The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [98]
The echoes of their voices followed them down: once more the stairs creaked; once more the banisters wobbled. In the hall, a slit of daylight came through the letter box. They kicked through drifts of circulars, musty catalogues. Their last view of the hall, with its chocolate walls that light from a front room only sneaked along, was one of ungraciousness, of servility. Would people ever come to this house again? And yet it faced the sun, reflected the sea and had been the scene of happy holidays.
They ran into Dickie at the gate of Waikiki, and Eddie handed him back the key. "Thanks very much," Eddie said, "it's a nice piece of property. Portia and I have been over it carefully. We rather thought of starting a boarding house."
"Oh, did you," said Dickie, with a certain méfiance. He headed the two guests up the garden path, then clicked the gate behind them. Daphne could still be seen extended in the sun porch, with the Sunday paper over her knee.
"Here we all are," Eddie said, but Daphne did not react. They grouped round her chaise longue, and Eddie, with a rather masterful movement, flicked the Sunday Pictorial from her person and began to read it himself. He read it with overdone attention, whistling to himself at each item of news. Just after twelve struck, he began to look rather anxiously round the Waikiki lounge, in which he saw no signs (for there were none) of sherry or gin and lime. He at last suggested they should go out and look for a drink, but Daphne asked: "Where?" adding: "This is not London, you know."
Dickie said: "And Portia does not drink."
"Oh, well, she can come along."
"We cannot take a girl into a bar."
"I don't see why not, at the seaside."
"It may be that to you, but it's rather more to us, I am afraid."
"Oh naturally, naturally—well, er, Dickie, shall you and I roll along?"
"Well, I don't mind if I—"
Daphne yawned and said; "Yes, you two boys go along. I mean, don't just stick around." So the two boys went along.
"What a thirst your friend always has," said Daphne looking after them. "He wanted me to cut off with him somewhere last night, after the movies, but of course I told him everywhere would be shut. How do you think those two boys get along?"
"Who?" said Portia, going back to her puzzle.
"Him and Dickie?"
"Oh... I don't think I'd thought."
"Dickie thinks he chatters rather too much, but of course Dickie would think that. Is what's-his-name, I mean Eddie, a popular boy?"
"I don't know who you mean with."
"Do girls fall for him much?"
"I don't know many girls."
"But your sister-in-law likes him, didn't you say? Not that she's a girl, of course. I must say, that gives one a funny idea of her. I mean to say, he's so awfully fresh. I suppose that's the way he always goes on?"
"What way?"
"The way he goes on here."
Portia walked round her puzzle and stared at it upside down. Pushing a piece with her finger, she mumbled vaguely: "I suppose he always goes on about the same."
"You don't seem to know much about him, do you? I thought you said he and you were such friends."
Portia said something unintelligible.
"Well, look here, don't you trust that boy too far. I don't know, I'm sure, if I ought to say anything, but you're such a kid and it does seem rather a shame. You shouldn't let yourself be so potty about him, really. I don't mean to say there's any harm in the boy, but he's the sort of boy who must have his bit of fun. I don't want to be mean on him, but honestly—Well, you take it from me—Of course he's no end flattered, having you stuck on him; anybody would be; you're such a nice little thing. And a boy in a way likes to have a girl round after him—look at Dickie and Clara. I wouldn't see any harm in your going round with an idealistic sort of a boy like Cecil, but honestly Eddie's not idealistic at all. I don't mean to say he'd try anything on with you; he wouldn't want to: he'd see you were just a kid. But if you get so potty