CHAPTER XXIV : LONDON – HOVE.
Hey, where have you been? he almost shouted. I found her, I said. Oh my God, what an ass you are. Where was she, at the North Pole? No, in Hove. Where the hell is that? Near Brighton. And you spent the night there? Yes. With her family? Just her and her mother. They have a house there. My God, George, don’t you see you are committing yourself? I have no choice, she is pregnant. Oh my God, how did this happen? You got yourself into a nice mess. Get her to have an abortion. She wants to keep the child. Sure, that a good way to hitch you to her well and good. And what’s more it might be the other guy’s child. No, she broke up with the other fellow some months ago. Says who? She said so. And you were so careless to fuck her without a condom? Well, it happened, Omar. These things happen. We were playing around and I didn’t have time to pull out. And what was that letter all about? Breaking off the affair and all that? She didn’t want to put pressure on me with her pregnancy. Ha! I don’t believe a word of it. Never mind, I said. Have you had dinner? Get dressed and let’s go out for some. We walked to a place called Grisbi near Annie’s old room. The familiar setting reminded him of her. How’s Annie? he asked. They’re in Istanbul. Her husband’s the Greek consul there. She seems happy enough. Give me her address, please, George. I want to write to her. To tell her what? I asked. That you have had about thirty girls since she left? In any case, I haven’t got her address. I get her news indirectly from my parents. I want to keep in touch with Annie, Omar said. She’s one woman I cannot get over. That’s not very obvious, I said and Omar glared at me.
At night I couldn’t sleep. The decision to marry Diana was non-negotiable. What troubled me was how to resolve this with my family. What would my father’s reaction be? He was not a man to be trifled with. I had rejected the Lina option on the grounds that I was too young, not ready to be married. How would I justify the sudden decision to marry Diana? There was the pregnancy, of course, but would he be indulgent or would he feel let down, in which case he could take any number of adverse decisions? On the other hand, could I keep such an important event in my life a secret from them? I simply could not decide one way or another. In the darkness of my room I felt I was drowning and thrashing about to clutch the slightest straw that would save me. I shall ask Omar, I thought. I was as desperate as that. Desperate enough to submit to his disgusted condemnation again in the hope of getting a glimmer of common sense that seemed to elude me.
At lunch the next day I asked him to help me straighten out my thoughts because I seemed unable to think clearly. He laughed. When did you ever follow my advice? he asked. Perhaps I don’t follow it but it gives me a sense of balance, another point of view, I said. You, Omar, are a Moslem. But not an ordinary, deprived Moslem who is satisfied with four wives. No sir. You must be a descendant of a royal line of Khalifs and you need a harem to amuse you, to titillate you, and to worship you. I am really surprised you are still stuck on Annie. I am stuck on no one, Omar said annoyed. In any case I do not have a pigeon mentality who when he mounts his mate for the first time he is stuck to her for life. They look so ridiculous these male pigeons running around the missus, puffing their feathers strutting around her self-importantly and doing some ridiculous step-dancing while the female totally ignores them. I feel like taking a kick at them. Hey Omar, I said, I just realized you’re a woman-hater. Wow, after all these years your need to take a kick at the show-off male pigeons struck a chord. I suppose all womanizers basically must be woman-haters. He laughed. Has that skinny bitch been indoctrinating you? And another thing, Omar, please stop calling Diana that skinny bitch because she is going to be my wife. He stopped eating and stared at me. You want my advice? he asked. Why do you want my advice if you’ve already made up your mind? If you were a pigeon I’d give you a bloody hard kick on your ass. I laughed. I never realized how lucky I am not to be a pigeon, I said. He laughed too. Oh George, he said, a man cannot be saved if he does not want to be saved. I don’t see it this way, Omar. Even the Khalifs with the harems have always had a favorite wife. It is in every story, in every oriental history. Only the poor chaps have to go around satisfying their other wives before enjoying making love to their favorite. In your religion the Prophet demands equal treatment for all. I just have one woman and she happens to be the favorite. Aren’t I better off than the Khalifas? And, by the way, Omar, the emotional state I’m in is called love. I am deeply in love with Diana. She is going to have a baby and I want to marry her. Is that outrageous? He said neither yes nor no. We ate in silence for a while.
What did you want my advice about? Omar asked eventually. His face softened and he had a hint of a smile. I wanted to know how I should handle this with my family, I said. You see, after my father tried to get me engaged I refused on the grounds I was still too young. How am I to tell him now that I intend to get married? I am afraid he might tell me that I am not serious a serious person, not serious about my studies either and I should return to Cairo and enter the family business. I wouldn’t go back, of course, but that would leave me without funds and I would have to get a job and what kind of a job would I ever get? A delivery boy? A supermarket employee? The other option is not telling them at all but that would be deferring the difficulties and a possible break for later on. Omar did not hesitate. Obviously, he said, not telling them is out of the question. You have a good reason to get married quickly because of Diana’s pregnancy. You can tell your father that you shall go on with your studies and shall not require a larger allowance. That Diana’s family is reasonably well off and has a house in Hove where Diana will be staying while you will be studying in London. The marriage will be little more than a formality, a civil marriage at the register office in Hove so that the child will not be considered illegitimate. This, you believe, was the correct moral step that had to be taken. That’s about all. Thank you Omar, I told him. For once your advice is considerate and proper and I think I shall adopt it. My advice has always been considerate, he said. The trouble is we have different viewpoints but I always had your best interests in mind. As I saw them, of course. We have been friends since kindergarten and you are more than a brother.
I spent that afternoon writing the letter to my parents. As lucidly and as convincingly as I could. I hoped they would take it in good stead. Later in the evening Diana called. She wanted me to go and stay with them for a few days. Bring a toothbrush, your shaving kit and some underwear but no pajamas, she said laughing. Oh, and bring your bathing trunks with you unless you would rather go to the naturist beach for a swim. I think I would like that. Be a devil and let’s give it a try before my belly starts swelling. Okay, I said, we might do that. I’ll see you in a few days, my darling. I hate to impose on Mrs. Fremantle though. If anything, mummy is even keener than I am to have you here. She says you’ll calm me down. Right now I’m like a tiger in a cage. Please come tomorrow. No, I’ll try to make it by after tomorrow. I have few things to put in order.
I sent off my letter the next day and brought out my school books to have a look at them and decide on a program of revision before college started. Things would be tight with Diana away and my need to travel often to see her. I had new responsibilities to two families, one in Cairo and one in Hove. After a quick lunch, which I had alone at Lyon’s because Omar was not in his room, I took the underground to Russell Square and visited Aunt Agatha. She was alarmed to see me so suddenly in the early afternoon. I told her everything was fine and that henceforth my visits would be sudden and unexpected and in the afternoons as on Sunday I would ordinarily be visiting my wife. She nearly fell off her chair. I recounted my romance with Diana leaving out the odious Edgar Mackenzie and that the baby we were expecting was his and went into serious detail in describing our Annie’s wedding. My Alexandria stay as well and the city she still dreamed about and my parents whom she knew well, especially my gentle mother whom she loved. She asked if Annie was pregnant and I told her not yet and that this worried my parents. All in good time, she said, all in good time. We had a cup of tea and I left after a couple of hours feeling I had kept my promise to Annie. For a start at any rate.
Next day I left the house around nine. There was no particular hurry. I did not want to wake up Omar who might have had a girl in his room so I slipped a note under his door telling him I’d be away a few days and off I went to Victoria and then onto the train for Brighton. The day was cloudy, cool and pleasant. I reached Brooker Place round about noon and found Diana on patrol duty in her garden. She rushed at me as I was paying the taxi driver and was enveloped in her embrace, her joyful cries, her laughter, her silky hair all over my face, my mouth, her pure blue gaze of love and I thought paradise must be something like this. To me she seemed more beautiful with each passing day. Mrs. Fremantle came out of the house to welcome me with a kiss on each cheek. I was comforted by her warm welcome for though I had no doubt of Diana’s happiness I was not sure if my presence was not an additional burden for the hard-working elderly housewife. We went to the parlor for a cup of tea and then Mrs. Fremantle suggested we go for a walk while she prepared lunch. Diana must walk a lot, she said, and often she is bored to do so on her own. So off we went in that perfect walking weather hand in hand or with arms around our waists stopping now and then on empty streets to practice our kissing techniques, which simple as they seem, contain infinite subtleties. All one needs is infinite love, infinite adoration, and that we possessed.
On the beachfront, despite the clouds and coolness, a few people were splashing about in the sea and well-behaved English children were digging holes, collecting pebbles and building strange constructions with a minimum of noise. I told Diana I sent off a letter yesterday to my parents to tell them I was going to be married. She looked perturbed. Are you sure, George? Are you absolutely sure? she asked. Did you tell them the baby is not yours? Of course not, I said. I wrote that you were pregnant with my child and I had no other option but to marry you. In any case, that’s how I feel. Do you know how I feel, George? I feel like a blackmailer. I feel your love for me is playing a dirty trick on you. An unfair game. I feel I should refuse your offer or else I would be a guilty party in this unfair deal. Well, I said, you have a number of options to choose from. You can send me away and refuse my offer on the grounds of fair play. You can try to find Edgar Mackenzie who wanted to marry you and, after all, is the father of your child and the third option, which in your opinion might be more equitable to me, would be to put the child up for adoption. Diana stood stock still and stared at me wide-eyed, dumbfounded. You don’t mean that, George? she said almost in tears. I pulled her in my arms. No my darling, of course I don’t. I was just trying to show you we have no choice. Do I have to tell you over and over how much I love you? That because of this love I consider your body and the crop of your body as mine? She kissed me tenderly. You really are an angel as mummy says. Moreover, consider this, I said. When the baby is born you shall have to declare the name of the father. If you write, unknown, they shall regard you as a trollop, a slut. If you give the name of Edgar Mackenzie, one can never be sure that one day Edgar will not find out and cause us trouble. Whereas your legal husband’s name, George Ioannides, is an ironclad protection for you and your baby. Her eyes glistened with tears that, however, did not well over. You really are an angel, she repeated. I often wonder if I deserve you. We have been through that, I said. Shall we tell your mother we are getting married? Diana laughed. She already knows it, she said. From when she saw you in front of her as she opened the door the other day.
We started ambling back towards the house. I don’t think we had ever been closer. We were at that special moment when two people decide to marry, decide to spend the rest of their lives together. We were at that special moment which is at the apex of physical love, of carnal need and enjoyment, of spiritual identification with each other. I was not far off when I said that a great love is a minor miracle. A major miracle for the lovers. We told Mrs. Fremantle of our decision to get married as soon as possible and the reasonable reply I was expecting from my father and she said that now she had also to inform her husband who, she said, is rather detached from the humdrum family affairs. He is not a bad man but sometimes I get the feeling he cares more about football than his family. Diana laughed. A rather wild exaggeration, mummy, she said. Do you think George might turn out, in time, to be like that? Heaven forbid, cried Mrs. Fremantle. Never, never, never. Ah, I just remembered we still have half the bottle of Beaujolais untouched. I’ll get it so we can celebrate in style. She went to the pantry to fetch it and I told Diana I did not much like football. I know that, she said. That’s why I consented to marry you. I heard that, Mrs. Fremantle said coming into the kitchen with the wine. Shame on you Diana; that was coarse and unfair even as a joke. There are not many Georges in this world. Diana looked at me shaking her head. No sense of humor whatsoever, she said. Mrs. Fremantle poured the half full bottle into three equal portions and wished us as much happiness as we were now experiencing, for the rest of our lives. We went through lunch chatting merrily and when we finished Mrs. Fremantle asked Diana to help her clear the table and we moved to the parlor for a cup of tea. I was wondering how to take our leave tactfully when Mrs. Fremantle said, okay run along upstairs children to rest and don’t overdo it. Diana laughed. Overdo what, mummy? she asked innocently. Don’t be cheeky Diana, chided Mrs. Fremantle. And you, mummy, stop coming up with sly remarks. You are embarrassing George. Oh, hardly, I said laughing and we scrambled thankfully up the staircase to shed our clothes with the most definite intention to overdo it.
Three days passed like a dream. They were a truncated honeymoon, those days before the baby was born. I came to Hove twice again to stay midweek for some days before college started and when it did I was with Diana from Friday evening till midday Sunday. During that time, with Diana, we gave Notice of Intent to Marry at the local Registrar’s Office and there was a fifteen day waiting period before setting the appointment for a civil ceremony. Meanwhile, I had received a reply to my letter from father. It was not hearty or congratulatory but at least he seemed to concur that a marriage under the circumstances was the decent thing to do. He was unable to come to the civil ceremony but said at some future date he would come to England with mother to meet Diana and her parents. He was relieved at the arrangement we had decided upon that would allow me to continue with my studies. Those days with Diana were heavenly. We went for long walks and to the beach to swim when the sun was out. We also went to the naturist beach but only once because it was a bit out of the way in Brighton and we had to take a taxi. I found the experience much less embarrassing and much less titillating than I imagined. What with the plump, droopy-breasted mothers, beer-bellied fathers and noisy children running around without a stitch on, the only exciting spectacle which tended to harden my penis was my wonderful wife-to-be. Her belly was beginning to protrude, her breasts to enlarge and her rosy nipples to darken. I could not take my eyes off her and her knowing smile told me she was aware and pleased at my excited agitation. What was absolutely novel was the sensation of swimming naked in the sea. One felt a freedom and a sensuality beyond what one felt even naked on the beach.
Finally the appointment for the civil marriage ceremony at the Register Office was fixed at the end of September, just about a week before the nation’s schools and colleges started regular courses. Charles Fremantle begged our pardon for being unable to attend and Mrs. Fremantle was furious. One would think he is burdened with Great Britain’s entire foreign policy, she said. He did talk to me, however, on the phone and congratulated me and said he looked forward to meeting me at some future date. Two witnesses were needed for our civil marriage. One was to be Mrs. Fremantle and for the second one I asked Omar to attend the ceremony and be my witness, which he graciously accepted. He arrived in Brighton and the Register Office at the appointed date and time. He was very hearty with Diana and her mother and for that I was extremely grateful. The ceremony was quick, businesslike and unemotional and Mrs. Fremantle invited us for lunch at one of Brighton’s better restaurants and a bottle of champagne was opened for the occasion. It was a true celebration of an event that began unbeknown to me at the English School when Diana noticed and was attracted to Annie’s elder brother, that flickered briefly when I met Diana at Annie’s room in London, that almost ended when I could not cope with my inexperience, that rekindled at Annie’s room once again, and after her relationship with Edgar Mackenzie and our many, many quarrels, a stealthy, persistent and unrelenting mutual attraction and love conspired with fate and threw us together, finally attaching us in a Gordian knot, all the stronger because she was carrying Edgar Mackenzie’s child.
We talked animatedly and I embarrassed Omar by telling Mrs. Fremantle how he was constantly trying to fix me up with girls with absolutely no success. Omar laughed. George had a one-track mind, he said, and that track led straight, without the slightest deviation, to your daughter, Mrs. Fremantle. I told them also that should Omar one day decide to write his memoirs he would put to shame the Casanova legend. Oh, cut it out, George, will you? Omar protested. The funny thing, which come to think of it is understandable, I continued, ignoring him, is that he hardly puts any effort in this pursuit. It’s the girls who are usually after him. I can well understand that, said Mrs. Fremantle with a smile. I think she, too, was dazzled by his looks. I did not tell them that he was also forever trying to break up my relationship with Diana. Not even as a joke. I asked Diana if she remembered him from the English School and, strangely enough, she said she did not. I was stuck, she said laughing, to Annie’s big brother but in the School’s caste system of age differences he never noticed me. Of course I was thin and short and looked at least two years younger than I was. Coming to think of it, had we paired off at the time it might have prevented many difficulties and misunderstandings in our relationship. That might be true, Diana, I said, but I tend to take the view of our Alexandrian poet Constantine Kavafy who in his world famous poem, Ithaka, said, When you set out on your journey to Ithaka ask that your way be long, full of adventure, full of instruction. You are my Ithaka, my darling Diana. It goes on to say, do not fear the Lastrygonians and the Cyclopes and the angry Poseidon. You will never meet such as these on your path if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine emotion touches your body and your spirit. How wonderful, cried Mrs. Fremantle. How wise you are, George. I laughed. I think the wisdom is not mine but Constantine Kavafy’s, I said. And, I must say, my thoughts were not always lofty, were they Diana? Diana’s eyes were glistening. How could they be under the circumstances? she said. That was the only solemn note in an otherwise light-hearted conversation which flowed easily with the help of our fine French champagne. We walked Omar to the railway station which was not far off and after many thanks and many kisses he clambered on his carriage for London. Husband and wife and mother-in-law took a taxi to Brooker Place and the married couple retired for their first conjugal after-lunch nap, their desire, if anything, reinforced by the emotion of their new status.
I returned to London a few days later on a Sunday afternoon to start my scholastic routine. Omar was very happy to have me back at 95 Queensgate. He said he was by now almost as much married to me as Diana and felt my absence from his life sorely. I advised him to find a nice unsexy girl to go steady with and that this would stabilize his life, cool his libido and reduce his dependence on me. But just as I always shunned his advice, he just as stubbornly refused to consider mine, which admittedly was totally unrealistic. When college started, from the very first day I became a regular swot. I worked hard during the weekdays so that I might have an anxiety-free, study-free weekend with Diana. I was happy to notice that my daily efforts induced Omar to take his studies seriously as well. After all we both had a crucial exam to confront at the end of our second year. I wrote to my parents a letter once a week and it was always my mother that answered with news of the family and inevitably some gossip of our circle of Cairo friends. She confided that she was worried by the fact that Annie had not yet fallen pregnant and that her in-laws had started grumbling in their letters to their son asking him whether they were taking any precautions to avoid pregnancy. They badly wanted a grandchild. Annie decided to do a series of tests to find out if there was anything physiologically wrong with her. As for Omar, he announced that his father married suddenly. He did not even ask Omar to go to Cairo for the wedding. And what’s more, he said, the lady is pregnant. Fast work, no? I don’t know if the wedding precipitated the pregnancy or the pregnancy the wedding. It’s funny but with this marriage I feel more of an orphan than ever. Never mind, I said, you did your best to make me break up with Diana and finally it seems we shall be your surrogate parents. He laughed. Oh boy, he said, that is the ultimate humiliation.
Now that college had started I went to Hove only on weekends. Diana had entered her fourth month. With Mrs. Fremantle she went once a month to a Health Provider at the Brighton General Hospital who advised her to get plenty of sleep, set her on a mild exercise program and advised a healthy diet, which in any event, her mother provided from the very beginning and to drink plenty of fluids, but not coffee or alcohol. Her pregnancy continued to be almost symptom-free. She hardly had any morning sickness which bedevils many pregnant women and my thin, fastidious darling had almost none of the cravings of pregnancy. The pregnancy hormones were already at work to make her lovely hair fabulously shiny and to give her a glowing skin. Her breasts grew in size with the multiplication of milk glands and with her darkening nipples they caused me to tease her and tell her she had become quite a dish. We made love as passionately and as diversely as ever and I could just about cope with her sexual hunger. It seems that this also was a symptom of pregnancy. Increased blood circulation increased her libido and Diana had become as insatiable as a nympho, which I sometimes mischievously called her, and to which she retorted that I should have married my Greek virgin instead of messing about with her. Her belly started pushing outward and it received many more caresses than when it was flat. On sunny and warm October days we still went to the seaside for a quick dip and our kissing, hand-holding, peripatetic walks continued.
In her fifth and sixth month Diana was more obviously and visibly pregnant, her belly protruding considerably though still not at its full size, and because the baby started moving inside the uterus she felt, even when she was alone, that she was no longer alone. The awareness of another life developing inside her was ubiquitous and fascinating. She talked to the developing embryo, sang to it and caressed and pressed her belly wondering if the petting and the vibrations of her voice reached it. She also wondered if it would be a boy or a girl and searched for names both male and female to give it.
Sometime during that period Charles Fremantle paid a visit to his family. He arrived on a Monday and left on Saturday. The sleeping arrangements in the house were complicated by his sonorous snoring and the lack of an extra bedroom. When he arrived in Hove, he was assigned Diana’s bedroom and Diana slept with her mother. He would have left sooner but Mrs. Fremantle insisted that he should meet me and we finally made our acquaintance on Friday evening when I arrived for the weekend. He was a shortish, rotund man with a rather pleasant face and partially bald and had the fussy manner that one meets, sometimes, with elderly Englishmen. He was extremely civil with me and after our early dinner sat in the parlor as a family and chatted. He had with him a bottle of French Napoleon cognac and it was a change from the usual after dinner tea. Diana, of course, was not allowed even a sip but her good spirits never flagged. Mr. Fremantle politely asked after my parents and said he hoped to meet them sometime. Asked about my studies as well and he said he hoped marriage will not distract me from them. I said, so far I have coped well with both. I think, Diana said laughing, if George is half as good in his studies as he is in his conjugal duties, he must be doing pretty well. Really, Diana, Mrs. Fremantle said with a smile. Do you have to spell it out explicitly? You do like to shock us. One has only to look at your face to draw his conclusions. Mr. Fremantle laughed. Jolly good, he said. Very satisfactory. A happy family in Hove. I shall soon be retiring and will be staying in our London flat. Oh, no, he said Hove is not for me. Deadly dull. I have friends in London and my club at the West End. Decent chaps all of them. Mostly from the Foreign Office. One request though, he said, if it’s a boy call him Robin after my brother who left this house to Diana. And if it’s a girl? Diana piped in. Call her what you like. Call her Alice in Wonderland for all I care. Hey, that’s an idea, daddy. Alice is a lovely name. Or we can call her Marian like mummy. Or like your mother, George. What’s her name, by the way? Helen, I said. That’s nice too, Diana said. In fact we can call her all three names like the Royals. Alice, Marian, Helen of Sir George and Lady Diana. How does that sound, George? Princely, I said.
With our lighthearted conversation, time went by and Diana said she slept with her mother the last few days, and her father slept in her room. Is it all right, George, if you sleep with daddy? She was, of course, pulling my leg but the question was awkward. I’ll sleep here on the couch, I said. Nonsense, said Mrs. Fremantle. Run along children to your bedroom. I have put in fresh sheets for you. Charles will share my bed. I know I shan’t sleep a wink tonight but marriage is not always a bed of roses. Hear that, George? Diana joked. Alas, it’s too late for you, love, now you’re trapped. And you’d better not develop any bad habits like snoring either, or you might be relegated to the parlor. How awful you are, Diana, Mrs. Fremantle raised her voice. If that’s your sense of humor, I’m glad I haven’t got any. Diana giggled. Let’s go George, she said. The baby is sleepy. Good night all.
We went upstairs and undressed and I, fascinated totally with her pregnancy, caressed and kissed her belly. She pulled me up and kissed me on the lips passionately and her hand searched for the hardness below my waist. Are you forgetting, my darling, where my erogenous zones are? she asked smiling. They are not on my tummy in any case. We made love carefully but not any less passionately than usual. Her changing contours spoke of fragility and our wilder acrobatics had to be abandoned though not the frequency of our sexual contacts. The fact was, our life was subtly changing and I wondered how long this fiery passion could be sustained after the birth of the child. After the thousandth act of copulation. After the many small problems of family life. Oh yes, another kind of love would set in. Love beyond passion, irrespective of passion; pure asexual love of familiarity and companionship, habit and responsibility. But this, our present madness would almost certainly cease. This wild yearning to enter your beloved, to kiss, struggle and fondle, to subjugate and be overpowered, to spew your seed inside her and bring her to an orgasm. This in time, hopefully after many years, would take a long trudge to casualness due inevitably to a diminishing sexual drive. Oh well, that’s life, I said loudly without realizing it. What did you say? asked Diana who was not yet completely asleep. Nothing, my darling. Just that I love you very much. It didn’t sound like it, she said. Go to sleep, baby, sweet dreams.
Mr. Fremantle left the next day at noon and the slight tension of his presence eased to the comfortable routine of our previous weekends. Mrs. Fremantle was admirable taking care of us, cooking our meals and doing some of the housework in which Diana helped and I lent a hand wherever possible. Despite the fact that I was now her daughter’s husband I still felt something of a guest in their house. I offered to chip in a small sum every month for the household expenses but she adamantly refused. Your turn will come in a few years, she told me, but for the moment we can manage. The weather was turning cold by the end of October but with Diana we kept up our walks while I was with her on the weekends. No longer hand in hand but arm in arm where I helped to support a small part of her burden. She seemed healthy and happy and her pregnancy was altogether normal without problems. I left Diana, as usual, on Sunday at around noon. I no longer used a taxi to move to and fro from Brighton to Hove but now used the bus which left the railway station and had a stop not far from our home. In London I went straight to Omar’s room. I did not see as much of him as I would have liked. I kept checking however his studying which never failed to annoy him. As soon as I went in he gave me a letter with a smile. It’s for you, he said. It’s from Annie. I was surprised. It was the first letter she sent me since she married. Open it and read it out loud, said Omar. You can’t be serious? I said laughing. What next? It’s good you did not open it yourself for a preliminary look. Are you okay, old chap? Yes, yes, he said. I’m always okay.
In my room I opened the letter. Four sheets in her neat handwriting.
My dear, dear George,
For a long time I have been intending to write to you. Mainly to congratulate you on your marriage but also to give you my news. I was overjoyed for you because I knew how much you were in love with Diana and that you must now be quite blissful awaiting your child. Of course, it might have been better if a pregnancy did not precipitate this union and you enjoyed a few more years of carefree romance and lovemaking. These carefree days of our youth are so very precious because they are finite and once they are over they