The Watchers on the Shore (13 page)

Conroy knows a lot of people to say he's been in the town less
than a couple of years and made all his contacts from scratch.
Whichever pub we go into (and I see the inside of quite a few
different ones in the first few weeks) there'll be somebody he'll nod
to or pass the time of day with. If he chats with anybody he'll introduce me, but as I'm not good at catching names and they're
complete strangers to me, it's not till afterwards when I get Albert
to fill me in that I can fit them into any kind of slot and get some
standpoint for joining in the conversation the next time we
meet. Publicans, businessmen, tradespeople, a councillor or two, a
doctor, a bank manager, and a journalist on the local evening paper:
all kinds of people.

But all men (except for wives), and all, it seems to me, casual
acquaintances without a steady friend among them. I begin to
wonder if he takes women out and if he's knocked about on his own before I arrived, because he seems happy enough with my
company now and I can't see that I've pushed anybody out. He
looks easy-going and self-sufficient but it strikes me that under it he might be a lonely bloke; and then I tell myself to stop trying to
weigh him up according to my own character. There
are
people
who are happy on their own, friendly with a lot of people and really
intimate with nobody; And there are men who are born bachelors, who don't need women except as an occasional little bonus on top
of everyday life. Perhaps Conroy's one of these, who's had a bite at the apple, got a bad dose of bellyache, and doesn't intend to go
back for more.

One night we're having a pint in a pub called the Mitre, standing
by the open bar, when a party of people come in. They're all young
and dressed casually and there's something vaguely arty about
them that I can't put my finger on. Conroy tells me they're part of
the company from the Palace and I remember that the theatre is
only just round the corner. A tall bloke in sweater and slacks and a cravat in his open-necked shirt is getting the drinks. They all drink
bitter, pints for the men and halves for the women. There are four men and two girls and one of the birds is the most gorgeous thing
I've ever clapped eyes on.

'That redhead's a stunner,'I say, and Conroy nods.

'Fleur Dunham. She is a bit of a knockout.'

As I'm looking at her she sees Conroy and lifts her hand and
smiles. At the same time the tall bloke turns from the bar and spots
Albert as well. He raises his arm in a mock salute.

'You know 'em, then?'I say.

'Yes, 'course I do. Want to go across?'

'I don't mind.'

'Come on, then.'

'Hang on a sec. What d'you say her name is?'

'Fleur,'Albert says. 'Flower to her friends.'

He winks. I don't know if he's kidding or not as he sets off across
the carpet with me hi tow and suddenly wondering if my flies are
zipped up and whether there's any snot on my face from the last
time I blew my nose. These things do happen, you know.

There's the usual round of introductions with me missing most
of the names, then Conroy says:

'Vic wanted to touch Fleur to see if she was real.'

The men laugh and I say, 'Now just a minute, Albert,'and shoot a glance at the other bird in the party, wondering how she'll take what seems to me like a stupid and tactless remark. But she just stands there holding her glass with a faint smile on her face and it occurs to me that she's probably used to waiting in the shade while this Fleur dazzles every bloke within thirty feet.

Fleur isn't disappointing from close up, either. No rough complexion or lines you can't see from some way off. It would be surprising really if she did have lines because she can't be more than
twenty-one or -two and absolutely at the peak of her condition. She might be one of those women who weather well and get really interesting in their thirties but this combination of looks and freshness is something that can't last for ever and I wonder if somebody's having it off with her, because if there isn't it's a rotten crying shame. I don't know if she takes Conroy's remarks seriously or she's just being polite but she holds out her hand and I take it for a second and say hello. Just then I remember reading somewhere about a country where a man compliments a woman by saying, 'You look so beautiful I want to take all my clothes off,'and I turn away to hide my grin.

Nobody seems to notice but the second bird, who lifts her eye
brows at me as the others start a conversation.

'That was an amusing little thought you just had,'she says, and I feel my grin widen. 'It was, but I can't share it with you. I don't know you well enough.'

'Oh,'she says,'like that, is it?'

I shake my head. 'No, not really.'

Apart from not knowing her I can't offend her by repeating
the thought in connexion with another bird. Because this one is something of a looker in her own right - small face with nicely
modelled cheekbones and fair hair with paler blonde streaks that
look as though it's been bleached in the sun - and it's only Fleur
knocking your eye out that stops you from noticing straight away.

'Have you been, er, performing tonight?'I ask her, and she nods.

'Is this the pub you usually use?'

'Yes. It's the nearest. By the time we've got our make-up off it's
too late for more than a quick one.'

'How do you come to know Albert?'

'He once did some work for us. We wanted a light metal structure
for a play we were doing. A very symbolic piece with skeleton sets.
Esther Franklyn is interested in the theatre so she spoke to her husband and he sent Albert to help us.'

'My mother-in-law's first name is Esther.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. It's not a common name, is it?'

'No, I suppose not. You're married, are you?'

'Yes, only my wife's still in Yorkshire. She'll be coining down here when I get us a place to live.'

'And you work with Albert?'

'Yes. I used to work with him once before, back home. I've only
been here a few weeks, though. I'm just finding my way round.
I've seen most of the pubs but not much else.'

'Oh, it's not a bad town, and it has the great advantage of being
close to London.'

'Can I get you another drink?'

'Is there time?'

'Just, I think. Anyway, I want another one before he puts the towels on.'I look round at the others. 'What about your friends?'

'Oh, I shouldn't bother. Don't get a full round.'

'Why not?'

'We usually pay for our own.'

'Are you proud, or something?'

'No, just broke most of the time.'

'Don't let me be awkward.'

I go and get the glasses filled, hoping she won't get absorbed
into the other conversation while my back's turned, because I want
to talk to her some more.

'Here you are, then.'

'Thank you. Cheers.'

'Cheers . .. Isn't there much money in rep., then?'

'Not that you'd notice. Most of them run on a shoestring.'

'How many are there in the company?'

'About ten permanent and some who double acting with stage
management.'

'Do you get a salary or are you paid on a kind of piecework
basis?'

'Oh, a salary. So we have to be kept working or we're so much
dead weight. But we're luckier than most, really. Where they do
weekly rep. you could be doing a play at night, rehearsing another
one during the day, and learning a third in your own time.'

'Crikey!'

'But we're on fortnightly, so it's not so bad. Sometimes you
alternate a big part with a small one, and sometimes you have a
fortnight off altogether.'

'But not too often because you have to earn your keep, eh?'

'No, not too often. They watch that.'

'I noticed when I came down for my interview that you were
doing
An Inspector Calls.
Were you in that?'

'Mmm. I was a maid.'

'What part are you playing this week?'

She pulls a face and grins. 'A maid. But I have a different wig.'

'They seem to have you in a corner.'

'No, it's not as bad as that. I've had some big parts. Lady
Macbeth, Hedda Gabler; really strong meat. Next week I'm doing
Blanche Dubois in
Streetcar.'

'All sweat and suggestive looks.'

'If that were all you needed... It's a big part, and a scaring one.'

'Phoney Deep South accent and all that.'

'That's the least of my worries, though that's bad enough.'

'I'd like to come and see you.'

'You know the procedure. You buy a ticket at the door and
walk right in. But don't come this week. It's a ridiculous
play.'

'Oh?'

'A thriller.'

'You never know, I might like it.'

'I don't see how you could.'

'Somebody must like it or they wouldn't have put it on.'

'If it comes to that, I suppose you can find audiences for almost
anything.'

Her voice seems cool now. She looks sideways at the rest of the
group as though dropping the conversation, and me with it. Perhaps
I'm reading her wrong but at the same time I could kick myself for going out of my way to make her think I might be a moron when I was getting on so well with her and, in fact, wanted to impress her.
I can't remember talking to many bright birds, and this one is
attractive into the bargain.

I'm still standing there feeling slightly stupid and trying to think
of something to say that might change the impression I'm sure
she's got of me now when the landlord calls for the glasses and the
tall bloke finishes his pint and looks at the others.

'Well, children, who's for home?'

We troop out into the car park where Conroy asks if anybody needs a lift; but they're all going the other way. One of the bods
gets up behind the tall bloke on a scooter and the rest of them pile
into an A40 that seems to belong to the bird I've been talking to
because she climbs in behind the wheel.

But before she gets in she looks across at me.

'We might see you next week, then?'

'I'll see
you,
anyway,'I say. glad she hasn't gone off me altogether.

'Don't expect Vivien Leigh, though,'she says.

'I won't form any opinions till afterwards.'

'And not too many then,'she says.

The scooter leaves the yard with a roar and shoots off up the
street. Under its noise the bird says something else that I don't catch before ducking out of sight on the other side of the car. I follow Conroy across the yard. When we're in the Morris I say:

'What did you say that bird's name was? The one I was talking
to.'