He did not immediately move his hand from her lap. A chill rippled through Pru’s body.
“Stay,” he said. “And I didn’t mean why are you here, in this room. I meant why are you here? In this old house, with that old lady? Here, have another sip.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, increasingly emboldened by the wine, its taste continuing to sting the back of her nose. “As opposed to you, I’m getting paid. Quite handsomely at that.”
“Well, your excuse is far superior to mine.”
“Not exactly a high hurdle.”
“Ouch! I think I have a scar from that hit.” He chuckled in return. “You think it’s odd, don’t you? That I care so much about this old broad?”
“Odd is one word for it.”
“I mean, what precisely have I accomplished in the last three weeks?”
“Nothing as far as I can tell,” Pru said, and took another drink.
“So much effort. So much unneeded strife! Subjecting myself to drawn-out confabulations, fretting over blank tapes, possibly catching typhoid in this dank and musty home. All in the name of research.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Don’t I know there are hungry children in the world?” he rolled on. “Natural disasters? There are wars, for Christ’s sake! In Africa. And the Orient. Thanks to you chirpy Americans, there are entire villages being blown to bits!”
Pru flinched, and then swiped the bottle from his paws.
“Now I see why you’re a writer,” she said. “You don’t have the proper interpersonal skills for a real job.”
“You’ll get no dispute from me.”
Damn, he was blowing it already and didn’t even know why. Alas, no surprise there. Mishandling the attentions of this pretty young thing was only a matter of time.
“Listen, I’m not sure what I said to offend—”
“I may live in a dilapidated mansion,” Pru said, cutting into his sentence with the bite in her voice. “And I might work for an old woman who likes to shoot at people for recreation. But at least I have the good sense not to spout off about things I’m completely ignorant on.”
“I do tend to do that, don’t I? Anyhow, I enjoy being the nob. Expertise is overrated and my boggling nature makes people grateful not to be saddled with my very convoluted brain. I’m doing society a favor! Come now, enough with that sour-lemon face. I’m allowed to have an opinion on things. What do you call it in America? Free speech?”
“Yes, free speech, which doesn’t necessarily entitle one to act like an ignoramus.”
“Jesus H. A bit tetchy about Vietnam, are we?”
Win tipped over the bottle but they’d sucked it dry. He wondered if she wanted him to open another.
“TETCHY!” Pru said. “Do you have any manners at all?”
“What’s wrong, never met anyone against the war?” he asked, and discarded the bottle onto the floor. It hit the boards with a clonk, then rolled toward Pru. “You said you went to Berkeley. I hear there are a few protestor-types round there.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it,” Pru said. “So I respectfully request that you button your piehole.”
“Damn, I didn’t expect such spice—”
“And, since we’re speaking of wars,” Pru continued, good and fired up now. She kicked at the bottle and watched it roll back toward him. “You’re welcome for saving your pale, puddingy countrymen from the Germans.”
Win’s face dropped. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
The man was many things, not the least of which was Banbury’s resident village idiot, but Win Seton was never intentionally unkind. Yes, he was accidentally cruel at a near-criminal rate, but never on purpose. He hadn’t realized he was doing it until he saw how low he’d brought the girl. All the way down to his godforsaken level. And for what? He didn’t give a shit about Vietnam, either way.
“Shite on a biscuit,” he said and ran both hands over his stubble. “Aw, Miss Valentine, I didn’t aim to be such an arse. I was going for waggish. And failing spectacularly as it happens.”
“Yeah, you weren’t funny at all,” Pru said, and crossed her arms.
She studied him for several moments before finally speaking again.
“But I probably overreacted,” she admitted. “It’s a sensitive topic for me.”
“Oh Christ,” he said, the truth hitting him with a crack. Of course she was sensitive about Vietnam. Of course. “You have some beloved fighting the Charlie over in Nam, don’t you?”
Pru bit her lips together, refusing to answer, unwilling to kick about in this game.
“Fuck it all to hell,” Win said. “Please forgive me, if you can. I’m a writer. We exaggerate. We make nonsensical statements and see ourselves as cleverer than we could ever hope to be. Here! Let me open this bottle. Let’s have another and forget this conversation ever happened.”