Lucky Jim

'So I thought I'd see if his father knew where he was or anything. The whole point is, what I really wanted to know is this. My Uncle, Mr Gore-Urquhart, got back from Paris sooner than he expected, and he's got an invitation from your Principal to the Summer Ball thing. He doesn't really know whether to come or not. Well, I could persuade him to come if Bertrand and I were going, and then Bertrand and he could get to know each other, and Bertrand wants that. But I must know soon, because it's the day after tomorrow and Uncle would want to know in good time, where he's to spend the week-end, I mean. So… well, it's rather a mix-up, I'm afraid.'

'Can't Mrs Welch throw any light on the matter?'

There was a pause. 'I've not actually been on to her.'

'Well, she's bound to know more about it than I do, isn't she?… Hallo?'

'I'm still here… Listen, keep this quiet, won't you? but I'd like not to get on to her if I can find out any other way. I… we didn't hit it off too well when I stayed. I don't want to have to, well, discuss Bertrand with her over the phone. I think she thinks I'm… Never mind; but you see what I mean?'

'I do indeed. I don't hit it off too well with the lady either, as a matter of fact. Now I've got a suggestion. I'll ring up the Welches for you now and get the Professor to ring you. If he's not there I'll leave a message or something. Anyway I'll see to it, somehow or other, that Mrs Welch doesn't get involved.

If it's no good I'll ring you back myself and tell you. Will that do, now?'

'Oh, that'd be lovely, thanks so much. What a marvellous idea. Here's my number; it's the place I work at, so I shan't be there after five-thirty. Ready?'

While he took it down, Dixon assured himself several times that Mrs Welch couldn't have found out about the sheet or the table, or Margaret would surely have warned him. How nice this girl was being to him, he thought. 'Right, I've got that,' he said finally.

'It's damn good of you to do this for me,' the girl said with animation.

'But doesn't it make me out a bit of a fool, you taking all this trouble just to save me…?'

'Not in the least. I know exactly what these things are like.' None better, he told himself.

'Well, I am grateful, really. I just couldn't face…'

A sort of Morse signal fell between these sentences, and then a rushing noise supervened. A woman's voice said: 'Your second three minutes are up, caller. Do you require a further three minutes?'

Before Dixon could speak, Christine Callaghan had said: 'Yes, please, leave me through, will you?'

The rushing noise stopped. 'Hallo?' Dixon said.

'I'm still here.'

'Look, isn't this costing you a packet?'

'Not me; only the shop.' She gave one of her laughs, the non-silver-bells sort. Over the phone its cacophony was more noticeable.

Dixon laughed too. 'Well, I hope this business comes off all fight; it would be an awful shame if it didn't, after all these preparations.'

'Yes, wouldn't it? Will you be going to the Ball thing?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'Afraid so?'

' Well, I'm not really much of a dancing mati, you know. It'll be a bit of an ordeal for me, I'm afraid.'

'Why on earth are you going, then?'

'It's too late to get out of it.'

'What?'

'I said I may get some fun out of it.'

'Oh, I expect you will I'm not much good as a _danccf _myself, really.

I've never learnt properly.'

'You must have had plenty of practice, surely.'

'Not much, as a matter of fact. I haven't been to many dances.'

' We'll be able to sit out together, then.' That's a bit forward, he thought; shouldn't have said that.

'If I come.'

'Yes, if you come.'

The pre-leavetaking pause fell upon them. Dixon felt sad: he realized for the first time that it was really very unlikely that she would come to the Ball, a good deal more unlikely than she had any reason to think, and that it was correspondingly unlikely that he'd ever see her again.

It was nasty to think that the deciding factors would be the strength and nature of Bertrand's ambitions, sexual and financial-sociaL 'Well, thank you again for your help.'

'Not at all. I hope very much you will be coming on Saturday.'

'I hope so too. Well, good-bye. I may be hearing from you later, then.' "That's right. Good-bye.'

He sat back and puffed out his cheeks, trying to picture her at the other end of the line. She'd be sitting up straight in her office chair, of course, like an airman-clerk told to 'carry on* during an inspection by the Air Vice-Marshal. Or would she? She hadn't sounded like that over the phone; she'd talked in the relaxed style he'd had glimpses of during the sheet and table campaign. But her apparent friendliness over the phone might be an illusion based on her physical absence. On the other hand, how much of her severity at other times was an illusion based on the way she looked? He was feeling for his cigarettes when Johns came in at the door, carrying a sheaf of papers. Had he been listening? 'Can I help you?' Dixon said with caricatured graciousness.

Johns saw that he'd have to speak. 'Where is he?'