In Pursuit of the English - Doris Lessing [105]
Flo and Dan realized at last that this was true; and left all negotiations with the girls to Rose, who, when approaching them, used a manner of ingratiating propriety. She copied it, as she explained to me, from her favourite television announcer. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘it stands to reason it must be the right way the upper-class people carry on, or he wouldn’t be paid all that money for smirking and smiling and minding his manners, would he now?’
On the strength of the eight pounds a week, Dan hired labour. Mick, a building apprentice, and Len, Rose’s brother, moved into the Skeffingtons’ flat, for their food, a bed, and pocket money. They soon finished the top flat; Rose was negotiating to let it to a woman who had come into her shop; when Flo announced, with a mixture of guilt and furtive delight – that she had let it to ‘an ever so nice lady who’s French.’ Rose noted Flo’s expression, made her own enquiries, and told Flo she should be ashamed. ‘And who’s talking? Little miss prim-and-proper? And what was you doing with Dickie not a month back, may I ask you?’ This shaft hit Rose so hard that even Flo was ashamed. ‘I didn’t mean it, sweetheart, I didn’t really,’ she kept shouting, as Rose stood silent, trembling; and finally crept upstairs to cry in her room.
Rose said to me: ‘Do you know what? Flo’s let the top flat lo one of them dirty beasts. And why? Because she gets twice the rent from her. And just now when I’ve got my little brother here who needs a good example set.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How can you ask? Through my old boy-friend who’s a policeman. He came into my shop to pass the time of day and he knew about her. And now there’ll be men in and out day and night, and what about my Len?’
Flo said, licking her lips: ‘I’ve put a nice chair beside her bed, and she can entertain her friends ever so nice when they come.’
In the event, when Miss Privet – pronounced by Flo as Preevay – arrived, she was just out of hospital after a bout of pneumonia and she went straight to bed and stayed there. Once or twice she called the lads working in the rooms below to go out and buy her food; but Rose went straight up to her and said that if she ever so much as looked at Len she. Rose, would call the police.
‘My God, Rose.’ I said, ‘the poor woman’s hungry.’
‘Poor woman, you say? With all the money them beasts earn she could pay for a restaurant to send it in.’ She gave me a shrewd, hard, sorrowful look, nodded and said: ‘Yes. I know. So you’re going up. Curiosity killed the cat.’
Miss Privet’s brief stay in the house was to cost me Rose’s friendship; I did not understand how deep her feeling was.
I went upstairs, knocked, and saw a plain middle-aged woman sitting up in bed reading. I asked if she needed anything. She replied coldly: ‘I have no need of anything, thank you,’ and returned to her book.
For a week she stayed in bed, brought food and drink by Mick. Then I passed her on the stairs on her way out. She wore a fur coat, a small black hat with a veil, and a hard make-up. Her handbag was enormous, of shiny black. I could not keep my eyes off her shoes. They were black patent, with wide black ankle-straps. The soles were platforms two inches deep, the toes were thick and square; but the instep was displayed in a deep curve, giving an effect of brutal intimacy. She saw me looking, remarked coolly: ‘Interesting, aren’t I?’ and walked out, pulling on her gloves.
She came back an hour later with flowers, food, and some library books.
I wrote her a letter as follows, drawing upon past experience: ‘Dear Miss Privet. I shall be very happy to have the pleasure of your company to coffee this evening at nine o’clock,’ and pushed it under her door.
Rose saw me. ‘You’re not going to have her down in your room?’
‘I’ve invited her to coffee.’
‘Then you’ll never have me in