” He laughed, but Laurie already felt ashamed. He lit cigarettes in silence and for a minute or so neither spoke.
“I have a feeling,” Ralph said presently, “that a few other apologies may also be due. He did actually deliver you at the hospital, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I know I wasn’t very discreet that evening; did he make a scene about it?”
“No.”
“Something happened. All right, never mind; I expect it was embarrassing enough without being cross-examined on it.” Laurie let this go, hoping he would drop it. He did in fact fall silent for a couple of minutes. Just as Laurie had opened his mouth to change the subject, he said abruptly, “Look, Spud, this is shooting blind, but he didn’t try anything else on, by any chance, did he?”
Laurie had been thinking, the moment before, that after all some partings are only final for the first forty-eight hours; provided, that is, that no one interferes. Now neither truth nor lying seemed quite justified. In his irresolution he waited too long.
“Well,” said Ralph. “I see.” He spoke with a curious, precise flatness; he sounded almost bored. Yes, Laurie thought: all that about a short drunk is what he’d like to feel now. God, there’s no need to rub his face in it.
“It wasn’t serious, you know. I think it was just a sort of experiment to see how one would behave.”
After a pause Ralph said, in the same colorless and exactly pitched voice, “I suppose it’s all for the best that I didn’t know this sooner.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth, examined it, and put it back again. Speaking now conversationally, he remarked, “We began with a minor disagreement, and one thing led to another.”
“Yes?” Laurie said. He was feeling that he had managed badly. Knowing Bunny, one could have been sure that the showdown hadn’t been as complete as Ralph imagined, and that all sorts of things could still come out.
“Well, Spud, there it is. You saw enough for yourself: there’s no point in prettying it over. About all I can say is that I never told myself many lies about it; and whether that’s a recommendation or not depends on the point of view. Main thing is, it’s finished. Do you feel like believing that?”
“If you say so, of course.” And now, he thought, perhaps it really is my fault. No one who knew so little had the right to do this.
Ralph turned and adjusted the windscreen wiper, which was out of true and took him some minutes. Still fidgeting with it, he said, “Well, now, about this appointment of yours. I don’t know how urgent it is. I thought possibly you might just be feeling you’d seen enough of my domestic ménage. If I’m wrong, or if you still feel the same way about it, let it go and we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh,” said Laurie. He had completely forgotten. Ralph’s eye caught his and all at once they were smiling. “Well, I’ve not got a late pass, but it’s no more urgent than that … I did rather feel he and I might get in each other’s hair if we met again.”
“He’s on duty this evening, so you won’t do that. How long have we?”
“If you can lift me back, about an hour and a half.”
“Come on, then, let’s go.”
The strict room was wearing a half-smile of hospitality; there was a cloth on the table, and a plate of sandwiches bought ready cut and sealed in wax paper. There was something very comforting to Laurie in the matter-of-fact way Ralph made no bones about having expected him. There was a feeling of being looked after, a feeling almost of home. Ralph mixed a couple of drinks, lifted his glass, and seemed to hesitate. In the end he just said, “Happy days.”
“Happy days,” said Laurie smiling. If only he had got a late pass he could have kept Ralph company for the rest of the evening. At a time like this one would remember little things that had been harmless and happy and which one had expected always to remember with pleasure, and they would seem to look at one with a sneer. Laurie would have worked hard to make himself good company, if that had been necessary, but in fact they had plenty to talk about and the meal was quite gay. When they were washing up and making coffee in the little hole of a kitchen, Ralph said, looking up from his plate and tea-towel, “This is better, isn’t it, Spud?”
“Yes,” said Laurie, “of course it is.” If only he hadn’t outstayed his pass so recently. He hated the thought of leaving Ralph alone.
The popping blue gas fire had warmed to a spreading glow. Beyond the hooded reading lamp’s small orbit it touched the room with dusky gold and rose. Laurie sat as he was bidden in the armchair; he had learned to accept such things simply, like the old. Ralph, curled easily on the old hooked-wool rug, would have looked incongruous there to no one, probably, except to Laurie, who found ancient habits of precedence still haunting his mind. The senior studies at school had had gas fires. He looked down at Ralph; except for being seen from the wrong angle, he, too, in this mellowing dimness seemed very little changed. He had nice hair, Laurie thought; it still had that freshly washed look, and the neat cut was the same. Fine, light, and straight, it had a kind of innocence; it would be pleasant to touch. Then he remembered how this thought had come to him seven years ago, at the moment when Ralph was saying goodbye to him.
He said, “Do you still like your toast done thin and crisp? I feel I ought to be making it.”
Ralph looked up, his face turning from the light. In the deep shadow it could only be seen that he was smiling; his face was a dark brightness edged with fire.
“What do you know about it? You never fagged for me. I say, Spud.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got a bit of good news I’ve been saving up for you. When you hear it officially, don’t forget to look surprised.”
“Of course I won’t.” He couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be and fell back into a trusting blankness. Perhaps a new secret weapon was about to appear which would end the war in a week. “Well, come on, what is it?”
“I rather thought they’d have told you today. As a matter of fact, Alec’s been pulling a few strings for you. He’s rather a pet of the old girl who does your massage.” (So it was that, Laurie thought, which had started her on the boot. Suddenly he noticed that the leg hadn’t begun aching yet; he was about to communicate this good news, but Ralph hadn’t finished.) “She thought you ought to be coming oftener, and she takes a dim view of E.M.S. hospitals anyway; so she put the recommendation straight in. They’re going to transfer you to the hospital here in a day or two. That’ll be better, won’t it?”