‘Gordon, there’s really no need to feel, you know …’
‘You mean, you don’t feel, well …?’
‘Of course not, Gordon. I mean, there’s no need to feel you know…’
‘Really? Well, I appreciate that, Paul. It shows a generous spirit, and I appreciate it.’
‘I mean …’
‘No, no. I appreciate it.’
They became silent again. They had both been looking at the back of the chauffeur’s head as they spoke, and they both now looked out of the windows again.
‘What I was going to say, as a matter of fact, Paul,’ resumed Proctor-Gould finally, ‘was – well – you were rather a pal of Raya’s, weren’t you?’
‘A great pal.’
‘Yes. Well. The point is, can you remember if she is – what shall I say? – suitably equipped?’
‘How do you mean, suitably equipped?’
Proctor-Gould essayed a man-to-man laugh.
‘You know,’ he said.
‘No?’
Proctor-Gould stopped laughing.
‘I mean,’ he said heavily, ‘does she take proper precautions in these cases against the possible consequences?’
At last Manning saw. He was so surprised that he uttered a little squeaking gasp of laughter.
‘God knows,’ said Proctor-Gould. ‘It’s an awkward thing to have to ask you. I appreciate that. But I’m in a rather tricky position. I didn’t bring any with me. Stupid of me, I see now, but it simply didn’t occur to me. And not speaking the language, I don’t quite see how to go about getting any.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘And of course I can’t ask her, either.’
‘No.’
‘It’s not the sort of thing you can really manage in sign-language.’
‘I see your point.’
‘And it has always been an inflexible rule of mine not to try any monkey business without some reliable form of contraceptive.’
‘Very sensible.’
‘I mean, when the occasion has arisen. I wouldn’t put myself down as a great Don Juan. But when the occasion has arisen …’
‘Quite.’
There was a silence. Proctor-Gould worked on his ear again, looking out of the window.
‘So,’ he said finally, ‘did she?’
‘What?’
‘Raya. Did she …?’
‘Oh. I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t …?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought you were great pals.’
‘Not as great as all that.’
‘No. I see. I’m sorry.’
They were silent again until the car was quite near the hotel.
‘Well, then,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘I’ll ask the driver to stop at the next chemist’s we pass. Perhaps you’d pop in and get me a packet.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I don’t even know the Russian.’
Proctor-Gould sighed, and fell silent again. As the car pulled up in front of the hotel he made one last attempt.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll just slip upstairs and ask her.’
‘Now, Gordon….’
‘Even if you don’t know the exact word you could paraphrase it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon.’
‘If you think my presence might embarrass you I’ll wait downstairs.’
‘No.’
The commissionaire was holding the door open.
‘This makes things most awkward for me,’ said Proctor-Gould.
‘You’ll just have to restrain yourself.’
‘It’s not really a question of me restraining myself,’ said Proctor-Gould, looking gloomier than ever. ‘It’s what she’s going to do.’
He left Manning on the pavement, and disappeared into the hotel. It seemed to Manning, as he watched him go, that his shoulders were visibly bowed.
20
Pulled by the strange centripetal force that cities have, Manning and Katerina ended up, as they usually did, on Mokhovaya Street in front of the old university. For some time they had said nothing. Katerina looked ill. She sat down on the low wall which the drunken man had fallen over, and admitted that she felt sick and dizzy with hunger.
‘Did you have any lunch today?’ asked Manning.
She shook her head.
‘Now that’s stupid, isn’t it, Katya?’
‘I didn’t feel like it at the time.’
‘We’ve been through all this before.’
‘I’ve told you – I’ve never eaten much. When Kanysh was here I couldn’t eat knowing he was hungry.’
‘Anyway, let’s go and have a proper meal somewhere now.’
She shook her head again.
‘Come on.’
‘I honestly don’t want to, Paul.’
‘Now be sensible.’
‘Don’t try to bully me, Paul. You know you can’t.’
Manning looked at her helplessly.
‘You must have something,’ he said, irresolute.
For a long time she didn’t reply, but sat with her head in her hands, looking at the pavement. Then she gave a long sigh, and stood up.
‘If we can go somewhere quiet I’ll come and watch you eat. I might have some soup.’
‘How about the Faculty canteen? It’ll be empty at this time of night.’
Katerina thought, turning her lower lip over doubtfully with her index finger.
‘I haven’t got my pass with me,’ she said at last.
‘I’ve got mine. They’ll let you in with me. I don’t suppose there’ll be anyone on the door now.’
But, as they shortly discovered, there was. The same old woman with the crooked glasses, sitting on the same broken chair.
‘No one can come in here without a pass,’ she said.
‘She’s forgotten it,’ said Manning. ‘What does it matter?’
‘No one can come in here without a pass.’
‘Oh, never mind,’ said Katerina, flushing. ‘Let’s go to an Automat instead.’
‘No,’ said Manning, beginning to lose his temper. ‘Now we’re here we’re going in.’
He turned back to the old woman.
‘Look, she’s a member of the Philological Faculty. She’s got a pass, but she’s forgotten it. I’ll vouch for her.’
‘She can’t come in without a pass.’
‘Well, I’m afraid she’s going to.’
‘Paul, please don’t make a scene!’ begged Katerina. She was wringing her hands in misery.
‘Come on, Katya. We’re going in.’
‘Please, Paul!’
‘I’ll call the Dean!’ cried the old woman.
‘Call him, then! We’ll be in the canteen.’
But at that moment the dispute abruptly ceased. All three of them had become simultaneously aware that the Dean was already present. It was a creak on the stairs that they had heard. They turned, and there stood Korolenko, on the creaky eleventh stair, silently watching them. They gazed back, their mouths open as if to speak, the speech evaporated.
Every one was afraid of Korolenko. He was a neatly-built, shortish man, and he carried himself with the unexaggerated correctness of a born professional soldier. His head was bald, and gleamed like a polished helmet in the light over the stairs. His cheeks were sunken, his mouth set in a precise line. His features were completely immobile, apart from a tic which drew the right-hand corner of his mouth up from time to time, as if in a brief ironic smile. Perhaps it was an ironic smile. The complete stillness, the soldier’s willed passivity, from which the spasm surfaced, concealed his nature like a suit of armour. It was surprising he had moved enough to make the stair creak.
They stared at him, hypnotized, waiting for him to speak first. When he did, it was to say something that Manning found very surprising.
‘Katerina Fyodorovna Lippe,’ he said, without expression of any sort.
He knew her.
Manning glanced at her. She was looking down, as if bowed before him.
‘Did I hear this young man say that you had forgotten your pass?’ asked Korolenko in the same voice.
Katerina said nothing.
‘You have no pass, Lippe. You have no right to enter any part of the university.’
Katerina looked up.
‘Now, that’s not correct, Igor Viktorovich,’ she said pleadingly.