Caught

Dave pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes," he said. "I see what you mean. But never say die." He wondered if any of his business contacts might want a good help - but then, would she be just that? She seemed intelligent enough, and she must have a lot of perseverance, having survived coping with that mother of hers...

He nodded at her again. "Come," he said. "Let's forget that for now. I've bought some tickets for a chamber music performance. They will play Schubert's Trout Quintet, and Mozart's K 421 quartet for strings. Do you know them?"

Alice looked at him with a shine in her eyes. "Yes, I do," she said. "I love them. Oh Dave, that's wonderful. My father took me to hear the Mozart quartet once, and I used to have the trout thing on CD. Oh, that's wonderful. All the music they play at the hotel... My father would have gone to the management to protest. He always said music ought not to be degraded to mere sound."

"He was right, too," Dave said. "Shall we go?"

The concert was in one of those small fringe theatres. It had good acoustics and very narrow seats so that their thighs almost touched. The players were young, enthusiastic and good, and Dave sat wondering at how anyone as young as Schubert had been, could make such sparkling, lovely music.

"Lovely, isn't it," Alice whispered at the end of the first part. Dave nodded.

"Wonderful," he said.

Mozart's d minor quartet was a very different piece. After the second movement Dave whispered, "This is one of the pieces I played at my mother's burial."

Alice looked at him and nodded.

When the final chord had sounded the audience rose to their feet. The players were given a standing ovation that lasted a long time. Eventually the cellist motioned to them with his bow, and indicated they should sit down again.

"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. We'd like to play Notturno to you, another Schubert piece," he said.

"Oh God," Dave whispered to Alice. "That's one of my absolute favourites. Do you know it?"

"No," Alice said.

"Then you're really in for a treat," Dave said.

Everyone sat down. One of the violins and the viola left the stage, and the piano player returned. The music started. Alice sat listening to the conversation between the piano and the strings, to the deceptively simple melody with its accents almost like little sighs, and to her surprise she felt the tears run down her face. The music took her away, from the small theatre through Schubert's sadness into a world of beauty, a world that recognised that beauty is breakable and rare... Dave's hand lay on the corner of his chair and she bit her lip and took it. He softly squeezed hers and then gave her his handkerchief. It made her smile though her tears. More days like this and he wouldn't have any left - she'd forgotten to bring the other one; it was still on her kitchen table. Then the music regained its hold on her again.

After the concert Dave took her to a nearby pub. On the way there she said, "It's really wonderful. I don't know what happened to me. I hope you didn't think I, er..."

"It had the very same effect on me when I first heard it," Dave said. "As if it was written to speak directly to you, and to talk about the misery and the beauty of the world - I don't know. I can't really put my hands on it, or put it into words, you know."

They had a drink together, and then they returned to the hotel.

Alice collected her new wardrobe and Dave gave her en envelope with fifty pounds, a ritual he kept up every evening. "Thank you very much," he said. "You were good company. Tomorrow we'll see about your furniture."

He accompanied her down to the street again, and stood watching as she disappeared into the tube station, on her way to the squalor of that apartment... He shook his head and went back.

In his room he took the bag with her old clothes, and took out the contents to throw them away. The shabby dress and coat were packed on top; he looked at them with pity and stuffed them into the wastepaper basket. Then he shook the rest onto the floor. It was a washed-out set of lingerie that must have been a little too expensive for her when she bought it, one of the few luxuries she had allowed herself - he couldn't bear the thought of throwing it. There was a faint feminine smell mixed with the cheap perfume he'd noticed the first day. He picked up the bra and smelled it - on the underarm panels he could smell her body still. He returned the pieces of clothing to the bag and put them in his suitcase.

Dave found it somewhat hard to concentrate that day - Alice's face seemed to come between his activities and him. He had to make an effort, and so he did, but still he was glad when that day's agenda was done. He went back to his hotel room as fast as he could, and felt himself hoping Alice would not be late. She wasn't.

When he let her into his room he had to look at her twice.

"I had a long break," she said, "so I thought I'd have my hair dyed like you said." She turned around and then faced him again. "Do you think it's better?"

"It's perfect," Dave said enthusiastically. "And I like this dress."

She had put on another of the new dresses; a soft grey-green one this time. She seemed to get a little more colour in her face. He looked at her with a smile in his eyes.

"Yes," he said again, "you look perfect. Let's go to town. Want some coffee first?"

They spent some time getting her a decent bed and a couple of easy chairs. Then Dave took her to a supermarket for food, and eventually he bought her a stereo set with a CD player and a radio. They arranged for the firms to deliver the lot the next afternoon since Dave had that afternoon free - no appointments at all.

"I'll want you to let me have your keys tomorrow morning," he said.

"You can have my spares," she said. "Mother never thought of selling those."

"Oh dear," he said. "I still can't fathom how awful your life must have been."

They went for a long walk along the river, looking at the houseboats, the trees and the people walking by, and when they had built up a real appetite Dave took her to another of his favourite restaurants.

"I'm afraid there's no concert tonight," he said, "but I found there's this jazz club; they will have live music there. I can't guarantee it's good, though. What do you think?"

"We can't talk there, can we? We could also go to a pub, or to your room, to talk."

"We'll go to the pub, then, " Dave said.

When they were settled with a drink - a medium sherry and a double malt - Dave said, "do you recognise yourself when you look in the mirror? I mean, how long did you wear your hair blonde? I do hope I didn't impose something on you you're unhappy with."

"I don't know," she said. "I will have to look at myself a little better than I did. I started dying my hair when I left secondary school, to be attractive to men, mother said. I really didn't give men too much thought, then; but I tried to make her happy... Please wait for a moment."

She got up and walked to a mirror. She looked at herself critically and decided that it certainly was an improvement; she didn't really spend much time looking at herself, but yes, she certainly looked better this way. She smiled at her image and hurried back to Dave.

"I do recognise myself," she said. "I think I'm more myself this way."

She nodded and sat looking at Dave for some time, she looked at his hands, his face, his bearing, and nodded again. He was really attractive, she thought. And he was very nice.

"I would like you to put your financial situation on paper," he said after some time. "I will try and sort things out for you; you can pay me back in time should the opportunity arise."

"I was afraid you were going to punish me severely," she said, "but I rather feel as if you're the good fairy."

"Hmph," Dave scowled. "I'm nothing of the sort." He quickly diverted their conversation into a safer channel.

When they had finished their drinks it was quite late.

"I will come with you to pick up those keys," Dave said.

They took the tube in companionable silence, wrapped up in their thoughts.

Alice let them in and took her spare keys from the kitchen table drawer. "Here you are," she said. "Come have a look!"

She opened the door of her wardrobe with a happy grin. It certainly made a big difference. "I got rid of the old stuff," she said.

"Very good," he said, returning the grin. "Well, I'll be off. See you tomorrow. Same place same time?"

"Please," she said. "Have a good night." She stepped up to him and then checked herself. "See you tomorrow," she said.

Dave rode back on the tube pondering what Alice did to him. He had sworn off women, blast her. He wondered. Did he pity her, or was it rather some sneaking admiration? He suspected he would have given up in her situation. Suddenly there was a scrap of song on his mind: Jeepers, creepers... Yes, where did she get those eyes, indeed... He thought some more and admitted to himself that he actually enjoyed her company immensely, far more so than he's expected; he was really looking forward to seeing her again, more so each day - he remembered the moment she'd shown him her new underwear. He shook his head; but it didn't help much.

Back at the hotel he opened his suitcase and took out the paper bag. He lay the contents on his bed and looked at them for a long time. Then he hurried into the bathroom.

Some time before the deliveries were due Dave found himself at HMV's listening to a few copies of Notturno. He selected what he felt was the best copy, and went to the jazz section, where he found the Louis Armstrong song he wanted. Then he went to Alice's place. The goods were delivered at more or less the appointed time. He had the men put everything in the small living area. Then, when he was alone again, he unpacked everything. He put the loudspeakers well apart and placed the two CDs on top, and he put the bed in the bedroom, unpacked the new mattress and finally made the bed. He put the nightgown Alice had worn under her pillow, looked at the slightly changed appearance of the apartment and left. He suppressed an urge to go through her things in her wardrobe; that wouldn't be right. If... He did not allow himself to complete his thought.

Alice, who had sat up for along time after Dave had left to get her debts on paper, had been hard at work all day. She kept thinking of Dave and of all that had happened to her. She could not make out why he did all this. She'd almost kissed him, the night before; but she was not sure if he would have liked it. He had told her a lot about himself, but she wondered if he was keeping something back; there seemed to be a kind of reticence she found hard to place. Well, at least there were a few more evenings to come. With a sinking feeling she realised that that meant he would be gone again all too soon.

After work she quickly changed into the red dress; she felt like looking festive, and Dave had seemed to like it quite a lot. She put her working shoes in her locker with the hotel uniform and slipped into the heels she'd brought. Then she took the lift to Dave's room.

"You look great in this dress," he said. "And you're not hollow-eyed any more. Did you really have enough to eat before I met you?"

"I survived," she said. "I haven't felt so good for a long time; there was always this faint nagging feeling inside..."

"OK," he said. "Did you bring your financial papers?"

She took them from her purse. "I er, I hope this is what you want," she said.

Dave sat down and went through them slowly. "Good," he said. "I will settle your rent first thing tomorrow. I can see why it was almost unsurpassable for you. Right. I booked a table for seven o'clock. We could go to a bookshop first, or -" He looked at her shoes. "No, no walk today," he said.

They went and visited a couple of bookshops. In a second-hand one Dave found a collection of poetry he liked.

"Edna St. Vincent Millay," he sais. "Do you know this?"

Alice shook her head. "I don't, I'm afraid," she said. He nodded and put the book under his arm. She browsed the other shelves and found a copy of Betjeman's collected poems.

"What did you find?" Dave asked.

She showed him, a little defensively. "Most people seem to think he's very old hat. But I think he can be very good."

"Yes," Dave said, and he quoted, "The older woman only

knows the ebb-tide leaves her lonely

with the shiny fields of mud...

terrible, but very good. And then there's Wendy who leaves me dreaming safe inside my slumberwear... Yes, I really like his voice." He smiled at Alice.

"Do you read a lot of poetry?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I have a fairly large collection of poetry at home. Do you, did you in better days, I mean?"

She nodded. "I think I'll buy Betjeman," she said. "I used to have this..."

"Good," Dave said. "Look, we have to pay and find our restaurant. It's getting on for seven."

Alice bought her Betjeman and Dave paid for his find. Did he want a bag? No, he didn't.

"Let me carry that bag," he said. "There's room there for this book, too."

They had a bottle of Chardonnay between the two of them; the food was good but, Dave thought, unexceptional. Alice was so obviously enjoying it all that he kept still about it. He just looked at her and thought to himself that this woman could have made all the difference to him - she wasn't like that sourpuss he'd left behind him - well. He did enjoy their evenings together. A few more to come... He didn't want to think about it. He'd bought tickets for another concert, and he didn't want to go anywhere special on the other night. He sighed and smiled at the same time.

"What's bothering you?" Alice said.

Blast, she must be quite sharp to have noticed, he thought. Should he give an evasive answer? She would probably notice that as well.

"Well," he said, "I have actually enjoyed your company immensely, and I just realised I'll be heading back home in a few days' time."

"Yes," she said. "I know."

"We will go to another concert," he said. "Jean Français, mainly."

"Oh, that's lovely," she said. "My father used to play Jean Français. You don't often hear him."

"No, you don't," Dave said. He shook his head. "Let's go to the pub for another drink, shall we?"

Dave told her the concert was in two days' time, as a kind of farewell thing - or au revoir, hopefully, he added.

"Oh," Alice said. "So we're free tomorrow. Would you like to come to my place at six? I will make us some spaghetti - I'm really good at that. I know it's nothing fancy, but I'd like to see you eat my food at my kitchen table..." the final sentence was almost inaudible. "It's not much," she added.

"I'd love to," Dave said. "I love Italian food, and I'll bring a bottle of Chianti. It's bloody high time you started living again."

They parted at the tube station that night. Alice went home half depressed, half elated - she found it hard to say which - and only remembered her new furniture when she was half-way the hall. She took off her coat, and went to the kitchen table. She took her new book from the bag and found that Dave had forgotten to take his. She wondered what poetry he liked, and she opened it to find an inscription Dave had written in pencil on the flyleaf. It read, "For a great companion." She read a couple of poems. She thought she had learnt something more about Dave again; so this was what he liked... and he could quote Betjeman, too. She put the two books in her bookcase, side by side. She looked at the gaudy covers of the other ones, shook her head and dropped them into the dustbin. Then she saw the stereo all set up and looked at the CDs on top. Schubert, a string quartet and Notturno. She smiled. And Armstrong? Why would he have chosen that one? She had heard some of his music alright, but not too much. There were no songs on the CD she recognised by their titles.

She put the disc in the player and pressed the play button. She made herself some tea, and sat listening to the entire CD. There were a few instrumentals on it, and a series of assorted vocals. A good many of them were love songs, obviously; some clearly weren't. What if he meant her to listen to those love songs? But maybe she put things into that that he never meant. Well, she thought, it was nice music anyway.

Dave went back to the hotel; he made straight for the bar and ordered two double whiskies. He took them up to his room with him and sat down in one of the chairs. He realised that if he wanted to get more out of this - but did he? He thought about the last string of years - he loved being free to do as he pleased, untrammelled, about the pleasures of being your own man - and then about being with Alice. He remembered her hand on his when she had listened to Notturno, and the way she sometimes fixed those eyes on him... and then somehow, another poem came to his mind. "I took the road less travelled by," he whispered, "and that made all the difference." He looked into his glass. He'd sat so motionless for so long that he suddenly felt cold. "You can't have it both," he said aloud. There was only one option, really. He smiled. I will try my luck, he thought.

Alice nervously awaited Dave's arrival at her place. She had planned her cooking just so that the sauce would be ready at six, and she had a pan of water on the boil; she could slip in the stalks of spaghetti immediately. She had spent her lunch break in a second-hand CD shop and bought Lucinda Williams' Car Wheels and an old Dory Previn favourite of hers.

Dave arrived just a little before six, with a bottle under his arm and a bunch of flowers in his hand.

"Come in," Alice said. Dave stepped inside, handed her the flowers and walked into the kitchen to put the bottle on the sink.

"I'll cook the spaghetti straight away," Alice said, "then you can put up your coat."

She had laid the table and put a candle in a bottle in the centre.

"I'm afraid I have no wineglasses," she said, "but these ones will do, I hope. Dinner's ready in five minutes."

Dave wandered into the living-room. "I see you've got rid of those books?" he said.

"Yes," she answered. "The poetry will last me a long time; I can reread all of Betjeman, oh, and I haven't thanked you for the other one yet. And I'm very happy with the CDs!"

"Did you like Armstrong?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Is he a favourite of yours?"

"In a way," Dave said, taking the plunge. "But I bought it for you because there's a song on the one that will remind me of you for the rest of my days." He smiled at her and sang, "Jeepers, creepers, where'd you get those peepers? Jeepers, creepers, where'd you get those eyes?"

She blushed. "Do you like my eyes?" she said.

"Yes I do," Dave said. "I er..." He smiled at her again.

"I must see to the spaghetti," she said, happy to have an excuse to go and do something.

She was indeed good at it, and he complimented Alice on her cooking. She beamed at him.

After dinner they washed up together.

"I can't make you any coffee," she said, "but would you like some tea?"

"Yes please," Dave said. He sat down at the table and watched her as she pottered about in the kitchen, quite at ease now, humming to herself.

They took the tea and the remainder of the Chianti into the living-room and sat down. They drank their tea in silence, both of them trying to put their thoughts into words.

Alice broke the silence after some time. "You know, I - you have been so good to me, and I don't deserve it, and I don't want to make you feel, er - I don't want to -" she paused. "I don't want you to shy away from me; and I don't know what to do with my feelings. I don't know how to put this, but if you'd been my boyfriend - I don't want you to feel I'd do things out of a feeling of obligation, or make you feel you had to - when you last left my place I wanted to kiss you so badly, but I didn't dare. I don't want you to think I like you because you did what you did for me, but - I want you to know that I do like you. Yesterday night, after I had listened to Louis Armstrong, I - do you know Lucinda Williams?"