The Girl in a Swing

pretending to look at stock lists but in reality musing on the

  shape of things to come.

  Our incredible good fortune - due entirely to Kathe - had

  now begun to assume, in my mind, a sober, light-of-day

  aspect. No wonder, I thought, that I had not been myself on

  Tuesday evening, what with the heat and so much excitement.

  That was all there was to it, of course. Now I must

  start thinking how we ought to go about things, for Kathe

  was obviously entirely content to leave it to me.

  Apart from tactics, I was bursting to tell someone who

  could really understand what had happened: but here it

  would be necessary to be highly selective. It must not become

  common knowledge that we were in possession of a

  small, readily portable object of the highest value - even if

  I were to put it in the bank, which I didn't want to do. I had

  already warned Kathe - not that she needed warning. Neither

  Deirdre nor Mrs Taswell had been told anything about it.

  Much as I liked and respected the Newbury News - a model

  of what a local paper ought to be - they must not have it

  until we were ready. Reluctantly, I decided also against

  telling all the details to my mother. She had backed me to

  the hilt in all my ceramic projects and longed for my success.

  She would never be able to keep quiet about it. 'I simply

  must tell you about my son! Do you know what he's done,

  and that pretty wife of his? Well, apparently they were at a

  sale -' No, it wouldn't do. It would be all over the place in

  299

  no time. But in common, filial decency I must tell her something.

  She ought not to learn of it after anyone else.

  I rang up Bristol. 'Mummy, we've had a stroke of the

  greatest good luck. I can't tell you any more now, but I will

  soon. Only I just wanted you to be the first to know.'

  'Oh, Alan, how lovely! Is Kathe going to have a baby?'

  I couldn't help laughing. 'Well, for all I know she might

  be, and when and if she is I'll see that you're the first to

  know that, too. But what I'm talking about now is in the

  way of business. I'm afraid I can't tell you any details yet,

  but I wouldn't want you to think later that I'd told anyone

  before you. And there I'm going to mysteriously stop.'

  'Well, darling, I'll keep it under my hat, of course: but I'm

  very, very glad. You really do deserve it. I always knew you

  were marvellous at your ceramics and now I know.' (This

  was what Flick used to call a 'Mummyism'.) 'Will it be all

  right if I tell Gerald?'

  'Yes, of course." (That wouldn't hurt - they'd neither of

  them dream how big it really was.)

  'He'll be so thrilled! And Alan, dear, now you're on, when

  are you coming down to meet Gerald? I'm really longing to

  see you again - it's two months now, you know. Do you

  realize we've never been apart so long - not even when you

  were away at school?'

  'Well, how about next week-end? If that's all right, Kathe

  and I'll come down on the Friday, a week to-day, and stay

  till Sunday evening.'

  'Oh, lovely, dear! I'll be looking forward to it so much!

  I'll just ask Flick whether that will be all right. Flick! Flick,

  dear-' (Hand over mouthpiece.) 'Yes, she says that will be

  splendid. So will you -'

  Etcetera. I felt very glad. 'Must remember to take something

  for Angela, that literate genius. How about The Water

  Babies? I could still remember, from when I was six, the

  marvellous first seventy pages. Cruel Mr Grimes; and the

  Irishwoman; and Ellie in bed, and torn tumbling 'quick as he

  could into the clear cool stream' - oh, well, back to work.

  But I still couldn't settle. I wanted to tell the whole thing

  to someone able to grasp its import. It must be someone I

  300

  knew well enough, and someone completely safe. Suddenly

  I had a brainwave. I would tell Per Simonsen in Copenhagen.

  Per Simonsen, the manager of Bing & Gr0ndahl, was one

  of my closest friends in Denmark. During my early years

  as a dealer in fine ceramics, he had more or less taken me

  under his wing and instructed me in Danish porcelain, both

  modern and antique. It was thanks to him that I was more

  than familiar with the splendid Bing & Gr0ndahl private

  museum, and that I had become able to move in those circles

  and buy for myself.

  Per probably didn't know about the Girl in a Swing herself,

  but he knew quite enough about Bow, Chelsea and the

  other English eighteenth-century factories to be able to

  understand 'what I was on about', as Jack Cain would say. As

  a professional he could be relied upon to keep a professional

  secret, but over and above that he was six hundred miles

  away in Denmark. Finally, since I was in some sense a

  protege of his, he would feel no envy, but on the contrary be

  delighted by my news.

  'Kathe,' I said, 'I'm going to ring up Per Simonsen in

  K0benhavn.'

  'What for?'

  'Tell him about the Girl in a Swing. It'll be quite safe with

  him and he'll be thrilled to bits. Any messages you'd like to

  send to anybody?'

  'No. Why not tell someone else - not in K0benhavn?'

  'Well, but I'd like to tell Per - he's a good friend and he's

  taught me a lot. I must tell someone, and better him than

  anyone in this country. It won't get back here from him.'

  'Well, don't tell him I bought it. In fact, Alan dear, please

  don't mention me at all, would you mind?'

  'Why ever not? I'm proud of you - the credit's all yours.

  Can't I even tell him you found it?'

  'No. I'm - well, I've finished with K0benhavn now. That's

  an old life. I shan't go back there. I've forgotten them and

  I'd just rather everyone there forgot about me.'

  It was as good as a command. She could always command

  me. Indeed, I knew that I enjoyed this subjection. There was

  an erotic quality about it, even when - as now - it was not

  301

  directly connected with love. It never strayed, either at home

  or at work, into interference with things I needed to manage

  myself. On the contrary, she had a way of making me feel

  magnanimous, of enchancing my delight in being her lover

  whenever I yielded to these unexpected and sometimes surprising

  demands of hers. In any case, what she required of me

  were nearly always things which, though they might involve

  some slight sacrifice on my part, I could grant with little real

  inconvenience or difficulty: hence the pleasure. Indeed, I

  suspected that sometimes she invented them, as a kind of

  amorous sport, simply to afford me this sort of back-handed

  enjoyment.

  'Very good, ma'am; not a dicky-bird about you. Now then,

  where's the number? I'd better make it a personal call, hadn't

  I? in case Per isn't there or something. That means the

  operator. Here goes - one double-five for a start.'

  Til be in the shop. Come along when you've finished.' And

  she went down the passage.

  The internation
al operator took a fair while to answer, and

  when at length she did there was some difficulty in getting

  through to K0benhavn. There was a lot of 'Trying to connect

  you, sir,' and 'I'm afraid the lines seem to be very busy this

  morning. I'll try going through another way.' After a little,

  however, I heard the Danish ringing tone. A girl's voice answered,

  and the operator asked, 'Is Mr Simonsen available

  to take a personal call from England?'

  At this point, maddeningly, I lost the connection. Indeed,

  I seemed to have wandered off into a sort of vocal jungle of

  crossed lines. An American voice said, 'O.K., Jack, we'll make

  it a grand,' and vanished. This was followed by two French

  girls - 'Ainsi, 'fallals a la maison'; 'Ah, par exemple!' - and

  then a succession of gurgling, watery noises, as though the

  submarine cable had sprung a leak.

  'Hullo, operator, are you still with me? Newbury caller

  here. Operator? Oh, blast!'

  I was just going to break off and start again from scratch

  when suddenly the line became clear and a child's voice,

  speaking in German, said, 'Mummy? Mummy, I'm coming

  as fast as I can.' To this no one replied.

  302

  The voice, which sounded like that of quite a little girl,

  had a beseeching, almost frantic tone, so poignant that I

  couldn't help feeling I ought to try to give her some reassurance.

  Suppressing my impatience and speaking in what

  I hoped was a kindly voice, I said, also in German, Tm afraid

  I'm not your mummy, dear. The lines seem to have got

  mixed up. But don't be upset. Just ask the grown-up person

  with you to try again.'

  There was silence, but no sound of the line being cleared.

  Indeed, I could hear the child, at the other end, making low,

  inarticulate sounds before she spoke again. Then she

  said, 'But you know my mummy, don't you? Tell her - tell

  her-'

  But apparently she was now overcome by that frustration

  of children still too young to find the right words, for after

  repeating 'Tell her-' she stopped, and there was another

  pause, followed by what sounded distressingly like a sob.

  I said quickly, 'Listen, dear. There must be a grown-up

  person with you, isn't there? Just give the telephone back to

  them.'

  As though answering me, she said, 'I'm coming - soon only

  it's such a long way -'

  And with this I lost her. There were a few more subaqueous,

  interruptive noises, then a click and the dialling

  tone returned with purring, unarguable finality, wiping out

  the fruitless telephonic doodling of the last three minutes

  like one of those shiny-grey, carbon note-pads that you pull

  out and push in again.

  'Oh, damnation!' I exploded angrily.

  Kathe, hurrying in and beginning 'Mrs Taswell, do you

  happen to know-' was just in time to catch this.

  'What's the matter, sweetheart?' she asked, laughing to

  see me thumping the desk in annoyance.

  'I feel like Admiral Beatty at Jutland. "There seems to be

  something wrong with our bloody ships to-day." I've just

  made an entirely unwanted telephone tour of half Europe

  and spent two minutes talking to a mysterious and, I'm

  afraid, rather unhappy little girl; and after all that I'm no

  nearer getting K0benhavn than when I started.'

  303

  'Here, give it to me,' said Kathe. 'I'd better get Bing &

  Gr0ndahl for you, before you choke yourself.'

  'The operator's 155.'

  'Oh, f'ff to the operator! I'll dial it straight through. Of

  course your Mr Simonsen'll be there at this time in the

  morning. I know K0benhavn all right - 010451, isn't it? But

  where's the Bing number? In this notebook here, is it?'

  As she began dialling I got up from my desk and went

  across to Mrs Taswell's. It had just occurred to me that it

  might be no bad idea to have Per Simonsen's file handy

  while I talked to him.

  'Mrs Taswell, can you get me out the Per Simonsen file,

  please? I think it's in that cabinet there.'

  'The Simonsen file, Mr Desland? Is it the Bing and Grondle

  file you mean? That's in this drawer-'

  'No, no; there's a separate, personal file for Per Simonsen,

  like the one we have for Mr Steinberg, you know. In fact,

  it'll obviously be the one before Mr Steinberg, same drawer.'

  'That will be here, then, Mr Desland.' She opened the

  cabinet. 'Do you know, there used to be a racehorse - oh,

  a long time ago, now - called Persimmon? Before the war.

  that was, of course. Someone told me, I think, that it's some

  kind of fruit in America, that's so sour it sets your teeth on

  edge. So of course I said, "Well, why eat it, then?" It always

  made me think of that saying, you know, about the parents'

  sins and the children's teeth being set on edge -'

  'Is that the folder, there?' I felt impatient. Without waiting

  for her answer I pulled it out and turned back towards

  Kathe at the telephone.

  'How are you getting - good Lord, Kathe, what's happened?'

  She was standing rigid, staring before her with an expression

  of utter horror. As I went towards her she suddenly

  dropped the telephone receiver on the desk, gave a kind of

  choking sob and ran out of the room.

  Still clutching the folder, I hurried after her, overtook her

  in the passage and caught her by the arm.

  'Kathe, what was it? Did the 'phone hurt your ear, or

  what? What's the matter?'

  304

  Without answering, she tried to throw off my hand: but

  I, afraid of the effect on Deirdre, and anyone else who might

  happen to be in the shop, if she were to appear in this nearhysterical

  state, held her firmly.

  'Let me go, Alan! Let me go!' For a few moments, panting,

  she struggled with me: then, with a burst of tears, 'Alan,

  please, please let me go! I must get away!'

  'Be sensible, dear. Whatever's wrong, don't let people

  see you in this overwrought state. Just try to calm down!

  There's nothing at all here that can hurt you, you know. And

  I'm here, for what that's worth.'

  'Yes; oh, yes! Dear Alan, thank God you're here! You'll

  always look after me, won't you?' She stood back, pressing

  her handkerchief to her eyes.

  'Of course I will! But whatever happened? Did someone

  on the line say something to you? I didn't hear you speaking

  to anyone.'

  (My goodness, I thought, Tony was right, and how! She

  really is unpredictable and highly-strung. Oh well, worse for

  her than for me, poor lass.)

  'I'm - I'm all right. I suppose I - no, of course you're

  right, Alan. There's nothing here. We're at home, aren't we?

  Oh, I wish we were - really at home. Take me home, now,

  and stay with me!'

  'Well, I can't very well, darling, not just yet, can I? I've

  got to work, you know. Look, I tell you what. Why don't

  you go out and have a stroll along the Kennet towpath for

  half an hour - feed the swans or something? Or go an
d

  buy something really nice for supper?' (That ought to work,

  I thought.) 'How about some turbot, and I'll open a really

  good bottle - what d'you suggest? Pouilly Fume, or a nice,

  dry Moselle? Come on, you tell me."

  She hesitated, looking about her at the fern-garden and

  the shelves of cups and plates as though to gain reassurance

  from the commonplace. At length she said,

  'You're such a comfort, Alan. I'm sorry to have been silly.

  Yes, I'll go out for a bit. I'd better get tidied up first, though.'

  And with this she went into the lavatory.

  After a few moments' reflection I went back to the office.

  305

  The best thing, I thought, would be to say nothing to Mrs

  Taswell. Least said, soonest mended.

  As I came in she asked, 'Do you still want the Copenhagen

  call, Mr Desland?'

  'No, leave it.' I no longer felt in a mood to talk to Per.

  'Let's do some of these letters, Mrs Taswell, shall we? and

  see if we can't finish the week with a clear desk.'

  Half an hour later Mrs Taswell said,

  'I think these are more than I shall be able to manage today,

  Mr Desland. And the typewriter needs a new ribbon, you

  know. The quality of these ribbons is really very poor. Do

  you suppose it could be something to do with the trades

  unions? Only I was reading in the paper-'

  'Well, just do what you can, Mrs Taswell, and finish the

  rest to-morrow. That'll be quite all right.'

  'Well, you remember you did very kindly say I could have

  to-morrow off, Mr Desland. I saw in the paper that someone

  in Reading is offering a set of recorders at a very reasonable

  price. I've been thinking for some time of learning to play

  the recorder. My niece plays the treble recorder, of course,

  but she's in London and in any case I think I heard that

  that's not in the same key as the one they call the descant

  recorder -'

  'Yes, of course. Well, Monday'll be quite all right for these

  letters, Mrs Taswell. I'll sign them then. And if there are any

  calls for the next half hour or so, I'll be in the shop.'

  As I came down the passage Deirdre said, 'Mrs Desland all

  right, Mistralan, is she?'

  'Why? Did she say anything to you?"

  'No, that's just it, she never said nothin', and that ain't

  like 'er. She was goin' out and she looked like - well, she

  looked like she bin cryin'; so I says "You all right, Mrs

  Desland?" but she never said nothin' - just went on out,

  like.'

  'It's nothing serious, Deirdre, thank goodness. Just something

  we heard on the telephone from Copenhagen. It doesn't

  actually concern Mrs Desland closely, but she's very kindhearted,

  you know-'

  'Oh, I knows that, Mistralan. She is a nice lady! I reckon

  306

  you bin ever s' lucky. I was sayin' to Dad only the other day,

  "If we gets t'ave a war with them Russians any time," I says,

  "I 'ope we'll 'ave them Germans on the right side this time,"

  I says, "if they're all like Mrs Desland." Oh, 'e wasn't 'alf

  woild! "You talks too much, my girl," 'e says. "Reckon you

  was vaccinated with a gramophone needle," 'e says. I 'as to

  laugh -'

  Deirdre always had a good effect on me, and before the

  end of the day she herself was put on top of the world by

  an unexpected call from Morgan Steinberg, who rang up from

  Philadelphia to say that he would again be in England next

  month, and wondered whether we might have anything good

  to show him. Morgan had met Deirdre, of course, and it was

  typical of him that he not only remembered her but now

  spent at least a minute of his transatlantic call in talking

  to her before asking to be handed over to me.

  I told him that I had indeed something to show him,

  which might well be the biggest thing he had ever been

  offered in his life.

  'I'll gladly give you first refusal, Morgan, but I warn you

  now it's going to be expensive. Anyway, whether you buy it

  or not, you must come and see it. You won't be disappointed,

  I promise you. Whoever finally comes to own this, it's going

  to make ceramic history. I hope you'll be able to stay a night.

  We'll gladly put you up. I know Kathe would love to see

  you again.'

  'Well, that's very, very mutual, Alan. And how is the beautiful

  Katy? Is she shaking down nicely in England?'

  'Oh, she's just fine, Morgan. She'll be delighted to hear you

  called. Ring us again when you get here.'

  'Fancy 'im bein" in Philadelphia!' said Deirdre, as I put

  down the telephone. 'That's what I likes about this job,