Kissed a Sad Goodbye полностью

At Westferry Station she left the train and, jostled by homeward bound commuters, made her way down the concrete steps from the platform. Squinting against the low evening sun, she turned right into Limehouse Causeway, then walked along Narrow Street until she came to the pub. The establishment was one of the historic fixtures of Limehouse, catering now to the upwardly mobile, and she knew it only by reputation, as it was not the sort of place one went on one’s own for a bite of shepherd’s pie or fish and chips.

She entered tentatively, squeezing her way among the suit-and-tied clientele packed sardinelike in the long, narrow space, until she spotted Reg in the far corner. He waved to her, and when she reached the table he stood and gave her an unexpected kiss on the cheek. He looked slightly flushed; his hair fell untidily on his brow and he looked even more handsome than usual.

“Thanks awfully for coming,” he said as he seated her. “Have you been here before? The crowds will thin out in a bit, and the food’s brilliant. I thought you could use a good meal. But first I’ll get you something from the bar, shall I? There’s a nice summer ale, a bit citrusy.”

“Lovely,” Teresa managed, and as he turned away towards the bar she leaned forwards and sniffed surreptitiously at his drink. Unadulterated lemonade, as far as she could tell, and not surprising, as he didn’t ordinarily drink—yet she could have sworn he was tiddly. Frowning, she watched him chatting to the barman with the same feverish jollity.

He came back with her drink and a menu, and when he sat their knees touched unavoidably in the small space under the table. “I’d recommend the fish cakes,” he said, opening her menu for her. “I know they sound boringly pedestrian, but they’re divine. And I’m sure there’s some sort of historical precedent—Dickens ate them, or something. Did you know this is supposed to be the pub Dickens called the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters in Our Mutual Friend? He described the bar as ‘not much bigger than a hackney coach,’ and that’s still true enough. It had the veranda overlooking the river in those days, too, though I daresay it’s a bit sturdier now, and the wooden ladder that descended to the ships so the watermen could climb up to the bar is long gone. We’ll go outside afterwards and have a drink, if you like, and in the meantime you can just imagine the bowsprit of an anchored square-rigger poking through the window and the hearty fellows drinking their pints.” He nodded at the window above her head and raised his glass. “To bygone spirits.”

Their eyes met as he seemed to realize what he’d said, and in the uncomfortable silence that followed neither of them spoke the name that hovered between them. Normally adept at filling silences and putting others at their ease, Reg was the least likely person she knew to make such an awkward remark. And yet tonight he seemed to be possessed by a sort of reckless desperation.

Searching for a way to rescue them both, she closed the menu without looking at it and said, “What about you, Reg? Aren’t you having anything?”

“Just some soup, I think, to keep you company. Is it the fish cakes, then?”

When she nodded, he got up again and gave their order at the bar. “There’s a proper restaurant upstairs,” he told her as he returned. “But I’m glad they’ve left the pub a pub. There ought to be some immutable things in the world, don’t you think?”

“Reg, I—”

“I’m sorry I buggered off this afternoon after the solicitor. I shouldn’t have, leaving you on your own like that.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “It was quite all right, really. It’s just that I was a bit worried about you, when you didn’t come back to the office.”

“As if you hadn’t enough to deal with.” He looked at her, his face still for the first time, and after a moment added, “I have been a washout these last few days, haven’t I? I just can’t seem to stick it.”

Teresa blinked, surprised by such a personal admission. He had been quite useless at the office, if she were to be brutal about it, seemingly unable to manage tasks that he could ordinarily do without batting an eye. But she’d no idea how she would cope if she were in his position, and she knew people reacted differently to grief. Her own response had been to buckle down to the job, because it was the concentration that kept her going.

In the end, she didn’t deny his failures, but said, “Reg, if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“You’ve been a peach as it is.” He reached out and touched his fingers to her cheek. Suddenly very aware of his legs against hers, and of her response, she flushed with embarrassment, but didn’t withdraw her knees. It was wicked of her to hope, even, that he found her attractive, but she’d discovered that knowing the wrongness of it didn’t make the feelings go away.