Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [10]
Binny could be so cold when standing up and facing him, or shouting at him down the telephone, and so warm when lying in his arms. When he thought of those snatched perspiring moments on the sofa, the bathroom floor, the divan bed in Binny’s back room, he felt he could forgive her anything and dreamed of devoting the rest of his life to making her happy.
He paid for the drinks and returned to the table. He looked down at Simpson’s balding crown and said firmly, ‘Look here, old man. What’s the form tonight? You are coming, I take it?’
‘Good Lord, yes,’ said Simpson. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.’
‘What about the wife?’
‘We’re both coming,’ Simpson said. ‘Depend on it. I just wanted to warn you it might be a bit sticky at first. Muriel might be a shade off-hand. But she’ll thaw.’ He patted Edward’s knee encouragingly.
‘You may find it a little bohemian tonight,’ said Edward. ‘Just a bit.’
‘Christ,’ cried Simpson. ‘I feared as much. Muriel won’t stand for it, you know.’
‘I meant domestically,’ Edward said. ‘Spacewise, facilities . . . knives and forks. See what I mean?’
‘Oh,’ said Simpson. ‘Rough and ready, is that it?’
‘A little,’ Edward said, feeling disloyal. ‘Binny’s not one for appearances.’
‘Say no more.’ Simpson nodded sympathetically. ‘Are you going home to change?’
‘No,’ said Edward. ‘It’s a shade awkward getting out again. I thought I might go back to the office and sign a little post.’
Simpson suggested Edward should come home with him for a wash-and-brush-up. Then they could all arrive together.
Edward accepted. ‘Have you mentioned to your wife,’ he said, ‘that we’re supposed to have met? Her and me. Binny particularly stressed that I should invite close mutual friends.’
‘Don’t push it, old boy,’ advised Simpson with some irritation. ‘It’s been difficult enough to persuade her to sit down with you, let alone pretend you’ve been friendly for years. And you’d better watch the hanky panky.’
‘Hanky panky?’
‘Touching . . . fooling about . . . any outward show. Muriel won’t like it.’
‘I have to be home by eleven,’ said Edward. ‘I don’t think there’ll be time for hanky panky.’
No further mention was made of his going back with Simpson for a wash. After a quarter of an hour Simpson got up to go and said he’d see him in the trenches at twenty hundred hours. He nudged Edward in the ribs. ‘Synchronise watches . . . we’ll go over the top together.’ Laughing heartily and thinking what a bloody ass the man was, Edward said goodbye. He bought a packet of cashew nuts to tide himself over until dinner, and on an unfortunate impulse telephoned Binny.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘Nothing really. I’ve just been chatting to old Simpson. He was a bit foolish, I thought.’
‘How surprising!’
‘I meant he spoke rather childishly. He’s not as broad-minded as one thinks.’
‘What’s all that noise?’ Binny said. ‘Where are you?’
‘In the office,’ he lied. ‘Simpson said what would I think if Helen asked him and his wife round for a meal.’
‘What are you on about? I thought they’d had dozens of meals at your house?’
‘I’m not explaining myself very clearly,’ he said. ‘I get the feeling he doesn’t approve of . . . well, you know . . .’
‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘Spit it out.’
‘Us,’ he said lamely. ‘Carrying on.’
She fell silent. Edward ground the receiver so tightly against his ear, to drown the pub sounds all around him, that his eyes began to water.
‘You told me he’d been to a V.D. clinic,’ said Binny finally.
Oh God, he thought, had he really confided that? She’d probably bring it up at dinner if things went badly. ‘Well, yes,’ he said.’ But there was never anything actually wrong.’
‘Who the hell does he think he is?