The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [82]
Cecil, left out of the first sett, edged round the court and came to stand by Portia: he propped one foot on the lower rung of the stool and sent through it the vibration of a sigh. She put her thoughts away quickly. Away in the lounge, at the far end of the passage, Evelyn's mother switched the Luxembourg music on: this fitted the game—the pouncing, slithering players, the ping of the shots—into a sprightly rhythm, that pleased Portia but further depressed Cecil. "I don't care for spring, somehow," he said. "It makes me feel a bit seedy."
"You don't look seedy, Cecil."
"I do with all this butter," said Cecil, plucking unhappily at his plus fours. He went on: "What were you thinking about?"
"I'm not thinking any more."
"But you were, weren't you? I saw you. If I were a more oncoming sort of fellow I should offer you a penny, and so on."
"I was wondering what next Sunday would be like."
"Much the same, I expect. At this time of year, one begins to want a change."
"But this is a change for me."
"Of course it's nice to think it's a change for someone. It will be a change for your friend too, I expect. Funny, when I first saw you at Daphne's party, you didn't look as though you had a friend in the world. That was what drew me to you, I daresay. I seem to have got you wrong, though. Are you really an orphan?"
"Yes, I am," said Portia a shade shortly. "Are you?"
"No, not at present, but I suppose it's a thing one is bound to be. The thought of the future rather preys on my mind. I am quite enough of a lone wolf as it is. I get on well with girls up to a certain point, but then they seem to find me too enigmatic. I don't find it easy to let myself go. I don't think most girls appreciate friendship; all they want is to be given a rush."
"I like friendship very much."
"Ah," said Cecil, and looked at her gloomily. "But if you will excuse my saying so, that may be because you are so young that no fellow has started to rush you yet. Once that starts, it seems to go straight to a girl's head. But you have still got a rather timid manner. Yesterday I felt quite sorry for you."
She did not know how to reply. Cecil bent down and once more studied his plus fours. "Of course," he said, "these can go to the cleaners, but that all costs money, you see, and I had been hoping to run over to France."
"Perhaps your mother could get it off with petrol. Butter is always got off my clothes that way."
"Oh, is it?" said Cecil. "I say," he added, "I had been rather wondering if you would care to run into Southstone one evening, on the five-thirty bus, and meet me after the office. We could then come in on the second half of the concert at the East Cliff Pavilion, and might get a spot of food there; it is a nice, rather cosmopolitan place. If you would really care—"
"Oh, yes, I should simply love it!"
"Then we might call it a date. We'll fix the date itself later."
"Oh, that is kind of you. Thank you."
"Not at all," said Cecil.
The game was over: Charlie and Daphne had just beaten Wallace and Evelyn. Evelyn came across and pulled Cecil on to the court, saying he must now play instead of her. "Sure you wouldn't care to try?" she said to Portia nicely. "Oh well, I see how you feel. I tell you what, you ought to come round one week-day and have a knock up with Clara. She wants practice, you know. Then you could play next time.... My goodness," exclaimed Evelyn, "we do want some air in here! The ventilation is awful!"
Kindly pulling Portia along by one elbow, she went to the end of the court and threw open a door. The garden, after the glare of the court lights, was in very dark blue dusk; the door opening made an alarmed bird break out of a thicket. The town lights blinked through bare moving branches: down there they heard the crepitating sea. Evelyn and Portia, standing in the doorway, filled their lungs with the dark sweet salt spring air.