CHAPTER XXIII : SEARCHING FOR DIANA.
The trip with the usual stops in Athens, Rome and Paris, the loading and unloading of passengers and the hours’ long intervals at the transit lounges took all day and we arrived at Heathrow at about eight in the evening local time. In a way I felt I was returning home, or at least, my other home, my personal home away from the home of my family and childhood. A home where I could live as I pleased and could fall in love and make love with such unconventional persons as Carol and Diana. But also increasingly I felt the responsibility more intensely on my shoulders to get on with my studies with consistency. My responsibility to my father who was paying for my education and had reposed some of his dreams on my future. Something which until now hardly troubled my conscience. I took the bus for the West London Air Terminal and by nine-thirty I was at the door of 95 Queensgate. The landlady who managed the house was relieved to see me as I was two weeks late and a room, on my instructions, was empty. The new room was one floor below Omar and I lugged my heavy suitcase and tried to unpack the bare essentials for the night. Then I went one floor up to Omar’s room but he was not in. I tried calling Diana at home but there was no answer and I thought it strange that, at least, Mrs. Fremantle was not at home at that hour. I was tired and went to sleep soon after.
Next day was a Saturday. I went to the Gloucester Road luncheonette for breakfast and returned home and down the basement to retrieve the suitcase I left behind. Back in my room I began arranging my things in drawers and cupboard and my books on a shelf and the ledge of the fake fireplace that had the gas heater and a gas ring for boiling water for my teas. At about eleven I called Diana’s home but again there was no answer. Perhaps they had gone away for the weekend. I went upstairs and woke up Omar who was alone and was overjoyed to see me. He embraced me with such feeling I was surprised. I missed you so much, he said. Never missed a girl as much. I laughed. Not even Annie? I asked. Oh yes, Annie, that’s different. Tell me about Annie. I described the marriage preparations and ceremony and told him of my stay in Alexandria and my father’s attempts to get me involved with Lina. You did well to refuse her, he agreed. You have a life in front of you. You cannot get tied down to one girl however beautiful she is. These are the Middle Eastern mentalities of the past. In their world of ordinary, unattractive dames a good looker appears and everyone is out to get her. I hope your refusal is not because of Diana. Are you over that skinny bitch? I don’t know, I said. Oh God, he exclaimed. You are incorrigible, absolutely hopeless. He told me his father came for a week at the beginning of August for business. He had a contract to supply the Egyptian Air Force with radars and spent his days at the Farnborough Air Show. I was with him all the time, he said, because he brought with him his secretary and while he was negotiating with the high-powered industrialists I had to keep her company. His secretary? I asked. Yes, Omar said with a sour smile. I think she is to be my future stepmother. Wow, I said, what is she like? She has a nice-looking face but is plump and buxom like most Egyptian women. Much younger than him, stupid, narrow minded and not a word of English. He laughed. My Arabic gained a new fluency during that boring week. But there’s no getting away from it. A new wife is bound to create problems between father and me. Unfortunately, it is a situation anchored in the Egyptian culture. I hope at least he will keep paying my expenses until I finish studying.
I went down to the supermarket on Old Brompton Road and bought a few supplies. Bread, cheese, sugar, Darjeeling tea, a small carton of milk, soap, shaving foam and plastic throw-away razors. When I returned I called Diana’s house again but no answer. I went with Omar for a late lunch and then a stroll at the park. It was a lovely day and the park was glorious. We sat on the grass and talked. I asked about Ursula and Bettina. Ursula, he said, understood my game and quit me in a huff. As for Bettina, I see her now and then. She is a lovely girl and I think it would be a good start for you. What amazes me sometimes is the lack of solidarity between women. I mean, I would have expected Bettina not to accept my wooing since I was her friend’s boyfriend, but no, she went right ahead and we plunged into an affair straightaway. Well, I said, they were probably not very close to start with and after all it is not easy to resist Omar Abdel Moneim. He smiled with complacency though he was not certain I was not pulling his leg. So, shall I set the ball rolling? he asked. Not yet, I said. I have to ascertain a few things. Oh, go to hell, he cried exasperated. If I had not pushed you in Carol’s bed you would still be a virgin.
We spent Sunday together having walks and meals. On Sunday night I called Diana’s home and still no answer. On Monday morning I went to my college and registered for the second year and paid the minimal fees charged for the course. Coming back I took the bus to Fulham and stopped outside Diana’s house. I rang the flat’s bell and no one answered. I rang another bell and the main opened, I climbed the stairs where a woman waited for me on the second landing looking at me inquisitively. Forgive me for troubling you, I said. I’m looking for Mrs. Fremantle and her daughter. She looked me over carefully before answering. They left the house about a month ago, she said. Did they leave the flat? I asked. No, she said, the flat belongs to them. They just locked it up and left in a cab with some luggage. You wouldn’t know where they went? I am afraid not, she said. I thanked her and apologized for the disturbance. Outside in the street I stood for quite a while thinking. Where could they have gone? How would I ever find them? Suddenly a thought flashed in my mind. Edgar Mackenzie lived next door to them. I braced myself and went to the main door of his building. I looked at the names on the bell panel but his name was not on the flat doorbells. I thought perhaps he lived in another house nearby and went to the left and to the right checking the occupants’ names. No Edgar Mackenzie.
I returned to the original street entrance and rang a bell. This time an elderly gentleman in pajamas and slippers buzzed open the street door and waited for me to climb the stairs. He spoke to me cautiously behind a half-closed door. I asked for Edgar Mackenzie. He’s gone, he said. Landlord threw him out by court order about a month ago. Owed a year’s rents. Good riddance. A bad lot, he and his friends. House quiet as a church now. Thank you, Sir, I said. Just one more question. You wouldn’t know where he went? No, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I thanked him again and said I was sorry I disturbed him. On the street I started thinking furiously. Was there a connection between these two departures? They occurred at roughly the same time. Did Diana and Edgar get together again? How would I ever find out? I took the bus for South Kensington, had a snack at Barino’s and returned to my room. I was so completely preoccupied, I went up to Omar’s floor and tried to get in the room next door. It was locked and I remembered I now was on the floor below. I lay on my bed and thought and thought and thought and eventually my eyelids turned heavy and I slept. In the early evening Omar came to my room and suggested a movie. The new James Bond film. It was on at the West End for two weeks and had now come to the neighborhood cinemas. Life can get boring sometimes, he said. Then he asked, what’s wrong? He was psychic with my moods. He sensed the slightest perturbation. Nothing’s wrong Omar. I had a bad dream. He laughed. I know what your bad dreams are all about, he said. We chatted for a while and then we went to the cinema and James Bond made me forget Diana for a couple of hours.
I didn’t know where Diana worked but I remembered that she had applied for a post as a French teacher at a London Council school, had been accepted and was placed at a school in High Street Kensington. After breakfast I took the bus and walked along the High Street and asked for the London Council school. Finally I located it off the main street artery and entered it. I went to the Registrar’s Office and asked if a Miss Diana Fremantle, newly hired as a French teacher was there. The lady at the office after a few inquiries and looking in some folders told me that indeed Miss Fremantle was accepted to teach French but had recently resigned and withdrawn her application. The mystery was deepening. I returned home and I went upstairs to chat a little with Omar to get this peculiar business off my mind. For heaven’s sake, what’s wrong with you? Omar asked when he saw my long face. I can’t locate Diana, I said. Oh, I forgot to tell you, he said, that about a month ago I found this envelope at the tenants’ mail table down below. He moved nonchalantly, opened a drawer, pulled out a white envelope and gave it to me. It was sealed. On it in big letters was written, To Omar Abdel Moneim, by hand, and beneath, underlined, for George Ioannides. I looked at him in disbelief and utter amazement. You had this all these days and never gave it to me? You let me worry for days and go on a wild goose chase? Really Omar, I would not have expected it from you. His face hardened, perhaps from embarrassment. I knew it was from that skinny bitch and I was hoping you would forget her. I let it go at that. If I said anything more we would be entering a mutual sulking period and I did not want that. I took the letter and went to the door. I’ll go and read it downstairs, I said. Boy, oh boy, oh boy, he muttered loud enough for me to hear.
I went to my room with a thumping heart and opened the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside torn from a small note pad with no date and a short hand-written message. It said, Dear George, It is strange how life sometimes repeats itself. You abandoned me once and circumstances have now forced me to abandon you. With the difference that I thought it essential to let you know, so you would not endure the same gloom and uncertainty I went through. Things have changed radically in my life. Our affair cannot continue. It has irrevocably ended. I shall be leaving London and will not be back for some time. I wish you good luck for your studies and life. Diana.
I was stunned. I sat on my bed for a long while lost in thought. I could not help thinking what a heartless person finally Diana turned out to be. She supposedly did not want me to suffer the uncertainty of her disappearance and yet not a word of its cause. Her big-hearted letter that was to relieve my gloom raised as many questions as before. It left me hanging in the same uncertainty it was meant to dispel. She had not the least compassion to consider my love for her and offer a minimal explanation of her actions. I began thinking that perhaps Omar’s characterization of her as a skinny bitch was true. I went up to Omar’s room. What did she have to say? he asked right off. She broke off our affair, I said. He smiled. I know you must be upset, he said, but in my opinion you are very lucky. You would have never broken up with her. It had to come from her and it did. But why? I asked as if Omar could possibly have an answer. Who knows? he replied. Just stop musing about it and forget it. It’s over, thank God. Come, George, let’s go out and have a meal. We went out for lunch and Omar seemed elated. He joked continuously and his step was sprightly. He was evidently very happy at this break with the skinny bitch. He might have been contemplating how to get Bettina in my bed. But would Bettina give up the God of Love for his not-as-good-looking apprentice?
As I was tossing and turning at night unable to get the wretched affair off my mind, unable to sleep, I suddenly thought of someone who might provide me with information. If he hadn’t died, that is. Robin Fremantle, Diana’s sick uncle. Next morning, after a quick breakfast I took the tube to Victoria Station and boarded a train to Brighton. An hour and a half later I was at Brighton station. The weather was overcast but rain was not expected. Even in this gloomy weather the town seemed pleasant, open and more laid back that hectic London. I did not know in which hospital Robin Fremantle was treated but I got into a taxi and asked to be taken to the Brighton General Hospital. At Elm Grove? the taxi driver asked. Yes, I said not having the slightest notion. After a short drive he stopped in front of an impressive building and I got off. I entered the hospital and went to the information counter. I asked to see the patient Robin Fremantle. Morning visiting hours are over, the girl at the counter said. You may see him from four to five in the afternoon. I said I wanted to find out if he was still in the hospital. She looked in her lists and said there was no such name. I said he was a cancer patient and he may have died but it was important for me to find out. She directed me to the hospital offices down a long corridor to the protocol and records department. A young woman searched through the lists of deceased patients and found that Robin Fremantle died about two months ago. I pretended I was pained at the news and asked for his home address to go pay my condolences to his family. She gave it to me and I thanked her prof usely for her cooperation. I walked slowly towards the entrance. Diana had inherited his home. Might they be there? Outside the hospital I flagged down a cab and asked to be taken to thirty-nine Brooker Place and off we went my heart almost fibrillating. We drove for quite a long way and the English cabbies never cease to impress me with their detailed knowledge of even the remotest areas. This is it guv’nor, the cabbie said and I got off in a quiet residential street with houses on one side of the street and what looked like gardens with trees or perhaps clubs and tennis courts on the other.
Number thirty nine was a well-kept two-storey, one-family cottage with a large garden of grass and flower beds in front of it. I opened the garden door and walked on a stone-paved path towards the house entrance wondering if I had worked a miracle or was about to submit to a heart attack. I rang the bell. I was shivering. Mrs. Fremantle opened the door and stared. Well, I never, she exclaimed before she surged up to me, embraced and kissed me. I kissed her back with elation and relief. A good sign, I thought. A very good sign. I relaxed a little. The search was over but what was the story? I was still very tense. She turned inside the house and called, Diana dear, you have a visitor. Put something nice on. Come in, George. I entered a pleasant spacious parlor with comfortable armchairs and couch, a low marble table, a fireplace and to one side the TV set. Nice Victorian prints of horses, dogs and beautiful children dressed in royal finery on the walls. To the right was a staircase presumably leading to bedrooms upstairs. Please take a seat, George, said Mrs. Fremantle. Forgive me I was not expecting visitors and I am not looking my best. I was tongue tied. I waited for Diana standing. Please take a seat, George, she repeated. I can’t Mrs. Fremantle. Not until I see Diana. She laughed and went up the staircase and I heard her say, hurry up, dear. And Diana’s voice, who is it mummy? An angel, said Mrs. Fremantle. Who? cried Diana. Go and see, dear, she answered. I heard her steps descending and she suddenly appeared and looked, and looked, in disbelief, my skinny bitch, my heartless, two-timing lover and we moved towards each other and fell in each other’s arms and our tears mingled as we kissed over and over and over again. We sat on the couch and embraced and she said, let’s not talk for a while. We have a lot to say but let’s not talk for a while. We just kissed and the only words were words of love and tenderness. Words of emotions beyond explanations and the need for explanations. The miracle had happened.
We remained enlaced a long time. Mrs. Fremantle discreetly kept out of sight, first upstairs probably fixing the rooms, changing into something more formal and then pottering about in the kitchen preparing a simple meal for lunch. The time had gone past one. I kept looking at Diana’s lovely face, her blue eyes and happy smile. You do love me, my darling, I told her. Yes, you do. I can see that. For three months doubts were eating away at my entrails, my brain and my heart. Why did this happen? Tell me if you wish but if you don’t I shall never ask you again. She embraced me and kissed me. Of course, I shall tell you. You have a right to know. Brace yourself, my darling, for a weird story that led me to lose all hope of ever being with you again. But here you are and, my God, it’s almost a dream. You see, it all started when Edgar told me, that on the Tuesday of our date, his agent put on an exhibition of his paintings for exactly four days. Tuesday to Friday. Edgar was in terrible financial straits, needed money desperately and the man, the agent, tried to bail him out by putting on a show in his gallery in an attempt to sell some of his paintings. The inaugural day was Tuesday from five to seven in the afternoon and the agent had invited some of his wealthy clients for a small gathering with wine and snacks. I tried to get out of it but Edgar begged me to be present. He insisted so much and begged me so desperately, I simply was unable to refuse. I went to the gallery in Chelsea after work. I had been there once before some time ago and, when I went in, the place was practically empty. Two or three people moving about looking at the paintings. Edgar was dressed as sloppily as usual, just as you saw him. There was a small table with glasses of wine and snacks in a corner, almost untouched. Edgar came up and said, thank you for coming, and the gallery owner saw me, smiled, and said, how nice to see you again. Then, he set off the bomb. He said, why didn’t you bring along your fiancée? He was the man we talked to on two occasions at the pub on Old Brompton Road. Edgar nearly had a fit. I’m her fiancée, he said. No, no, not you, the man said laughing. The nice young man I saw at the pub. Edgar glared at me and sulked for the remaining hour we were there. Well, there were no clients to talk to and that obviously did not help to ease his black mood.
Then, of course, you saw us at South Kensington. My God, that was one of the most horrid experiences of my life. After that ill-mannered exchange, we took the bus for home and when we arrived Edgar asked me to go up to his flat. I told him I was tired but he said he wanted to talk to me and I thought it a good opportunity to bring the final break between us. Believe me, George, we had stopped making love for some time. Making love is the wrong expression. Having sex or fucking is the better phrase because there was not much love involved, at least on my part. I was sure he had his kicks at the parties he went to where I stopped going. Upstairs in his flat his temper exploded. It’s that sissy boy, isn’t it? Isn’t it? I saw it on both your faces, you two-timing bitch. You’re back with him that threw you away like a piece of dirt. Women are such bloody whores. Treat them right and they fuck you, treat them like dirt and they run after you. Oh cut it out Edgar, I said, I’m going now and it’s the last time I see you. In any case, our affair ended long ago, or didn’t you notice? That’s what you think, he shouted. I’ll give you something to remember me by. He began tearing at my clothes. I fought back and hit him and the irony is that my blows got him more and more aroused. In any case, I was no match for his strength and after a short struggle and blows he had me on the bed. I begged him to put on a condom as I was in my fertile period but he laughed. Yes, you whore, he said, I’ll give you a small present to get you into plenty of trouble. He ejaculated inside me and rolled over exhausted. If I had a knife nearby I would have sliced off his testicles. Good thing that there wasn’t. I dressed up and left. I told him if he ever came near me again I would go to the police.
Why didn’t you go to the police straightaway to report the rape? I asked. Do you think my complaint would stick? she said. There would be an interrogation and questions put to me as if I was the guilty party. Did you know this man previously? Did you have an affair with him? Did you have sexual intercourse on occasions before the rape? How many times? Why were you in his flat when it occurred? Did you go there of your own free will? Oh, George, the cards are stacked against the woman even in our civilized western world. A quote comes to mind from Germaine Greer. She said, women have very little idea how much men hate them. Even if not completely true, there is a lot of truth in that statement and it would all have come out at the police station. She laughed. Another quote which I often think about is, I think testosterone is a rare poison. I’ll let you think about that. Anyway, to get back to our story, Uncle Robin died a few days later. Father came from Paris for the funeral and left almost immediately after it. There was the inheritance business that needed a lot of running around. Mummy came with me to Brighton and we stayed a whole week to clear things up, going to and fro from solicitors to the Brighton and Hove Municipal Council, and now, she smiled, I am the proud owner of this lovely cottage. We returned to London and I went back to work but a week later my period did not appear. I went to the Fulham Medical Center and had a pregnancy test which turned out positive and so on top of everything else I had a new ethical problem to consider. That’s when your letter arrived and I think you’ll forgive me for not answering. I was in such a mess. I had to decide about the baby. My mother advised an abortion but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t end a life that had just been placed in my body, in my safekeeping so to speak, whatever the circumstances of its conception. I decided to keep the child, George. This led to a number of decisions. First that our affair could clearly not continue. Would you accept me being pregnant with Edgar’s baby? However kindhearted you might be that would have been an unrealistic decision to expect from you. So I wrote a letter and left it for Omar to give to you. Then mummy and I decided to leave London and come here until the baby is born. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Edgar’s face again. Just the sight of him would have caused me a miscarriage. We have a little money saved up and we can manage for a time. At work, I was scheduled to quit end of August but I gave my notice and left my post immediately. I also resigned my new teaching assignment from the London Council School and here we are.
Yes, here we are, my darling. Aren’t we terribly, terribly lucky to be together again? You look so beautiful and happy. They say pregnant women acquire a new luminosity and you are positively blooming. We have to think how to manage our future. Let’s leave that for a while, George. At this moment of joy we can hardly think rationally. Tell me your news, Annie’s wedding and above all how in the world you found us. I recounted my summer news and told her how I searched for her and finally thought of her Uncle Robin, which led me from his hospital to his house and so to them. I told her, of course, that Edgar Mackenzie was thrown out of his flat and was permanently out of the way. He did indeed think he was leaving trouble behind with his poisonous semen but Diana decided instead of excising the hate with an abortion, to safeguard the creation of life with love, something that is so rare in our world, in the history of mankind. We embraced and started kissing a strange, passionless kissing of pure love. At that moment I did not crave her body and sex but her soul in its entirety and I felt waves and vibrations come from her soul to envelop me. It was a metaphysical conviction, a sensation that I knew I transmitted to her as well. Mrs. Fremantle broke the spell by calling us for lunch. Diana got up and pulled me by the hand from the parlor to a spacious kitchenette-cum-dining room with a table and four chairs. Mrs. Fremantle had changed her clothes and done up her white hair girlishly as was her style and dubbed a touch of rouge on her cheeks to remove the English pallor. She was happy because her daughter was happy. Because after a lot of stress, trauma and worry about the future, a ray of happiness unexpectedly focused on her daughter again and as a result on her. Not a solution to their problems but a respite. For them, at that moment, it was sorely needed.
Mrs. Fremantle smiled as we entered the kitchen. Come in children, she said, and take a seat. Diana looked at me and winked. A pregnant child and her lover, she whispered to me and smiled. What was that? Mrs. Fremantle asked. Nothing, mummy, said Diana. Well, watch your manners. It’s rude to whisper, Diana. George, welcome to our house and to the frugal lunch I have prepared. I try to cook simple but nutritious meals for my daughter. We are quite comfortable here away from London’s hustle and bustle. A little isolated, perhaps. Not that we had that many friends in London. But we are getting used to Hove and, looking perhaps a little prematurely to the future, we were discussing with Diana whether, after the baby is born, it wouldn’t be better for her to look for a job here or in Brighton. Thank God, her pregnancy is normal. She is entering her third month and soon her belly will start swelling. I do hope you shall remain friends, George, and that you shall come often to see her. Mrs. Fremantle, I said, you must be aware that I am in love with Diana and I nearly went out of my mind when on my return from Cairo, I lost track of her. Her involvement with Edgar was partly my fault but it’s strange that in the situation that developed after we got together again, Edgar, though ever-present in my mind, was for me a shadow that I firmly believed would fade away. It was Diana’s sensitivity and kindness that caused it to drag longer than it should. And the paradox is that it’s now that she’s bearing his child that his shadow has finally dissolved. The bad dream, the nightmare is over and the baby is ours, Diana’s and mine. Diana started crying softly. Shut up, George, just shut up, she said with tears welling in her eyes. Your happiness at our meeting makes you say things you might regret. We shall meet again plenty of times and you will see me with my belly protruding, ready to burst. And you might see the baby resembling Edgar and might not like it. So just shut up. We’ll see how it goes. Now, now, my dear, said Mrs. Fremantle, there are better ways to get your message across than telling George to shut up. I laughed. For me, Mrs. Fremantle, this was a declaration of love. She laughed. Yes, yes, she said but surely there are politer ways to do it.
We had a lovely light lunch and moved to the parlor. Mrs. Fremantle prepared some tea and the happy small talk continued mainly about Hove, about the seaside which was not far off and which sported a naturist beach. We’ll go there sometime to swim in the nude, Diana said looking at me. Oh, I couldn’t, I said. You might be used to it, Diana, but I am not. She reached and slapped my arm. What was that supposed to mean, Diana? Mrs. Fremantle said in the mock-strict mother’s tone she sometimes adopted. Don’t you see he’s teasing me, mummy? she said laughing. I say, George, won’t you spend the night with us? I didn’t expect that. I looked at Mrs. Fremantle for her reaction and she raised her shoulders and eyebrows in a non-committal grimace. Have you a guestroom? I asked. No, said Diana, just two bedrooms upstairs. Take your pick. You can either sleep with me or with mummy. Really, Diana, aren’t you overdoing it? Mrs. Fremantle said smiling. Diana giggled. Ask a silly question, she said, and you get a silly answer. I entered the spirit of her mischievous humor. I haven’t got pajamas, I said. You won’t need any, was the reply. I don’t even have a toothbrush. You can use mine, she said. I have used yours often enough. I owe you a few brushings and at least one tube of toothpaste. I don’t even have my shaving kit, I persisted with my fabricated objections. Diana laughed. Even that problem is solved. I have shaving gel and a razor I use for my legs. Any more insoluble problems? I bent to her ear and whispered, I haven’t got any condoms. She laughed. Shall I ask mummy if she has any? she said. I panicked. No, please don’t, I said. What’s going on children? Mrs. Fremantle inquired. Your children are being naughty, Diana said. Oh well, I think I’ll go up for a rest. See you later.
We started kissing again and petting and getting aroused. My beautiful, blue-eyed Diana’s breath quickened, her tongue rediscovered familiar pathways in my mouth and face, and her hand strayed to ascertain that her magic still worked. Well, we couldn’t very well go upstairs at this hour and hardly foolhardy enough to make love in the parlor, so I pushed Diana away and told her we’d better go for a walk. Heck, she said, heck, heck, heck. Okay let’s go. We walked for over an hour and a half, holding hands and kissing every now and then. We reached the seaside and strolled on the walkway by the sea. It was nearing six o’clock and a few swimmers and children were splashing in the sea or sunning on the pebbly beach and strollers walked up and down enjoying the fresh breeze and the discreet English sun. Amongst other chit-chat, news of my summer in Alexandria, and Annie’s latest news I told Diana of my father’s attempts to get me engaged to Lina. So you left a beautiful Greek virgin to return to second-hand English goods, she commented. Yes, I said, to the woman I love. She kissed me passionately right there on the walkway, in the midst of the strollers. I don’t know if I deserve you, she said. Whether you deserve me or I deserve you is beside the point. Big loves are small miracles. We are fortunate to be in the middle of one. Yes, my darling, she said. Oh yes. On the way back I bought a bottle of Beaujolais from an off license. At home we found Mrs. Fremantle preparing the early English dinner. Oh, a nice bottle of wine, she said. Diana, just a small glass for you.
We sat in the parlor for an aperitif of Beaujolais before dinner and I told Mrs. Fremantle we went for a lovely walk and how much I liked Hove. I think, I told her, you might have an uninvited guest a little too often at your home in the future but if I make a pest of myself please let me know. I shall leave that to Diana, Mrs. Fremantle said. As for me you shall always be welcome. Diana jumped on me and kissed me on the mouth in front of her mother. Yes, mother, she said, I shall not hesitate to throw him out. We sat for dinner in a merry mood and talked on all sorts of topics. Then Diana helped her mother clear the table and while mummy prepared some tea we kissed, joked and petted in the parlor. Later we watched some television and at about ten, just as it got dark outside, Diana told her mother that she felt very tired and could we be excused to go and sleep a little early. Mrs. Fremantle smiled. You go ahead, dear, she said. George and I will watch a little longer and we’ll turn in early. But I was thinking of George, Diana protested. He’s had a long, difficult day travelling from London and searching for us. Yes, okay, Mrs. Fremantle agreed, off you go both of you then, and don’t make too much noise. Diana laughed. That was a sly remark, mummy, she said. To paraphrase you my dear, ask a sly question and you get a sly answer.
We climbed the staircase at the end of which w