‘Yes, that also.’ He was out of the car now, turning up his coat collar, yanking his suitcase from the boot of the car. ‘In so situation two get hurt. You betray or he betray.’
Laura was out of the car, standing beside him. ‘I can’t see anything reaching that stage.’ She was amused. ‘You foresee a non-event.’
‘You do not see much. Let me stay your place tonight or you come to London?’
‘No, Cluggie, I told you. I have to see my family, go to the dentist—’
‘I would like to see your home.’
‘Lovers are apt to get bitten.’
‘Is it so convention, your familia?’
‘If you don’t buck up, you will miss your train.’
The train, said the man at the barrier, was ten minutes late. Clug put his bag on a seat and, taking Laura’s arm, started walking her up and down the platform. Constrained by good manners to see him safely onto the train, Laura sighed. She was looking forward to getting into bed by herself; she found this extra delay an imposition.
‘Little Laura.’ Clug squeezed Laura’s arm against his ribs (they were of a height). ‘’Ow I shall miss you, for me you represent all that is in this country er—er—’
‘You have already forgotten what I represent.’
‘No, no I ’ave not.’ Clug’s aitches froze as they left his lips. ‘I shall even remember your great uncles, the most lovely uncles in Western Europe.’
‘Ankles, Cluggie, ankles.’
‘Votever. When I feel them wrapped round my vaiste I adore them, get most excite, ant your viggling toes, now this young calf will experience this extase.’
Catching the eye of a man supposedly reading the evening paper, Laura grinned. ‘Work that one out, mate.’ The stranger raised his newspaper, blotting himself away.
‘So now this and that with that young so lucky fellow, to start so with a beautiful older woman is bonus,’ cried Clug. ‘And a so fonny woman also.’
‘I’m not starting anything, Cluggie, I’m due for a little rest.’
‘Rest! Nah! If he start it is better, but it vill be you, I think, no?’
‘I think I hear your train,’ said Laura, laughing.
‘Do not forget me, little Laura. I vill remember as you are now forever. How we loathed!’
‘We look like corpses under this fluorescent light—loved, Cluggie, loved. I still can’t think why I bother.’
‘In Venezia the street lights are pink.’
‘And in Bucharest?’
‘Like death also.’
‘Here’s your train. Where’s your bag? Goodbye, goodbye.’ Laura’s spirits soared as the train arrived; she felt revivified and looked it, in spite of the fluorescent lighting. Clug climbed nimbly into the train.
‘I am still working out how you wrapped your uncle’s ankles round a waste—’ The newspaper reader brushed past Laura and followed Clug onto the train as it began to move.