The Madman's Room

Silently, Patrick looked back on his long friendship with Paula. She was the only girl of his age with whom he could carry on a relationship without there being any question of love. No flirting, even: just comradeship, pure and simple. She was certainly attractive, he didn’t deny that, but he’d known her for too long for there to be any feelings deeper than that. As a companion, she was never dull: whenever they were together she would tease him mercilessly and pester him with a thousand questions. He had not appreciated the time when she had subjected his nose to a detailed examination and commentary in front of several of his friends. Neither had he been amused when she’d cut the sleeves off one of his shirts on the pretext she didn’t think they were suitable — he’d almost put her over his knees to administer a spanking. Paula was certainly a handful — and that may well have been the aspect of her he found the most interesting. One day, on what she’d claimed would be a “cultural voyage” to a church near Salisbury, she’d profited from the fact they were alone inside to ascend to the pulpit and launch an inflammatory tirade in which he participated. They’d laughed so hard on the way out they’d had tears in their eyes. There were many similar incidents, but once the impish adolescent grew up to be a charming young woman, their relationship had changed. When a brief love affair of Paula’s had fizzled out, he’d taken advantage of the situation to play the wise father and offer sensible advice. At first, it was nothing more than a game for Patrick, a sort of payback. But, once he realised she listened to his recommendations, he started to take himself more seriously and vowed to become the guardian of her happiness.

He shot a glance at his companion who, head turned to one side, appeared to be asleep. Noticing a frown on her normally smooth forehead, he asked light-heartedly:

‘Any worries, my sweet? An affair of the heart?’

Paula sat up, looked at him for a long moment, then contemplated the circles her index finger was drawing in the sand.

‘I got a letter from Francis this morning.’

‘Good old Francis. What’s become of him since last summer?’

Paula stopped drawing circles and became tight-lipped.

‘I saw him again last December in London. He’d invited me to spend a few days at his parents’ house. He was very nice and… made me a certain proposal.’

Patrick smiled indulgently.

‘But I already know all that, Paula. You told me about it in detail, don’t you remember?’

‘I certainly didn’t tell you he asked for my hand in marriage!’

‘You didn’t need to, I guessed it anyway. He fell for you like a ton of bricks the moment he saw you. It was right here, about a year ago. I recall the scene as if it were yesterday. His parents were installed in deck chairs further up and he and his sister walked past us on the beach. As soon as he saw you his eyes lit up. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.’

Paula looked down:

‘And I suppose you don’t remember the look you gave Sarah?’

Patrick affected a casual sigh.

‘She’s very beautiful, I must admit. But….’

He stopped, unable to find the words. Paula looked with amusement at her companion. He was tall and slim, and she liked to gaze into his big brown eyes full of tenderness mixed with irony, especially when he was feeling uncomfortable, as was the case now.

‘But?’ repeated Paula, full of smiles.

‘How can I put it?… She’s very beautiful, I’ll be the first to admit, but she’s not… desirable, if you see what I mean.’

Paula raised a quizzical eyebrow:

‘I could almost swear I saw the two of you kissing, out there on the rocks. Don’t tell me it was an optical illusion?’

‘Simple politeness on my part,’ declared Patrick, stiffly. ‘Any other reaction on my part would have… offended her. It was the least I could do. Let me remind you that it was already late, it was a warm night and… Anyway, what were we talking about?’

‘Francis.’

‘Ah, yes. Francis. A nice chap, and quite interesting — at least, when he’s not talking about you.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that, besotted as he is with you — and even that’s putting it mildly — he won’t stop asking me questions about your precious self. Just so as you know, I’ve painted a rather favourable portrait: good family, well brought up, good education, agreeable personality, conduct above reproach….’

Paula, who seemed not to be listening, declared glumly:

‘I don’t know what I should do.’

‘What you should do? I assume the letter is to ask you if you’ve thought about his proposal?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that’s terrific! I’m sure he’ll make you the happiest of women. I don’t know why you’re hesitating: he’s not bad looking, he loves you, he’s got a good job, he….’ Patrick put a protective arm around his friend’s shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘Now listen, I don’t want to influence you, just give you a piece of good advice: marry him. I know him well enough to say he’s the right man for you. Trust me. I knew right away….’

Paula stared absently at the sea.