side of it.
‘What?
What chap?’
‘Oh,
the … the chap at the hospital,’ I answered more or less at random. ‘Still,
it’s all done now, thank God. I don’t know what line you took but you were
pretty good, obviously.’
‘Well…’ she said, and in a way I wished I could have been there to see her saying
it, ‘you know. Look, Stanley, tell me, where have they taken him, how is he,
what are they going to do to him? It’s all happened so quickly.’
‘I don’t
know any more about it than I did when I spoke to you an hour ago, except they’ve
taken him to —’Darling, we must have a proper discussion, it’s too absurd.
After all, we are both responsible for the poor little thing.’
‘Yes of
course, but for the moment there’s really not a lot to discuss. He’s gone into
hospital — that’s done, as I say. If you want to talk about his, well, his
illness then Dr Nash is the fellow for that. He’ll be getting in touch with you
anyway. He’s the one with all the —’
‘That’s
not what I mean. We ought to discuss it. You and I. Surely you can see
it’s an extremely serious matter, and it’s a thing we know more about than
anybody else, I’m not talking about doctors, and if you want my opinion it’s
our duty, and surely it’s a reasonable thing for me to ask in my position.’
‘Oh
absolutely, but wouldn’t it still be sensible to wait till you have seen Nash
and heard what he thinks are sort of the most important points?’
In Nowell’s
book a discussion was not a matter of views being put forward and argued over,
let alone a method of working out what it was best to do about some problem. At
the same time it was a cut above your straight chinwag, anyway morally. A
discussion had such a serious subject that you could go on as long as you liked
about any bit of it you fancied, because you were only trying to get at the
truth, not showing off or holding the floor or any of those. The chosen bit
could be as far-fetched as you liked too, because these days nobody could be
sure what might or might not throw light on this or that. The seriousness also
made it all right to be things you were usually supposed not to be in
conversation, starting with rude and embarrassing.
For
these and other reasons I felt I could really do without a discussion with Nowell
about Steve. What I had just said was nothing more than an attempt to hold her
off — I had felt like going quite a way further but, as she had reminded me
with her last few words, she had been the one who had talked Steve round when
my lot could not, twice in twenty-four hours too, and there was plenty of time
to go yet.
Until
she got to that last phrase about her position, her voice and the looks and
movements I could so easily imagine going with it had been chummy, almost cosy,
with a definite hint of only-yesterday going on —not her usual style with me.
She went back to it when she said, ‘After all, this isn’t some sort of
scientific experiment, darling. It’s to do with our son. My son. I don’t mind
admitting I’m awfully ignorant about all sorts of things, but I do know a lot
about him.’
‘You
certainly do,’ I said admiringly, also thoughtfully. ‘You can read him like a
book. Always could. What was that place in Brittany you took him to a couple of
times?’
‘What?
When was this?’
Her
tone had completely changed in that second, but I was too slow to take it in. ‘Oh,
years ago, he can’t have been more than eight or —’What did he say to you?’
‘Well,
he’d obviously loved having you to himself. I was tied up here with all the —’
‘Perhaps
you hadn’t noticed, Stanley, but the poor boy was in the most frightful state.
Confused … terrified …’
‘Eh?’
For the moment I was baffled. ‘Look, Nowell, I don’t mean just now, I’m talking
about then, when you and he came back to Maida Vale and I asked him if he’d had
a nice holiday and he was full of the way you’d
‘What?
What chap?’
‘Oh,
the … the chap at the hospital,’ I answered more or less at random. ‘Still,
it’s all done now, thank God. I don’t know what line you took but you were
pretty good, obviously.’
‘Well…’ she said, and in a way I wished I could have been there to see her saying
it, ‘you know. Look, Stanley, tell me, where have they taken him, how is he,
what are they going to do to him? It’s all happened so quickly.’
‘I don’t
know any more about it than I did when I spoke to you an hour ago, except they’ve
taken him to —’Darling, we must have a proper discussion, it’s too absurd.
After all, we are both responsible for the poor little thing.’
‘Yes of
course, but for the moment there’s really not a lot to discuss. He’s gone into
hospital — that’s done, as I say. If you want to talk about his, well, his
illness then Dr Nash is the fellow for that. He’ll be getting in touch with you
anyway. He’s the one with all the —’
‘That’s
not what I mean. We ought to discuss it. You and I. Surely you can see
it’s an extremely serious matter, and it’s a thing we know more about than
anybody else, I’m not talking about doctors, and if you want my opinion it’s
our duty, and surely it’s a reasonable thing for me to ask in my position.’
‘Oh
absolutely, but wouldn’t it still be sensible to wait till you have seen Nash
and heard what he thinks are sort of the most important points?’
In Nowell’s
book a discussion was not a matter of views being put forward and argued over,
let alone a method of working out what it was best to do about some problem. At
the same time it was a cut above your straight chinwag, anyway morally. A
discussion had such a serious subject that you could go on as long as you liked
about any bit of it you fancied, because you were only trying to get at the
truth, not showing off or holding the floor or any of those. The chosen bit
could be as far-fetched as you liked too, because these days nobody could be
sure what might or might not throw light on this or that. The seriousness also
made it all right to be things you were usually supposed not to be in
conversation, starting with rude and embarrassing.
For
these and other reasons I felt I could really do without a discussion with Nowell
about Steve. What I had just said was nothing more than an attempt to hold her
off — I had felt like going quite a way further but, as she had reminded me
with her last few words, she had been the one who had talked Steve round when
my lot could not, twice in twenty-four hours too, and there was plenty of time
to go yet.
Until
she got to that last phrase about her position, her voice and the looks and
movements I could so easily imagine going with it had been chummy, almost cosy,
with a definite hint of only-yesterday going on —not her usual style with me.
She went back to it when she said, ‘After all, this isn’t some sort of
scientific experiment, darling. It’s to do with our son. My son. I don’t mind
admitting I’m awfully ignorant about all sorts of things, but I do know a lot
about him.’
‘You
certainly do,’ I said admiringly, also thoughtfully. ‘You can read him like a
book. Always could. What was that place in Brittany you took him to a couple of
times?’
‘What?
When was this?’
Her
tone had completely changed in that second, but I was too slow to take it in. ‘Oh,
years ago, he can’t have been more than eight or —’What did he say to you?’
‘Well,
he’d obviously loved having you to himself. I was tied up here with all the —’
‘Perhaps
you hadn’t noticed, Stanley, but the poor boy was in the most frightful state.
Confused … terrified …’
‘Eh?’
For the moment I was baffled. ‘Look, Nowell, I don’t mean just now, I’m talking
about then, when you and he came back to Maida Vale and I asked him if he’d had
a nice holiday and he was full of the way you’d
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