‘No, she is not mad.’
‘What then?’
‘She loves him.’
‘Oh, God, spare me.’
‘What, spare you? Why?’
‘Love. For God’s sake. What does it mean?’
‘You tell me. I seem to remember being presented with a whole bag of caramels, for my very own, this very afternoon, in token of your love for me, among other things.’
‘Well, that’s completely different.’
‘How?’
‘The way I feel about you couldn’t possibly be compared to the way Nicola feels about Jonathan.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Well, for God’s sake. You’re being disingenuous, aren’t you?’
‘No, truly not. I genuinely want to know what you mean.’
‘Our situation is totally different from theirs. They couldn’t either of them possibly feel as do either of us. Their situation is completely different, and so are they. Nothing is comparable.’
‘That doesn’t mean she can’t love him, in her way, according to her nature and her situation.’
‘Alright, but I can’t take that kind of love seriously’
‘I think that’s very intolerant of you, not to say arrogant, to say nothing of unimaginative.’
‘Yes, that sounds like me.’
‘So what could you possibly know about love?’
‘Do you have to be tolerant, and humble, and imaginative, to know anything about love?’
‘Yes.’
There was a moment’s silence, and then Geoffrey spoke. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘you’ve just made a serious point. How disconcerting.’
‘Well, we were having a serious conversation, weren’t we?’
‘Were we?’
‘For heaven’s sake. We were talking about love. After all.’
‘And nothing is more serious than love.’
‘No, nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.’
There was another brief silence. ‘Actually,’ said Geoffrey reflectively, ‘I suppose nothing is as serious as love.’
‘No, nothing. Nothing whatsoever.’
‘Love, eh?’
‘Yeah. Love.’
‘Listen. Don’t ever tell anyone I said that, will you? About nothing being as serious as love. I’ll never be able to show my face on a squash court again.’
‘When did you ever show your face on a squash court?’
‘Well, you know what I mean. It’s the principle of the thing.’
‘Alright. I mean, when all’s said and done, what would I want with a man who had no squash court credibility?’
‘Exactly.’
‘All the same, I still can’t see how a reasonably intelligent and actually attractive lady like Nicola—’
‘Oh, you think she’s intelligent do you?’
‘Yes, and attractive, yes; how she can—’
‘I didn’t realise you thought she was attractive.’
‘Well, isn’t she?’
‘Apparently’
‘Right. So I can’t see how she could love a twit like Jonathan.’
‘He’s rather tasty.’
‘What?’
‘If you like that sort of thing.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Try me.’
‘How?’
‘That’s your problem.’
‘God. Jonathan. Tasty. God.’
‘I think they make quite a good couple, in a way. They look right together.’
‘Look right?’
‘Yes, you know. They look good together.’
Geoffrey, still astounded, did his best to consider this proposition. ‘I suppose they do,’ he said. ‘I suppose they do.’
‘You can generally tell whether people are basically right for each other by whether they look good together, don’t you think?’ said Susannah. ‘The idea never once occurred to me,’ Geoffrey replied. ‘It’s not even occurring to me now. Do we look good together?’
She laughed. ‘What do you think?’ she said. He was still in a state of utter perplexity. She laughed again, and flapped the tea-towel in his face. ‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked. ‘I still don’t see how she can love him,’ he said, ‘however good they may or may not look together. Or however tasty he may or may not be. Not that he is.’
‘He can do the Times crossword.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘Shall we go to bed?’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do the Times crossword?’
‘We’ve only got a Guardian.’
‘Won’t that do instead?’
‘For some reason, it doesn’t seem to count the same.’
‘I suppose we’ll just have to go to bed then.’
‘Oh, by the way, I told Nicola she could come and stay here, if this situation doesn’t get sorted out pronto. If she really has to leave.’
‘Well, by the way, I think that was rather unilateral of you.’
‘What else could I do?’
Geoffrey heaved a sign and looked at her. ‘Let’s just assume,’ he said, ‘that the situation will get sorted out. After all, they’re basically right for each other, as you pointed out. This is just a storm in a teacup.’
‘Poor Nicola,’ said Susannah sadly.
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, quite seriously. ‘One way or another, poor Nicola.’
‘And even poorer Jonathan,’ said Susannah.
‘Sod Jonathan,’ said Geoffrey. He had had enough. ‘Yes, well,’ said Susannah, ‘let’s go to bed, shall we?’ So they did.
After all, Nicola told herself, alone under the covers, the flat silent around her, Jonathan absent in the country: he could not really, not surely, have meant it.
Of course, yes, he meant it: but only because he was mistaken. The thing that was wrong was a mistake, and she would, as soon as ever she could, discover this mistake and put it right: and then everything Jonathan had said, and meant, would be rescinded. As soon as ever