Security Services, Mr B. of GESS. Do not, for your own sake, I emphasise, for your own sake, attempt any investigations on your own account. Leave it to us. Leave it to GESS.’ He opened the door of his office to let her pass through. ‘Mr B., Global-Equip,’ he said.
She looked at him before she walked out and said, ‘Human nature is evil, isn’t it?’
His features did not change, nor his smiling lips open, but he made a small cynical snort. Then he said, ‘I wouldn’t call it evil. Human nature is human nature as far as I’m concerned.’
Grace, who in other words was Mrs N. Gregory, was waiting on the doorstep, her upbraiding bosom in semi-profile, when Anthea got home. ‘Oh, God, Grace,’ Anthea said, ‘I forgot you were coming.’
‘I’ve been and come, been and come again,’ Grace said. ‘I thought something must have happened to you. I thought, if nothing’s happened and she’s only forgotten, then I’ll soon tell her her fortune.’
She stumped into the house after Anthea. ‘Grace,’ said Anthea. ‘Wait till you hear what’s happened. No wonder I forgot you were coming. I’ve taken steps.’
The Leavers had occupied this house, where Grace and Anthea sat talking, since the previous July. Before that, their residence for eighteen years had been an old rectory in the grounds of Ambrose College, the boys’ school where the absent Arnold Leaver had been headmaster.
‘God and public opinion will judge,’ Anthea said, as if the two were one and the same. She and Grace Gregory sipped their sherry.
Arnold’s retirement and the move to a better-equipped but less imposing house had upset Arnold to the extent that as soon as his books were finally in place on the new shelves he declared himself exhausted in body and mind. He returned from his doctor with an ‘order’ that he should take a holiday, with a ‘strong recommendation’ that he should go without his wife. It was early in October.
Anthea made a furious telephone call to Arnold’s doctor but got no farther than the snooty receptionist who told her the doctor would not discuss his patients except with their consent and in their presence. Anthea threatened to sue the doctor for disruption of family life, and in this way got the last word; but that only, she being too angry, inarticulate, dismayed and outraged to pin herself down to finding a lawyer at that moment. Arnold left the next week for the Continent, quite calmly.
Anthea telephoned around to her friends invoking God and public opinion on her side. She found a lawyer who told her that what Arnold had done was perfectly reasonable, and within his rights. A holiday abroad on his own. But, said frantic Anthea, he isn’t on his own. He has a travelling companion, a rich lady, and he says it’s platonic. That’s something else again, said the lawyer. Perhaps he’s going through a phase. The lawyer’s desk was covered with papers and files. He looked bored. At the end of that week Anthea had made up her mind and had gone to GESS of Coventry.
Grace Gregory had been matron at Ambrose College up till a few months ago when she retired. She had taken with her into retirement a boy, now eighteen, who had spent his schooldays at Ambrose College. He was lodging with her while working at his first job in a travel agency, being good at languages.
‘I mustn’t stay, or my young lodger Leo won’t have his supper,’ said Grace.
‘I’ve got to talk to someone,’ Anthea said. ‘Can’t you ring him up and say you’ll be late?’
‘He gives me such laundry problems,’ Grace said. ‘And you should see him eat. Just the same as when he was at school. But never mind; I like Leo, he’s good company, that boy. He thinks the world of me. Have you heard from his Nibs in Venice?’
‘He phoned from Paris on his way to Venice. Sounded guilty, really guilty. I said, “Is your woman there with you?” He said, “You mean my colleague?” I said, “I mean your woman.” He said,
She looked at him before she walked out and said, ‘Human nature is evil, isn’t it?’
His features did not change, nor his smiling lips open, but he made a small cynical snort. Then he said, ‘I wouldn’t call it evil. Human nature is human nature as far as I’m concerned.’
Grace, who in other words was Mrs N. Gregory, was waiting on the doorstep, her upbraiding bosom in semi-profile, when Anthea got home. ‘Oh, God, Grace,’ Anthea said, ‘I forgot you were coming.’
‘I’ve been and come, been and come again,’ Grace said. ‘I thought something must have happened to you. I thought, if nothing’s happened and she’s only forgotten, then I’ll soon tell her her fortune.’
She stumped into the house after Anthea. ‘Grace,’ said Anthea. ‘Wait till you hear what’s happened. No wonder I forgot you were coming. I’ve taken steps.’
The Leavers had occupied this house, where Grace and Anthea sat talking, since the previous July. Before that, their residence for eighteen years had been an old rectory in the grounds of Ambrose College, the boys’ school where the absent Arnold Leaver had been headmaster.
‘God and public opinion will judge,’ Anthea said, as if the two were one and the same. She and Grace Gregory sipped their sherry.
Arnold’s retirement and the move to a better-equipped but less imposing house had upset Arnold to the extent that as soon as his books were finally in place on the new shelves he declared himself exhausted in body and mind. He returned from his doctor with an ‘order’ that he should take a holiday, with a ‘strong recommendation’ that he should go without his wife. It was early in October.
Anthea made a furious telephone call to Arnold’s doctor but got no farther than the snooty receptionist who told her the doctor would not discuss his patients except with their consent and in their presence. Anthea threatened to sue the doctor for disruption of family life, and in this way got the last word; but that only, she being too angry, inarticulate, dismayed and outraged to pin herself down to finding a lawyer at that moment. Arnold left the next week for the Continent, quite calmly.
Anthea telephoned around to her friends invoking God and public opinion on her side. She found a lawyer who told her that what Arnold had done was perfectly reasonable, and within his rights. A holiday abroad on his own. But, said frantic Anthea, he isn’t on his own. He has a travelling companion, a rich lady, and he says it’s platonic. That’s something else again, said the lawyer. Perhaps he’s going through a phase. The lawyer’s desk was covered with papers and files. He looked bored. At the end of that week Anthea had made up her mind and had gone to GESS of Coventry.
Grace Gregory had been matron at Ambrose College up till a few months ago when she retired. She had taken with her into retirement a boy, now eighteen, who had spent his schooldays at Ambrose College. He was lodging with her while working at his first job in a travel agency, being good at languages.
‘I mustn’t stay, or my young lodger Leo won’t have his supper,’ said Grace.
‘I’ve got to talk to someone,’ Anthea said. ‘Can’t you ring him up and say you’ll be late?’
‘He gives me such laundry problems,’ Grace said. ‘And you should see him eat. Just the same as when he was at school. But never mind; I like Leo, he’s good company, that boy. He thinks the world of me. Have you heard from his Nibs in Venice?’
‘He phoned from Paris on his way to Venice. Sounded guilty, really guilty. I said, “Is your woman there with you?” He said, “You mean my colleague?” I said, “I mean your woman.” He said,
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