The Horned Man by James Lasdun Page A

this was in fact the case. Her expression grew more openly welcoming as I approached, and when I asked if I could join her, she replied with a wordless, intent smile. I smiled back at her, feeling vaguely under an obligation to match her intensity.
    â€˜So,’ she said after a moment, ‘here you are.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Another exchange of smiles followed. I busied myself for a moment arranging my lunch on the table. I hadn’t eaten with Elaine before; had had almost no contact with her in fact, other than at the weekly meetings of our committee. She wasn’t the kind of person who makes much of an impression on you – nothing obviously striking about her personality or looks to stall your thoughts or draw them back to her after she was out of your immediate orbit. As with Dr Schrever, I wouldn’t have been able to say how old she was, what color her eyes were, what shade of brown her hair was, without looking at her. I didn’t have an opinion of her, I suppose,because at some level I didn’t consider her a person of whom I needed to form an opinion. I wondered now if perhaps she had perceived this indifference (it amounted to that), and in the gently insistent way of certain meek but not after all entirely self-abnegating spirits, had summoned me over to her table in order, ever so gently, to reprove me for this: to make me acknowledge her as a human being, not merely a part of the administrative machinery.
    I felt immediately chastened by this thought, as though I had been guilty of downright disrespect, and I was eager to show my willingness to make amends. I presumed this would take the form of having her talk to me at length about herself.
    â€˜How’s your work going?’ I asked, attempting to get the ball rolling right away.
    â€˜Good. And yours?’
    â€˜Fine. But what are you – what have you been doing?’
    â€˜Oh – not much. Surviving! How about you?’
    There was an odd intensity, still, in her look, that made me wonder whether I had in fact appraised the situation correctly. She seemed nervous but at the same time oddly exuberant – triumphant almost. She patted her hair nervously; adjusted the collar of her tailored jacket – charcoal, with thin turquoise stripes – wafting a billow of surprisingly sweet perfume in my direction.
    â€˜Not a lot,’ I said; ‘waiting for winter to end.’
    We both chuckled loudly, as if there were something hilarious about that. Then there was another drawn-out silence. Elaine looked down at the table. She was smiling oddly to herself, perhaps debating whether or not to say something that was on her mind. Then, flashing her eyes candidly up at me, she said softly:
    â€˜I’m glad you came, Lawrence.’
    I was a little startled by that. I didn’t want to believe what my instincts were beginning to tell me, but in case they were correct I felt I should do something to neutralise the situation as quickly as possible. To buy time, I filled my mouth with food, and began thinking furiously of something to say, but my mind was an absolute blank.
    By luck, Roger Freeman, the head of our committee, appeared at our table just then.
    â€˜Greetings,’ he said.
    He sat down, unloading his tray with the ease of a man who feels welcome wherever he goes. Glancing at Elaine, he evidently took in the change in her appearance. For a moment he seemed to be considering the propriety of commenting on it. I assumed he would suppress the impulse, as I had, but to my surprise he spread a cheerful smile across his face.
    â€˜That’s a new hairstyle. It suits you.’ He turned to me: ‘Don’t you agree, Lawrence?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s very nice.’
    Elaine thanked us with a little ironic swipe at her hair, and we all laughed.
    As we conversed, it struck me that there had been something deliberate and self-conscious about Roger’s remark. Almost as if by saying something