The Sweet Dove Died by Barbara Pym

he have admired her more if she had preferred Mozart? Yet it was this tiny flaw in her perfection that made her human and it was surely not unnatural that she should identify herself with the heroine. There must be few women, he supposed, who wouldn’t claim to have lived for art and love. It was a pity that he had what might be an unpleasant piece of news for her. He could of course keep quiet about the girl who had visited the shop this afternoon, but he felt it was better that Leonora should know. And who better to tell her than himself?
    Leonora was looking beautiful and remote in black lace. ‘Such ravishing music,’ she whispered, leaning towards Humphrey and allowing his sleeve to brush against her bare arm. She had evidently quite forgiven him for his silly behaviour the other evening and he had certainly made amends for it by asking his builder to call round the next day so that the leaking roof had been quickly repaired. That was the kind of thing one really wanted from somebody like Humphrey, Leonora thought, moving a little away from him.
    Was Tosca the happiest of choices? he wondered, considering the news he had to break to her. While one could see Leonora as the heroine, living for art and love, it was difficult to imagine James and himself as Mario and Scarpia. He had never forced his attentions on her, Humphrey told himself, not without smugness; he had been content to wait until she should see fit to turn to him and now might be just such a time. When should he break the news to her and where? Not in the crush bar during the interval, for he had been looking forward to his drink all through the first act. And it would be cruel to upset Leonora in the second interval, with the tragic last act to follow. It would have to be when they were having supper.
    ‘ Not smoked Parma ham,’ said Humphrey hastily as, some time later, they studied the menu. A colleague of his had had an unfortunate experience with it. A good hot soup might be best for both of them, but Leonora wanted an avocado pear filled with shrimps. Humphrey allowed her to take a mouthful and pronounce it delicious before embarking on his task.
    ‘My dear,’ he declared, ‘I have a piece of news for you.’
    ‘ News? What can it be? Something nice?’ she asked in a teasing voice.
    ‘In a way – it depends how you look at it. I don’t feel that “nice” is quite the word.’
    ‘Not nice, then. Exciting? Amusing?’
    ‘Yes, amusing, perhaps.’ Really, he mustn’t delay much longer. ‘What do you think our young friend James has been up to?’ he asked, deliberately more pompous than usual.
    ‘Oh, it’s about James.’ Her manner seemed to alter. ‘What has James been “up to”, as you put it?’
    ‘Keeping a mistress!’ There, it was out. ‘All this time he’s had this girl tucked away in the country and we none of us knew about her.’
    A shrimp fell on to the tablecloth, but perhaps it would have fallen anyway.
    ‘How messily one eats,’ said Leonora calmly. ‘Is it a sign of age, or what? Shall I try to get the mayonnaise up with my knife?’
    ‘Oh, leave it,’ said Humphrey impatiently. ‘Don’t tell me you knew all along about James?’
    ‘Well, one had guessed something.” Leonora took a sip of Sauterne. ‘After all, James is so beautiful – one always supposed that he must have some love life. Tell me how you found out.’
    ‘This girl came to the shop, obviously wanting news of him.’
    ‘Hadn’t he written, then?’
    ‘No doubt, but you know what posts are.’
    ‘And one knows what dear James is – one would have thought she did. What’s she like? Young? Pretty? Elegant?’ Leonora tried to keep the eager curiosity out of her voice.
    ‘Young – about twenty, I suppose. Rather badly dressed, with that droopy look girls seem to have now. Straggly long hair and a coat made of some sort of skin, leather, I think.’
    ‘James always said he hated leather coats – it only goes to show something. And