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Authors: Alan Sillitoe
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of course. She ran from the house in a fit of the miseries which even her paintbox and easel could not dilute.
Crossing against the lights at Notting Hill Gate, she was sorry not to have been flattened into the asphalt, but immediately felt better on being comfortably installed in a taxi, and telling the driver to drop her at the Swallow Club in Soho.
She somnambulated to a space near the bar, and saw Jo Hesborn, who was halfway through a bottle of champagne.
‘Now why did you have to turn up?’ Jo said.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Diana snapped, though noting there were no men in the place.
‘Have a drink of this, anyway.’ Jo called for another glass. ‘I can’t believe my luck, that’s why I sounded a bit sharp.’ She held Diana’s hand, who felt thrillingly at ease, and not willing to withdraw it. ‘I’ve been madly in love with you ever since that lousy lunch party at Charlotte’s,’ Jo said. ‘And to say I’ve been repining for you wouldbe putting it mildly, but I have. So come on, love, knock that back, and let’s have a dance.’
For Diana it was more of a coup de foudre than the first encounter with Tom. ‘So,’ he sneered, when she took no trouble to hide the fact that she had stayed the night with Jo, ‘you chose freedom by falling in love with a woman.’ He wanted to find Jo, and crush her dry hard body to bone and gristle but, recalling her vicious attack on Norman Bakewell at Charlotte’s, thought better to leave her alone. ‘Anyway, you can clear out.’
‘I don’t see why.’ Jo had told her she shouldn’t, at least not in a hurry. ‘Marriage ought to be able to contain me having a relationship with a woman. Ours ought to, certainly.’
Oh, ho, tell that to Tom. He couldn’t bear the thought of touching her sexually from then on, without imagining he was with a woman he had picked up at a party, though he conceded, in order to have peace, that she might have a point about staying on, because when she brought Jo to dinner he didn’t dislike the situation, to his surprise and Diana’s chagrin. They were both women, after all.
At such cosy get-togethers he was uxoriously polite to Diana so as to make Jo jealous, but put on his maximum charm to Jo, who had a certain louche pull (though she was too thin in form and somewhat outspoken) until Diana thought his behaviour was working even on Jo in the same old way, so that Diana who, he couldn’t help noticing, was more in thrall to Jo than she had ever been to him, fell into a discussion with Jo about buying a chocolatebox cottage in deepest Wales, in which they could live much like the ‘Two Ladies of Llangollen’. Tom was glad to note that Jo thought more of her job in London than this promise of eternal clitoral bliss.
Tom was embarrassed when he and Diana went out together, because she looked at young women with the same famished intensity as himself. Neither liked the competition, but should have been happy to know that after years with nothing in common they now had one in which both hungered after the same sex.
Tom was more jealous than if she’d had affairs with men, or so he claimed during arguments stoked up with even more bitterness than before. With a woman the odds were piled too high. Maybe it was envy. It certainly was. She lusted after the women he fancied which, after the amusement had worn off, he didn’t like it at all. Such tackiness was undignified.
At a party one night, while Jo was visiting her family in Northumberland, Diana purloined a girl from under his nose. On another occasion, when he saw her smitten by a very good-looking middleaged woman, he sidled in and worked his charm, so that Diana didn’t get her – the sex war to end sex wars.
Such argy-bargy – or was it hanky-panky? – led him to observe that any woman he reckoned he could get into bed within half an hour was invariably an easy conquest for Diana as well.
Perhaps Diana’s way with women was a final attempt to prove her love for
Crossing against the lights at Notting Hill Gate, she was sorry not to have been flattened into the asphalt, but immediately felt better on being comfortably installed in a taxi, and telling the driver to drop her at the Swallow Club in Soho.
She somnambulated to a space near the bar, and saw Jo Hesborn, who was halfway through a bottle of champagne.
‘Now why did you have to turn up?’ Jo said.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Diana snapped, though noting there were no men in the place.
‘Have a drink of this, anyway.’ Jo called for another glass. ‘I can’t believe my luck, that’s why I sounded a bit sharp.’ She held Diana’s hand, who felt thrillingly at ease, and not willing to withdraw it. ‘I’ve been madly in love with you ever since that lousy lunch party at Charlotte’s,’ Jo said. ‘And to say I’ve been repining for you wouldbe putting it mildly, but I have. So come on, love, knock that back, and let’s have a dance.’
For Diana it was more of a coup de foudre than the first encounter with Tom. ‘So,’ he sneered, when she took no trouble to hide the fact that she had stayed the night with Jo, ‘you chose freedom by falling in love with a woman.’ He wanted to find Jo, and crush her dry hard body to bone and gristle but, recalling her vicious attack on Norman Bakewell at Charlotte’s, thought better to leave her alone. ‘Anyway, you can clear out.’
‘I don’t see why.’ Jo had told her she shouldn’t, at least not in a hurry. ‘Marriage ought to be able to contain me having a relationship with a woman. Ours ought to, certainly.’
Oh, ho, tell that to Tom. He couldn’t bear the thought of touching her sexually from then on, without imagining he was with a woman he had picked up at a party, though he conceded, in order to have peace, that she might have a point about staying on, because when she brought Jo to dinner he didn’t dislike the situation, to his surprise and Diana’s chagrin. They were both women, after all.
At such cosy get-togethers he was uxoriously polite to Diana so as to make Jo jealous, but put on his maximum charm to Jo, who had a certain louche pull (though she was too thin in form and somewhat outspoken) until Diana thought his behaviour was working even on Jo in the same old way, so that Diana who, he couldn’t help noticing, was more in thrall to Jo than she had ever been to him, fell into a discussion with Jo about buying a chocolatebox cottage in deepest Wales, in which they could live much like the ‘Two Ladies of Llangollen’. Tom was glad to note that Jo thought more of her job in London than this promise of eternal clitoral bliss.
Tom was embarrassed when he and Diana went out together, because she looked at young women with the same famished intensity as himself. Neither liked the competition, but should have been happy to know that after years with nothing in common they now had one in which both hungered after the same sex.
Tom was more jealous than if she’d had affairs with men, or so he claimed during arguments stoked up with even more bitterness than before. With a woman the odds were piled too high. Maybe it was envy. It certainly was. She lusted after the women he fancied which, after the amusement had worn off, he didn’t like it at all. Such tackiness was undignified.
At a party one night, while Jo was visiting her family in Northumberland, Diana purloined a girl from under his nose. On another occasion, when he saw her smitten by a very good-looking middleaged woman, he sidled in and worked his charm, so that Diana didn’t get her – the sex war to end sex wars.
Such argy-bargy – or was it hanky-panky? – led him to observe that any woman he reckoned he could get into bed within half an hour was invariably an easy conquest for Diana as well.
Perhaps Diana’s way with women was a final attempt to prove her love for
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