The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [350]
Obb scratched its head and said, “She can’t speak because, er, she lost her tongue in an industrial accident due to his negligence?”
“You’re trying too hard. For what reason would someone not necessarily say ‘thank you’ for something?”
“Because,” said Ibb slowly, “they know one another?”
“Good. Being handed a drink at a party by your wife, husband, girlfriend or partner, you would as likely as not just take it; if it was from a host to a guest, then you would thank them. Here’s another: there is a couple walking down the road—and she is walking eight paces behind him.”
“He has longer legs?” suggested Ibb.
“No.”
“They’ve broken down?”
“They’ve had an argument,” said Obb excitedly, “and they live nearby or they would be taking their car.”
“Could be,” I responded. “Subtext tells you lots of things. Ibb, did you take the last piece of chocolate from the fridge?”
There was a pause. “No.”
“Well, because you paused, I know pretty confidently that you did.”
“Oh!” said Ibb. “I’ll remember that.”
There was a knock at the door.
I opened it to reveal Mary’s ex-beau Arnold looking very dapper in a suit and holding a small bunch of flowers. Before he had time to open his mouth, I had closed the door again.
“Ah!” I said, turning to Ibb and Obb. “This is a good opportunity to study subtext. See if you can figure out what is going on behind our words—and Ibb, please don’t feed Pickwick at the table.”
I opened the door again, and Arnold, who had started to slink off, came running back.
“Oh!” he said with mock surprise. “Mary not back yet?”
“No. In fact, she probably won’t be back for some time. Can I take a message?”
And I closed the door on his face again.
“Okay,” I said to Ibb and Obb, “what do you think is going on?”
“He’s looking for Mary?” suggested Ibb.
“But he knows she’s gone away,” said Obb. “He must be coming to speak to you, Thursday.”
“Why?”
“For a date?”
“Good. What am I saying to him?”
Ibb and Obb thought hard. “If you didn’t want to see him, you’d have told him to go away, so you might be the tiniest bit interested.”
“Excellent!” I told them. “Let’s see what happens next.”
I opened the door again to a confused-looking Arnold, who broke into a wide smile.
“Well,” he said, “no message for Mary—it’s just—we had planned to see Willow Lodge and the Limes this evening . . .”
I turned to Ibb and Obb, who shook their heads. They didn’t believe it, either.
“Well,” said Arnold slowly, “. . . perhaps you might like to come with me to the concert?”
I shut the door again.
“He pretended to have the idea about going to see Willow Lodge tonight,” said Ibb slowly and more confidently, “when in fact I think he had it planned all along that way. I think he fancies you big time.”
I opened the door again.
“I’m sorry, no,” I told him hastily, “happily married.”
“It’s not a date,” exclaimed Arnold quickly, “just a lift to a concert. Here, take the ticket anyway. I’ve no one else to give it to; if you don’t want to go, just bin it.”
I shut the door again.
“Ibb’s wrong,” said Obb, “he really fancies you—but he’s blown it by being too desperate—it would be hard for you to respect someone who would almost start begging.”
“Not bad,” I replied, “let’s see how it turns out.”
I opened the door again and stared into Arnold’s earnest eyes.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Miss who?” asked Arnold, seemingly nonchalant.
“Denial of love!” yelled Ibb and Obb from behind me. “He doesn’t really fancy you at all—he’s in love with Mary and wants a date on the rebound!”
Arnold looked suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“Subtext classes,” I explained, “sorry for being rude. Do you want to come in for a coffee?”
“Well, I should be going really—”
“Playing hard to get!” hooted Ibb, and Obb added quickly, “The balance of power has tipped in his favor because you’ve been rude to him with all that door nonsense, and now you’re going to have to insist that he come in for coffee, even if that means being nicer to him than you originally intended!”
“Are they always like this?” inquired Arnold, stepping