We all gaped at this display of erudition, and I couldn’t myself decide whether it proved how thoroughly Framm made himself master of subjects outside his own field, or that he was just a snob. Anyhow, he sounded so authoritative that nobody tackled him from the other side, if there was any other side.
The party broke up soon after that, and Brad left with the rest. I thought it was strange he didn’t stay for a more personal good-by when the others had gone, but my father said he was probably hoping to get a lift into town with Framm. “He hasn’t much time to spare if he’s to catch the evening train tomorrow. It leaves at eight.”
I said: “He might have given me the chance to wish him well.”
“I’m sure he knows you do. Anyhow, you can telephone tomorrow.”
“He’s not on the telephone. It’s another of the things he can’t afford…like taxis.”
* * * *
Rain fell during the night, but the next morning there was blue sky and sunlight. I had breakfast before anyone else, then went out for a walk on the Heath. It was more than sunshine there, it was pure radiance. I followed my usual trail, along the Spaniards’ Road to Highgate and then down the hill. I kept thinking of Brad and Framm and how odd, in several ways, the previous evening had been.
Suddenly, as I was crossing Parliament Hill Fields, I remembered my father’s remark about Brad’s furnished rooms and that my mother “must have” been there; if that were so, or even if it weren’t, the conclusion leaped at me that there was no reason against my calling on him myself. I also remembered the address from that night of the Byfleets’ party when we drove him home and he gave directions to Henry; it was 25 Renshaw Street, off the Camden Road. I found a tram that took me near by. In daylight the street seemed what it mainly was, a slum; but in London appearances can be deceptive; some of those identical houses have declined to different levels, so that they are not always either as bad or as passable as they look. The one Brad lived in had the remains of quality; it was dingy but not dirty; one could have lived in it if one had to. There was a rack of names in the hallway, and the stale smell of cabbage and floor polish that seems to pervade so many London houses whether slums or not. Brad was on the second floor; I climbed to it and tapped on his door. He called “Come in,” as if he had left it ready for someone to open.
It wasn’t such a bad room, especially in the morning sunshine. The windows were tall and there was a marble mantelpiece surmounting a small gas fire. The furniture was shabby and the whole place littered as one might expect when anyone has a day’s notice to pack for abroad. I took in the surroundings first because Brad was in some inner room; he came out fixing his tie. “Well…” he exclaimed. “This is a surprise….”
I said yes, I imagined it was, and I hoped he didn’t mind my having called on him without warning. “I was just taking a walk, it’s such a lovely day, I thought I’d drop in to say good-by properly…there wasn’t a chance last night.”
He laughed. “So many things were happening.”
I laughed also. “I see you’re packing and I know you must be terribly busy…but I did want to wish you plenty of fun and success.”
“That’s nice of you—very nice of you.”
I decided I wouldn’t stay more than ten minutes, but in the meantime I might as well sit down. When I did so he moved over to the mantelpiece, leaning his back against it and looking as if he didn’t know what to say next.
I said: “I’m glad I’ve seen where you live. These old houses do have big rooms, that’s one thing.”
“I changed from the set upstairs a few months ago. These are bigger and there’s a kitchenette. I couldn’t exactly afford the change, but I decided to spend more on luxury. I’m not such an austere devil at heart as some people imagine.”
“I wouldn’t call it luxury.”
“Well, of course, you wouldn’t.”
There was a silence then which both of us, I think, kept up deliberately till it was broken by some rather noisy plumbing in another part of the house. He laughed again. “Do you wonder I didn’t give any dinner parties here? Impossible place, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t think so. You once said all you wanted was to do useful work. Plenty of useful work has been done in rooms like this.”
“And you think I’ve changed since I said that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the mood you’re in at the thought of leaving.”
He said suddenly: “Let’s take a walk.”
“Now? A walk? But…can you…” I looked round at the unfinished packing.
“You said it was a lovely day.”
“On the Heath, yes, but—”
“Then let’s go there.”
“Are you sure you’ve enough time?”
“Yes.”
“All right then.”
We took a bus up the Hampstead Road, and during the ride he went on talking of his rooms and their amenities so ironically that I began to see less and less point in it. Was he trying to hate the place just to help him over the wrench of departure? I hinted at that, and he answered: “Wait till we start walking and I’ll let you into a secret.”
We got out at Jack Straw’s Castle, then took to the open Heath. “Well?” I asked.
“I’m not going away.”
I had a curious instant of relief that surprised me more than he had; then I was shocked.
“You mean you’re not leaving for Vienna tonight?”
“I’m not leaving for Vienna…at all.”
I asked if that meant that the whole arrangement with Framm was canceled.
“Yes…or will be when he gets to hear of it.”
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“I called him at his hotel and they said he wasn’t to be disturbed until noon. The prima donna.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Oh yes—he’s great. A genius, if ever there was one.”
“But you were packing?”
“Yes…until I changed my mind.”
“When was that?”
“I didn’t look at the clock.”
“You just suddenly changed your mind?”
“I’d been thinking it over most of the night. I didn’t sleep.”
“Oh, Brad, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry that I’m not going? That doesn’t sound as if I were very popular.”
“You know I don’t mean that… I’m just sorry you’ve had all this worry. You must have been worried if it kept you awake all night.”
“And you’re also sorry I’ve decided to stay here…aren’t you?”
“Brad, it’s no good asking me for an opinion till I know what made you change your mind. Maybe you have a perfectly good reason.”
“And what if I haven’t? Supposing I just don’t want to go? Dammit, I’ve a right to please myself, haven’t I?”
“Of course.”
“And to change my mind as many times as I like?”
“Of