Short of Glory (25 page)

She stood by the sofa and looked around. ‘Do you always live like this?’ There was an echo to her voice.

‘Like what?’

She held up her arm. ‘Like this.’

It was then that he noticed that all the paintings, all the ornaments and most of the furniture had gone. One carpet remained but the expensive rugs did not. The PSA tables and chairs were there
but none of the old chests, none of the shooting trophies, none of the books. He went into the kitchen. Crockery, cutlery and cooking utensils had gone, save for a few bits and pieces stacked on a
shelf in the larder. The fridge and stove remained but all trace of Arthur Whelk had disappeared.

‘No, not usually,’ he said eventually. ‘At least, not until today.’ He wished he were more imaginative. ‘It was fully furnished this morning with stuff belonging to
the last chap but they must’ve come and packed it.’

‘Strange you didn’t know.’

‘Yes, it is, rather.’

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She looked disbelievingly at him. He wondered whether Jim had told her about Whelk. ‘I mean, I don’t know exactly where he is at the
moment.’

‘Where’s he going next?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, where are they sending his things?’

‘I don’t know that either. You see, it’s nothing to do with me. I never actually met him.’

She shrugged and turned away. ‘Anyway, it’s a lovely house. Wasted on a bachelor.’

‘Yes, it is.’ He pulled at his trousers where they were sticking to his thighs. He was reluctant to wake Sarah but wanted to know whether Whelk had been there. ‘Look, hang on
here a moment and I’ll have a word with Sarah.’

She was dozing in the armchair in her bedroom. He waited outside while she fumbled for her slippers and glasses. ‘The men come and take it away this morning, massa,’ she
explained.

‘Which men, Sarah?’

‘I don’t know. I never seen those men before. They say the embassy send them for Mr Whelk’s things. They have a list and a big lorry.’

‘Was anything written on the lorry?’

‘I don’t know, massa. I don’t see it because it is parked on the road and they take everything down the drive to it.’

‘Did they give you a receipt, a piece of paper?’

‘No.’ She shook her head and smiled unhappily. ‘I am sorry, massa, they say they from embassy—’

He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure they were.’ The embassy was a world far removed from Sarah’s and infinitely powerful in her eyes; she had
never seen it. In reference to this world any oddity of character or event was at once inexplicable and acceptable since its causes and meanings were wholly elsewhere. In any case, it was still
possible that Sir Wilfrid or Clifford or Miss Teale had arranged for the removal of Whelk’s possessions without bothering to tell Patrick. ‘You did the right thing, Sarah.’

She ceased her unhappy smile but looked embarrassed. ‘Massa, you are wet.’

‘Ah yes.’ He picked at his clammy shirt. ‘I’ve been in a swimming pool.’

‘With your clothes?’

‘Yes. It was an accident.’ She nodded solemnly. He wondered if she were afraid to laugh at him. ‘I fell in backwards,’ he added, with a smile.

‘You fall in?’ Wide-eyed behind her thick spectacles, she began to laugh with a high delighted giggle. She clutched his arm, pushing it roughly backwards and forwards and shaking her
head. She wobbled the whole of his upper body. ‘Oh massa, massa, sometimes you do damn silly thing.’

He steadied himself, laughed and gripped her hand. ‘Yes, Sarah, sometimes I do many damn silly things.’

‘I make you tea.’ She let go of him and straightened her apron.

‘No,’ he said. She looked surprised. He had never before refused tea. ‘I have to get changed and then I must rest. You carry on with your rest.’

‘Yes, massa.’

He turned away, then stopped. ‘Did they – as a matter of interest – did they leave enough things to make tea with, or coffee?’

She counted on her fingers. ‘They leave one plate, five cup, one fork, one knife, one saucepan, two frying-pan, one teapot, three kettle, four tray and one spoon.’

‘Good. Well, I’ll have to get some more things some time.’

‘But your things are coming from England?’

‘Of course. I’ll find out when they’re due.’

‘I have some things I can bring.’

‘No, no, it’s all right. I’ll get some later. We don’t need them now. You carry on with your sleep.’

‘I done my sleep, massa.’

‘Oh, well, have some more, there’s plenty of time.’

She nodded obediently but looked puzzled. ‘Thank you, massa.’

He told Joanna that the embassy had sent the packers without informing him. It was typical.

She looked at the bare kitchen. ‘But where are your own things?’

‘Somewhere on the high seas, I think.’

‘What have you got?’

‘Cutlery and plates, that sort of thing.’

‘Are you really as helpless as you sound or are you just playing for sympathy?’

‘Both.’ He opened four cupboards rapidly, all bare. In the fifth were tins, packets and jars. ‘I can produce coffee, look.’

She pushed gently against his shoulder with the tip of her finger. ‘Why don’t you go and dry and get changed. I’ll make the coffee and bring it through. Where’s the
kettle?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is there one?’

‘There are three.’

She glanced at him disbelievingly and began searching.

He was relieved to find that the extra large PSA double bed, to which he was not entitled, was still there. He stripped and had a shower. He was drying himself when he heard Joanna call out that
the coffee was ready. He hesitated, telling himself that there was nothing to lose whilst knowing in his heart that there was everything. He called back, ‘Bring it up here.’

There was no reply. He stood poised between the bathroom and the bedroom, listening. If she didn’t he would simply get dressed, go down and carry on as if he had not said it. For a second
or two his own breathing seemed loud, but then he heard her boots on the stairs and the rattle of cups on a tray. He wrapped the towel round himself and went through the bedroom, reaching the door
as she paused at the top of the stairs to gaze at the rape-gate.

‘What on earth is this?’

He was embarrassed by it. ‘It’s a rape-gate.’

She laughed but carefully because of the tray. ‘Who do you think’s going to rape you? My God, the vanity of it.’

‘It’s to stop thieves. They’re compulsory for insurance purposes. Don’t lots of people have them?’

‘Lots of diplomats, maybe. What a life. In your case, though, there’s not much left to steal, is there?’

She edged the gate open wider with the toe of her boot and walked into the bedroom where she put the tray on the bare dressing-table. There was only one cup, a discouraging sign. He stood by
her, his heart beating rapidly. As she straightened he put his hands lightly on her arms and kissed her on the lips. She at first permitted herself to be kissed, neither refusing nor responding,
then pushed gently against his shoulders and pulled back her head. ‘Aren’t you even going to shut the door?’

He did so and then led her by the hand to the bed where, still standing, he began to undress her. He kissed her again as he took off her blouse and she responded carefully, her eyes half-closed
and her hands moving slowly over his body. As their lips touched, images of the embassy, where he should have been, suddenly filled his head and for some seconds he was unable to rid himself of the
picture of Philip Longhurst crouched protectively over a file and nibbling a sandwich.

The boots were difficult. She sat on the bed laughing as he struggled with them. Then, still wearing her white jeans, she went to the dressing-table and began to unpin her hair. He lay naked on
the bed, watching, his hands behind his head. He felt warm and relaxed. He had never seriously imagined making love with her for fear it would not happen; he had simply wanted her. Now that he was
about to, though, he wanted to stop, to think about it, to enjoy the anticipation. Her hair fell to her shoulders and she paused, looking at herself then at him in the mirror. When their eyes met
she smiled very slightly, stood and walked over to the bed. She took off her jeans and knickers and lay down beside him. Her body was soft and shapely, tanned except for the bikini’d parts.
They entwined and kissed for a long time. The time lengthened. They kissed again.

‘Sorry about this,’ he said eventually.

She laughed and bit his ear. ‘You sound so English.’

‘Perhaps this is what they mean by the English disease.’

‘Maybe the coffee will help.’

He fetched the cup and they lay side by side, sharing it. ‘Why didn’t you bring yours up?’ he asked.

‘I was going to drink it on the veranda.’

‘You really were?’

‘I really was.’

One of her legs was slung across his and he ran his fingers along her thigh, slowly and deliberately. In bed her features were no longer taut but had a softness that in normal conversation was
held in check. She kept pushing her hair away from the coffee. He wanted very much to make love with her and blamed Philip Longhurst, hating him silently. He took away the coffee, leaning across
her to put it on the floor, and began kissing her again.

‘This has never happened before,’ he said after a while, thinking of the occasions when he wouldn’t have minded.

She stroked him and said nothing.

He felt he had to keep talking. ‘It’s probably just a question of time. I’ve never known it before.’

She smiled. ‘I believe you: you don’t have to insist. After the three kettles I’ll believe anything.’

‘P’raps it’s the drink.’

‘Or nerves.’

‘Why nerves?’

She laughed and rolled on to her back. ‘You shouldn’t take it so seriously.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Of course you are. It’s that that’s stopping you.’ She kicked him.

They rolled in mock combat from one side of the large bed to the other. He breathed deeply, his whole body heavy with desire. Still nothing happened. ‘Let’s get between the
sheets,’ he said.

‘Don’t you have to go back to work?’

‘Yes. Get in.’ In bed it was luxurious and affectionate, no longer urgent. They both slept. His last thought, several times repeated, was that all would no doubt be well later.

The sound of the rape-gate creaking on its hinges woke him. Then he heard footsteps on the landing. He reached the door as Sarah knocked, grabbing the handle so that she couldn’t open it.
He cautiously opened it himself, keeping his body out of sight. She wore a clean apron and cap, her hands clasped before her, and looked serious. She said something about Snap which he had to ask
her to repeat.

‘You lock him in de kitchen for a reason, massa?’

‘No, I didn’t – why?’

‘He make de chocolate cake.’

‘Chocolate cake?’ Not all of his brain was awake. He heard a suppressed giggle and looked round to see Joanna curled in the bedclothes and biting the pillow. He looked back at
Sarah’s solemn face and understood. ‘Oh dear, Sarah. I’m sorry.’

‘I have cleared it up but I want to know if it is all right for Snap to go out now.’

‘Yes, quite all right. There was no reason for him to be in. It was an accident.’

Her face brightened. ‘I think so too, massa. Usually he do it on Deuteronomy’s heap. Would you like tea?’

‘Yes, thank you, tea would be good. I’ll come down.’ It would be better to introduce Joanna downstairs as if she had just arrived.

Sarah nodded. ‘For two, massa?’

‘Oh – yes, for two, I think, yes.’ There was more muffled giggling from the bed.

‘For two only, Massa?’ Her hands were clasped before her and her tone was matter-of-fact. He had never known her ironic.

‘Yes, for two only, Sarah.’

‘I see a handbag in de kitchen and I do not know how many people.’

‘Just one.’

She paused by the rape-gate and looked round demurely. ‘Would the other person like biscuit?’

Patrick smiled. ‘Yes, I think the other person would.’ He shut the door and leant against it. Joanna lay on her back laughing helplessly, her hand on her stomach. He went to her.

‘No,’ she said.

‘There’s time.’

‘Of course there isn’t. She’s making the tea.’

‘It doesn’t matter if it gets cold.’

‘It does, it’s rude. And if you have to think about the time there isn’t time. Anyway, how do we know how long it would take?’

‘It’s better now.’

She stood and briefly kissed him. ‘Too late.’

When he got downstairs he considered ringing the embassy but it was gone five and there was no point in going in. He wondered if he’d been missed. No one had rung, which was a good
sign.

Sarah brought tea with unmatched cups and a plate of ginger biscuits to the veranda. When Joanna appeared he introduced her and they shook hands. Joanna said something in Swahi and Sarah,
delighted, held up her hands and laughed. They spoke for some minutes with much mutual laughter. Patrick stood by, feeling awkward, then sat and munched a biscuit. At the end of the conversation
Sarah curtsied, then walked away chuckling and swinging the empty tray.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked, aware of sounding slightly gruff. The tightness of Joanna’s white jeans and her suggestive silk blouse were gratuitous reminders.

‘Your lack of household goods. I said I didn’t think you had a clue what was needed and you’d never had to look after yourself and she said that so long as you had a cup of tea
and a chair to sit in you wouldn’t notice if the rest of the house fell down around you. She said you needed a wife.’

‘Did she?’ It was a novel thought. He assumed it reflected a peculiarly African attitude. ‘At least she doesn’t seem too worried about it all.’

‘Of course she’s worried. She wants to do her best for you and she can’t with an empty kitchen.’ She smiled as she poured the tea, which he had ignored.
‘She’s very fond of you, you know. I told her how terrified you were when you thought she was going to see us in bed and how you left it like a scalded cat. That’s what made her
laugh so much.’

‘You told her that?’