course I do. As soon as you get shot of that rat.’
Nicola’s face was a portrait of misery. She did not want to get shot of Jonathan; her present situation was so intolerable that it could not truly be pondered, or even admitted: even here, now, with Susannah, she could look only at its edges, not at the excruciating whole.
‘Jonathan isn’t a rat really,’ she said, almost wildly. ‘He isn’t – it’s just – something’s gone wrong somewhere. I mean, it’s probably my fault. I just haven’t had a chance to talk to him properly. I don’t know what’s in his mind. It must be my fault: I must have done something wrong.’
‘He should have told you what it was, then, when you did it, not waited, and then – this.’
‘Yes, well, it’s difficult for him – he’s – you know – perhaps he was too shocked, or confused – I don’t know.’
She broke off, near to tears again. ‘Listen, darling,’ said Susannah, ‘he may or may not be a fully paid-up rat but he’s landed you in it good and proper, causing grief to you and consternation to your friends. As far as I’m concerned, if he doesn’t shape up and talk this through to your mutual satisfaction as soon as he gets back from his cowardly weekend away, then the thing for you to do is to eff off out of the place immédiatement and leave him to it. Just pack a bag and go. I don’t know what your alternatives may be but you know you’re entirely welcome to come and crash here until you get sorted. But I mean, no pissing about. Either he shapes up and explains himself and makes a most profound apology and a guarantee of no further similar scenes – that is, if you really do want as you say to stay with him – or you get the fuck out of his rat-like way. You can sleep in my workroom. I’ll even clear some space for your things. I can’t say fairer than that.’
‘You’re an angel,’ said Nicola miserably. ‘But I can only hope that I won’t need to take advantage of your generosity.’
‘Never mind that: just promise me that you won’t hang about. I mean it. I know rats. If there’s one thing they love to do, it’s prolong the agony. Do you promise? You’ll telephone me on Monday evening, alright, at the latest Tuesday, either to assure me that the situation’s sorted out, or to say that you’re on the way here: is that understood?’
‘You’re an angel.’
‘Yes,’ said Susannah, ‘that’s me, definitely.’
Nicola had gone home in a taxi, Guy had gone to bed, Susannah was washing up and Geoffrey was hovering in her vicinity, giving an impression of helpfulness.
‘What’s she going to do, then?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. It’s too soon to decide.’
‘Too soon?’ How long does it take? He’s told her to push off, it doesn’t seem to me that there’s anything to hang about for.’
‘Ah, little do you know.’
‘So tell me.’
‘Well, doesn’t it occur to you that he’s obviously had a rush of blood to the head, or something of the kind? I mean, to suddenly come along and give an order like that, for no evident reason – well, it’s perfectly mad.’
‘Oh – so you think this is just a fit of temporary insanity. Total withdrawal of affection while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’
‘Well, it might be. Something like that, anyway. I mean, it was so awfully sudden, so unforseen—’
‘We have only Nicola’s word for that.’
‘Well, one has to trust her version in the absence of any others.’
‘Alright, for the sake of the argument, it’s totally sudden and unforeseen and therefore possibly irrational. But who wants to go on living with a bloke who can behave like that?’
‘Nicola does.’
‘Then she must be mad too. They’re a dangerous pair.’
‘Then they’re best off staying with each other. Like the Carlyles.’
‘She never struck me as mad before.’
‘As a matter of fact, she isn’t. I wouldn’t have said what I did, but it was just one of those irresistible debating points.’
‘No, I think you must be right. If she wants to stay with him, she must be mad.’
‘No, she is not mad.’
‘What then?’
‘She loves him.’
‘Oh, God, spare me.’
‘What, spare you? Why?’
‘Love. For God’s sake. What does it mean?’
‘You tell me. I seem to remember being presented with a whole bag of caramels, for my very own, this very afternoon, in token of your love for me, among other things.’
‘Well, that’s completely different.’
‘How?’
‘The way I feel about you couldn’t possibly be compared to the way Nicola feels about Jonathan.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Well, for God’s sake. You’re being disingenuous, aren’t you?’
‘No, truly not. I genuinely want to know what you mean.’
‘Our situation is totally different from theirs. They couldn’t either of them possibly feel as do either of us. Their situation is completely different, and so are they. Nothing is comparable.’
‘That doesn’t mean she can’t love him, in her way, according to her nature and her situation.’
‘Alright, but I can’t take that kind of love seriously’
‘I think that’s very intolerant of you, not to say arrogant, to say nothing of unimaginative.’
‘Yes, that sounds like me.’
‘So what could you possibly know about love?’
‘Do you have to be tolerant, and humble, and imaginative, to know anything about love?’
‘Yes.’
There was a moment’s silence, and then Geoffrey spoke. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘you’ve just made a serious point. How disconcerting.’
‘Well, we were having a serious conversation, weren’t we?’
‘Were we?’
