Free After the Cabaret by Hilary Bailey Page B

repeated. ‘Still the same old snappy dresser.’ He put his arm round her. ‘Why don’t I buy you lunch? We’ll have some wine then go back to your book-strewn studio apartment for a cup of instant coffee in a chipped mug. I’ll say I need to pick your brains about the war-time cabinet but in fact I’ll be after your body.’ He put his arm round her.
    â€˜No, Greg,’ she said.
    He squeezed. ‘That’s not what you used to say.’
    She pushed him away, saying more loudly, ‘No, Greg.’
    The man at the other parapet slowly moved his book aside and turned. ‘Katherine,’ he said, ‘I didn’t notice you. Will you be at the Williamses tomorrow?’
    â€˜I think so,’ she said. She introduced the two men. ‘Ken Jerome, Greg Phillips.’
    Jerome nodded at Greg then said, ‘I’ll probably see you at the Williamses then.’ He put the book in his pocket and strolled off.
    Greg glowered at his retreating back then bent over the parapet again. ‘Smug English bastard. Why didn’t he say “hi” when we came up?’ he complained.
    â€˜He was reading. His attention was attracted by your trying to kiss me and my resistance. It’s the kind of thing people notice.’
    â€˜He certainly gave me the evil eye,’ Greg said. He straightened up to face her. ‘Well, maybe it was a friendly, welcoming look. Perhaps I’ve been away too long to tell the difference.’
    â€˜Fuck you, too,’ said Katherine. ‘You’ve been away six years, Greg. We broke up before you went, mainly because you wanted to go back to the States and I’d been offered a lectureship here – do you remember that? It was by mutual consent, but it cost me a lot to do it. It did, Greg,’ she said. ‘So now here you are again – “Look, I’m here.” You’re right, I was going to dodge you. But what did you expect me to do? What do you want?’
    â€˜All right, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime here, to write this book, make some kind of a name for myself. I’m jumpy – OK? But I am glad to see you, very glad. Parting wasn’t easy for me, either, but what choice did I have? I didn’t have much of a future here. Shall we go get some lunch? Please?’
    She softened. ‘Never refuse a meal,’ she said. ‘OK, let’s go.’
    They walked arm in arm along King’s Parade, then turned off down a narrow street with colleges on either side. Huge gateways showed grassy squares inside the old walls.
    â€˜How’s it going, the book?’ enquired Katherine.
    â€˜So well I’m scared,’ he told her. ‘Everything’s right, nothing’s wrong and still I’m paranoid.’
    â€˜Well, you know what they say about that,’ she said.
    â€˜It doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get me.’
    A bird in a tree overhanging a wall cawed. ‘Lunch,’ he said, leading her across the street.
    * * *
    They were in bed in Katherine’s room in college. Student voices came up from the lawn below.
    Greg, lying with his arms behind his head, said, ‘This is a lot better than the old days. Two whole rooms, big ones, all to yourself. Who does the furniture belong to?’
    In her sitting room were a sideboard, some small tables and a picture or two, which did not look like standard college issue. Though who knew what these dignified foundations thought suitable for their staff?
    â€˜They’re borrowed from a relative,’ she told him.
    â€˜Who’s that?’ he asked.
    She yawned.
    â€˜Tired?’ he asked.
    â€˜I’m trying to complete a paper about government regulations covering employment between nineteen forty and nineteen forty-one. It’ll be part of a bigger project, the effects on people of the civil measures taken in Britain during the Second World