‘Meriel is such a jerky driver,’ she said. ‘Yes, you are, my dear, and it’s no good your looking like a thunderstorm about it.’ She beamed at Janet. ‘I hope you are grateful to me for letting you have our only young man. Now, Mabel, I’m going to take you round by Rufford’s Tower. I shan’t attempt the climb myself, but Meriel will go up with you. The view should be perfect today.’
Mabel was still protesting that she hated heights and that nothing would induce her to climb the tower, when with a noisy change of gears they drove away.
Ninian laughed.
‘Adriana at her most peremptory! What’s the odds the wretched Mabel will be made to toil up to the top?’
They changed the books and worked through a dull list of household shopping. There really seemed to be no good reason why they should be doing it, since with the exception of the books everything could have been ordered by telephone.
However, as Ninian said, there wasn’t any point about looking the gift-horse in the mouth.
‘Actually, you know, I think Adriana is trying to throw us together.’
Janet said, ‘Nonsense!’ and was admonished.
‘Now there you are being hasty. And not the first time I have had to tell you about it either! A spot of matchmaking would be a diversion for Adriana, and it would have the added attraction of being quite certain to annoy Meriel.’
‘Why should she want to annoy Meriel?’
‘Darling, don’t ask me, but it is quite obvious that she does. At a guess I should say that she just plants a dart wherever she can. No real harm intended, but a distinct pleasure in seeing whether she can’t make any of us rise. If we do, it’s a point to her. If we can ward it off or throw it back, well, that’s a point to us. It’s a kind of game.’
Janet said soberly,
‘It’s the kind of game that makes people hate you.’
Ninian laughed.
‘Do you know, I’ve got an idea she would find that quite exhilarating.’
They were to be picked up by the corner of the station approach at a quarter past four, Adriana declaring that five o’clock was quite early enough for tea, and that anyhow they would be home by the quarter to. But at twenty to four Ninian declared that only immediate refreshment would save him from an ingrowing anti-shopping complex which would probably become chronic.
‘And just think how inconvenient you are going to find that!’
Janet looked at him in what she meant to be a repressive manner.
‘I?’
‘Naturally. You wouldn’t be able to risk bringing it on. No little shopping-list pressed into my hand with a farewell kiss as I rush off to the office in the morning.’
Ignoring all but a single startling word, Janet caught her breath and said,
‘The office?’
‘Of course. Didn’t I mention it? On the first of October I become a wage-slave in a publishing firm. I shall have a pay-packet, and an office desk in a back room looking on to a mews.’
He saw her face change. It became warm and eager. She said,
‘Oh, Ringan!’ And then in a hurry, ‘Do you mind dreadfully?’
He slipped a hand inside her arm and gave it a squeeze.
‘I wouldn’t be doing it if I did. Actually, I think it’s going to be quite interesting. It’s Firth and Saunders, you know. You remember Andrew Firth. We’ve always been friends, so when I found there was an opening with his people I thought I’d put in old Cousin Jessie Rutherford’s money. Andrew said they’d probably take me, and they did. I’ve finished another book, so I’ve got something in hand.’
Janet did not say anything for a moment. They walked along past the shop windows. The town was full, people brushed past them. This wasn’t public property. He was telling her what he hadn’t told Star. He had always told her things, but he had generally told Star too. She said,
‘I thought your book did well – the second one?’
‘It did. And the next is going to do better, and so forth and so on. But this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing – I’ve made quite a good plan about that. Now this is where we turn off and get our cup of tea. It’s a good place to talk.’
A stone’s throw down the narrow crooked street there hung the sign of a golden kettle, very bright and new. The place it advertised could hardly have been much older without falling to pieces. It had windows dim with bottle-glass, interior visibility of no more than a couple of yards, and beams which threatened anyone over six foot with concussion. As they threaded their way across a floor thick with small tables, Ninian bent to whisper,
‘Actually, The Kettle is a joke. People come here if they don’t want to be recognized, and then find themselves bumping into everyone they most want to avoid. But there are some really good hide-outs down at the far end.’
They achieved a table in a nook discreetly screened from the public gaze. A faint light smouldered overhead in an orange bulb. Janet wondered how bad the tea would be. In her experience medievalism very often failed to cover a multitude of sins. But when it came, in a squat orange teapot very difficult to pour from, it really wasn’t bad at all, and the cakes were good. Ninian ate four, and went on talking about his publishing job.
‘You see, I don’t want the books to be a matter of bread and butter. I think it’s fatal – or it would be for me. I want to be able to say I don’t care what the public likes, I’m going to write what I damn well choose. If I choose to hammer at a thing for a year, I don’t want there to be anything to stop me. And if I have an urge to do a firework and let it off in everyone’s face, I want to be able to do that. The only trouble is that I’m a pretty regular eater, and the sordid soul of commerce does expect to have its bills paid. In fact, darling, there simply has to be something one can use for money. So I thought this publishing idea was rather a brainwave. A life of honest toil doing the fellow author in the eye or giving him a helping hand, according to which end of the stick you are looking at, and quite a reasonable pay-packet. It’s a good investment for the money too. I don’t suppose anyone is going to bother about nationalizing publishing for quite a long time yet, and meanwhile there will be the pay-packet.’
Janet put down her cup. Now that her eyes were getting accustomed to the gloom she could just see where the saucer was. He said,
‘No comment? Don’t you ask me what I want with a nice regular pay-packet?’
‘Am I supposed to?’
‘Oh, I think so. But I’ll tell you anyway. I’m thinking of getting married, and all the best statistics go to show that wives prefer a regular income. It saves awkwardness in the fish queue. They don’t like waiting until the cod has been tied up in newspaper and then having to ask the fishmonger to let the bill stand over until the next book comes out. It tends to lower the social standing and prevents other people giving you tick.’
Janet poured out another cup of tea. The pot burned her finger and she put it down in a hurry. Ninian said,
‘Still no comment?’
‘No one expects credit for fish. At least not unless you run a weekly or a monthly book, and you’ve got to be a very good customer for anyone to let you do that.’
‘Well, I’m not so hot on fish anyhow, so just make a mental note not to give it me more than twice a week.’
There was a pause before she said, ‘I don’t like that way of talking.’
‘No?’
‘No. And the girl you’re going to marry wouldn’t care about it either.’
He said in a laughing voice,
‘Well, you ought to know! Let’s change the subject. There are more romantic things than fish. Let us consider the question of a flat. I have secret advance information about one that I think would do. The chap who is in it has been offered a job in Scotland, and he has agreed to let me take over his lease. We can’t argy-bargy over it – that’s why I’m telling you this now. I thought we could run up to town tomorrow and get it clinched.’