affairs and beach stones

13th December 1957

WE'VE BEEN MEETING some lunchtimes, when he can get a long break. But he has not forgotten the schoolteacher. And yesterday, for the first time, he brought her with him.

What a great effort I made to be charming and welcoming. They are so obviously mismatched that I had to smile when I saw them together. She is almost as tall as he is, made no attempt to disguise it (wearing heels), and is not nearly as handsome as him. But I suppose I would think so.

Having said that, there was something unusual about her. Perhaps it's her red hair. So coppery that no one could fail to notice it. Or perhaps it's the way that, unlike many young women, she does not look away when you meet her eye.

Having met them at the museum, I led them both to the Clock Tower Café, which has become my policeman's and my favourite haunt for the kind of hearty, no-nonsense meals that I sometimes crave. At any rate, it's always wonderful to be in the greasy fug of the place after the dry silence of the museum, and I was determined to make no effort whatsoever to impress Miss Marion Taylor. I knew she would be expecting silver cutlery and a tablecloth, so I offered her the Clock Tower. Not the sort of place a schoolteacher likes to be seen. I can tell, just from those heels, that she's the upwardly mobile type and she wants to drag my policeman up with her. She'll have his future mapped out in kitchenettes, television sets and washing machines.

But I am being unfair. I have to keep reminding myself that I should give her a chance. That my best tactic is to get her on side. If I can make her trust me, then it will be easier to keep seeing him. And why shouldn't she trust me? After all,

we both have my policeman's best interests at heart. I'm sure she wants him to be happy. Just as I do.

I don't sound convincing, even to myself. The truth is, I'm a little afraid that her red hair and assured manner have turned his head. That she can offer him something I cannot. Security, for a start. Respectability (she has that in spades, although she may not be aware of it). And perhaps a promotion.

She does look to be a worthy rival. I could see her steadfastness – or was it stubbornness? – in the way she waited for my policeman to hold the door of the café open for her, and the way she watched his face carefully whenever he spoke, as if trying to fathom his real meaning. Miss Taylor is a determined young woman, I've no doubt of that. And a very serious one.

As we walked back to the museum, she held on to my policeman's arm, steering him ahead.

'Next Tuesday evening,' I said to him, 'as usual?'

She gazed at him, her large mouth fixed in a straight line, as he said, ''Course.'

I placed a hand on my policeman's shoulder. 'And I want you both to come to the opera with me in the new year. Carmen at Covent Garden. My treat.'

He beamed. But Miss Taylor piped up: 'We couldn't possibly. It's too much ...'

'Of course you can. Tell her she can.'

With a nod in her direction, he said, 'It's all right, Marion. We can pay something towards it.'

'I wouldn't hear of it.' I turned my back on her and looked him in the face. 'I'll let you know the details Tuesday.'

I said my farewells and headed down Bond Street, hoping she was noting the way I swung my arms.