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.Obviously the spirit of delight in Shelley's poem, which so rarely came, was a being of another order, possibly a beautiful young man whom Catherine could not at the moment visualize.She went about seeing editors, writing stories and articles, and in the evening read her favourite depressing poets, Hardy, Matthew Arnold and the lesser Victorians; she even found the strength to embark on a course of Dostoievsky.Often she felt the lack of that cosy woman friend with whom she might spend an afternoon at a matinée, or shopping with a pleasant gossipy tea afterwards.She seemed to know more men than women and, delightful though their company was, she imagined that they were somehow less comforting than a woman would have been.One morning she was wandering through a large store, which she liked because of its old and respectable connections, for it was the kind of place where Tom's mother might shop when she came up to town, or where Colonial administrators who had spent long years in the solitude of the bush might gather as in a refuge from the garishness of Oxford Street.It was not very surprising, therefore, that while strolling on the ground floor she should come upon a group of people sitting in basket chairs drinking coffee, and that among them should be Alaric Lydgate.She had thought of him several times since their first meeting, for his oddness and apparent loneliness interested and attracted her.And now here he was, sitting alone, reading a journal which, to judge from its title, dealt with that part of Africa where he had spent his eleven years.'Why, it's Mr.Lydgate!' she exclaimed, hovering by his table.Shyness was not one of her faults and she had every intention of joining him.'Miss Oliphant.' So he had remembered her name.'This is a pleasure.Won't you sit down and have some coffee with me?' A rather tentative smile was playing over the rocky Easter Island features, Catherine noticed.More coffee was ordered and some chocolate biscuits.Catherine settled herself comfortably and took out her cigarette case.'What are you reading?' she asked.'Oh, an article I have written,' he said.'There are two misprints, most annoying.But I'm sure you wouldn't be interested.' He closed up the journal and put it down on a vacant chair.'It depends what it's about,' said Catherine honestly.'I think you could probably help me with something I'm writing now.''Do you think so?' He glanced at her suspiciously, as if he were thinking of the trunks full of notes in his attic.'Yes, I'm writing a story about somebody who's just come back from Africa.I've made him a big game hunter, that seems suitable for the type of people who will read it.Naturally I have to make him have thoughts about the country he's been in, and I was wondering if they were too wildly improbable.''I'm afraid I should be no judge of that,' said Alaric.'I shouldn't like to say what thoughts might be in the mind of a big game hunter.''Oh, I didn't mean that exactly.You see, I have him sitting in this West Kensington hotel, remembering the noise of the rain splashing down among the mangroves, or the laughing faces of the women as they brought in the yams, and really it's the drizzly English rain and the grey shut-in faces of the elderly ladies in the lounge - do you see the idea?''Only too well.' He laughed, but without much amusement.Too near the bone, Catherine thought, for of course it was he who had given her the idea for the story about the big game hunter in the West Kensington hotel.She had at least had the grace to change the basic circumstances a little.'And what happens in your story?' he asked politely, half smiling as if he were humouring a child.'He meets the niece of one of the elderly ladies who comes to visit her.''And then?'Catherine looked surprised, but then realized that it was most unlikely that he would be a reader of romantic fiction.'Oh, well, that is the end, really,' she said.'They go for a walk in the rain and he suddenly feels that there's something rather nice about the drizzly English rain - I haven't finished it yet, but you can see the way it will go.But would the rain splash down among the mangroves, and would the women bring in the yams? I do like to get these things right.''It is a pity,' he began, using his favourite review phrase, 'that others are not as accurate as you are.Contributors to the learned journals are among the worst offenders.I often find.'But at this moment a voice interrupted him, calling his name, and Catherine noticed a leathery-looking man with the Ancient Mariner gleam in his eye bearing down upon Alaric.He was followed by a tweedy little woman of a mild, almost downtrodden, aspect.Alaric introduced the pair as Mortimer Jessop and his sister, Miss Jessop, who did not appear to have a Christian name and took no part in the conversation, which consisted of long reminiscences of events in Africa from Mortimer Jessop, interspersed with short comments from Alaric.Catherine tried to draw Miss Jessop out in the way that she considered one woman might try to draw another, with little remarks on the weather and the display of goods in the store, but it was difficult going and after a time she gave up and listened to the men's conversation.There was a certain fascination about it although it hardly seemed to make sense.'.attitude of the natives,' boomed Mortimer Jessop.'You remember the Resident's comments on that one, surely? Short and to the point.To the effect that had he taken the trouble to read Crabbe's Handing-Over report he would have found that the key was precisely where he had said it was - underneath the mat! Government had just sent troops there - that was in '22, of course, before your time.You realize that that was why they couldn't take the railway through? Had to make a detour to avoid the territory, noble Savage and all that sentimental twaddle.I know what I should have done.''Would you have taken the railway through, Mr.Jessop?' asked Catherine, looking up at him.He seemed a little taken aback.Perhaps he was used only to his sister as an audience and had not expected any comment.'Well, I'd have had a bash at it, as they say nowadays,' he said with a bark of laughter.'I suppose we should be going now,' said Alaric with a glance at his watch.'I hear you're working at the London Office,' said Mortimer Jessop.'Yes, part-time.It's one of my days off,' Alaric explained.'What do you do? Light work, I suppose - carrying trays of tea along corridors?' said Mortimer Jessop genially.'Wouldn't do for me, I'm afraid, must be in the open air.Living in Barons Court now,' he added, as if it had some bearing on his last remark.Catherine imagined a kind of feudal spaciousness, although she knew that it was only one station beyond West Kensington.'I really must be going now,' she said.'Oh, so should we,' said Mortimer Jessop.'We're lunching with our old friend Mrs.Bone and she usually does you pretty well - a bird more often than not.Well, Lydgate, it's good to have run into you again.' He made as if to go, then suddenly turned round and said to Alaric in a stage whisper, 'By the way, who was that dwarf I saw you with on the road in '45?'Catherine, who had been expecting an answer on the lines of 'that was no lady, that was my wife', was surprised to hear Alaric answer rather stiffly, 'That was the Panti Ba himself.'Mr.Jessop and his sister were then wafted away on a gust of laughter from the former.There seemed to be nothing to say in answer to Alaric's statement [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]