Free Three Brothers by Peter Ackroyd Page A

wrote. Neither of them pretended that there was. They repeated the conventional wisdom—the wisdom, if that is the word, shared by the majority of other political journalists at any one time. They both wrote editorials on political matters, in which they attempted to be authoritative. They relied upon portentous cliché masquerading as strong opinion. They were stern and, in the guise of anonymity, they were self-righteous.
    Harry began to understand the way in which the political world worked. It was driven by ambition, and anger, and jealousy, concealed beneath the pretence of honesty and good intention. Nick and James realised the subterfuge well enough, and their conversation was filled with gossip about the weaknesses and vices of the politicians; but they wrote only about policies and issues, helping to sustain the deceit. George Hunter seemed genuinely to believe in the virtues of public office. He was considered to be old-fashioned. Nick and James merely gave credence to the lies they saw through. Over a drink, Harry felt at ease with them. He felt that they understood the world in which he, too, wanted to play a part.
    He and Hilda Nugent had, on the strength of his new income, moved to a basement flat in Notting Hill. It was a part of London that neither of them knew, and at first they had been alarmed by its air of decay and general dilapidation.The large terraced houses and stucco mansions had been divided into small flats and rooms for a population of beatniks, immigrants from the West Indies and transient workers. It was called “bed-sit land.” It suited them. They were still unmarried. Harry did not want to marry. He had told Hilda that he feared the expense and responsibility of a child. She might have suspected that there were other reasons but, if she did, she hid that thought from herself. She supposed that she was content with her present life. In turn Harry did not choose to enquire about his future with her. He did not reflect upon it. He did not believe that reflection was necessary.
    So, as an unmarried couple, they found a place among the transient or louche population of Notting Hill. They felt at home with the peeling stucco and the untidy balconies, the unswept basement areas and the faded paintwork. They had not chosen the area deliberately. Perhaps the area had chosen them.
    Hilda had found work as the manager of a coffee shop in Bayswater, called “The Wait And See.” When she had first told Harry the name she had become helpless with laughter. “Wait and see?” he asked her. “What is the hidden meaning in it?”
    “There isn’t one.” And then she added, “Wait and see.” She rearranged three small china bowls on the mantelpiece. “Haven’t you got anything else to ask me?”
    “Anything else? As in?”
    “Well, how do I like it?”
    “Like it?”
    “Yes. Enjoy. Take pleasure in. Derive comfort from.”
    “How do you like it?”
    “The job is just fine. Thanks for asking. There are times, Harry, when I feel that you don’t care for me at all.”
    “That isn’t true.”
    “Well, now I’ve said it.”
    Sometimes she described to him the events of the day. “Anold man came into the café today. He was perfectly dressed, bowler hat and all. He was tall and stout and wore a three-piece suit. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘I am Arthur Effles.’ That’s a funny name, isn’t it? ‘May I just order a cup of tea?’ Then he sits down, very deferentially I thought, and lights a fag. ‘You see, young lady, I am here with a purpose. I have rented a room in the neighbourhood. Just a plain, simple room. I have rented rooms in other parts of London. Then I fan out, so to speak, from street to street. At present I am on your street, which is Coppice Street. I visit every establishment—just like this one—and make myself thoroughly familiar with it.’ He kept on making little bows and blowing little kisses. He had a beautiful smile, like a patriarch . Do you know what I