attention except Ines who, bulging through black underwear and stockings, was bent over looking in her handbag. She waved and smiled and said something about
his coat which he didn’t understand. The others looked at him. One, a thin woman in a long skin-tight red dress, was putting on lipstick before a mirror encircled by bulbs. She paused with
her mouth open and the stick at her lip, regarded him indifferently and carried on.
‘Here, come here,’ called Theresa. She was removing clothes from a pink wash-basin.
Trying to smile in a genial and unembarrassed manner, William picked his way between the garments on the floor. He knocked against a chair on which a tabby cat lay curled up on a skirt.
‘Take off your coat,’ Theresa said.
He did so slowly, hoping neither to make it bloody nor to let his eye be caught by the reflection of the other women in the mirror above the basin.
She took the coat. ‘It’s so heavy.’
‘That’s the hammer.’
‘A hammer? To mend my car?’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, William.’
Some of the skin was torn and there was a slight swelling; it looked worse than it was. She wanted to bandage it but he said there was no need. When the water made it sting he pretended it
didn’t. Ines called loudly to know what had happened. One of the other women said Theresa was stupid to persist with such an absurd car now that she could afford a new one.
‘Not yet,’ said Theresa.
‘After tonight, then?’
‘It’s not certain.’
There was a chorus of good-natured disbelief.
When the hand was clean she took Wiliam to the room where the four-piece band was playing a rumba. Three couples were dancing. More couples and a number of single women sat at tables at the
side.
Theresa led him to a separate table. ‘You can wait a while?’
‘Yes.’
‘They will bring you a drink. I cannot talk now. I will come and talk later.’
More people came in. Men asked some of the girls to dance and after a while he noticed that there seemed to be a high turnover in girls. Some were danced with once only, others for several
dances, others disappeared with the men. More couples came and stayed together, then more men and girls who came and danced and went. William assumed they were prostitutes but couldn’t be
sure. It was true that some held the eye for a fraction longer than normal, but perhaps that was because he was doing the same. It was true, too, that some had a knowing look but then almost all
women were entitled to that, so far as he was concerned. Being married had taught him little. He and Sally had gone out with each other in the usual way but after the initial excitement had worn
off they had got engaged instead of finishing, at the very time they had become bored with each other. It had added excitement, progress, focus to the relationship.
He had been grateful to her for marrying him and afterwards had begun to love her. He didn’t know whether she really loved him. She used to say she did, and there were times when he
thought she must, but most of the time – and especially now – she seemed to accept his being there in the simple unreflecting way in which she might have accepted a brother. By being
careful with each other, they got on well enough.
A waiter appeared with a tray and a tall glass. He gave a glacial smile and put the glass very precisely on William’s table. The drink had ice and lemon in it and was very cold.
More people came. A cha-cha caused a crowded floor. The dancers smiled, talking and swinging their hips ostentatiously. William sipped his drink, resenting the grace of the slim-hipped men; they
were disagreeably feline. The women, more generously hipped, danced with a rhythm which involved little movement, depending for its effectiveness on the time between movements. He realised he was
staring rather fixedly only when he noticed the guitar-player doing the same. The man was sitting upright except for his head which projected forward
his coat which he didn’t understand. The others looked at him. One, a thin woman in a long skin-tight red dress, was putting on lipstick before a mirror encircled by bulbs. She paused with
her mouth open and the stick at her lip, regarded him indifferently and carried on.
‘Here, come here,’ called Theresa. She was removing clothes from a pink wash-basin.
Trying to smile in a genial and unembarrassed manner, William picked his way between the garments on the floor. He knocked against a chair on which a tabby cat lay curled up on a skirt.
‘Take off your coat,’ Theresa said.
He did so slowly, hoping neither to make it bloody nor to let his eye be caught by the reflection of the other women in the mirror above the basin.
She took the coat. ‘It’s so heavy.’
‘That’s the hammer.’
‘A hammer? To mend my car?’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, William.’
Some of the skin was torn and there was a slight swelling; it looked worse than it was. She wanted to bandage it but he said there was no need. When the water made it sting he pretended it
didn’t. Ines called loudly to know what had happened. One of the other women said Theresa was stupid to persist with such an absurd car now that she could afford a new one.
‘Not yet,’ said Theresa.
‘After tonight, then?’
‘It’s not certain.’
There was a chorus of good-natured disbelief.
When the hand was clean she took Wiliam to the room where the four-piece band was playing a rumba. Three couples were dancing. More couples and a number of single women sat at tables at the
side.
Theresa led him to a separate table. ‘You can wait a while?’
‘Yes.’
‘They will bring you a drink. I cannot talk now. I will come and talk later.’
More people came in. Men asked some of the girls to dance and after a while he noticed that there seemed to be a high turnover in girls. Some were danced with once only, others for several
dances, others disappeared with the men. More couples came and stayed together, then more men and girls who came and danced and went. William assumed they were prostitutes but couldn’t be
sure. It was true that some held the eye for a fraction longer than normal, but perhaps that was because he was doing the same. It was true, too, that some had a knowing look but then almost all
women were entitled to that, so far as he was concerned. Being married had taught him little. He and Sally had gone out with each other in the usual way but after the initial excitement had worn
off they had got engaged instead of finishing, at the very time they had become bored with each other. It had added excitement, progress, focus to the relationship.
He had been grateful to her for marrying him and afterwards had begun to love her. He didn’t know whether she really loved him. She used to say she did, and there were times when he
thought she must, but most of the time – and especially now – she seemed to accept his being there in the simple unreflecting way in which she might have accepted a brother. By being
careful with each other, they got on well enough.
A waiter appeared with a tray and a tall glass. He gave a glacial smile and put the glass very precisely on William’s table. The drink had ice and lemon in it and was very cold.
More people came. A cha-cha caused a crowded floor. The dancers smiled, talking and swinging their hips ostentatiously. William sipped his drink, resenting the grace of the slim-hipped men; they
were disagreeably feline. The women, more generously hipped, danced with a rhythm which involved little movement, depending for its effectiveness on the time between movements. He realised he was
staring rather fixedly only when he noticed the guitar-player doing the same. The man was sitting upright except for his head which projected forward
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