‘I’m sorry?’
‘My darling Diana, you’re a rather bad liar. Ned Welles is as queer as a nine-bob note – I always thought so and just now you confirmed it.’
Diana stood up. Her eyes were blazing. ‘Get out,’ she said. ‘Just get out. How dare you insult and – and slander – my best friend.’
‘Hey, did I say I disapproved in any way? Did I display any animosity, or prejudice? Of course I didn’t. My little brother is homosexual. I love him most dearly. Together with our mother we conspire to keep it from our father. Who would treat it in the time-honoured way of a daily thrashing.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s a landscape designer. He’s currently working on a huge scheme at some pile in Warwickshire. Living in digs in Stratford. We could go up and see him, you’d love him, take in something at the RSC maybe. I’m a huge fan of the Bard. You?’
‘Um – not really,’ said Diana cautiously. Actually, there was nothing she hated more than an evening of the stuff.
‘I shall convert you. I shall make that my Diana mission. I like to have a mission with every woman.’
Diana wasn’t sure about being lumped together with the rest of womankind.
‘Now, you can pour me another G and T, and then we can decide what to do about lunch. And then after lunch. I can think of a few things, but –’
All Diana could think of, and before rather than after lunch, was going to bed with him. She felt quite consumed by the idea, every part of her hungry, greedy, desire working at her like some restless animal, rampaging through her emotions.
‘So,’ he said, reading some of this in her dark eyes as she looked at him, in her shaking hand as she took his glass, in the smile trying to be cool as she handed it back again. ‘So, would you like to go out to lunch or would you rather stay in? And you might as well be truthful, not fuss about being ladylike. Because –’
‘I’d rather stay in,’ she said.
Chapter 65
Ned lay in bed, staring into the darkness. It was already half past two and he hadn’t slept. He was worried, not seriously so, but enough to keep him awake. He had been so wonderfully, so joyfully happy, to have found love, and to feel so brave about it. But he was disappointed in being constantly held back from telling at least the people he loved about it – properly about it; in finding still a reluctance to go even to the theatre, or a restaurant, together, for fear of recognition, of reprisals. He understood, of course he did, he had felt like that himself for so long: but then he hadn’t been in love. Perhaps this wasn’t love, wasn’t strong enough. It was a very frightening thought.
He decided to make himself a cup of tea and play some music; that would at least calm him down. And sitting, listening to Mahler, he began to feel better. He must be patient; he must understand. The judgement of society was a harsh one – despite the slow easing – and the fear of that judgement was hard to shake off. It would happen – with love and encouragement. That was all that was needed on his part: patience. He went back to bed and slept.
Jillie was working very hard at being in love with Patrick; without a great deal of success. She couldn’t deceive herself (knowing so well what love felt like) and there were simply none of the essential ingredients. Her heart didn’t lift at the sound of his voice on the phone, indeed it was more likely to turn irritably and then sink down again, and she didn’t count the hours until they were to meet; she contemplated them calmly, often wondering why on earth she had agreed to see him at all when she could have done with some time to herself, to work, or to look for the little house that she was sure was waiting for her somewhere and which she now regarded as a near-necessity.
When she was actually with Patrick, she enjoyed herself; there was no doubt that he was more interesting than she had at first thought, and much funnier. They went to a lot of theatres and concerts, discussed their work with great enthusiasm – she couldn’t imagine Julius sitting fascinated as she described a Caesarean section delivering non-identical twin boys. ‘It was the two placentas, you see, it made it terribly complicated and then the second baby was a breech, not usually a problem with a C-section, but he was all tangled in the cord and I couldn’t get a grip on him – and then the stupid nurse had given me the wrong clamps, and –’
‘Nightmare,’ said Patrick. ‘Whatever did you do?’
‘Well, just had to dig in deeper and turn him and –’
At this moment, they both realised the people at the next table were looking distinctly unhappy and had put their knives and forks down.
It was after evenings like that, when they got the giggles, that she thought well, maybe, after all, he was fun and so kind and generous. But it was the other evenings, like one last week when they had been to a concert, and he left his arms rather too tightly round her after helping her into her coat and she knew she should acquiesce to his hopeful suggestion that she went back to his flat for coffee and thought why not? Why not, because the thought of kissing him lengthily, and then him proceeding further simply gave her goosebumps of entirely the wrong kind – cold, crawling goosebumps.
No, it wasn’t working; she should finish with him and soon. Only he would be so upset, and she couldn’t face that either.
It was Josh who told her; Geraldine had invited him to one of her little soirées. Patrick couldn’t come, but she’d found a couple of other young unmarried men . . . Actually, it was a nice evening, and one of the two young men, while being very dull, was also very handsome and clearly interested in Jillie, and she was about to agree to going to the cinema with him, when Josh arrived, late, full of apologies, gave her a huge hug, filled her glass up alongside his own, told her a bit of political gossip, and then said, oh, yes, he expected she’d heard Julius and Nell were no longer together.
‘Wedding cancelled – Nell’s having an affair with her editor – Julius is talking about moving to Paris for a couple of years.’
The room emptied for Jillie: or rather, everyone receded, the conversation became a distant buzz, she felt dizzy, disorientated, and stood staring at Josh, who too seemed to have moved far from her.
‘You all right?’ he said and, ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘fine, you must excuse me a moment, Josh,’ and fled to her room, where she sat on her bed, rigid and stupefied, trying to make sense of what he had just said.