I set off along the court and then along Charlotte Street, walking rather fast.

Rachel was dressed more smartly than usual in a silky dress with red and white blotches on it and a low square neckline. Her collarbones, sun-browned and mottled, were prominent above the dress. Her neck was dry and wrinkled, faintly reptilian, her face was smoother, more made-up than usual, and wearing the expression the French call maussade. She seemed to have lately washed her hair which made a smooth frizzy ball around her head. She looked, in spite of parts of the above description, a handsome woman, tired, but not defeated, by her life.

"Bradley, don't walk so fast."

"Sorry."

"Before I forget, Julian said would I pick up her copy of Hamlet which she left with you."

I had no intention of parting with this book. I said, "I'd like to keep it for a while. It's rather a good edition, and I wanted to note one or two things."

"But it's a school book."

"Excellent edition all the same. Not available any more." Later I would feign to have lost it.

"It was so kind of you to see Julian yesterday."

"I enjoyed it."

"I hope she hasn't been pestering you."

"Not at all. Here we are."

I dashed among the shelves followed by Rachel. "I must buy some more of my special notebooks. I'm going to be doing a lot of writing soon. Rachel, let me buy you something, I must, I'm in a present-giving mood."

"Bradley, whatever is the matter with you, you seem quite delirious."

"Here, let me give you these nice things!" I had to load somebody with presents. I collected for Rachel a ball of red string, a blue felt tipped pen, a pad of special calligrapher's paper, a magnifying glass, a fancy carrier bag, a large wooden clothes peg with urgent written on it in gold, and six postcards of the Post Office Tower. I paid for the purchases and loaded the bag with all Rachel's spoil into her arms.

"You seem in a good mood!" She said, pleased, but still a bit maussade. "Now can we go back to your place?"

"I'm awfully sorry, I've got a rather early lunch engagement, I'm not going back." I was still worrying about the chair and whether she wouldn't try again to remove the book. It was not that I was unwilling to talk to Rachel, I was greatly enjoying it.

"Well, let's sit somewhere."

"There's a seat in Tottenham Court Road, just opposite Heals."

"Bradley, I am not going to sit in Tottenham Court Road and contemplate Heals. Aren't the pubs open yet?"

They were. I must have spent longer than I realized in meditation. We went into one.

It was a featureless modern place, ruined by the brewers, all made of light plastic (pubs should be dark holes) but with the sun shining in and the street door open it had a sort of southern charm. We visited the bar and then sat at a plastic table which was already wet with beer. Rachel had a double whisky which she proposed to drink neat. I had a lemonade shandy for the sake of appearances. We looked at each other.

It occurred to me that this was the first time since I had been smitten that I had looked another human being in the eyes. It was a good experience. I beamed. I almost felt that my face had the power to bless.

"Bradley, you are looking odd."

"Peculiar?"

"Very nice. You look awfully well today. You look younger."

"Dear Rachel! I'm so glad to see you. Tell me all. Let's talk about Julian. Such an intelligent girl."

"I'm glad you think so. I'm not sure that I do. I'm grateful to you for taking an interest in her at last."

"At last?"

"She says she's been trying to attract your attention for years. I warned her you probably won't keep it up."

"I'll do what I can for her. I like her, you know." I laughed crazily.

"She's like all of them now, so vague and inconsiderate and doing everything on the spur of the moment, and so full of contempt for everything. She adores her father but she can't help needling him all the time. She told him this morning that you thought his work was 'sentimental.' "

"Rachel, I've been thinking," I said. (I had not in fact, it had just come into my head.) "I may be being completely unjust to Arnold. It's years since I read the whole of his work, I must read it all through again, I may see it quite differently now. You like Arnold's novels, don't you?"

"I'm his wife. And I'm a totally uneducated woman, as my dear daughter never tires of telling me. But look, I don't want to talk about these things. I want to say—well, first of all forgive me for bothering you again. You'll begin to think I'm a neurotic woman with a fixation."

"Never, my dear Rachel! I'm so glad to see you. And what a pretty dress! How charming you look!"

"Yes, my dearest creature."

"You said some very kind and probably very wise things last time we met about friendship. I feel I was rather churlish—"Not at all."

"I want to say now that I accept and need your friendship. I also want to say—it's hard to find the words—I'd be wretched if I felt you just saw me as a desperate middle-aged harpy trying to pull someone into bed to spite her husband—"I assure you—"It's not like that, Bradley. There's something I feel I didn't make absolutely clear. I wasn't just looking for a man to console me after a married row—"You did make it clear—"It could only have been you. We've known each other for centuries. But it's only lately come to me—how much I really care about you. You're a very special person in my life. I esteem you and admire you and rely on you and—well, I love you. That's what I wanted to say."

"Rachel, what a delightful thing, it's made my day!"

"Be serious for a moment, Bradley."

"I am serious, my dear. People should love each other more in simple ways, I've always felt this. Why can't we just comfort each other more? One tends to live at a sort of level of anxiety and resentment where one's protecting oneself all the time. Climb above it, climb above it, and feel free to love! That's the message. I know in my relations with Arnold—"Never mind your relations with Arnold. This is about me. I want—I must be a bit drunk—let me put it crudely—I want a special relationship with you."

"You've got it!"

"Be quiet. I don't want an affair, not because I don't want an affair, maybe I do, it's not worth finding out, but because it would be a mess and belong with all that anxiety and resentment you were talking about, anyway you haven't got the guts or temperament or whatever for an affair, but Bradley, I want you."

"You've got me!"

"Oh don't be so gay and flippant, you look so horribly pleased with yourself, what's the matter?"

"I wish I could hold you to some sort of seriousness, you're so terribly sort of slippery today. Bradley, this matters so much—you will love me, you will be faithful?"

"Yes!"

"A real true friend to me forever?"

"Yes, yes!"

"I don't know—thank you—all right—You're looking at your watch, you must go to your lunch date. I'll stay here and—think—and—drink. Thank you, thank you."

The last I saw of her, through the window as I went off, she was staring at the table and very slowly making patterns in the beer drips with her finger. Her face had a heavy sullen dreamy remembering look which was very touching.

Hartbourne asked after Christian. He had known her slightly. The news of her return must have somehow got around. I talked about her frankly and at ease. Yes, I had seen her. She was much improved, not only in looks. We were on quite good terms, very civilized. And Priscilla? She had left her husband and was staying with Christian, I was just going to visit them. "Priscilla staying with Christian? How remarkable," said Hartbourne. Yes I suppose it was, but it just showed what good friends we all were. In turn I asked Hartbourne about the office. Was that ridiculous committee still sitting? Had Matheson got his promotion yet? Had the new lavatories materialized? Was that comic tea lady still around? Hart— bourne remarked that I seemed "very fit and relaxed."

"And the poems, sir?"

"Yes." I had not even realized that Arnold had published any poems. What a skunk I was! I also purchased the London edition of Shakespeare complete in six volumes, to give to Julian in exchange for her Hamlet when the time came, and I went away still smiling.

As I was just turning into the court I saw Rigby, my upstairs neighbour. I stopped him and had begun some cordial conversation about the fine weather when he said, "There's someone waiting outside your door." I gasped and excused myself and quickly ran. A man, however, was awaiting me. A well-dressed distinguished-looking figure with a soldierly air.

When he saw me Roger started to say, "Look here, before you tell me—"My dear Roger, come in and have some tea. Where's Marigold?"

"I left her in a sort of cafe down there."

"Well, go and get her at once, go on, I'd love to see her again! I'll be putting the kettle on and putting the tea things out."

Roger stared and shook his head as if he thought I must be mad, but he went off all the same to fetch Marigold.

Marigold was looking very dressed-up for town with a little blue linen cap and a white linen pinafore dress and a dark-blue silk blouse and a rather expensive-looking red-white-and-blue scarf. She looked a bit like a musical-comedy sailor girl. She was rounder however and had the self-conscious self-satisfied pouting stance of the pregnant woman. Her tanned cheeks were deeply ruddy with health and happiness. She smiled all the time with her eyes and one simply could not help smiling back. She must have left a trail of happiness behind her down the street.

"Marigold, how lovely you look!" I said.

"What's your game?" said Roger.

"Sit down, sit down, please forgive me, it's just that you both look so happy, I can't help myself. Marigold, will you be mother?"

"I suppose this is some sort of sick joke?"

"No, no—" I was serving tea on the mahogany night table. I had put Julian's chair well back out of the way.

"You'll be turning nasty in a minute."

"Roger, please relax, please just talk to me quietly, let's be gentle and reasonable with each other. I'm very sorry I was so unpleasant to you both down in Bristol. I was upset for Priscilla, I still am, but I don't regard you as wicked, I know how these things happen."

Roger grimaced at Marigold. She beamed back. "I wanted to put you in the picture," he said. "And I want you to do something for us, if you will. First of all, here's this." He put a large gaping carrier bag onto the floor beside my feet.

I peered down and then began to dig into it. Necklaces and things. The enamel picture. The little marble, or whatever it was, statuette. Two silver cups, other oddments. "That's good of you, Priscilla will be so pleased. What about the mink?"

"I was coming to that," said Roger. "I'm afraid I sold the mink. I'd already sold it when I saw you last. I agreed with Priscilla it was a sort of investment. I'll let her have half the proceeds. In due course."

"She mustn't worry," said Marigold. She had advanced her smartly shod blue patent-leather foot up against Roger's shoe. She kept moving her arm so that her sleeve lightly and rhythmically brushed his.

"All the jewels are there," said Roger, "and the little things from her dressing table, and Marigold has packed all the clothes and so on into three trunks. Where shall we send them?"