The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst Page A

front of her, in a teasing delay. Her first thought, surprisingly strong, was that her own relations with Cecil, going on quite independently of George’s, if not entirely satisfactorily, must be kept as secret as possible. She felt there was something there, which mustn’t be exposed to reason or mockery. ‘We were talking about you, of course,’ she said.
    ‘Oh,’ said George, ‘that must have been interesting.’
    Daphne gave a soft snort at this. ‘If you must know, Cecil was asking if you had any particular girlfriends.’
    ‘Oh,’ said George, more airily this time, ‘and what did you say?’ – he had started blushing, and turned away in a vain attempt to conceal the fact. Now he was gazing off down the garden, as if he’d just noticed something interesting. It was quite unexpected, and it even took Daphne, with her sisterly intuition, a few moments to understand, and then shout out,
    ‘Oh, George, you have!’
    ‘What . . . ? Oh nonsense . . .’ George said. ‘Be quiet!’
    ‘You have, you have!’ said Daphne, feeling at once how the joy of discovery was shadowed by the sense of being left behind.

8
     
    Once the gentlemen had gone out, Jonah set off upstairs, and was almost at the top when he found he’d forgotten Mr Cecil’s shoes, and turned back to get them. But just then he heard voices in the hall below. They must have gone into the study for a minute, to the right of the front door: now they were by the hall-stand, getting their hats. Jonah stood where he was, not hiding, but in the shadows, on the turn of the stair.
    ‘Is this one yours?’ Cecil said.
    ‘Oh, you ass,’ said George. ‘Come on, let’s get out. I’ll bring this, I think, just in case.’
    ‘Good idea . . . How do I look?’
    ‘You look quite decent, for once. Jonah must be doing all right for you.’
    ‘Oh, Jonah’s a dream,’ said Cecil. ‘Did I tell you, I’m taking him back to Corley with me.’
    ‘Oh no, you don’t!’ There was a little tussle that Jonah couldn’t see, giggling and gasping, voices under their breath, ‘. . . ow! . . . for God’s sake, Cecil . . .’ and then the noise of the front door opening. Jonah went up three steps and peeped out of the little window. Cecil vaulted the garden gate, and George seemed to think about it, just for a moment, and then opened it and went out. Cecil was already some way down the lane.
    Jonah waited a minute longer where he was, looking up the last three stairs and across the landing towards the spare-room door. Jonah’s a dream – what a way they talked . . . though it must mean things were going all right, he was doing it all convincingly. He didn’t think Mrs Sawle would let Cecil take him away, and he certainly didn’t want to leave home. He’d been into Harrow, of course, many times, and Edgware, and once to the Alexandra Palace to hear the organ . . . He went on up. The landing was dark, with its oak panelling and thick Turkey carpet, but the bedrooms were flung open so as to air and were full of light. He could hear Veronica, the housemaid, in Mr Hubert’s room, her grunts as she shook and thumped the pillows; she talked to herself, in a pleasant, businesslike mutter, ‘. . . there you are . . . up we go . . . thank you very much . . .’. Jonah felt he had understood something, they had decided he was ready. He looked forward to straightening the room and taking his time with Cecil’s things, examining the buttons and pockets in more detail. He would never have said it to anyone downstairs, but he thought if he learned valeting it could be a job for him, in a year or two’s time. One day, perhaps, he would let Mr Cecil, or someone very like him, take him away after all.
    Then he pushed open the door, and saw at once he knew nothing, they’d told him nothing about what went on between bedtime and breakfast. It was like stepping into another house. Or else, he felt, as he took two or three short steps into the room, or else this Mr Cecil