Crampton Hodnet by Barbara Pym Read Free Book Online

here was from going to Miss Doggett’s! he thought. People were listening to him as if even a Socialist had a right to his own opinion, and one young man in corduroy trousers was actually agreeing with him. The only person who wasn’t listening was Anthea, and she kept fidgeting and looking at the clock until at last, just before six, she got up and slipped quietly from the room.
    Going to see Simon, thought Mrs. Cleveland. Of course it would never do to say anything, mothers nowadays knew nothing, absolutely nothing , but she couldn’t help thinking it rather a pity that Anthea saw so much of Simon. Of course he was a nice boy, she hadn’t really anything against him, except the vague fear that he might make Anthea unhappy. It would be so much better if they could just be friends , thought Mrs. Cleveland, peering anxiously into the teapot and hoping that nobody would ask for more tea, though young women nowadays didn’t seem to be content with that. It was either being in love or nothing. After all, Anthea was only nineteen and there were in Oxford so many other more suitable people. A vague company of dull but steady men rose up before the anxious mother’s eyes, young dons who wouldn’t at all mind acquiring a wife so long as the courting and marrying of her didn’t disturb their research in the Bodleian. It was an excellent thing for a husband to have something like research to occupy his time. After the first year or two of married life one no longer wanted to have him continually about the house. Mrs. Cleveland hardly noticed now whether her husband was there or not, and she was too busy doing other things ever to stop and ask herself whether she was not perhaps missing something. The best she could say of Francis was that he gave her no trouble, and she thought that that was a great deal more than could be said of many husbands.
    But Anthea, hurrying along St. Giles’, could hardly be expected to have arrived at this enviable state of “calm of mind, all passion spent”.
    This evening, she thought solemnly, as she stepped into the lodge of Randolph College, we won’t spend all our time lying on the sofa. I’ll show Simon I’m intelligent . We’ll really talk about something. She wasn’t sure what—perhaps the Foreign Policy of His Majesty’s Government, she thought, stepping into a puddle and splashing her stocking. That was the sort of thing they were always debating at the Union. She reached the bottom of the staircase where Simon’s rooms were and started to climb the worn stone steps. She stood for a moment outside the doorway with his name painted over the top, knocked, went in, and the next thing she knew she was in his arms.
    The room was dark except for the glow of the fire, for Simon understood the value of a romantic atmosphere. He was also a very tactful young man and had put away all his photographs except those of his mother, his aunt Constance and his friend Christopher. Outside in St. Giles’ it was raining, and the comforting sound of the Salvation Army band playing hymns made a dear and familiar Sunday evening background for lovers. At this hour time seemed to stand still. In the half-darkness Anthea could see the Sunday Times spread out on the floor. A flame leapt up in the fire and illuminated the headlines. Something about the Foreign Policy of His Majesty’s Government.
    The Salvation Army went on playing half-recognized hymns, the rain fell softly but steadily, and from different parts of Oxford came the sound of the various bells calling people to evensong. After a time the smell of cooking rose up in the quadrangle of Randolph College, rough young voices were heard down below and on the stairs, and a bell began to ring, a loud bell that disturbed the young men and the young women who had come to tea with them. Lights were turned on to reveal the happy lovers blinking like ruffled owls, the honey toast lying cold and greasy on a plate in the fireplace, the tomato sandwiches