arrival of the tea.
*
Refreshed, bathed and now disguised as a sergeant in education, Perron walked – shoe instead of boot-shod – along the tiled passage to the living-room where he found Purvis standing on a balcony that had been revealed by the folding back of shutters and windows. It was now a beautiful evening with a sky the colour of pale turquoise. The coconut palms framed a view of the Law Courts and clock tower on the other side of the
maidan.
‘I appreciated the bath, sir. I’m afraid I used some of your Cuticura talcum.’
Purvis had a glass in the hand that rested on the balustrade.
‘Help yourself to a drink, sergeant. You’ll find everything on the tray.’
There was, if not everything, a generous selection: Gin, whisky, rum, several bottles of Murree beer and various squashes and cordials. The spirits were country-distilled so Perron – not caring much for rum of any kind – chose the gin which he found more palatable than Indian versions of Scotch. He added lemon-squash and – luxury for him – a cube of ice from a zinc-lined container.
‘Cheers, sir.’
‘I’m an economist,’ Purvis said, irrelevantly to everything except his private train of thought. ‘It’s enough to send you round the bloody bend.’
He came in from the balcony, refilled his glass with rum and lime and sat on the long settee under the priceless paintings. After drinking a stout measure he shuddered, closed his eyes and put his head back.
‘Can you guess how long I’ve been ill, sergeant?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Since I got off the boat. And that’s three months, two weeks and four days ago.’
‘Bad luck, sir.’
Purvis raised his eyelids a fraction and looked at him. Perron was standing with his feet apart, one hand behind his back, the other at waist level holding the tumbler steady.
‘How long have you been in this bloody country?’
‘Since ’forty-three, sir.’
‘And in the army?’
‘Since ’forty-one, sir.’
‘Before that?’
‘Cambridge, sir.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I rowed a bit. And read history.’
‘What was your school?’
‘Chillingborough, sir.’
‘How the hell have you avoided getting a commission?’
‘By always saying no, sir.’
Purvis shut his eyes again. His face began to contort.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but that is extremely funny.’ He did not say why but took another long drink, set the glass on a low table in front of the settee then leant back with his hands clasped behind his head.
‘The party,’ he said, changing the subject and ploughing straight into the new one, ‘is in the apartment of an Indian lady living on the Marine Drive. I’ll write her a note, so you’ll have the address on the envelope. There should be no difficulty about your going in my place. I was there the other night and she doesn’t seem to care how many people turn up or whether she knows them or not. You’ll see what I mean when you get there. Judging from the other day there’ll be a lot of non-commissioned men so you won’t feel out of place. The fact is, it seems to be the kind of flat where officers and men fraternize, not to mention white, black and in-between. Sexually I’d say some of the company was on the ambivalent side.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Will that worry you?’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘You may even be taken for a special sort of friend of mine.’
‘I think I shall be able to cope in the event of a misunderstanding arising, sir.’
‘Not that I care a fig about my own reputation. I shan’t go there again. In any case you’ll find lots of girls, if you can sort out the ones who’re only interested in men.’
Perron finished his drink but retained his glass.
‘Apart from unambivalent girls, sir, what precisely should I look out for? Any special person or group of people?’
‘So far as I’m concerned, sergeant, you can just go there and get stoned or laid, as our American allies so picturesquely put it. I
told
you. The whole