The Slaves of Solitude (25 page)

But doing it they were. Mr. Thwaites was, of course, a pronounced and leading Christmasist, being the instinctive leader of everything irritating and depressing, and the others followed him.

‘Well,’ said Miss Steele, alluding to the general improvement of the war news, ‘we ought to be happier this Christmas anyway. And perhaps by next Christmas we’ll be
really happy.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Thwaites. ‘We happen to have a rather funny little way of pulling through.’

And a certain blend of austerity and modesty in his look and nasal voice gave the impression that he himself had been having a funny little way, and pulling through the Rosamund Tea Rooms and
everybody outside it.

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Thwaites. ‘I think we may be said to have cooked Friend Hitler’s goose.’

At this Miss Roach glanced at Vicki, and noticed a slightly discontented, evasive expression on her face, which she had seen there before when Hitler was unfavourably mentioned.

As Christmas approached there was much talk of an excursion to the pictures, which, at this season, Mr. Thwaites was going to make with Vicki. Vicki was going to ‘take’ him, she
said. Long before the time came Mr. Thwaites displayed undue excitement about this excursion, and talked about it almost every day, contriving to make suggestive remarks about even so innocent a
matter as this. It was as though the thought of going to the pictures alone with Vicki, of sitting in the dark alone with her, perhaps, had gone to his head. It was as though he thought that this
outing marked, or would mark, some further advance in his advancing relationship with her.

Still Miss Roach resolutely denied the approach of Christmas, but at last Christmas cards arrived in spite of everything (which Miss Roach thought ought to be stopped, what with postmen trailing
round and manpower and one thing and another), decorations (could you believe it?) were put up, and dreary cotton-wool snowstorms appeared in certain shop-windows.

Miss Roach’s faith wavered. She did not, however, fully take in the fact that the season of peace and goodwill to men was upon her until, on Christmas Eve, coming back from a trip to
London at about six o’clock in the evening, she found the Lieutenant in the Lounge, in the company of Mr. Thwaites, Vicki Kugelmann, an open bottle of whisky, a jug of water, and
tumblers.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

1

A
H
– that Christmas! – that Christmas of hatred, fear, pain, terror, and disgrace! It all began at that
moment.

And coming down in the train she had made up her mind that, because it was Christmas, she would make some effort to make things go smoothly, some effort at reconciliation even!

‘Hooray! – you’re just in time,’ said the Lieutenant, who was pouring the whisky into the tumblers. ‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ A question which,
actually, she thought she might more fittingly ask him.

‘Salaams, good lady,’ said Mr. Thwaites, with his usual sarcasm. He was sitting on the sofa, and she noticed, from the beginning, that he was in a state of extra excitement. This was
probably to be accounted for by the fact that he had been that afternoon to the pictures with Vicki.

Vicki said nothing, and would not catch her eye.

‘Well, these are extraordinary goings-on,’ said Miss Roach brightly, because it was Christmas and she had made up her mind to make things go smoothly. ‘What do you think
you
’
re
all up to?’

And she again tried to catch Vicki’s eye, but Vicki would not look at her.

‘And when did you drop in?’ she said to the Lieutenant, and it turned out that he had appeared only a quarter of an hour ago. Within five minutes of arriving he had gone downstairs
to Mrs. Payne and procured the tumblers and water. Because it was Christmas Eve, and because it was the Lieutenant who had done it, Miss Roach presumed that they would not all be expelled for
drinking whisky in the Lounge: but she had never expected to see such a thing happening.

When the Lieutenant had poured out the whisky into the glasses, and added water, a silent, slightly interesting moment occurred in which Miss Roach wondered to whom he would offer a glass first
– herself or Vicki. He offered a glass first to Miss Roach, though actually Vicki was nearer to him at the time.

Then he gave a glass to Vicki, and then he went over with one to Mr. Thwaites, who at first refused it.

‘Aw, come on!’ said the Lieutenant, in the old way, and when Mr. Thwaites again refused, ‘Aw – come on! Snap out of it! It’s only Christmas once a year, isn’t
it?’

Mr. Thwaites gave in.

With the aid of Christmas, clearly, the Lieutenant was going to get away with murder. Indeed, to judge by his appearance, which was, to one who knew him, that of a man who had been intimately
associated with the bottle for several days, he had in this way been getting away with murder from the earliest possible date at which such an excuse might be considered valid.

‘Well,’ said Miss Roach, ‘how did you two get on at the pictures?’

She would
make
this woman catch her eye, if she died in the attempt.

But Vicki did not answer her or look at her. Neither did Mr. Thwaites.

Were they not going to answer at all? An awkward situation was saved by the Lieutenant, who asked:

‘Why – have you two been to the movies?’

‘Yea. Verily,’ said Mr. Thwaites. ‘We have paid a visit unto the House of Many Shadows – the Mansion of Flickering Visions – much to the entertainment of our jaded
souls.’

‘Good for you,’ said the Lieutenant.

‘Afterwards consorting,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘unto An Tea-shop – or Confectioner’s – wherein we were regaled with rock-cakes and tea, and enjoyed a
tête-à-tête.’

‘Fine,’ said the Lieutenant, slightly embarrassed, and sitting down. They were all seated now, and all, with the exception of Mr. Thwaites, slightly embarrassed. Or so it seemed to
Miss Roach.

‘Whereupon,’ said Mr. Thwaites, looking at Vicki, ‘inspired by the cheering fluid, and smitten by Dan Cupid’s dart, I proposed to the beauteous dame!’

And with a sort of triumphant air he took a large sip at his whisky.

(Hullo, thought Miss Roach – what was this? Was this the joke it seemed to be? Or was there something serious behind this? Mr. Thwaites, she saw, behind his jocular manner, was in a
greater state of excitement than she had at first thought. In fact, she did not know that she had ever seen him in quite such a state of excitement. Was it wise to give him whisky in this
state?)

‘Really?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘And what did the beauteous dame reply?’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The beauteous dame gave me neither Yea nor Nay. She keepeth her Knight-gall
ant
on Tenterhooks.’

And he took another enormous sip, one might say gulp, at his whisky.

The Lieutenant noticed this.

‘How’s the whisky going down?’ he asked.

‘Passing well, I thank you,’ said Mr. Thwaites. ‘Much good fire-water. Heap good medicine. Plenty warm. Plenty fine.’

‘So that’s what you two have been up to, is it?’ said the Lieutenant, addressing Vicki.

‘Oh yes,’ said Vicki. ‘I have been vamping him mercilessly, I’m afraid.’

(‘
Vamping
’
!
)

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘I should say she has! She’s a tease all right, isn’t she? Yes – she’s a tease – isn’t she?’

This was bad. Was it possible that two sips of whisky (two inexperienced and enormous sips) had gone to his head?

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘she’s a vamp all right! She’s a tease. And she knows it, too. Doesn’t she? What?’

‘Really,’ said Vicki, appealing to the Lieutenant, ‘he is quite A lad, isn’t he? He is quite A Knut – no?’

(‘
Knut
’
!
)

Even the Lieutenant, normally deaf to these atrocities, looked a little silly, and changed the subject.

‘And what did you see at the pictures?’ he asked.

‘We saw,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘one Oakie – Jack of that ilk, surrounded by diverse belles. Together with one thriller – gangster – which muchly froze our
blood.’ And he took another sip at his whisky.

‘Oh, then it’s the same programme I saw,’ said Miss Roach, trying to calm things down. ‘I thought the gangster one rather good.’

But this did not calm Mr. Thwaites down.

‘Stick ’em up, big boy!’ cried Mr. Thwaites. ‘Step on it, kiddo! Take ’em for a ride! Give ’em the Woiks!’

‘Well,’ said the Lieutenant, putting his finger on the mark, ‘the films certainly seem to have excited you, Mr. Thwaites.’

‘Yes,’ said Vicki. ‘I think you’d better calm down, Mr. Thwaites, or we won’t be able to take you out.’

‘Yes,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘You mustn’t disgrace us at dinner.’

‘Why,’ said Miss Roach. ‘Are you going out?’

‘What do you mean?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Of course we’re going out. We’re all going out.’

And finishing up his drink, he went to the bottle and said, ‘Come on. Fill up.’

2

He filled up Mr. Thwaites’ glass again, and Mr. Thwaites made no objection of any sort. She didn’t think it right, to excite an old man like this, but it
wasn’t for her to say anything – in fact, as the alleged ‘spoil-sport’ it was beyond any strength of character she might have to say anything – and she wondered what
on earth was going to happen.

This was bad, but twenty minutes later things were a good deal worse.

By then the Lieutenant was drunk, calling Miss Roach Roachy, Vicki Vick, and Mr. Thwaites Thwaitey, or ‘Old-timer’, and eagerly encouraging him to make a fool of himself.

Miss Steele coming in, the Lieutenant insisted on her having a drink, and because there was no glass for her, went downstairs himself to fetch it. What Mrs. Payne was thinking about all this,
heaven alone knew.

The Lieutenant had announced that they were going to dine at the River Sun. A sudden hope came into Miss Roach’s mind that, because it was Christmas Eve, there would be no table for them
at the River Sun, and that for this reason the outing might have to be abandoned. She mentioned this matter to the Lieutenant, but he said that that was all right, he had booked a table for eight
o’clock.

Miss Steele accepted and drank her drink manfully, but was rather frightened. When the Lieutenant began to press her to join the party she grew more frightened still, and at last, in a panic,
made an excuse laughingly to leave the room.

‘What’s the matter with the old girl?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Why won’t she come?’ And he went over to Mr. Thwaites to refill his glass.

Here Miss Roach had enough strength of character to intervene.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t. He’s had enough. You really mustn’t!’

‘Oh gosh,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Let the old guy have a good time for once, won’t you? It’s only Christmas once, isn’t it? Let the old guy have a good
time.’

‘Yes,’ said Vicki, ‘let the silly old bean enjoy himself!’ And Mr. Thwaites’ glass was refilled.

Only Miss Roach noticed that Mrs. Barratt put her head into the room, retiring at once in terror. Mrs. Payne would be up next, and then there was going to be trouble.

Half-past seven came, and by this time Mr. Thwaites, after another noisy period in response to his replenished whisky, had sunk into a quiet stupor. By this time, also, the bottle was not full
enough for the Lieutenant’s liking, and he suggested they should go round to the River Sun and have some there before dinner.

Mr. Thwaites rose, and swayed as he went to the mantelpiece to put down his glass. It seemed to Miss Roach that he almost fell.

At this a sort of panic arose. ‘I’m sure he oughtn’t to go,’ said Miss Roach aside to the Lieutenant. ‘Let him have a meal here and go quietly to bed,’ and
‘Oh – let the old guy come and enjoy himself!’ said the Lieutenant, now almost irritable, and Vicki again supported him. ‘Coming? Of course I’m coming,’ said Mr.
Thwaites.

There was then another panic because Mr. Thwaites, having gone to his room, in a mysterious way failed to come out again, and, on being applied for, was found to have his overcoat on, but unable
to find his cap. He was bent upon wearing a cap. A hat (of which he had two) would by no means do.

A search took place all over the room, and when at last it was found, the Lieutenant, coming out on the landing, wanted to know which was the Old Girl’s room, as he desired to renew his
invitation to her to join them. ‘Oh, come
on
! Let’s get
round
there,’ said Miss Roach, now very much more anxious to go than to stay, and for once Vicki supported
her.

Mr. Thwaites seemed to recover somewhat in the fresh air, and supporting himself between Vicki and the Lieutenant in the blackness, went on about Vicki being a Tease.

‘She’s a Tease all right,’ he said. ‘Yes. She’s a tease all right! And doesn’t she just know it – doesn’t she just love it!’

And then, having repeated this several times, in several different ways, ‘I don’t know whether to give her a jolly good kiss,’ he said, ‘or to put her across my knee and
spank her.’

And, thinking aloud, he contemplated these two alternatives in a lascivious way all the way round to the public-house.

This was the war, Miss Roach again reminded herself in the blackness, this was the war! Allowances had to be made – it was all the
war.
Only the war could have brought a drunken
American into a quiet riverside boarding-house in such a way as to cause so wild and uncomely a scene. The war was on their nerves, on the Lieutenant’s nerves, probably even on Mr.
Thwaites’ nerves – causing this state of excitement and (abominable as his behaviour was normally) a mode of behaviour totally alien to him. The war was on her own nerves, on
Vicki’s nerves, she dared say, if such a woman had any nerves.

3

On their reaching the saloon bar of the River Sun, and luckily finding a table in a corner, an angry, contemplative, and contemptuous expression came over Mr.
Thwaites’ face, and he became silent. For although, in the excitement caused by his outing with Vicki and the whisky, he had been lured to come here, public-houses were not really things
which were supposed to take place at all, and he wasn’t going to give in now, and let people think, by his expression, that they were. Mr. Thwaites was a man who maintained his standards.