on with the act.
No, nonsense, she would be very happy to stroll around herself. She’d meet him afterwards. She’d go down and look at those pictures that he didn’t want to see. It was ideal really, they could each do what they wanted, and then meet for lunch.
He didn’t know whether it would be over by lunchtime. But she thought that this was the point, that the checkup took only a couple of hours. Yes, well he hoped so but maybe they had better not make a firm arrangement for lunch just in case.
Oh act, act. Fine, that suited her too. After she had looked at the paintings on the railings, she’d have a quick look at Oxford Street, and then take the tube to St. Paul’s. She hadn’t been there since she was a child, she’d love to see it again. Don’t cling, don’t cling, you mustn’t appear dependent. Choose some very late time and he’ll suggest earlier. He’ll like you for saying you can manage alone, you’ll like it if he says he wants you earlier. Don’t ruin it, don’t balls up the glorious day.
“Why don’t we say six o’clock here!” Bright, light tone, utterly nonclinging, utterly ridiculous as a suggestion. His examination couldn’t possibly take from eleven in the morning until six at night.
“That sounds about right,” he said, and the day went dark, but the voice stayed bright, and there were no giveaway signs as she bounced cheerfully out the door.
The lobby looked less glittering and glamorous and Londonish. It looked big and full of people who trusted other people or didn’t give a damn about other people. She looked at the house phones on the wall. Should she ring up and just say “Love you”? They did that to each other, or they used to a lot in the beginning. No, it was silly, there was nothing to be gained and it might irritate him. Why risk it?
She wound her way across the road, jumping this way and that to avoid the traffic, because it looked too far to walk to the pedestrian crossing, and anyway she was anxious to get to the other side. It reminded her of Paris, and all those thousands of water colours of Notre-Dame, all of them exactly the same and all of them different prices, or so it seemed.
There was a young man with very red hair and a very white face looking at her.
“Scarf, lady?” he asked hopefully.
“I want to look at everything before I buy,” she said happily.
“Surprising more of you Northerners aren’t killed if that’s the way you cross roads up there,” he said good-naturedly.
He meant it nicely. It was to keep her chatting, she knew that. She also thought that he fancied the look of her, which was nice. She felt it was so long now since anyone had fancied her that she wouldn’t know how to react. But somehow his marking her out as a Northerner annoyed her, she was irritated, even though she knew it was said in friendship. Did she sound provincial, did she look provincial, crossing the road like that?
Suddenly she thought with a violence that made her nearly keel over, that there was a great possibility that he thought she was provincial too. That could be the reason why he wasn’t prepared to make any public announcement of their being together. Not announcement, she didn’t really want as much as that, she wanted…a bit of openness. It was bloody obvious now that she thought of it. Living with someone, having it off with someone, having an affair, all this was accepted now…by everyone.
She stood there, not even seeing the blur of Towers of London, Trafalgar Squares, and Beefeaters that waved like flags from the scarf rack. She could only see herself years ago at suppertime, listening to her mother talking about people who gave themselves airs. Her mother had wanted Lisa always to remember that she came from good stock. They could hold their heads up with any of them, they were as good as anyone for miles around, they had nothing hidden away that could never be dragged out. Lisa and Bill never knew what brought on these kinds of
No, nonsense, she would be very happy to stroll around herself. She’d meet him afterwards. She’d go down and look at those pictures that he didn’t want to see. It was ideal really, they could each do what they wanted, and then meet for lunch.
He didn’t know whether it would be over by lunchtime. But she thought that this was the point, that the checkup took only a couple of hours. Yes, well he hoped so but maybe they had better not make a firm arrangement for lunch just in case.
Oh act, act. Fine, that suited her too. After she had looked at the paintings on the railings, she’d have a quick look at Oxford Street, and then take the tube to St. Paul’s. She hadn’t been there since she was a child, she’d love to see it again. Don’t cling, don’t cling, you mustn’t appear dependent. Choose some very late time and he’ll suggest earlier. He’ll like you for saying you can manage alone, you’ll like it if he says he wants you earlier. Don’t ruin it, don’t balls up the glorious day.
“Why don’t we say six o’clock here!” Bright, light tone, utterly nonclinging, utterly ridiculous as a suggestion. His examination couldn’t possibly take from eleven in the morning until six at night.
“That sounds about right,” he said, and the day went dark, but the voice stayed bright, and there were no giveaway signs as she bounced cheerfully out the door.
The lobby looked less glittering and glamorous and Londonish. It looked big and full of people who trusted other people or didn’t give a damn about other people. She looked at the house phones on the wall. Should she ring up and just say “Love you”? They did that to each other, or they used to a lot in the beginning. No, it was silly, there was nothing to be gained and it might irritate him. Why risk it?
She wound her way across the road, jumping this way and that to avoid the traffic, because it looked too far to walk to the pedestrian crossing, and anyway she was anxious to get to the other side. It reminded her of Paris, and all those thousands of water colours of Notre-Dame, all of them exactly the same and all of them different prices, or so it seemed.
There was a young man with very red hair and a very white face looking at her.
“Scarf, lady?” he asked hopefully.
“I want to look at everything before I buy,” she said happily.
“Surprising more of you Northerners aren’t killed if that’s the way you cross roads up there,” he said good-naturedly.
He meant it nicely. It was to keep her chatting, she knew that. She also thought that he fancied the look of her, which was nice. She felt it was so long now since anyone had fancied her that she wouldn’t know how to react. But somehow his marking her out as a Northerner annoyed her, she was irritated, even though she knew it was said in friendship. Did she sound provincial, did she look provincial, crossing the road like that?
Suddenly she thought with a violence that made her nearly keel over, that there was a great possibility that he thought she was provincial too. That could be the reason why he wasn’t prepared to make any public announcement of their being together. Not announcement, she didn’t really want as much as that, she wanted…a bit of openness. It was bloody obvious now that she thought of it. Living with someone, having it off with someone, having an affair, all this was accepted now…by everyone.
She stood there, not even seeing the blur of Towers of London, Trafalgar Squares, and Beefeaters that waved like flags from the scarf rack. She could only see herself years ago at suppertime, listening to her mother talking about people who gave themselves airs. Her mother had wanted Lisa always to remember that she came from good stock. They could hold their heads up with any of them, they were as good as anyone for miles around, they had nothing hidden away that could never be dragged out. Lisa and Bill never knew what brought on these kinds of
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