But it was summer. It was summer in England, hot and sweet and sticky. Everyone was stripping off to mow a lawn or hold a picnic or dive into the nearest dirty stretch of river. Nobody gave a sod. Euphoria had its high tide willynilly, come death, come danger. The unexpected heat made morons of us all, quite as effectively as did the interminable wretchedness of winter.
He sighed and breathed the warm air, full of discontent and indifference, those hallmarks of the true-born Englishman. As Jimmy withdrew his head from the window, Rose English was approaching, coming self-assuredly down the corridor.
‘Hello,’ she said, without noticeably smiling. ‘I wanted some cool air too. People should not give parties on nights like this.’
‘No,’ Jimmy replied, rather glumly. Yes, she had something about her.
‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you in there, Mr Solent.’
‘Jimmy, please. I’ve got such a wet surname.’ He had trained himself not to wait for laughter after making that modest joke. ‘You didn’t embarrass me; as you say, everyone’ll soon be in the same boat.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I mean, I hope I said nothing to hurt you.’
‘Of course not.’ His Norman Light was glowing; without looking directly, he could see hers was too. To change the subject, he said, ‘I could do with a swim now.’
‘Same here.’ He thought it was a schoolgirlish phrase for somebody of her seriousness to use and wondered if she was in some way trying to play down to him.
‘I know a fellow – he was at Oxford with me – who’s got a private swimming pool. Would you care to come for a bathe with me?’
‘Thank you. I should really prefer dinner,’ she said. He knew by her tone she thought he had tried to trap her into that; how could she believe him so subtle? He took one of her hands, thinking at the same time he must be a little tight to dare to do so. A lunatic notion blossomed in his brain, swelling like a blown balloon.
‘I’ve just thought of the idea!’ he said. ‘Quite spontaneous – there’s no catch. An evening like this is wasted in a place like this; it’ll probably pour with rain tomorrow! We could go out and have a swim with them – Hurn, their name is – and then we’ll still have time for a meal afterwards. Honestly! I mean how about it? It’s a genuine offer. It would be great fun.’
‘Perhaps it really would be great fun,’ she said pensively. A waiter, watching them interestedly, gave them gin-and-its. And all the while a drowning Jimmy-inside was telling him, ‘She’s not your kind, kid. You don’t like the cool and stately type. She’s nearly as big as you are. She’s too experienced: she could blow you into bubbles. She’s too old for you – she must be thirty-five if she’s a day. I warn you, Solent, you’ll make the biggest gaffe of your life if you persist in this bit of foolishness.’
‘You can ditch Uncle Felix, can’t you?’ he implored her, grinning ingratiatingly, and swallowing the gin-and-it.
‘Uncle’s no obstacle,’ she said. ‘He’s staying afterwards to talk to thingme – Clunes.’
‘Come on, Rangy!’ He said, taking her hand again. ‘Nothing’s stopping us. Nobody’ll miss us. Down that drink and let’s go while the going’s good.’
Jimmy-inside noted with disgust the lapse into basic American and the abuse of adverbial ‘down’ as a verb. He also noticed that this large, handsome girl was about to surrender herself to Jimmy’s care. ‘She’s a wonderful creature! Just be careful, that’s all I can say,’ Jimmy-inside sighed, and went off for the night.
They put their glasses on the window sill: superstitiously Jimmy slid his over till it touched Rose’s. Then he took her arm and hurried her down the carpeted stairs. The unending roar of the BIL party died behind them.
‘You’re telling the truth about this swimming pool, Jimmy?’ she asked.
‘Wait till you see it, Rangy!’
From then on she seemed to banish entirely any qualms she might have had. It was almost as if the idea had been hers rather than Jimmy’s.
2
A Towel in Common
The innocence, simplicity and diffidence which formed a good proportion of Jimmy Solent’s character were often ousted by male cunning; now mixed drink had precipitated their expulsion. Anyone who drinks at all knows there are a hundred degrees of sweet and subtle gradation between sobriety and the doddering old age of intoxication; Jimmy was a mere thirty or forty notches down the slide, and still firing on most cylinders. Only his old aunt Indecision had been shut away.
He conjured up a taxi directly Rose and he got outside and urged it to Charlton Square as fast as possible. Knowing something of the oddness of women, he had realised the cardinal fact that once they had bathing costumes and the question of nude bathing was thus disposed of, the whole stunt would seem, by comparison, respectable. He wanted to borrow Aubrey’s car: taxis to and from Walton-on-Thames would be expensive. He had yet to tell Rose exactly where the pool was, for fear that she would object that it was too far away.
Jimmy found when he reached the flat that Aubrey had evidently come in and gone out again with Alyson. That was bad; perhaps he had taken the damned MG. Moving like a clumsy wind, while Rose sat downstairs in the ticking taxi, Jimmy seized his own swimsuit and Alyson’s from the airing cupboard – it would have to fit Rose, or else. Sweeping into the kitchen, he pulled two bottles of Chianti from the broom closet which served as wine cellar. Then he was downstairs again, shouting goodnight to a surprised Mrs Pidney, and back in the taxi with his arm round Rose.
At the garage they were in luck. The MG was there. Aubrey and Alyson would be walking; it was a nice evening for walking, if you did not have to get to Walton. Jimmy paid off the taxi and bustled Rose into the coupé.
‘They’re looking at us as if you’re trying to kidnap me,’ Rose said, waving a hand in indication at a couple of mechanics.
Jimmy laughed.
‘No, it’s because we’re both bright pink,’ he said.
Laughing, they backed out of the garage. Jimmy drove with savage concentration, fighting to keep the whiskers of drink away from his vision. They could crash on the way back and welcome, but he was not going to spoil the evening now. He was full of exaltation. He had won a prize!
‘Had an old car when I was up at Oxford,’ he shouted to her. He should not have said it; he reminded himself of Penny, who had ridden in that car. Dear little, dull little, Penny! Penny had not the sheer presence of this great luscious lascivious lump …
‘What happened to it?’ she asked.
… nor that look in her eye.
‘Sold it to Gabby Borrows of Corpus for £20.’
You still owe me £4 on that deal, Gabby, you sod.
‘He got a bargain, didn’t he?’
What, off me, Ikey Solent!?
‘You should have seen “Tin Lizzie”! She was about tenth hand when I got her. And what am I sitting here talking to you about automobiles for, Rangy, my sweet pet?’
He