Titus sat with his back to the dividing line and, as he watched Herbert, was aware of the quiet rustle of movement behind him, of objects being picked up and put down, of a rattling, and a rustling and water running, and a scraping, and activity of a domestic kind that seemed ceaseless. The small domestic noises were interrupted by a huge bellow of sound from Herbert’s lungs, as he raised his voice in an uninhibited song of delight. As he sang, and took great gulps at his wine, he pounced on the paper in front of him with an equal lack of inhibition; he sat in an ungainly armchair with a drawing board across his knee and, holding his thick black charcoal at arm’s length, with eyes half closed, he made marks upon the paper.
‘Yes, yes, keep your eyes like that, old boy – keep still for a minute – don’t move, don’t move – put your hand up – no, put it down, I won’t be long – yes, that’s it. Yes, you’ve got a good head – I like those hollow cheeks – it’s a good nose, yes, strange eyes, yours – deep – I like that – deep set – a good nose too, you’ve an indefinable face – not handsome, not ugly, but a face of its own – I can’t pin it down, but I’m damned well going to try – but I think you’ve got me there.’
As he spoke, the slight scrape of charcoal on paper conflicted with the strange domestic sounds behind Titus, which he could not always locate, but slowly and insidiously another sense was being attacked, as a most subtle aroma filled his nostrils and he became aware that he was hungry.
‘Well, that’s it for the time being. You can move now.’
Although Titus had made little effort to be still, he was pleased all the same to be able to move without what small conscience he had being disturbed. He stood up, he stretched his arms, he closed his eyes and breathed out, and turned his back on Herbert to look more closely at the other side of the room. He saw Sophia with an apron on, busy at a cooking stove, stirring gently at a large black pot. He had not noticed before, under the huge window, several shelves, on which stood flowering plants that showered the room with colour and life, so silently burgeoning, the very opposite of her husband’s lusty, insensitive nature. Everything was loved and cared for, cleaned and orderly, in striking contrast to Herbert, whose love for his paints, his brushes, his canvas, paper, pencils and chalks was made manifest by ebullient disorder. How these two had achieved the compromise of living together and yet apart, was to Titus’s mind a remarkable feat of what love or propinquity is capable of.
‘I expect you’d like a rest now,’ said Herbert, as he poured another glass of wine for Titus.
‘Can I see what you’ve done?’
‘Yes, old boy, but you won’t see what I can see, or what I’m going to do with you.’
Titus looked at the drawings and although he knew very little, he felt a shallowness in them, a certain flair, but a vulgarity and coarseness of vision, and he didn’t know what to say. Yet there was an underlying vitality.
‘Yes, I know, old boy. Cheap stuff – I know. I should have stuck to the other sort of canvas. At least I know my limitations. I’m a hack, but a happy hack.’
‘I don’t really know much about it all, I haven’t any idea, but I think it looks like me.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, old boy. I don’t get hurt that easily. It stinks, but old Sempleton-Grove’ll want to meet the model and if you’re short of a coin or two and you play your cards right, she’ll set you up, put you on your feet, feather your nest and all the rest of it.’
The most delicious smell began to waft across the frontier, and Titus hoped that the restrictions imposed by the dividing line were domestic, rather than culinary.
His hopes were fulfilled quite soon, as the first to be served was Dog, with a plate of meat, which he sat looking at until he was sure that his master was to be equally rewarded.
* * * * *
WITH A SMILE Sophia retraced her steps and handed Titus a silver tray, which was set to perfection with highly polished silver cutlery and cruets, a crystal glass intricately cut, a linen napkin, and a small posy of flowers, delicately arranged. He was fascinated by the incongruity of the arrangements and at the same time touched by the thoughtfulness of his hostess. He wondered if Herbert would be treated to the same amount of care and rather doubted it, until he saw him clearing a space on his dust-covered, object-laden table. The same care had been taken with the tray that was deposited on that disreputable table, and all that was now awaited was the realisation of the delicious smell into a visual presence.
‘Yes, old boy, she’s a wonderful woman. Funny, we don’t speak the same language in any respect, but we get on. Take away my paints, my booze, my squalor, and I’d die, loud and clear. Take away her plants, her polish, her order, shining white and silver, she’d fade away, slowly and without a murmur. It’s a funny way to get your satisfaction out of life, eh, old boy?’
‘Yes, but I can understand it. Isn’t perfection, or the pursuit of it, something to be envied?’
‘You’re right there, old boy. I’m a brash, haphazard old fool. I’m satisfied with outward flash – don’t go deep into anything, but I’m none the less happy for that. Here it comes and I’ll bet you’ve not tasted food like this before.’
Two plates of very fine porcelain with silver covers were put on Titus’s tray, then Herbert’s, and as the covers were lifted the sight as well as the smell of the food could almost have satisfied their aesthetic hunger, if it had not been for the more animal hunger that had begun to consume them, and as they started to eat so did Dog, and sitting at a linen-draped table across the border sat Sophia, straight-backed, her apron removed, and eating, with a delicate refinement, a portion a good deal smaller than her guest’s.
There followed wine and dessert, and even the loquacious Herbert seemed to be silenced, until the last plate was removed, the last drop of wine drunk and Sophia had begun the task of clearing and polishing and tidying her side of the fence.
Titus was very conscious of the extreme kindness of his hostess, but was uncertain how to make his thanks known, as they seemed to have no common language, so he asked Herbert.
‘Well, old boy, you just tell her in your own way and she’ll understand the gist of it. You got category A status. She likes you, that’s certain.’
‘I’m very grateful to your wife, and to you, but I’m not quite sure why I am so honoured.’
‘Well, there’s something about you, old boy. Can’t say what it is, but she knows. She’s got a nose (not a pun, old boy) for quality. And by the way, you haven’t had your earnings yet.’
‘I can hardly expect to be paid for doing nothing but sit down with my dog, and drink and eat food fit for an earl . . .’
‘King, old boy, but you came here as my model and we’ll stick to our plan. Anyway, it’s the old bag’s money. I’m going to run up these drawings into something that’ll whet her appetite for you and she’ll want to meet you all right. So I’ll come round in a day or two to fix it. You’ll be at Ruth’s, will you?’
‘Ruth has said I can stay as long as I like, but I never stay very long anywhere.’
‘Don’t you hurt her, old boy.’
‘I’ll try not to hurt her.’
Herbert felt in his pocket and brought out some notes, which he handed to Titus. ‘Here you are, old boy – it’s what we give models, so don’t let’s haggle.’
Titus took the money, knowing it was not deserved but feeling that he could now help Ruth a little. He rose to go and, as he rose, so Mrs Drumm came over the divide, and Titus bowed and thanked her with great courtesy for her hospitality. She smiled, with her eyes and her lips, and led him towards the door of the studio, which she opened to let him out.