The Rich Are Different Read Online Free PDF Page B

was there no one who reached out to give you a helping hand?’
    My mindspun far out over the curve of memory and when it returned I saw my own image reflected back at me in her dark earnest eyes. But I knew I had to be careful. This would be a big gamble. I had to be absolutely sure.
    ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.
    ‘But—’
    ‘I’ve just one piece of advice to give you: be yourself. I think I’ve already demonstrated that I’m capable of seeing through any pose you care to strike. Now let’s have a little coffee and talk of something else.’
    She responded so smartly that I gave her an ‘A’ for adaptability. She said she had read in the paper that I had been in Genoa before I had arrived in London, and she asked me to tell her about the Conference. Mentally allotting her another ‘A’ for effort I gave her my views on European politics, and then since those politics were inextricably mixed with economics I began to talk of the new theories of John Maynard Keynes. Soon we were debating whether the old laws of Adam Smith had reached the stage of disintegration.
    ‘You socialists are in an awkward situation,’ I said after she had confessed her political inclinations and told me that anyone who had ever been broke must inevitably lean towards socialism. ‘Until now laissez-faire economics has brought tremendous wealth. You argue that this wealth should be shared – but this implies a belief that the wealth is going to be sustained. In other words you have to support capitalism in order to put your theories into operation – surely an embarrassing situation for anyone veering towards Bolshevist beliefs!’
    Miss Slade launched gamely into a distinction between democratic socialism and communism, and argued that socialism must ally itself with capitalism until the socialists had a majority in Parliament. At this point, within the framework of a democracy, socialism would triumph and capitalism would wither away.
    ‘It’s democracy that would wither away,’ I said, ‘but that might not necessarily be a tragedy.’
    ‘You don’t believe in democracy?’ She was shocked.
    ‘I believe in Plato. There’s only one form of government that’s worse than democracy and that’s tyranny.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have thought an American would pay much attention to Plato’s
Republic
! Didn’t Socrates advocate that in a state there should be a close connection between ethics and politics?’
    I laughed so loudly that people near by turned to stare at us. Miss Slade suddenly dissolved into giggles. When we had recovered I said smoothly: ‘May I suggest we adjourn to Curzon Street to view the Rouen Apocalypse?’ and pushed back my chair.
    ‘But you haven’t paid the bill!’
    ‘Oh, I never handle money – such a vulgar capitalist occupation! Come along, my dear. No, don’t feel obliged to finish the champagne.’
    But of course she had to finish it. I gave her ‘D’ for recklessness but mitigated it to ‘C’. After all, she was very young. What a delectable agetwenty-one was! Young women of that age were freed from the awkwardness of adolescence yet were still fluid before the onset of maturity. I decided I was extremely partial to young girls in their early twenties.
    When we arrived home I took her to the library and offered her a cigarette from the box on the table.
    She looked at me. ‘I’m sure you don’t approve of women smoking.’
    ‘My dear, there comes a point when to oppose social change is not only futile but debilitating. Take a cigarette if you want one. I’m sure you’d look charming even if you decided to smoke a Havana cigar.’
    She still hesitated but finally, remembering my earlier advice, she accepted a cigarette and thanked me when I lit it for her. When she choked on the smoke a second later I had the excuse to sit down beside her and pat her on the back.
    My fingers gravitated to her waist. I slid my arm around her, and removing the cigarette I extinguished it in the