The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [125]
“Very few of Roger’s friends seem to be.”
“It’s rather a new thing with him,” I said.
“I expect he doesn’t talk about it unless he thinks people are interested.”
That was outrageous, first because it amounted to the claim to know Roger better than I did and, secondly, because I was still smarting from the ruthless boredom of my last two or three meetings with him.
“You’d be doing us all a great service if you could keep him to that,” I said.
It is a most painful experience to find, when one has been rude, that one has caused no surprise. That is how Lucy received my remark. She merely said, “We’ve got to go out almost at once. We’re going to the theatre in Finsbury and it starts at seven.”
“Very inconvenient.”
“It suits the workers,” she said. “They have to get up earlier than we do, you see.”
Then Roger and Basil came in with the drinks. Roger said, “We’re just going out. They’re doing the Tractor Trilogy at Finsbury. Why don’t you come too. We could probably get another seat, couldn’t we, Lucy?”
“I doubt it,” said Lucy. “They’re tremendously booked up.”
“I don’t think I will,” I said.
“Anyway join us afterwards at the Café Royal.”
“I might,” I said.
“What have you and Lucy been talking about?”
“We listened to the news,” said Lucy. “Nothing from Madras.”
“They’ve probably got orders to shut down on it. I.D.C. have got the BBC in their pocket.”
“I.D.C.?” I asked.
“Imperial Defence College. They’re the new hush-hush crypto-fascist department. They’re in up to the neck with I.C.I. and the oil companies.”
“I.C.I.?”
“Imperial Chemicals.”
“Roger,” said Lucy, “we really must go if we’re to get anything to eat.”
“All right,” he said. “See you later at the Café.”
I waited for Lucy to say something encouraging. She said, “We shall be there by eleven,” and began looking for her bag among the chintz cushions.
I said, “I doubt if I can manage it.”
“Are we taking the car?” Roger asked.
“No, I sent it away. I’ve had him out all day.”
“I’ll order some taxis.”
“We could drop Basil and John somewhere,” said Lucy.
“No,” I said, “get two.”
“We’re going by way of Appenrodts,” said Lucy.
“No good for me,” I said, although, in fact, they would pass the corner of St. James’s where I was bound.
“I’ll come and watch you eat your sandwiches,” said Basil.
That was the end of our first meeting. I came away feeling badly about it, particularly the way in which she had used my Christian name and acquiesced in my joining them later. A commonplace girl who wanted to be snubbing, would have been conspicuously aloof and have said “Mr. Plant,” and I should have recovered some of the lost ground. But Lucy was faultless.
I have seen so many young wives go wrong on this point. They have either tried to force an intimacy with their husbands’ friends, claiming, as it were, continuity and identity with the powers of the invaded territory or they have cancelled the passports of the old régime and proclaimed that fresh application must be made to the new authorities and applicants be treated strictly on their merits. Lucy seemed serenely unaware of either danger. I had come inopportunely and been rather rude, but I was one of Roger’s friends; they were like his family to her, or hers to him; we had manifest defects which it was none of her business to reform; we had the right to come to her house unexpectedly, to shout upstairs for the corkscrew, to join her table at supper. The question of intrusion did not arise. It was simply that as far as she was concerned we had no separate or individual existence. It was, as I say, a faultless and highly provocative attitude. I found that in the next few days a surprising amount of my time, which, anyway, was lying heavy on me, was occupied in considering how this attitude, with regard to myself, could be altered.
My first move was to ask her and Roger to luncheon. I was confident that none of their other friends—none of those, that is to say, from whom I wished to dissociate myself—would have done such a thing. I did it formally, some days ahead, by letter to Lucy. All this, I knew,