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By Root 515 0

of his plate, as if slightly embarrassed, but pleased, by what Janis had said. And she had looked at him as she spoke, Matthew noted. How corny! How . . . well, there was a certain distastefulness to the whole performance – lateflowering love, so inappropriate for these two middle-aged people, although she was far younger than he was, hardly middle-aged. What was she? Late thirties? Who did she think she was? A coquettish twenty-year-old on a first date? And did his father not see how ridiculous it was for a man of his age to be interested in . . . the carnal? It wasn’t even sex. It was carnality.

“Of course there’s the whole language of flowers, isn’t there?”

asked Gordon. “Each flower has a meaning, you know, Matthew. Janis knows them all.”

Excuse me, Matthew said to himself. I feel nauseated. The language of flowers! Is this really my father speaking? The pillar of the Watsonian Rugby Club? The Rotarian? He listened as Janis began to say something about the symbolism of variegated tulips. He had the opportunity to study her more closely while she talked, and he began to stare at her eyes and then at her Information

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chin and neck. For a few moments he was unsure, and then he became convinced that it was true. Janis had undergone plastic surgery.

Matthew looked at the skin about the edge of the eyes. It was tighter than it should be, he thought, and the smooth, rather stretched appearance of the skin carried on down to the side of the nose itself. It was as if it had been pulled back somewhere, tightened, and then polished in some way. He saw, too, the make-up that she had applied there; heavier on one side than on the other, but insufficient to fool the close observer, which he now was. She suddenly stopped talking about lilies. She had noticed his stare. Well, what can she expect? thought Matthew. If one gives in to vanity, then one can only expect others to notice. Mutton dressed up as lamb.

Janis looked at him. “Did your father tell you I had an accident?” she asked. 47. Information

Some evenings are just not a success, and Matthew’s dinner with his father and his father’s new friend, Janis, undoubtedly fell into that category. The conversation limped on until the arrival of the cheese, when it faltered altogether and the three of them sat energetically eating their Stilton, not wishing to put off any longer the moment when they could leave the table and go through to the morning room for coffee. The drinking of coffee, as it happened, did not take long.

“I have an early start tomorrow,” Gordon said, looking at his watch. “It’s been most enjoyable.”

“Yes,” said Janis. “I enjoyed that.”

They looked at Matthew, who nodded. “Me too,” he said.

“Very enjoyable.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Matthew rose to his feet. “I’m going to get my coat,” he said. “I’ll see you in the lobby.”

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He made his way to the cloakroom, noticing as he left the morning room that his father and Janis had immediately huddled in conversation; discussing me, he thought. Well, it had been a disaster, the whole thing, but what could his father expect? Did he expect him to welcome this woman, with her transparent motives? Is that what he expected? He went into the cloakroom and took his coat off the hook. A sleeve had become turned in upon itself and he busied himself for a few moments disentangling it. As he did so, he heard a voice from the basin area round the corner.

“Dramatic results, you know. Quite dramatic.”

A tap was turned on and something was said that he did not quite catch. Then the first voice spoke again.

“They’re desperately short of cash, so they’re having to go back to the market for a couple of million. But they’ll have to do this before the results of this research are confirmed. So they’ll still seem pretty shaky when they go for the cash.”

The other man spoke. “AIM? They’re still on the AIM

market, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So the new shares will be pretty low until . . .”

“Until the research results get the stamp of approval and then

. . . well, it’s a major breakthrough. The shares