The Realms of Gold by Margaret Drabble Page B

met him.’
    â€˜Yes, I did,’ said Frances. ‘A good few years ago, now.’
    â€˜A nice fellow,’ said Hunter, idly, probingly. She panicked, unsure what to do. Should she tell all and get the real news of Karel? Should she keep calm and disown him? Should she suggest ownership? Hunter, she thought, would like her to tell all, so that he could sympathize, but perhaps he would sympathize too much. If she disowned him, she wouldn’t get the news. The only thing to do was to suggest a vague association, implying all and telling nothing: that would keep Hunter quiet and get her what she wanted. If only I still
had
Karel, she said to herself, I wouldn’t get into these confusions, drinking too much at lunch time and all this kind of thing.
    Her tooth was beginning to ache: she had hit it, in her panic, on her pudding spoon.
    â€˜He’s a
very
nice fellow,’ she said, warmly. ‘
Very
nice. In fact quite one of my closest friends.’ She’d said that in a special enough way, she hoped, without too much of a leer. ‘And how was he?’
    â€˜Oh, he seemed very well,’ said Hunter. ‘Working hard. He does two evenings a week WE A as well, he says. We had quite a chat about it, because I was thinking of doing a class myself next year, if I can afford it. The pay’s appalling. I don’t know what he does it for.’
    â€˜Two a week is too much’ said Frances, faintly, emptying her glass quickly as Galletti reached for the replenishing decanter, and replenished. Waves of loneliness poured through her. Two a week. Last time she had spoken to him, he’d only been doing one. He had taken on a whole new class and she hadn’t known. She felt insulted and bereft.
    â€˜One would be all right, though, I thought it might be fun,’ said Hunter. ‘Does he do it for fun?’
    â€˜I don’t really know’ said Frances, cautiously. ‘I think he enjoyed it, yes. He’s a very good teacher,’ she said, primly and loyally.
    â€˜And he’s got a large family,’ said Hunter. ‘Perhaps, with all those children, even a fiver helps . . . ’
    â€˜It’s not as large a family as
mine
,’ said Frances.
    â€˜Ah yes,’ said Hunter, with a touch of malice, ‘but then we all know you’re the golden girl, don’t we?’
    â€˜Tell me some more about Karel,’ said Frances, rather pleased by the malice: flattery was all very well, but it wasn’t as good as real acknowledgement. ‘What else did you talk about?’
    Hunter stared at her calmly. He had a peculiar baby face, soft and freckled and pale, and long wavy hair, straggling a little round his neck, as though it had passed the point where he usually cut it. He was very relaxed. He was years younger than she was.
    â€˜We talked about you, of course,’ said Hunter.
    â€˜But you don’t know me,’ she said.
    â€˜I knew you through Derek. And I knew your work.’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose so.’
    â€˜Aren’t you going to ask me what he said about you?’
    â€˜I don’t know if I dare,’ said Frances, as the air turned very still: her heart was beating rather loudly, and her tooth seemed to be beating in time with it, with an incessant throb, like a generating machine. Suddenly Hunter’s self, which she had taken so lightly, assumed a terrible significance: there he was, this bland young man, smiling at her, a fatal messenger. How much would he dare to say? If the news were bad, would he utter it, and would she blame him for delivering it? Or was he the kind of polite person who would never tell an unwelcome truth? It was important to know, but too late to discover. He smiled at her, knowingly. He was a quiet trouble-maker, maybe. It was too late to escape. If Karel had disowned her, she would die.
    â€˜Oh, I think you dare ask,’ said Hunter.
    â€˜All right, then,’ said