The Night Watch

'As if it's on the ration.'

Helen smiled. 'Yes, exactly! And so you know, when you've got some, that it's going to run out soon; and that keeps you from enjoying it, you're too busy wondering how you're going to feel when it's all gone. Or you start thinking about the person who's had to go without so that you can have your portion.'

How own mood sank, as she thought this. She began picking at blisters of paint on the metal platform, exposing fibres of rust beneath. She went on quietly, 'Maybe it's right, after all, what the newspaper prophets say: that one gets paid back in the way one deserves. Maybe we've all forfeited our right to happiness, by doing bad things, or by letting bad things happen…'

She looked at Viv. They'd never spoken to each other quite so freely before, and she realised, as if for the first time, just how fond she was of Viv, and how much she liked doing this-just this-sitting out here, talking, on this rusting metal platform… And she thought of something else. Were you friends with Julia then? Viv had asked lightly, before-as if it was the most natural thing in the world that Helen should have been; as if it was perfectly normal that Helen should have stayed in London, in a war, for a woman's sake…

Her heart began to beat faster. She wanted, suddenly, to be able to confide in Viv. She wanted to, desperately! She wanted to say, Listen to me, Viv. I'm in love with Julia! It's a marvellous thing, but terrible, too. Sometimes it makes a sort of child of me. Sometimes it feels like it's almost killing me! It leaves me helpless. It makes me afraid! I can't control it! Can that be right? Is it like this with other people? Has it ever been like this, with you?

She felt her breath rising, until it seemed trapped in her chest. Her heart was beating wildly now, in her cheeks and fingertips. 'Viv-' she started.

But Viv had turned away. She'd put her hands to the pockets of her cardigan and, 'Oh, heck,' she said. 'I've left my cigs inside. I'll never get through the afternoon without one.' She started to rise, seizing hold of the rail of the platform and making the whole thing rock. She said, 'Will you give me a push-up?'

Helen got to her feet more quickly. 'I'm closer,' she said. 'I'll get them.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, of course. It'll only take a moment.'

Her breath still seemed to be crushed in her chest. She clambered awkwardly over the sill and landed with a thud beside the lavatory. There was still time, she thought, to say something. She wanted to more than ever now. And a cigarette would steady her nerves… She straightened her skirt. Viv called through the window: 'They're in my handbag!'

Helen nodded. She went quickly across the landing and up the short flight of stairs into the waiting-room. She kept her head down as she went, only glancing up at the last minute.

She found a man standing at Viv's desk, looking idly over the papers.

She started so violently at the sight of him, she almost screamed. Startled himself, the man stepped back. Then he began to laugh. 'Good Lord! Am I so terrifying as that?'

'I'm sorry,' said Helen, her hand at her breast. 'I had no idea- But the office is closed.'

'Is it? The door downstairs was open.'

'Well, it really oughtn't to have been.'

'I just walked in and up the stairs. I did wonder where everyone was. I'm sorry to have frightened you, Miss -?'

He looked frankly into her face as he said this. He was young and well-spoken, handsome, fair-haired, quite at his ease-so unlike their usual run of client that she felt at a disadvantage with him. She was aware of herself, breathless and flushed, her hair uncombed. She pictured Viv, too, waiting out on the fire-escape… Balls, she thought. But there was still time.

She calmed herself down, and turned to the diary on Viv's desk. 'Well,' she said. 'You don't have an appointment, I suppose?' She ran her finger down the page. 'You're not Mr Tiplady?'

'Mr Tiplady!' He smiled. 'No, I'm rather glad to say I'm not.'

'The fact is, we don't see anyone without an appointment.'

'So I see.' He had turned when she had, and was looking at the page over her shoulder. 'You're certainly doing a roaring trade. That's thanks to the war, I suppose…' He folded his arms and stood more easily. 'Just out of interest, how much do you charge?'

Helen glanced at the clock. Go away . Go away! But she was too polite to let the thought show. 'We charge in the first instance,' she said, 'a guinea-'

'As much as that?' He looked surprised. 'And, what will my guinea get me? I suppose you show me an album of girls, do you? Or, you don't actually bring the girls in-?'

His manner had changed. He seemed really interested-yet was smiling, too, as if at some joke of his own. Helen grew cautious. It was just possible, she thought, that he was some kind of charming lunatic: one of those men-like Heath-driven insane by the mood of the times. She didn't know whether or not to believe him about the door. Suppose he had forced it? She'd often thought how vulnerable she and Viv were, so close to Oxford Street and yet cut off, up here, from the bustle of the pavement.

'I'm afraid I really can't discuss it with you now,' she said, her anxiety and impatience making her prim. 'If you'd care to come back in ordinary hours, I'm sure my colleague-' she glanced involuntarily towards the stairs, the lavatory-'will be happy to explain the whole procedure to you.'

But that seemed to pique his interest even more. 'Your colleague,' he said, as if seizing on the word; and following her gaze with his own; even lifting and weaving his head, and clicking his tongue against his lower lip, thoughtfully, as he did it. 'I suppose your colleague's not available right now, by any chance?'

'I'm afraid we're closed for lunch just now,' said Helen firmly.

'Yes, of course. You said that. What a pity.' He said it vaguely. He was still gazing over at the stairs.

She turned a page in the diary. 'If you could come back tomorrow at, say, four-'

But now he'd looked round, and realized what she was doing. His manner changed again. He almost laughed. 'Look here, I'm sorry. I think I've given you the wrong impression-'

At that moment, Viv came up the stairs and into the office. She must have heard his voice after all, and wondered what was going on. She looked at him as if in amazement; and then, unaccountably, she blushed. Helen caught her eye, and made what she hoped was a little gesture of warning and alarm. She said, 'I was just finding this gentleman an appointment. Apparently the door downstairs was open-'

The man, however, had stepped forward and begun to laugh. 'Hello,' he said, giving Viv a nod. Then he turned back to Helen. 'I'm afraid,' he said to her, in real apology, 'I really did give you the wrong idea. It isn't a wife I'm after, you see. Just Miss Pearce.'

Viv's colour had deepened. She glanced at Helen as if horribly embarassed. She said, 'This is Mr Robert Fraser, Helen, a friend of my brother's. Mr Fraser, this is Miss Giniver… Is Duncan all right?'

'Oh, it's nothing like that,' said the man easily. 'Nothing at all. I was just passing, and thought I'd look in.'

' Duncan asked you to come?'

'I was just hoping you'd be free, to tell you the truth. It was just- Well, it was just a whim.'

He laughed again. There was a moment's awkward silence. Helen thought of the little warning gesture she'd made to Viv a minute ago; and felt a fool. For everything had changed, suddenly. It was just as though someone had taken a piece of chalk and, swiftly but firmly, bent to the floor and drawn a line: a line that had Viv and this man, Robert Fraser, on one side, and herself on the other. She made a vague kind of movement. 'Well,' she said, 'I ought to get on.'

'No, it's all right,' said Viv quickly. Her eyelids fluttered. 'I'll- I'll take Mr Fraser outside. Mr Fraser-?'

'Of course,' he said, moving with her towards the stairs. He nodded pleasantly to Helen as he went by. 'Goodbye! I'm sorry to have disturbed you. If I ever change my mind about that wife, I'll be sure to let you know!'