«He was, I know. Never mind. Oh God, I mustn't start-«Rachel-«
«Yes?»
«How's-how's-Julian-today?»
«Oh much as usual.»
«She's not-by any chance-going to come round here-to get her Hamlet-is she?»
«No. She seems to be off Hamlet today. She's down the road with a young couple who are digging a conversation pit in their garden playroom.»
«A what?»
«A conversation pit.»
«Oh. Ah well. I see. Tell her-No. Well-« you.
«Bradley, you do-never mind what it means-love me, don't?»
«Yes, of course.»
«Sorry to be so sort of-limp and wet-Thanks for listening I'll ring again-Bye-I forgot Rachel. I decided I would go out and buy Julian a present. I still felt ill and rather faint and given to fits of trembling. At the idea of buying the present a lot of trembling came on. Present-buying is a fairly universal symptom of love. It is certainly a sine qua non. (If you don't want to give her a present you don't love her.) It is I suppose a method of touching the beloved.
The telephone rang. I staggered to it and gasped into it.
«Oh Brad. It's Chris.»
«Oh-Chris-hello, dear.»
«I'm glad I'm still 'Chris' today.»
«Today-yes-«Have you thought over my proposition?»
«What proposition?»
«Gee, Brad, you are a tease. Look, can I come over and see you right now?»
«No.»
«Why not?»
«I've got a bridge party.»
«But you can't play bridge.»
«I learnt in the thirty or so years of your absence. I had to pass the time somehow.»
«Brad, when can I see you, it's kind of urgent?»
«I'll come round to see Priscilla-this evening-probably-«O. K., I'll wait. Mind you come.»
«And God bless you, Chris, God bless you, dear, God bless you.»
I sat in the hall beside the telephone and fingered Julian's scarf. Since I retained it with me, although it was hers, it was as if she had given me a present. I sat and looked through the open door of the sitting-room at Julian's things arranged upon the tables. I listened to the silence of the flat in the midst of the murmur of London. Time passed. I waited. Being your slave what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire. I have no precious time at all to spend, nor services to do till you require.
It now seemed to me incredible that I could have had the nerve to leave the house that morning. Suppose she had telephoned, suppose she had come, when I was away? She could not spend the whole day digging a conversation pit, whatever that was. She would surely come round soon to get her Hamlet. How good it was that I had that hostage. After a while I moved back into the sitting-room and picked up the shabby little book and sat caressing it in Hart– bourne's armchair. My eyelids drooped and the material world grew dim and I waited.
The telephone rang and I ran to it, jolting the table and knocking the six volumes of Shakespeare off onto the floor.
«Bradley. Arnold here.»
«Oh God. It's you.»
«What's the matter?»
«Nothing.»
«Bradley, I hear-«
«What time is it?»
«Four o'clock. I hear you're coming round this evening to see Priscilla.»
«Yes.»
«Well, could I see you after that? There's something important I want to tell you.»
«Yes. Fine. What's a conversation pit?»
«What?»
«What's a conversation pit?»
«A sunken area in a room where you put cushions and people sit and converse.»
«What's the point of it?»
«It has no point.»
«Oh Arnold, Arnold-«What?»
«Nothing. I'll read your books. I'll start to like them. Everything will be different.»
«Have you got softening of the brain?»
«Good-bye, goodbye-I returned to the sitting-room and I picked up the Shakespeares from the floor and I sat down in the armchair and I said to her in my heart, I will suffer, you will not. We will do each other no harm. You will cause me pain, it cannot be otherwise. But I shall cause you none. And I will feed upon my pain like one who feeds on kisses. (Oh God.) I am simply happy that you exist, happy in the absolute that is you, proud to live with you in the same city, in the same century, to see you occasionally, seldom…