In Pursuit of the English - Doris Lessing [96]
‘Ah, my Lord,’ she was saying, ‘all we ask is, she should move into those lovely big rooms till the Damage has finished in hers. Then she can move back up, and the rent the same.’
‘Rent,’ shouted Dan. ‘rent you say? We’re not going to have money to put food into our mouths, all our tenants leaving because you’re too stupid to live.’
Dan had given up his job with the Gas Board, on grounds of urgent family illness. He spent his days over in the nightclub, and his evenings on his house. The hundreds of pounds he had made on the side during the past two years were already re-invested. He was joint owner, with Bobby Brent, of two slum houses in Notting Hill Gate. But there was little cash coming in. Flo was serving fish and chips and corned beef hash at every meal.
Over my head Bobby Brent was now quarrelling with Miss Powell. I had never heard them quarrel in all the months I had been there. Soon, she came downstairs, tear-stained but soignee in a slim black suit and furs. At the turn of the stairs she hesitated. Then she called up the well of the staircase in her refined voice, now plaintive: ‘Raymond – Raymond?’ No reply from Mr Brent. ‘I shall be staying at the X Hotel, if you want me.’ No reply. She waited a little, then went on down. In a moment I saw her driving away in a taxi. Bobby Brent now entered my room, with dignity. Our relations had formalized themselves into mutual insult. Yet he was always a little wary of me; and I was unable to prevent myself being frightened of him. He knew it.
‘And good riddance,’ he said.
‘It would seem short-sighted to quarrel with Dan, so much satisfactory bread and butter, just because you want to get rid of Miss Powell.’
‘Dan Bolt,’ said he with a heavy sneer. ‘He’s not my class.’
‘But with such a talent for making money!’
‘People never understand a man has to better himself Women never understand that.’
‘Now you can marry the daughter of the Member of Parliament who is a lady.’
‘I could, if I wanted to, but as it happens I can do better.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Marry, marry, marry. That’s all women ever think of. And why should I get married?’
‘Why indeed?’
‘Raymond Ponsonby,’ he said, ‘has no need of any blasted women.’
‘But how about Bobby Brent?’ I said.
‘I say! You’d better be careful what you say. Just because I have a friend, and come to see her, it needn’t mean more than that. Miss Powell’s a friend of mine, and she needn’t go preventing any banns being called.’
‘Good Lord.’ I said, ‘are you married to her all this time?’
He made an involuntary startled movement, as if to go. He looked at me some time, frowning. Then the impulse to boast bettered him.
‘With a lawyer who knows his way about, you’d be surprised.’
‘No I wouldn’t.’
‘Yes you would if I told you. And I will. I put it this way. You hit the thing on the head, as it happens. Raymond Ponsonby is married, but Robert Brent isn’t.’
‘And Miss Powell?’
He laughed triumphantly. ‘How can she be married to a name that’s not on any registers the law would recognize?’
‘I see.’
Suddenly he went black with anger at the thought of how he’d given himself away. He poked his chin out at me, half-shut his eyes, and said: ‘Blackmail’s a game two could play.’
‘As a matter of interest, how would you blackmail me if you set about it?’
He smiled, considering the thing on its merits. ‘Ah,’ he breathed. ‘Ah!’ He began stalking back and forth across my room, vibrant because of some scheme he had just thought of; or perhaps had had up his sleeve for some time – or perhaps because he was waiting for inspiration.
Looking back, I think I gave it to him, by what I said next.
‘I’ve often wondered,’ he remarked, ‘what you think of me. We could be friends, but you don’t give yourself away. I like that. Yes, I like you for it.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ I said. ‘I think you’re a psychopath and a sadist, but luckily for you, in this society it won’t even be noticed. The