bathrooms.
‘Or I can get a shower at the swimming pool, if there is one.’
‘I’m sure there is,’ she said. ‘But of course you must feel perfectly free.’
‘If I could just put a few things in your washing machine—you know what it’s like, travelling.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But have your tea first.’ She felt extraordinarily tired. As long as she could endure him until she could decently go to bed, she did not much mind what he did.
Tea restored her somewhat, permitted her to take stock. He seemed civilised, she thought, was quiet and contained, but with a patent lack of interest, of engagement, in his expression. One silent circular glance had apparently told him all he wanted to know about his surroundings.
‘I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’ll have for supper—an omelette, perhaps. I myself don’t eat in the evenings.’
‘We came on an earlier flight,’ he explained. ‘There was no point in hanging about. Ann said her grandmother would put me up. Then when I got to her place I was told to come on here.’ He looked annoyed, as well he might. ‘Anyway, I’mgoing there for dinner tonight. That way I can bring the rest of my stuff back here.’ Mrs May felt anxiety return, but forced herself to remember his kindness.
‘How did you all meet?’ she asked. ‘Of course you must know Ann better than I do. I haven’t seen her since she was a little girl.’
She remembered a stolid child, encountered one afternoon at Kitty’s when she and Henry had gone there to tea. The child’s thick body had been encased in a smocked Liberty print, a white ribbon in her flat dark hair. She had opposed a considerable will to Kitty’s rage and love, which had not prevented Kitty from endowing her with a wardrobe of unsuitable clothes. At least they would have been suitable for a baby. Mrs May had a vision of Kitty in shops that sold clothes for toddlers, although on that occasion Ann would have been about six. There was dissension in the air even then, an embryo battle of wills. And Kitty had not entirely managed to subdue the little girl; the grown woman would offer even greater resistance.
‘Have you known her long?’ she asked, coming back with a start to the present.
‘David’s my friend,’ he said. ‘We hang out together. When he said he was coming to London I said I’d tag along. He said Ann’s grandma could put me up.’ Annoyance once more flitted across his generally impassive face.
‘Ann’s grandfather is not in good health,’ she explained. ‘That’s why you’re here. He needs quiet. And anyway it’s only for a few days.’
‘I may stay on for a bit,’ he said. ‘Check out the music scene. I won’t be any trouble. You won’t know I’m here.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t be here at all,’ she rallied. ‘I shall be needing the room. A relative may be coming to stay.’
Mrs May had no relatives, as this young man would undoubtedly discover. I shall invite Susie Fuller, she decided. Susie might be glad of a break in London, although she would be astonished at the invitation.
‘I think it best to make things clear at the beginning, don’t you? You’ll be able to look for something else; I should do that as soon as you can. To tell you the truth, Steve, it is not convenient for me to have you here. You’re welcome to stay until you find something else, which I’m sure you will. Perhaps your friend David—whom I haven’t yet met—could help you.’
‘Sure,’ he said equably. ‘Mind if I have a quick bath? And you’d better let me have a key. I might be back late tonight.’
‘The Levinsons keep early hours, as I do—I doubt if you’ll be late. I’m sure you won’t make a noise. I’ve noticed that you move very quietly. Your key is in your room. Don’t lose it, will you? I shall undoubtedly be in bed, when you come in. Or perhaps not, knowing Kitty and Austin. They will be tired too, as I’m