Wish Her Safe at Home by Stephen Benatar Read Free Book Online Page B

nodded. “And this was despite the fact he as good as murdered Uriah the Hittite so that he could woo Uriah’s wife. Yes, even despite this, God still loved him and God still favoured him.”
    And now there was certainly silence. People gazed at me from every side, either standing like myself or sitting on chairs or tables, their thick white cups in one hand, perhaps a chocolate éclair or a cream horn in the other.
    “I can guess what you’re going to say of course. You’re going to say that he repented.”
    “He repented!” cried Una, the pretty little blonde. She gave a giggle.
    “But what
I
want to know is, would he actually have given up Bathsheba? Would he have changed things even if he’d had the chance?”
    “Oh, come on, you lot, let’s have a show of hands! Now all who think—”
    “So that’s why you’re going to buy the book, is it, Rachel?”
    Mr. Danby had obviously been feeling anxious. But he needn’t have worried: the teasing was affectionate and I could take it in good part.
    “Well,” he went on, “we trust it will provide you with much pleasure, Rachel, indeed we do, and also... er... with much enlightenment. Thank you for telling us.”
    There was a big round of applause. As the party gradually broke up there were comments of “Slayed ’em in the aisles, Rachel!,” “Good for you, Miss Waring!,” “Always said you were a dark horse!” I was so relieved. I had unquestionably felt jittery before I’d begun—but because I had tried to tell them what was in my heart it seemed I might have scored a minor victory. Perhaps I could congratulate myself on having provided a leave-taking that wouldn’t just blend in with all the rest.
    “Do you want to pack up now, Rachel, and catch an earlier bus?”
    “Thank you... er... David.” And then, to cover up my small embarrassment, “Thank ’ee kindly, sire!”

11
    It was a Saturday. Sylvia came to see me off at Paddington.
    “And I bloody well hope,” she said, “that some day you won’t regret all this.”
    Although I knew she meant precisely the opposite and although I hadn’t even wanted her to come I still replied amiably. “I can assure you, you don’t hope it nearly as much as I do.”
    “What a dump this station is.”
    “I rather like it.”
    “Oh, God! You’re getting more like Pollyanna every day. I’m not surprised they wouldn’t take you with the furniture.”
    I smiled. “You think it wasn’t the insurance, then?” Once I might have worried over that. Now I merely observed, “I hope I haven’t left the flat too bare.”
    In fact I’d taken remarkably little—and, anyway, the woman who’d be moving in had a lot of her own stuff.
    I added after a minute or so of our walking on in silence: “She really does seem fairly pleasant, doesn’t she? Miss Carter?”
    But, naturally, we had already discussed Miss Carter. Sylvia had then been quite cheerful; yet you wouldn’t have known it now. “Oh, before long we’ll probably begin to irritate each other like hell. Give it a month or two.”
    “Well, that’s just being defeatist!”
    “Now tell me something truly uplifting,” she suggested. “Like, for example, life’s simply a snappy little game of pretence—and what fun it is to be a conman! Wasn’t that what you were saying at supper last night? I think I’d feel so much better if you could come up with one final inspirational word to illuminate my darkness.”
    Nevertheless she grumblingly insisted on getting a platform ticket. It seemed well-nigh masochistic.
    I found my seat on the train and then remained in the compartment, standing at a window with the ventilator open—because I thought this would save the obligation of a kiss or an embrace; and a handshake would have seemed all wrong.
    But anyway, not necessarily as a consequence, she suddenly appeared more manageable. I said, “Don’t forget, Sylvia, you’re coming to stay with me this summer!” And my enthusiasm didn’t sound