The Naive and Sentimental Lover by John le Carré Page A

fruit.”
    â€œThat’s beautiful,” said Cassidy reverently.
    â€œJoyce. Old girl friend. Can’t get her out of my hair. Hey, lover. Watch out for frostbite for God’s sake. Nip it off in a jiffy, I warn you.”
    â€œThanks,” said Cassidy with a laugh. “I will.”
    Shamus sidled closer. “Er . . . tell us,” he enquired confidingly. “Er do you think it’ll do you? The house I mean . . . will it suit you at all?”
    â€œI don’t know. I hope it will, I’ll have to have a survey of course. Get a quantity surveyor in too, probably. It’ll cost a bomb to put straight.”
    â€œHey lover, listen.”
    â€œI’m listening.”
    Long pause.
    â€œWhat do you want it for?”
    â€œI’m looking for a bit of tradition, I suppose. My father was a self-made man.”
    â€œOh my God, ” Shamus drawled and, as if to show that the revelation had quite put him off, stepped quickly out of reach. “Big place all the same isn’t it, for a weekend hideaway? Twenty bedrooms or more . . .”
    â€œI suppose it is.”
    â€œNot probing you know. Do what you like with it as far as we’re concerned, provided you pay the price. Still you can always let a few floors I dare say.”
    â€œIf I had to, yes.”
    â€œRent out the land too, eh? Local farmer’d take it off your hands no doubt.”
    â€œYes I suppose he would.”
    â€œI’ve always thought it’d make a good school actually.”
    â€œYes, or a school.”
    â€œOr a hotel for that matter.”
    â€œPossibly.”
    â€œHey, what about a casino? Now there’s a thought. Some of those wicked London hostesses, eh? Get a few of the holy fathers in for a flutter.”
    â€œI wouldn’t want that,” said Cassidy shortly. He was perfectly sober but the whisky appeared to be affecting his movements.
    â€œJesus why ever not?”
    â€œI just wouldn’t want it, that’s all.”
    â€œOh now for the love of God,” Shamus declared in a tone of exasperation. “Don’t go telling us you’re a bloody Puritan. I mean listen, we’re not giving Haverdown to the Ironsides, lover, not even if we’re crying out for a crust of bread.”
    â€œI don’t think you quite understand me,” said Cassidy, hearing himself at a distance.
    Safely buttoned, he was gazing back at the great house and the one pink window shivering with firelight. While he watched, he saw Helen’s perfect outline slip silently across it as she gravely went about her domestic duties.
    â€œWe seem to feel rather differently about these things. I’d like to put the place on its feet, certainly. I’d also like to keep it as it was.”
    Once more he felt Shamus’ eyes watching him intently in the darkness, and he pitched his tone high to avoid the encroaching sentiment.
    â€œI mean by that, I’d like to do some of the things that you might have done if . . . well if you’d had the chance. I expect that sounds rather silly to you, but I’m afraid that’s the way I feel.”
    â€œListen,” said Shamus suddenly. “Ssh.”
    They stood very still while Cassidy strained his ears for an unusual rustic sound—the boom of a bittern perhaps, or the snarl of a natural predator—but all he could hear was the creaking of the house and the drowsy rustle of the treetops.
    â€œI thought I heard someone singing,” said Shamus, softly. “Doesn’t matter really, does it. Maybe it was just mermaids.” He was standing perfectly still, and the aggression had gone out of his voice. “Where were you?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œNo, go on. I love it!”
    â€œI was only trying to tell you,” said Cassidy, “that I believe in continuity. In preserving the quality of life. Which I suppose in your book makes me rather a fool, does it?”
    â€œYou