The Night of Wenceslas by Lionel Davidson Page A

Gayness?’ she said, recollecting her studies.
    ‘Gaiety.’
    ‘Yes, gaiety. It is the gaiety and youth. But I love dancing, that is true. I would have been a dancer with the ballet. My father wished it, but it was not possible. I growed too much.’
    ‘Like Topsy.’
    ‘Topsy?’
    ‘She was a girl who growed too much. It’s a joke,’ I said, noticing the bafflement in her eyes. ‘The word should be grew really.’
    ‘Ah, a joke. Thank you. I am glad when you correct me. This is the only way to learn the language, don’t you think it is so?’
    The band had begun its slow upward levitation. I said daringly, ‘They say pillow English is very effective.’
    ‘Pillow English?’
    ‘It’s just another method. Forget it,’ I said, alarmed suddenly at the large, brooding face.
    She didn’t forget it, frowning over it. ‘Pillow English. A pillow is for the head?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    Enlightenment dawned. ‘Ah, you mean when people arc in bed together.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.’
    ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t be shy,’ she said surprisingly, smiling at me. ‘There is such a phrase in French. I forget it. You mean people in love learn the language quicker?’
    ‘Sort of. It was just another joke.’
    She was regarding me with interest, teasing a wisp of hair that had come loose. ‘As a merchant you travel a great deal?’
    ‘Here and there.’
    ‘You have many mistresses?’
    I goggled at her. ‘Not really. Not many.’
    ‘How many?’
    ‘I don’t know. You know I was only really …’

    ‘Have you a wife?’
    ‘No.’
    There was an odd flicker in the wine-bright eyes as she smiled curiously at me. ‘It is so interesting to learn how other people live. I would like to learn so much more.’
    ‘Maybe I can teach you.’
    ‘Maybe you can.’ She laughed, rather huskily, very promisingly indeed, and leaned towards me. I took her hand.
    ‘You’d like to dance?’ she said.
    I had been dreading this for some time. The band had stopped playing softly and cornily and was now playing loudly and cornily. Several people were on the floor. I wedged the Norstrund in my pocket and stood up.
    It was not nearly so bad as I had expected. On the dance floor, she was limber and light on her pins, responding to the merest touch. We swung tipsily round for a couple of numbers. Nobody seemed to find anything remarkable in the performance. Several small men were dancing with large, well-found women, and wine was flowing all round the shadowy room. Her bust, all the same, was rather too near my chin for absolute comfort, and she seemed to be leaning on it fairly freely. All this opened up certain vistas, but I was glad when the music stopped.
    We left at ten o’clock and went for a walk, crossing the river and strolling along the embankment in the greenish light under the linden trees. I thought I might put my arm round her waist, and did so, meeting with no objection. Indeed, she snuggled up very amiably. I was content to await events.
    Presently we cut through to the Vaclavske Namesti, seething and noisy as ever and brilliantly lit. A number of stalls had opened up at the kerbside, selling parkys – hot sausages – and pickled cucumbers.
    ‘You’d like to eat a parky ?’ she asked.
    ‘No, thanks.’
    ‘I think I would like to eat a parky .’
    I queued up and bought her one, marvelling at her appetite. The parky came on a slice of black bread with a smear of mustard. She disposed of it rapidly as we strolled along.

    The clocks began to boom a quarter to eleven.
    ‘I have so enjoyed myself,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much for this evening.’
    ‘I’ve enjoyed it, too. Thank you for coming.’
    ‘I think I should go home now.’
    I said, ‘Right,’ supporting this move entirely. In the crowded street I’d had to take my arm from her waist. Barrandov, down the river, sounded pleasantly secluded. ‘Where do we get the tram?’
    ‘Oh, there is no need for you to