‘Well, it’s a lesson to the boy, and to us all,’ the solicitor said humorously. ‘It makes you realise you’ve got to be very careful where you put it.’
I was glad to see Theodora back in London. She refused to come over to the house, and met me (neither of us could think, in a hurry, of a better place) at the pub round the corner from the law courts of evil memory. I expected that Theodora, too, would have changed, but the surprise was that it seemed a change for the better: she was less angular and spiky, rather more relaxed, and at moments she seemed almost matronly. In the taxi she took my arm and said, ‘What’s the sister like, Montgomery?’
‘Like him. Less of a ruffian, though.’
‘Women aren’t ruffians.’
‘No? Well, less of the female equivalent. Very attractive indeed she’ll be in her nurse’s uniform – I wish I could see her in it; but then, a nurse’s uniform makes everyone look attractive.’
‘Even Florence Nightingale? You’re not going to propose to Peach, are you?’
‘I don’t think so, Theodora. What would be the use?’
‘And how’s he?’
‘Moody. Melancholy. But a lot happier now he’s decided to leave for home.’
‘You really think he will?’
‘Well, that’s the plan; but like all African plans …’
‘Don’t tell me. We must go out to Africa, too, one day, Montgomery, as tourists. See all the sights together.’
‘I bet as soon as we got there, we’d meet everyone we’ve known in all those disreputable clubs and places. We’d find Mr Karl Marx Bo prime minister, I expect.’
‘That would be too much. Is this the street?’
‘It is, but do let me go and spy out the land – I really think it would be best, Theodora.’
The flat was silent, and a neighbour told me the Macphersons had all left.
‘It’s Muriel I want.’
‘Oh, she’s gone off separate. I’ve got the address for forwarding – you’re not from the landlord, are you?’
‘No, no. A friend. Honest …’
Muriel’s new address was not far off. We walked up to the third floor, but there was nobody in there either.
‘No sounds of a baby wailing,’ I said. ‘Shall we wait here till she comes?’
‘I suppose we’d better.’
We sat on the stairs, talking. After two hours had gone, a young girl appeared with a baby. We introduced ourselves.
‘I’m from the crèche,’ she said. ‘Isn’t Mrs Macpherson back?’
‘Not yet,’ said Theodora. ‘Shall I look after it for you till she comes?’
‘Well, if you don’t drop it …’ she said after some persuasion, and handed the infant over to Theodora.
We looked together at William Macpherson Fortune. ‘My God,’ said Theodora. ‘They say babies aren’t like their parents. Just look at him!’
‘I’m very nervous, Theodora. I don’t think Muriel will approve at all.’
When she came, though, she almost seemed to have expected us, and asked us straight in to the single room. ‘Do you mind if I feed William?’ she said. ‘Then I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
Was there a faint triumph in her gesture, as there was certainly more than faint envy in Theodora? ‘Is he good?’ she asked the mother.
‘He is now, but he won’t be for long if he grows up like his father.’
She put the baby in its cot, and got us tea. ‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me something about Johnny,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
By one of those accidents of nature, entirely unforeseeable (especially by a man, in the case of women), Theodora and Muriel, who’d only met so briefly and so long ago, seemed to take to each other, to be suddenly on familiar terms. Without too much beating about the bush, Theodora came to the point – or points, because there were quite a lot of them.
Muriel didn’t seem surprised, or hurt, by the proposition Theodora unfolded to her.
‘I know I behaved bad to Johnny,’ she said. ‘I know I should have spoken up for him in court. I should have, I dare say, but I just couldn’t do it – I just couldn’t. I was mad about him and Dorothy, and his doing nothing for me – nothing, can you believe it? – all the time.’
‘Yes, I can understand.’
‘And you spoke up for him instead.’
‘Yes.’
Muriel looked at Theodora rather sharply, with a sudden hostile glint. Then said, ‘Well, I don’t blame you, if you loved him – he’s a very lovable boy, isn’t he, in his way. But me, I just can’t make him out … He’s never loved me, that’s certain. He’s never loved any of