The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [136]
But as she hesitated, knowing that if an employer was looking for an excuse not to pay, or to pay less, he would find one here, she heard that someone else was with them in the great empty place, and turned to see the Greek, Philip’s employer. At one glance she knew that Philip was going to be cheated, no matter what he did, or how she helped him.
He was a nasty little piece of work, all right. His little black eyes were full of the exaggerated anger that goes with defending a false position, and when he saw her, he shouted, “I said another workman, not your girlfriend!”
Alice said, in her best cold voice, “You are making a mistake. I have done this kind of work often.”
“Yes,” sneered the Greek, using the sneer with a conscious theatricality, “I suppose you’ve put a coat of paint on your kitchen.”
“In any case,” said Alice, “you are grossly underpaying. For the kind of money you are paying for this job, you are not in a position to take that line.”
She did not know what Philip was being paid, though, having seen this man, she did know it was not enough. And she knew that with this type of man you had to be as bad a bully.
She turned her back and went to stand in front of a wall, examining it. Philip followed her lead and stood beside her. The Greek pretended to fuss about by the counter, then said, “I’ll give you two days.” And he went out.
But Alice knew it was hopeless. Yes, because of her, Philip would not be cheated out of as much; but that man had no intention of paying in full.
Therefore, she did not say to Philip that these walls should be properly scraped and cleaned. She said that if Philip had spare overalls, she would start in now; it was only ten o’clock. He went to work on the plastering, and she painted. They worked all night. Twice a pair of policemen, neither of whom Alice knew, went past and looked in. Once the Greek sauntered by, thinking he was not noticed.
By morning Philip had done the plastering. Alice had put a first coat on the three walls and the ceiling.
She knew that the Greek would be in the moment they left and would find fault.
She and Philip went back to number 43; and there were Jasper and Bert, eating bacon and eggs. There was a look to both of them she did not like—this was the first impression, before all of them exploded into smiles and embraces. For, of course, the sight of Jasper melted away everything Alice had felt; she was happy, she was herself, she had been half a person without him. And he was as pleased; he even kissed her, his dry lips light on her cheek, his arms like a circle of bone, but meaning warmth, meaning love.
Philip did not stay, said he must get two hours of sleep. This was the amount he had allowed himself, after two nights and two days of sleeplessness. He imploringly looked at Alice, for she had said that was all she would need before starting in again.
But here was Jasper! Philip, from the door, glanced back at Jasper, and there on his face was the recognition of inevitability, Jasper as doom, for of course now Alice would not keep her word.…
But Alice would keep her word, although she knew that this moment, now, when Jasper was just back and the pressures on him from her, which he had to resist, had not yet begun to build, was when she could hear about his adventures—and once the moment had passed, she would get nothing, only curt yeses and noes.
There was something about these two men—a feverishness in their eyes, some bad kind of excitement—what was it? Well, it wasn’t to do with Jasper’s sex life, for Bert did not share that; but Bert had the same look. Anger, was it? Restlessness, certainly. Only exhaustion? Perhaps. They said the crossing on the boat had been bad, and that they had not