She was just crossing the hall when Jillie appeared.
‘Oh, Alice, you can’t leave now. That handsome boy who’s been mooning after you all night was just asking where you’d gone.’
‘Jillie, I don’t want to talk to any boys, however handsome. Sorry. It’s been lovely and thank you, but I’ll miss my bus.’
‘All right. Oh, but look, he’s waving at you, you might at least say goodbye.’
Tom stood outside number five Channing Road, and decided there was no way he could go in. It was a huge detached four-storeyed house, with wide steps running up to the front door. Through the unshuttered windows of the hall he could see small groups of people chatting and laughing. He would have to confront them before he got into the party itself. There was no way Jillie was going to answer the door. He’d just go back – it had taken up some time at least. At that moment a car pulled up and four people got out of it, a boy and three girls; they looked at him. ‘You coming in?’ said one of the girls. ‘Good, we’re not the only latecomers.’ And she virtually pushed him up the steps and rang the bell, so that he was at the front when the door opened.
And by some miracle it was Jillie who stood there; she smiled at him and said, ‘Tom, how lovely that you’re here, come in, come in, and you lot too, of course, better late than never. Alice, look who’s here – it’s Tom Knelston. You remember him, don’t you? Now you can’t leave for a bit. Get Tom a drink and introduce him to a few people.’
‘I’m sure you don’t remember me,’ said Tom helplessly, but Alice smiled, the pretty smile that he did remember, and said, ‘Yes, of course I do. How lovely to see you. Come on in, give me your coat.’
‘You look as if you’re leaving,’ said Tom. ‘And I—’
‘Well, I was, but I’ve just missed the bus, and there isn’t another for an hour. What would you like to drink? There’s beer and a bit of rum punch left and lots of rather cold red wine. The bar’s in here – follow me.’
And she took off her coat and set down the attaché case she was carrying, and led Tom through the huge hall, with its wide sweeping staircase and wood-panelled walls, into what was clearly a dining room, equally huge, with shelves of books and dark red floor-length velvet curtains at the windows. A long table, set with a white cloth covered with wine stains but no bottles of wine, a great many bottles of beer, and an enormous silver bowl with a ladle which was actually empty apart from a few rather sorry-looking bits of fruit.
‘Oh dear,’ said Alice. ‘Looks like it’s beer.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve been drinking beer already anyway.’
‘Gosh, you’ve been to another party, have you? How smart.’
‘Not very,’ said Tom. ‘It was given by the local Labour Party.’
‘Goodness,’ said Alice. ‘You must tell Jillie’s parents. They’ll be frightfully impressed, they’re great Labour voters.’
‘Yes, Jillie did tell me that.’
‘We’ll go and find them in a minute. Now there’s food in the kitchen and I do know there’s lots of that left. Are you hungry?’
Tom suddenly realised he was. He followed her and found himself in some kind of new, exotic country with hundreds of people, it seemed, some very familiar, others more vaguely so. He spotted at least two cabinet members, one from each party, several lesser MPs who he remembered from the conferences, a couple who had starred in a series of musical comedies on the screen and another actor he had seen in a rather mediocre thriller. He also recognised one famous actor he had actually seen at the Old Vic and a distinguished novelist he recognised from the cover of his books. All of them talking, laughing, drinking, drawing one another aside from time to time, to reveal – he imagined – some confidence or other, kissing or embracing one another every so often for no apparent reason, pulling one another from group to group. Almost all of them good-looking, the women beautifully and, in many cases, imaginatively dressed. There was a lot of red to be seen, and a great many bosoms, much pairing of low necklines and dazzling jewellery, and high-piled hair, or frequently on the younger members of the cast – for it was, he decided, exactly like watching a play – long untamed Pre-Raphaelite curls. The men were colourful as he had never seen men before, in velvet jackets and flamboyant ties, many of them of the bow variety, waving cigars and what were clearly glasses of brandy about, all smiling benignly at him as he passed.
Everything was as different as it could possibly be from the party he had just left.
Tom was oddly easy to talk to, Alice discovered. They sat on the stairs and he ate an incredibly large number of sausages and an equally incredible number of mince pies; he obviously didn’t feed himself properly, she thought, her tender heart lurching. He talked about his new life in London without Laura. He loved his new job, he said, and felt he was doing something really useful. Then he suddenly stopped. ‘Sorry. This isn’t party talk, is it?’
‘I don’t like party talk,’ said Alice, only slightly untruthfully.
‘No, it wasn’t very polite of me. You’re nursing, aren’t you? How’s that going?’
‘Oh, pretty well. I do absolutely love it.’
‘Do you know all these people?’ said Tom, looking round, and she could tell they were exactly the sort of people he rather disapproved of, while reluctantly admiring them at the same time.
‘Oh, just a few of them. They’re all right, really – I know what you’re thinking.’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking anything, not in that way.’
‘Yes, you were,’ said Alice, giggling; then the scene with Philip came vividly back and quite suddenly, exhausted and overwrought, she burst into tears.
‘Oh, no, don’t, don’t – what is it, what did I say?’ said Tom.
A long silence, then: ‘Well – well, I broke up with someone just today,’ Alice said. ‘Someone I was very fond of.’
‘I’m sorry. Very sorry. I don’t suppose you want to tell me why?’ Tom asked, praying silently that she wouldn’t.
Then just in time, because she really was in danger of telling him all about it, which really wouldn’t have been a good idea, the front door opened and four more people came in, a couple of whom she knew, and one of them, dressed in a red velvet smoking jacket, looked at Tom and said, ‘Good heavens. It’s young Tom Knelston, isn’t it? Hello, Tom, what on earth are you doing in this fleshpot?’
And Tom jumped up, scarlet in the face, and held out his hand and said, ‘Good evening, Mr Herbert.’