The Girl in a Swing

at length. 'It was very good of you, Alan, to take the

  trouble to write me from Copenhagen. I appreciate that very,

  very much.'

  'Not at all, Morgan. It was a pleasure. Do you like the

  sound of the punchbowl? It's a beauty, I can assure you,

  and quite undamaged.'

  'You bet I do. And there's no better judge than you. I'm

  most grateful to you, Alan, for all you've done. Now here's

  what I've been thinking. I'm going to be in London on Wednesday,

  but only for the one night. I'll be at the Hyde Park

  Hotel. Now listen, why don't I ask you to come and have

  dinner that evening? Then I can have the pleasure of settling

  the deal and thanking you personally for all your trouble. I

  hope you can make it, because I'm going right back to the

  States from Paris and won't be back in London again in quite

  a while. It'd be very nice to see you again and have some

  talk about porcelain and other things. I hope you're not tied

  up already?'

  I knew what this meant all right. Mr Steinberg wanted his

  punchbowl quicker than air freight and had decided that it

  would be practicable to take it back himself to the States

  from Paris. If it came to that, I also wanted him to have it

  quickly, for it had made a considerable hole in my capital,

  and my profit, at the agreed price, would be a good one. I

  did a bit of quick thinking and, like John Gilpin, came to the

  conclusion that loss of time, although it grieved me sore, yet

  126

  loss of pence, full well I knew, would trouble me much more.

  'No, I'm not tied up, Morgan. As a matter of fact I have

  to be in London that day anyway -'

  'Oh, you do? Where you staying?'

  I told him, and went on, 'I'm perfectly free that evening.

  I'll bring the punchbowl with me, properly packed for your

  journey. There's just one thing - would you terribly mind if

  I brought a friend along? I can't give you all the details on

  the long-distance line, but I assure you that you'll like this

  friend. I hope that wouldn't be an imposition?'

  'No problem, Alan, no problem. A pleasure. Is this another

  ceramics expert you'd like me to meet?'

  'Well, not exactly, but I'll telephone you in London and

  make it all clear."

  'Olga the beautiful spy, huh?'

  'Just that. It really will be nice to see you and deliver the

  goods.' *

  'It'll be a mutual pleasure, Alan. Until Wednesday, then;

  about seven-fifteen to seven-thirty. 'Talk to you soon. 'Bye

  now.'

  My mother had been right, I thought, as Kathe at last came

  through the double doors from the Customs at Heathrow

  (I had been waiting nearly half an hour) pushing three battered

  suitcases on a wire trolley rather as though she were

  wheeling a pram. It was not possible for Kathe to look anything

  but strikingly beautiful, but now she also looked drawn

  and tired; travel-weary, and preoccupied rather than expectant.

  I called to her, but at first she could not make out

  where I was and stood looking here and there along the

  barrier. A woman beside me, with whom I had been idly chatting,

  murmured, 'Oh, poor dear!' and I had to call a

  second and then a third time before she finally saw me. At

  once she smiled, fully and joyously; as though, on a holiday,

  I had wakened her to the prospect of a long summer day of

  delightful pleasure.

  'What a beautiful girl!' said the woman. 'I do congratulate

  you!'

  127

  I answered something or other, backed out from among

  the people pressing against the barriers and ran to the exit.

  Lifting Kathe's hand from the trolley, I thrust it to one side

  and took her in my arms as though we had been alone in

  the hall. She said not a word, and no one interrupted us.

  Holding her close, I could feel in her compliant warmth no

  least trace of tension, haste or self-consciousness. It was as

  though, from the inexhaustible source of her own ardour

  and joy, she was prepared to oblige me for as long as ever I

  might wish. At length, her lips against my ear, she whispered,

  'So - now it begins' and, as I released her, gripped my

  hands in hers and suddenly flung herself backwards to the

  full extent of her arms, swinging from side to side and

  laughing. I pulled her forward, gave her another quick kiss

  and turned to take over the trolley; just in time to glimpse a

  porter grinning at his mate with a look that said 'Got it bad,

  ain't he?' Yet - or so it seemed to me - there was in his

  expression less of ridicule than of admiration - a kind of

  vicarious delight - Til tell thee, Dick, where I have been.' I

  could not feel the least resentment, for to me he seemed to

  be acknowledging rather than deriding this wonderful moment.

  'How are you, Kathe?'

  'Oh - tired, hungry, grubby - too happy to care. I'm just

  a bundle of muslin. Take me - anywhere - wherever-we're

  going.'

  'Was the journey a strain?'

  'It isn't now.'

  Nevertheless she seemed, I thought - as she had not in my

  arms a minute before - a trifle on edge as we made our way

  across the expanse of the hall. The wide space in airports, of

  course, always stimulates younger children to running play it's

  a pity more parents don't seem to realize that this is

  natural cause and effect, almost an inevitable reaction - and

  once, when a little girl, chased by another, just avoided colliding

  with our trolley, Kathe started violently and clutched

  my arm with a sudden, sharp cry that made two or three

  nearby heads turn in our direction.

  'Steady on, dearest!' I said, a little startled myself. 'Did

  128

  you think she was going to hurt herself? I'd seen her all

  right.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry; it's just that I'm tired, Alan. I thought oh,

  you know how sometimes on a journey you say to yourself

  it's the end and then it isn't quite the end, so you get

  - what is it? - scratchy.'

  'Well, be scratchy, my darling, if it helps. I can take it. I

  had my skin thickened this morning specially for you.'

  'Oh, yes!' She gave my wrist a quick little pinch. 'Lovely!

  Like an elephant! Don't you say "It's a bit thick" when you

  want to complain about something? I'll never complain

  about anything again.'

  It was nearly midnight when we got to the hotel. Kathe,

  although she had said she was hungry, declined food or

  drink. Our rooms were on the same floor, but not adjacent.

  Before unpacking my own things I went along the corridor

  and made a little tour of Kathe's room to make sure there

  were no dud light bubs, rattling doors, dripping taps or

  broken coat hangers. If I had anything to do with it she

  should be troubled by no least thing.

  She slid off her shoes and lay on the bed, watching me.

  When I had made sure that there was nothing at fault I

  came and sat beside her on the eiderdown. She lifted one of

  her stockinged feet and I caressed it, smil
ing down at her.

  'There's no gravel left now, Alan. You took it all off - remember?'

  'Vividly. I wonder whether there's anything you'd like me

  to do for you, darling? Shall I run you a bath?'

  'Oh, yes, please! That would be lovely.'

  When I came back from the bathroom she was sitting in

  front of the glass in a white, candlewick dressing-gown. I

  kissed her cheek and said, 'Well, I suppose that's it, then. I

  don't want to go, but you must need some sleep. We can get

  breakfast up to ten; I've checked. Shall I ring you about

  nine-ish?'

  Suddenly she half-turned where she sat, flung one arm

  round my waist and pressed her head against my body.

  'Alan, don't go! Please don't go yet!'

  She had next to nothing on. Looking down, I could see

  129

  the curve of one smooth, light-brown breast rising and falling

  between the shaggy lapels of the dressing-gown. Yet

  whatever had brought about this sudden burst of emotion,

  it was not desire. For one thing, it lacked her style. She was

  trembling, tense as a bird in the hand. As I stroked her hair,

  perplexed and wondering what it could be about, she drew

  one side of my coat over her head, like a child hiding under

  the bedclothes.

  I spoke in German. 'Go and have your bath, Liebchen. Of

  course I'll stay a bit if you want; but it's only nerves, you

  know, and exhaustion. I should put the light out and go to

  sleep.'

  'I'm afraid of the dark, Alan! I'm afraid of the dark!'

  Wondering whether she were serious, I raised her face to

  mine and she, looking into my eyes, repeated pathetically,

  'I'm afraid of the dark.'

  'The devil you are! You mean always, or just now, or

  what?'

  'Nein, nicht immer; but I'm terribly afraid now - I know

  it's silly - oh, dearest Alan, please stay until I'm asleep!'

  Coming from her, it did not seem in the least odd. Now

  that I knew what was troubling her and what she wanted, it

  all seemed perfectly natural.

  'Of course I will. And look, here's my room number, writ

  large on the back of this elegant house magazine for foreign

  visitors. If you wake up in the night and want me, just pick

  up the 'phone, all right? You might turn the wireless on, too.

  There's sure to be something coming from somewhere.'

  She nodded, still staring up at me, teeth on lower lip.

  'Bath now, then?'

  'No, I've changed my mind. I'll just wash my face and

  clean my teeth. Oh, you are good to me, Alan! Bless you!'

  She was asleep in ten minutes. Looking down at her lying

  in the bed, I longed to embrace her just once more, but refrained.

  Leaving the bathroom light on, with a cushion to

  keep the door ajar, I tiptoed out of the elf-lit room and returned

  to my own.

  130

  We stood leaning together on the broad, flat parapet above

  the outfall of the Serpentine, beneath and behind us the

  sound of the cascade. In front, the lake stretched away to the

  distant bridge, to the Peter Pan statue out of sight beyond,

  and the upper pool where Harriet Shelley drowned in 1816,

  her body undiscovered for a month. Three or four boats

  were out, and we could hear shrieks of laughter from one,

  in which two girls were teasing a young man who was catching

  enough crabs to fill a bucket. Under the steady, light

  breeze the surface was broken into wavelets so regular as

  almost to appear fixed - a stippled glaze on earthenware, or

  a patterned floor for the feet of a goddess - like those in

  'The Birth of Venus'. Glancing behind, I caught sight of the

  crimson splash of a bed of tulips, those most pleasingly

  urban of flowers, blooming as they were told, to confer, like

  guardsmen, a piquancy of disciplined formalism upon the

  riot of May. On either side stretched the grass and the

  elegant trees, between which well-trained horses walked,

  trotted and cantered to order. The sun shone. The cherry

  trees, a shade later than those in Copenhagen, were flowering

  fit for forty Chinese poets to get to work over their

  wine-cups. As at an opera or a ballet, it was impossible not

  to feel that after all, there was a certain amount to be said

  in favour of the human race if it could assemble and order

  something like this. The scene had a limpid, joyous quality,

  not so much hopeful as innocent of hope; for hope implies

  its reverse. This was a morning which, like the bright flies

  flashing through its air, knew nothing of winter or frost. To

  children at play, the sight of crookt age on three knees even

  of a cripple - is acceptable with happy indifference. I'm

  happy, so he must be happy too. How can it be otherwise?

  There is no other condition.

  All this was a setting for Ka'the, leaning on the rough stone

  like some calm-eyed, indolent court beauty gazing down at

  the golden carp in a pool of the palace gardens. She was

  wearing a low-crowned, wide-brimmed straw hat - bought

  that morning - with a long green ribbon, the ends of which

  trailed over her left shoulder. Her sleeved dress was of yel131

  low cotton, the weave slightly open, so that one was aware

  of the paler skin beneath, like the ground of a picture over

  which the painter has laid other colours and textures, allowing

  the ground itself either to blend or in places to remain

  exposed. Putting my hand flat on her back, I moved it

  gently up and down, feeling the sliding of the fabric upon

  the smooth flesh. Kathe, sighing with enjoyment, wriggled

  her shoulders.

  'Would you like to take it off, Alan?'

  'Yes, of course I would.'

  'All right, then take it off.'

  'Now this minute?'

  'M'm-h'm.'

  While I was trying to think of some appropriate answer

  to continue the game, she said, 'All right, then, I will,' raised

  her hands to the back of her neck, undid the hook-and-eye and

  drew the zip down several inches. Then she slid the top of

  the dress off her bare shoulders until it lay below her white

  brassiere, where she held it with folded arms. A man walking

  past stared at her and she gazed coolly back at him, so that

  he averted his glance in confusion and quickened his pace.

  'German bride-to-be arrested in Hyde Park. Picture on

  page 4.'

  'Dos weiss ich - that's the silly part. If it weren't for that

  I would undress, for you and everybody. I feel so proud. You

  think I'm beautiful, don't you? You love me?'

  'That's the year's understatement. You drive me demented.

  Actually people do undress in public from time to

  time - young women at pop festivals and so on - and nothing

  very dreadful seems to happen.'

  'Ye-es, I know.' Slowly, she drew her dress up again and

  fastened it. 'Why do you think they do?'

  'Well, I don't think they're always just exhibitionist. Kind

  of a - well, an elevated feeling, I suppose -'

  'Ah, well, dearest Alan, you see my motive would be entirely

  exhibiti
onist! To drive everyone crazy.'

  'Well, you've got something to exhibit.'

  'M'm, I have.'

  132

  She looked at me sidelong, her lips a little apart, brighteyed

  and eager as a thrush with a snail.

  'Alan, is there anything I could tell you about myself

  which would change your mind about me?'

  'I wonder you ask. The answer's No. You could have

  robbed a bank, spied for the Russians or hijacked an aeroplane.

  How about joining the I.R.A.? No, seriously, Kathe,

  nothing, nothing at all could make any difference to the way

  I feel about you. I love you more than Heathcliff loved Cathy.

  As far as you're concerned, any kind of conventional morality's

  completely meaningless.'

  'More than who loved who?'

  'Oh, skip it.' I glanced at my watch. 'Anyway, dearest

  Kathe, nice as it is here, and for all your longing to manifest

  yourself as the Aphrodite of Hyde Park, I'm going to ask you

  to start addressing yourself - no, not undressing, wait for it!

  - to serious business. Clothes - I want you to come and help

  me to buy you lots of beautiful clothes. And an engagement

  ring, which I ought to have bought before but decided I'd

  rather buy here than in K0benhavn. Your job's simply to tell

  me exactly what you want. How does that grab you?'

  'Oh, Alan, I could cry - really! How many girls ever hear

  that? It sounds too marvellous to be true.'

  'You better believe it, as Mr Steinberg would say.'

  'Wer ist der Herr Steinberg?'

  'Oh, Lord, I clean forgot to tell you! Actually, he's rather

  important just now, is Mr Steinberg; I must remember to

  telephone him. Let me explain, and we'll come back to the

  clothes in a minute.'

  I told her about the Dr Wall punchbowl and the dinner

  arranged for the following evening. Kathe clapped her hands

  with delight.

  'Oh, how marvellous! A wealthy customer - and I'm to

  back you up and do you credit! My first job as Mrs Desland

  before I even am! But, Alan, are you sure you really want me

  there?'

  'Well, I'm not going to leave you hanging up in the wardrobe,

  darling.'

  133

  Til turn his head for him, you see if I don't, even if I

  don't know anything yet about china. He'll forget all about

  the punchbowl!'

  'I should think that's a foregone conclusion. But I'm

  glad you like the idea so much. Now, about clothes -'

  'Clothes.'

  'Vesture, raiment, apparel. Well, first of all, what would

  you like to wear in church for the wedding? You do want a

  white wedding, don't you?'

  Kathe dropped her eyes and made no reply. For a moment

  or two I supposed either that this was another of her acting

  games, or else cthat she felt a little shy. Then I saw that her

  hands were unsteady and her knuckles, clutching her bag,

  were white. She gave a quick glance to one side and then the

  other, almost as though to ensure that we could not be

  overheard. Into her air had come something unaccountable,

  tense, almost desperate.

  'Kathe, what's the matter? Have I said something silly?

  You've got a dress already, is that it, and it's going to be a

  surprise? Oh, I am an ass: but I meant well, honestly. I'm

  terribly sorry -'

  Without raising her eyes she shook her head. I waited, but

  still she said nothing.

  'Dear Kathe, please tell me -'

  She was still gripping the bag and I, after fumbling unsuccessfully

  for her clenched hands, took her wrists instead.

  At length, almost inaudibly, she said, 'I - I don't think I can

  marry you in church, Alan. I don't - well, I don't want to do

  that.'

  This struck me silent in turn. Having thought for a minute

  I asked, 'Why, darling? Can you tell me why?'

  She only shook her head.

  At all costs, I thought, I must get to the bottom of this,

  and quickly, too - now, in fact. If she can't come straight

  out with it, I shall have to ask leading questions. Whatever

  it may be, it isn't going to make any difference to the way

  I feel; but with any luck it may turn out to be something we

  can get over quite easily.

  Suddenly I had a happy thought. How stupid I'd been 134

  what a callow duffer - not to have gone into this earlier on!

  'Kathe, darling, are you a Catholic; or - or a Calvinist, or

  some other denomination, perhaps? Is that it?'

  She shook her head again, slightly and rapidly.

  'You're an ordinary German Lutheran?'

  A nod.

  'Well, then, is it that you've - dropped out - you don't