The Slaves of Solitude (15 page)

‘And how did you get on with them?’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Vicki. ‘We got on famously. They are nice old frumps.’

(‘Nice old frumps’! There she went again! Somehow, at some time, if hereafter Miss Roach was going to live under the same roof as her friend, she would have to get her out of the
habit of gaily throwing off these fearful expressions, explain how hideous their utterance was in her faintly foreign accent, make her somehow aware of the total and appalling frumpishness attached
to their use!)

‘And what about Mr. Thwaites?’ said Miss Roach. ‘How did you get on with him?’

‘Ah! Mr. Thwaites! Very well indeed,’ said Vicki. ‘I think he is already a little smitten, the poor old gent!’

And, as Miss Roach’s blood froze in her veins, Vicki Kugelmann again glanced over surreptitiously in the direction of the Lieutenant . . .

CHAPTER SEVEN

1

‘N
ICE
old frumps
.’ ‘
Already a little smitten, the poor old gent.
’
Yes, thought Miss Roach, lying in the sleepless darkness of her room, that was where the evening had, properly speaking, started, begun to warm up, acquired its peculiar tone! . . .

Miss Roach switched on her light, went over to the washbasin for a glass of water, saw by her leather electric clock that it was twenty to two, switched off the light again, and decided, this
time, to sleep.

‘
Already a little smitten, the poor old gent.
’ . . . And a moment after that Lieutenant Lummis had entered, and gone over (she could see by Vicki’s eyes) to join the
shop-girl and her own Lieutenant.

And then a few minutes later (and again informed of what was about to happen by Vicki’s expression) she had felt the Lieutenant’s hand on her shoulder, and heard the
Lieutenant’s voice. ‘Well – how are we tonight?’ he had said. ‘I saw you come in.’

‘Hullo!’ she had said, looking up and smiling. ‘Yes. I saw you too.’

‘I’ve been holding the fort,’ he said, and looked at her in a slightly embarrassed way. He bore this look of embarrassment, she believed, for two reasons. In the main it was because he
was definitely trying to explain away the shop-girl, to convey to Miss Roach that in sitting with her he had only been holding the fort until his friend had come in and released him from an
invidious situation, and for this reason Miss Roach was, in spite of herself, minutely relieved. For, however critical, and at times ironic, her attitude was towards the Laundry business in Wilkes
Barre, U.S.A., she still liked to feel that it was a domain in which she alone had at present the right to entertain speculations and fancies. The Lieutenant, however, was also looking embarrassed
because she had not yet introduced him to Vicki.

‘Oh – do you know Vicki Kugelmann?’ she said, and ‘No – I don’t think I do,’ he said, and ‘No – I don’t think we’ve met,’
said Vicki, and they shook hands. ‘Well, can I join you if I buy you a beautiful drink?’ said the Lieutenant, and when they assented, he asked them what he should buy them. ‘You
can buy me a beautiful pink gin if you will,’ said Vicki, looking at him humorously with her rather nice eyes. ‘Beautifully pink, or beautifully ginny?’ asked the Lieutenant.
‘Beautifully pink,’ said Vicki, and after these undistinguished but amiable sallies he went away to get them.

Of course he had brought large ones, and of course, as soon as he could get them to finish them, he had brought them more, and in half an hour’s time they were all talking away with the
liveliest amity and humour. The Lieutenant, at first slightly shy of the German, and beginning by looking dependently at Miss Roach and addressing most of his remarks to her, soon lost his
nervousness and began to speak, if anything, more to the German than to Miss Roach. There finally arose, indeed, amidst the general cordiality, one of those rather queer situations, common to
three-cornered meetings of this sort, in which the two who have just met begin actually to take sides against the character who has introduced them and whom they both know so well, humorously
aligning themselves against this character, from their common knowledge comparing notes in regard to its idiosyncrasies, saying, ‘Oh, of course she’s awful in that way,’ or
‘I must say she’s very good about that,’ or ‘Have you noticed how she always does that?’ – and so on and so forth. This funny game, apparently so affectionate,
but whose origins perhaps lie hidden deep in the nastier side of human nature, passes the time well enough if not taken too far, and Miss Roach was not aware of this happening and was in no way
displeased. She was, however, as the third party always is on these occasions, somewhat bored and isolated, and for this reason was the first to look at the clock and suggest that it was time to
go. Of course the Lieutenant had said that he would not hear of this, and demanded that they should stay to dinner with him. But, in taking a stand against this, Vicki, after seeming to hesitate,
joined Miss Roach. Only when she did so did the Lieutenant succumb. Vicki, in some peculiar way, was now the dominant power, the one looked to, the giver of deciding votes. The Lieutenant still, of
course, wanted them to have another drink, and although Miss Roach did not want to do this, and said so, the Lieutenant argued forcefully, and it was Vicki who effected a compromise by saying they
would have a small one, only a small one, and then go at once.

At last the Lieutenant allowed them to leave, and she and Vicki were walking along in the blackness in silence – a silence and blackness contrasting strongly with the light and noise they
had left, and causing momentary speechlessness. But at last the Lieutenant was mentioned and Vicki said that she thought him ‘very good fun’.

‘He’s a bit of a handful,’ said Miss Roach, ‘isn’t he?’ And Vicki paused a moment before replying.

‘Oh yes. Perhaps,’ she then conceded. ‘But not if you know how to handle him.’

And Miss Roach did not like this.

2

Nor did she exactly like the way, after they had each gone to their rooms in the five minutes or so they had to prepare for dinner, Vicki came into her room without
knocking, and a moment afterwards, with a peculiarly affected sigh, flopped down on her bed and carefully watched her at the mirror making her modest toilette.

Suddenly visualising, and already contemplating subtle methods of combating, a state of affairs in the future in which Vicki Kugelmann might, at any moment of the day or night, enter her room,
flop down on her bed, and look at her, Miss Roach, an ardent lover and pursuer of privacy, became absent-minded in her answers.

Nor was Miss Roach’s apprehensiveness decreased when, after they had heard the gong below being hit by Mrs. Payne, Vicki arose from the bed (without making any attempt to adjust the
rumpled art-silk coverlet, or to smooth out the dent which her body had made in the bed) and, going over to Miss Roach’s dressing-table, picked up Miss Roach’s comb, and began hastily
to comb her hair in the mirror – combing in that dashing, vigorous, head-shaking style which seems to a super-sensitive watcher to be spreading dandruff everywhere even if actually it is not
. . .

Then Miss Kugelmann, humming to herself, looked at herself in a general way in the mirror, made a neat adjustment here and there, seemed decidedly pleased with what she saw, and with a smiling
‘Well – I suppose we must not keep the old fogies waiting’ joined Miss Roach at the door, going out of the door before Miss Roach.

3

That had been a curious dinner. It had seemed as though they were all, with the exception of Mr. Prest in his corner, slightly dressed up as if for an occasion. Miss
Steele and Mrs. Barratt were both slightly dressed up. Even Sheila was dressed up – neater, more ceremonious. The food itself was dressed up, better served. A new guest seldom fails to
exercise this stimulating effect upon a boarding-house immediately upon arrival. Mr. Thwaites had certainly been dressed up (though Miss Roach could not quite analyse in what way), and on their
appearance in the room, rose, in the most continental manner possible, in his seat. Miss Kugelmann begged him to be seated. Miss Roach did not have to hear Vicki and Mr. Thwaites talking to each
other for more than thirty seconds to realise how well they had got on at the tea which had been briefly described to her. Was it conceivable that Mr. Thwaites was, after all, and in complete
abandonment of his previously chauvinistic attitude, a little smitten?

Then the whole atmosphere and tempo of the dinner had been changed. Instead of the vast, pin-dropping silences, broken only by the long nasal booming of Mr. Thwaites and the agonised replies of
a tortured and evasive Miss Roach, by the rumble of the lift and the sound of Sheila collecting plates – instead of this Miss Kugelmann’s voice cheerfully prevailed above the
atmosphere, rendered that of Mr. Thwaites a mere assenting and slightly bewildered bass, and went on unselfconsciously and almost unintermittently as she put polite questions to both Mr. Thwaites
and Mrs. Barratt and answered graciously and serenely whatever questions they put to her. Miss Roach got, indeed, an impression of the Rosamund Tea Rooms being a sort of mixed school for young
people into which a new mistress had been suddenly introduced, a new German mistress with foreign methods, whose business it was cheerfully to question the boys and girls – to find out how
much they knew and where they stood generally – so that she might liven things up and put their education on a new footing. And this was the poor lonely German girl whom Miss Roach had once
befriended against a multitude in the mood to stone her! It was really very remarkable. She was, evidently, one of those people who at once take for granted what good comes their way, and go on
without pause greedily to pursue their next advantage. You never knew what people were really like, did you?

It was clear at once that in this school for boys and girls Miss Kugelmann’s favourite pupil was Mr. Thwaites – her favourite if only because the most backward or difficult –
challenging her capacities to bring him out. She put on a particular expression when Mr. Thwaites spoke – and it was Mr. Thwaites this and Mr. Thwaites that.

It was easy to see that she had quickly realised that Mr. Thwaites was the key-man and dominant figure of the boarding-house, and had made up her mind to conquer him. Whether Mr. Thwaites was in
fact to be conquered, whether he had, perhaps, at last met his match, remained matters of doubt to Miss Roach. Knowing his character, she believed that although at the moment somewhat dumb-founded,
hesitant, and perhaps indeed a little ‘smitten’, he was not without much in reserve, and was not the sort of man to have his ultimate dominance easily wrested from him.

Before five minutes had passed Vicki Kugelmann had already found occasion humorously, nay flirtatiously, to disagree with Mr. Thwaites on the matter of cigarette-smoking – Mr. Thwaites
saying that this was in all cases poison to the system, and Miss Kugelmann making an exception of Turkish cigarettes, which she said were a different thing altogether. She had, she said, her
‘very own special brand’, and after dinner she would make Mr. Thwaites try one.

Then again, a little later, she had occasion to disagree with Mr. Thwaites on the subject of hot-water bottles, which Mr. Thwaites declared were symptoms of decadence, but the use of which Miss
Kugelmann, leading Mrs. Barratt and Miss Roach, warmly supported. Mr. Thwaites, she said, was a little conservative – was he not – no?

Then again, a little later, the topic of card games having arisen, various types of patience were discussed, and Miss Kugelmann once more held out for her ‘very own brand’. This she
said she would teach Mr. Thwaites, after dinner, if he cared.

‘I see,’ she said, after a few more of these pleasant disagreements, ‘that I shall have to take you in hand, Mr. Thwaites.’

‘Yes – I see you will,’ said Mr. Thwaites, looking very odd, but by no means displeased.

In the middle of dinner Miss Roach heard the telephone distantly ringing in Mrs. Payne’s room, and a moment afterwards Sheila came in and told her that it was for her. She rose and went
into Mrs. Payne’s room, from which Mrs. Payne happily was absent. It could be no one, she knew, but the Lieutenant, and the Lieutenant it was.

‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘Have you finished dinner round there?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re right in the middle of it.’

‘Well, will you hurry up and finish it and come round here?’

As the Lieutenant, when he had departed from them five and twenty minutes ago, had made no mention of ever seeing them again at any time in the future, here was more of his inconsequence, and
she suspected that he was drunk.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I can do that’; and ‘Aw, why not?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Come on. I’m  lonely.’

‘Well, I’ve got to stay with Vicki, for one thing,’ said Miss Roach. ‘It’s her first night here, and I can’t very well leave her alone – can
I?’

‘Oh, I meant bringing her,’ said the Lieutenant, with unexpected promptness, and there was a pause . . .

‘She’s kind of cute, isn’t she?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘I like her. I mean bringing her.’

‘Well, I don’t think we can,’ said Miss Roach; and ‘Aw, come on,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Bring her around. I guess she’s kind of cute.’

‘No, we really can’t,’ said Miss Roach, and after more argument on his part, ‘No, we
really
can’t’ and ‘No. We can’t.
Really.
No!’ And a few moments later she had rung off, conscious of having refused the Lieutenant something for the first time, and of having had, perhaps, her first brush with him.

Feeling oddly upset, she returned to the dining-room. Vicki, along with the others, glanced at her curiously as she sat down, but she said nothing.

Why, she wondered during the remainder of the dinner, had she so immediately and resolutely turned down the Lieutenant’s offer? Were they in fact bound to stay at the Rosamund Tea Rooms
that evening? Were they under any obligation to the boarding-house, and would they in fact have come to any harm outside? Was it really because she had believed that the Lieutenant had been a
little drunk? And would not her friend herself have been delighted to go?