Nothing So Strange Read Free Page B

“Byfleet
spoke highly of him.”
    My mother commented: “If we’d had any sense we’d have dropped him at the
corner as he asked us. He probably didn’t want us to know the sort of place
he lives in.”
    “Oh nonsense. A boy like that, making ends meet on a few fees and
scholarships—nobody expects him to stay at the Ritz. Probably has to
count every penny, same as I did when I was his age in New York. It’s good
for him, anyway, till he gets on his feet…. Brains, good looks, and a
tuxedo—what more does he need?”
    “He’s very shy,” my mother said.
    “That’ll wear off.”
    “So will the tuxedo. It was frayed at the cuffs already.”
    My father looked interested. “You noticed that, Christine? I’ll tell you
what I noticed—he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, and he was
hoping you’d rescue him from that Hathersage woman he was next to, but you
didn’t till nearly the coffee stage…. Must read her new novel, though. They
say it’s good.”
    That was typical of my father; he respects achievement and is always
prepared to weigh it against not liking you, so that in practice he likes you
if you are successful enough. Julian said that once, and he was successful
enough; doubtless therefore in those days my father thought Brad was going to
be successful enough. I remember arguing it out with myself as we drove
home.
* * * * *
    I saw Brad the morning after the Byfleet dinner; we ran
into each other at
the College entrance in Gower Street. I suppose this was really our first
meeting; he would have passed me with a nod, but I made him stop. “So you’re
here too?” I said.
    “Hi, there. Sure I am.”
    “That was a good party last night.”
    “Er … yes….” Then suddenly, with an odd kind of vehemence: “Though I
don’t like big parties.”
    “It wasn’t so big. Were you bored?”
    “Oh no, not a bit. I’m just no good at them. I don’t know what to say to
people.”
    “Neither do I. I just chatter when I’m chattered to.”
    “I wish I could do that…. Or no, perhaps I don’t. It’s a terrible waste
of time.”
    “For those who have anything better to do. Do you think you
have?”
    He looked as if he thought that impertinent. I think now it was.
    “Yes,” he answered, smiling.
    “That sounds rather arrogant.”
    But now he looked upset. He didn’t like being called arrogant.
    “No, no, please don’t misunderstand me…. I guess I just tell myself it’s
a waste of time because I can’t do it. Especially amongst all the big
shots—like last night. I don’t know why I was asked.”
    “Why did you go?”
    “Professor Byfleet has helped me a lot, I didn’t like to refuse.”
    “He probably asked you on account of my father, who’s an American
too.”
    “I know. He told me. He asked me what my work was, but I was a bit tongue-
tied. I’m afraid I made a fool of myself.”
    “I don’t think you did. It’s by talking too much that most people
do that.”
    “Personally I agree with you.” There was no inferiority complex about him,
thank goodness. The truculence and the humility were just edges of something
else.
    “Anyhow,” I said, “he liked you.”
    “ Did he?” Because he looked so embarrassed I couldn’t think of
anything else to say. He fidgeted a moment, then glanced at his wrist watch.
“Well, I must be off to my lecture….” His second smile outweighed the
abruptness with which he left me standing there.
    When I got home that night I told my mother I had seen him again. She
said, with a flicker of interest: “Really? I think Harvey had better ask him
here sometime—some evening we’re just ourselves——”
* * * * *
    But of course there wasn’t often such an evening. My
parents both liked
company; my mother preferred musicians, artists, society people, and my
father balanced this with businessmen, lawyers, politicians. Without much
snobbery, he had a very shrewd idea of who was who and who really