The Watchers on the Shore (21 page)

The trouble is that after Donna's party Albert shows no sign of
wanting to go to the Mitre and meet them all again. In fact becomes
out with the occasional snide remark that sounds like he's gone off them altogether. I take the cracks as being a bit childish, though I can see his point - if she really upset him - why he might not want
to seem to be hanging about waiting for crumbs from Fleur's
table.

So it's not long before I'm forced to go out on a limb and it happens when I mention going to the Christmas play, which we haven't got to see yet.

'It won't be up to much. Family entertainment, and all that.'

'I thought it might be worth a try. Pass an evening on.'

'Waste of good drinking time if it's a dud.'

'Mmm.'

'You go if you want to.'

'Well, I-'

'Look, Vic, we might be mates but you don't have to live in my
pocket. You do what you want to do.'

'What about meeting in the pub afterwards?'

'No. I've got a standing invitation to have supper with some people I know. It's a good chance to take 'em up on it.'

He lets me off the hook with only the faintest flicker of a smile in
his eyes, and:

'You don't need me to hold your hand, do you?'

The play's an Arabian piece, a cross between a pantomime and a
straight play, based on the
1,001 Nights,
with incidental music
from records of Rimsky-Korsakov and Borodin. Fleur's a knock
out to look at as the Sultan's daughter and Donna plays Scheherazade, a wily bird, the latest in a series of unfortunate women, who stalls the Sultan (a wasteful old lecher who likes a fresh wife every
night) from lopping
her
head off by telling him a string of tales.
The thing that's surprised me most on going to the theatre is the colour of it, even in an ordinary play. On this piece, of course, they've been able to let themselves go a bit and there's all the
colours you can think of mingling on the stage, in tapestries,
hangings, costumes, and skin made up brown where the costumes
are on the brief side as they are with the Sultan's slaves and - a treat for the dads - the young houris in transparent trousers and
bangles. Remembering the slimness of Donna's wrists and hands and her general air of frailty as Blanche Dubois, I'm surprised to
see how firm and well-covered her body is: in the plump hollow of
her navel and the fleshing out of her breasts above the gold-
coloured bra-like top half of her costume.

I'm sitting down towards the front of the stalls, in the middle of a
row, and it takes me some time to get out of the building at the
end, crawling up the aisle behind kids in a daze from the combined
effects of the show and stopping up later than usual, and parents
trying not to get separated from their broods while making sure
they haven't left scarves or gloves or coats behind. One nipper of
six or seven waits till he's nearly to the foyer before remembering
that he slipped his shoes
off
during the show and he's left them back
among the seats. His mother, exploding, turns him round and
begins to force a way back against the tide while a chap I take to be
the father stands aside and, catching my glance, lifts his eyebrows at me.

'There'll be no dealing with them tomorrow morning.'

'Only once in a while, though.'

'Thank the lord for that,' he says, returning my smile.

I knew it was odds on that they'd be coming over to the Mitre
after the show but to make sure of it I've sent a note round to
Donna during the first interval, asking her if she'll have a drink
with me there. I'm well down my first pint, and not drinking fast,
by the time she comes into the pub. I see her first, apparently on her own, as she stands in the doorway to look for me. A wave of
the hand takes her eye and she smiles as she makes her way to me.

'Sorry I've been so long but I had to have a bath.'

'You're white again, then, under your clothes?'

'Pink and glowing,' she says, laughing.

'The others still splashing round in the tub?'

'No, an ex-member of the company dropped in and most of them have gone off to another pub.'

'Well look, don't let me keep you if you-'

'No, no,' she shakes her head. 'I see enough of them.'

'What will you have, then?'

'A half of bitter.'

'It'll run to a gin and tonic, you know. Or even two,' I add as she
seems to hesitate.

'I don't drink beer because it's cheaper, particularly,' she tells
me. 'I like it.'

'Well, be a little devil tonight.'

'In that case I'll have a Scotch and dry ginger.'

'Right you are. Suppose you grab those two seats over there and
I'll be with you in a jiffy.'

She goes away and I look after her for a second before emptying my glass and ordering the drinks. She's just a bit taller than Ingrid
and put together in the same neat way. Is she prettier? Would you say, seeing the two of them together, that one was more attractive than the other? But there's no point in comparisons of this sort. Detailed item-by-item totting up of physical qualities gets you nowhere when you're judging the power of a woman. Neither does adding personality. Because all these things together can't account for the fact that one man will sell his soul for a woman that another chap will only glance at with casual interest.

And my interest in her is more than casual.

Would I be doing myself a good turn if I had a drink with her then walked out of here and never laid eyes on her again?
I
might. But all I'm concerned with now is that she's here and on her own, which is a break I never expected. And the knowledge that she's just a few feet away and in a couple of seconds I shall be with her sends surging up through me as I pay for the drinks and take hold of the glasses a wave of happiness, pure and simple.

'Here we are, then. Do you want all the ginger in?'

'Half of it, please.'

I pour half of the Canadian dry into her Scotch and sit down next to her on the bench seat. I don't know whether it's better to be close to her like this or sit opposite so that I can look directly at her. Either way will do. I just wish we had more time. In half an hour they'll be turning us out of here and I don't see how I can set up this situation again without showing too much of my hand. Which wouldn't matter if I wasn't married. Married. That word, after all this time, sounds its old note of clammy doom; and sitting there with Donna next to me, seeing with one part of my vision the fingers round her glass, with the main part the glitter of bottles and glasses behind the bar, the drinkers at the counter, hearing the murmur and clatter of their talk and the soft music coming through off the tape, I wish, I wish like hell, not that I wasn't married exactly, or not in a way that would hurt Ingrid, but that I was free and had choice. And I'm mad as I haven't been mad for a long time with that younger me who fell for a bird, found he didn't love her but still had to have her, and had her in a way that made him twice stupid, turning what should have been a bit of a fling with a
willing girl - to be remembered afterwards as an experience and no real
harm done on either side - into something that would affect his whole life. I want to thump his stupid head.

'Where's Albert tonight?'

'Visiting some friends ... It's one reason why I wanted to see
you. After the party, I mean. It left a bad taste in my mouth.'

'What did?'

'Well, Albert. I thought he came over a bit childish.'

'I suppose I helped to rub him up the wrong way.'

'I didn't want you to mix me up with it, that's all.'

'I hadn't really thought about it. It's nothing to what
can
happen at parties.'

'I just wanted it straight, for the record.'

'All right.'

She sips her whisky, adds a drop more dry ginger, then opens
her bag and feels for cigarettes.

'Here, have one of these. If you smoke 'em with spats on.'

She takes one, smiling. 'I used to advertise these.'

'I beg your pardon.'

'On television. I was the girl who fell into the water trying to
throw a stick for the dog. Then my boy friend gave me a cigarette
while I sat wrapped in a big towel. "Together - the two of them -
and Rolled Gold." Don't you remember?'

'Vaguely.' I can't remember seeing her but I'm very impressed.

'Thank you. Shows what an impact I made. They must have
thought so too. I wasn't asked again.'

'Did you like doing a commercial?'

'Oh, I don't think anybody actually
likes
doing them. It's the
money that's useful. And they pay well.'

'I thought you must have some sidelines. I mean, you said there
wasn't much money in rep. but you have that flat.'

'That's an extravagance, really. I suppose I should share with
somebody, but I prefer to be on my own. Besides, I don't keep a
place in London like a lot of people in rep. do. This is cheaper than
a flat in town- or cheaper than a comparable place, anyway- and
I'm near enough to be able to catch anything interesting that comes
my way.'

'How long will you be here?'

'Probably for the full season. That's till the summer.'

'And what then?'

'Oh, something will turn up. Perhaps my big break's just round
the comer. I thought I was beginning to make headway last year. I
had thirteen weeks in "The Matchmakers" on television but then
the series folded and the characters with it. That led to small parts
in two films. Very small parts. In the second one my one immortal
line of dialogue ended up on the cutting-room floor.'

'You've got more guts than I have, being in a business like
that.'

'It's an overcrowded profession, but there's always room at the
top, as they say. And everybody hopes he'll establish himself a
good way up the ladder. I haven't done too badly at all. I work and
I live. Though I don't exactly manage to save.'

'How do you manage when there's no work going?'

'You do other things. I've been a waitress, a shop assistant and a
cinema usherette in my time. Of course if you're only out for a
few weeks you can go on the dole.'

'The dole?' I grin. 'Do actors draw the dole?'

'Of course. They're entitled to it and they all do it now and
again. The big fish and the little ones. There's one labour exchange
in town, you'd be surprised to see who turns up there from time to
time.'

I catch the waiter's eye.' Same again?'

'Yes, please.'

I order another round and Donna drains her glass and shrugs.

'If things got really bad I suppose I could go home and live off my parents for a while.'

'Where's home?'

'Cornwall. They would have to be bad, though, because it's too
far away to keep in touch properly.'

'What do your parents do?'