Felix in the Underworld by John Mortimer Page A

failed to dislodge him. She moved away, nearer to the houses in Imperial Parade. And then Felix heard a ring at his doorbell.
    â€˜You don’t remember me?’ The woman was standing on his doorstep. Behind her Felix saw the boy on the bench watching them with what looked like contempt.
    â€˜Not exactly.’
    â€˜Millstream’s bookshop. With Gavin. I’m sure you remember. And before that, long before. I’m Miriam. Miriam Bowker.’
    â€˜I didn’t recognize you.’
    â€˜You’ve got a short memory, Felix. Of course I was dressed different. Gavin likes to see me in something bright. He doesn’t get much brightness in his life, poor bugger.’
    Felix looked again at the woman who might have been a solicitor or a PA in a firm of mortgage brokers in her grey suit and with her hair, now brown, gathered in a scrunchy. (He was careful to learn such words to help with his writing.) Perhaps distracted by the brightness of her clothes, he hadn’t noticed her face in detail. He remembered the forward-looking teeth but not the large eyes that also protruded slightly, the statuesque chin that gave her the look of a Victorian heroine, and the lines of laughter or exhaustion. She said, ‘This respectable outfit’s quite new. I only stole it yesterday. I’m joking, of course. I put it on to come and see you.’
    â€˜I’m afraid I’m terribly busy. I’m writing.’
    â€˜No, you’re not. I saw you. You were staring out of the window.’
    â€˜I know. I have got to get on with it. So . . .’
    â€˜Don’t shut the door in our faces, Felix. Ian’s been eagerly looking forward to today.’
    â€˜Ian?’
    â€˜Your son Ian. He’s sat there on the bench with a mind of his own.’
    Felix looked at the child who sat with his hands folded, staring out to sea and pretending that he had no connection with the persistent woman on the doorstep or her outrageous requests. All the same, he felt they had both come to undermine his stability, to throw his life into confusion, to prevent him for ever from doing the only thing he knew how to do, which was to sit alone and write. The twenty-thousand-pound demand was ridiculous and when he thought that he could get rid of both of them for ever for five hundred pounds he was, for a moment, sorely tempted. And then he remembered Septimus Roache’s second, less daring solution and plumped for it.
    â€˜It’s a quarter to one,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I take you out to a rattling good lunch?’
    â€˜Well, Felix!’ The woman smiled. ‘I can see we’re going to get on ever so well.’
    â€˜Will he come too?’
    She turned towards the child on the bench who refused to look at her. ‘I suppose,’ she said, and her smile turned to a look of fear, ‘he might condescend.’
    â€˜I do like a nice lunch set out with a silver service,’ Miriam said.
    â€˜Don’t say that, Mum.’ The child sounded severe.
    â€˜Why ever not? I’m sure Felix wants us to appreciate the treat.’
    â€˜It’s embarrassing.’
    Felix thought the boy had a point but his mother apologized for him. ‘Ian’s changed school so many times,’ she said, ‘he learnt no manners, really. You see, we’ve always been on the move. Never been able to settle, worse luck!’
    â€˜Look here, darling.’ Felix remembered how Septimus had instructed him to start. Then, thinking he had gone too far too soon, changed rapidly to ‘Look here, Miriam.’
    â€˜Darling’s OK by me, but I’m Mirry.’
    â€˜Well, then. Look here, Mirry. Do you know, do you have any idea, that I’ve just been sent a bill for twenty thousand pounds by PROD? ’
    â€˜ Prod ?’ Mirry started to laugh. It seemed to Felix that he had hit on a subject she greatly enjoyed. ‘Rather an appropriate name, if you come to think about