An Unsuitable Attachment by Barbara Pym

Author:Barbara Pym [Pym, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781559213547
Publisher: Moyer Bell
Published: 2006-10-15T05:00:00+00:00

12

'Rome —you're welcome to it as far as I'm concerned,' said Mervyn spitefully, the day before Ianthe was due to leave with the party from St Basil's.

'But Rome in the spring, surely that will be lovely,' John protested.

'It's not like Paris, you know. I believe it can be uncomfortably hot. And I'm sure you won't like the food. All that cannelloni—or all those cannelloni, I should say—very much overrated.'

'Perhaps Ianthe will stick to spaghetti and ravioli,' said John, mentioning the better known varieties of pasta which English people would probably be familiar with in tinned form.

'Grated cheese on everything,'' Mervyn went on, 'though it is Parmesan, I'll grant you that. Mother would find it much too rich, I know.'

'Well, it's a good thing she isn't going, then,' said John.

'They tell me you only get that very strong black espresso coffee—not even cappuccino—and the cups are only half full,' Mervyn persisted, so that Ianthe had to protest that she wasn't going to Rome only to eat and drink.

'Of course he goes on like this because he's jealous,' said John, when he and Ianthe were alone, if only he could get away from his mother he'd love to go to Italy.'

'Yes, poor Mervyn, if only he could,' Ianthe spoke perfunctorily, for she was walking away from the library with John who had not left her as he usually did to go to his bus stop. He seemed to be about to ask her something.

'I was wondering if you'd come and have a drink with me before you go home,' he said at last.

'That would be very nice, but surely it's too early for a drink?'

'No—it's half-past five. But perhaps a cup of tea would be better—cosier—if you know of anywhere round here?' He stopped in the middle of the pavement and took her arm.

'There's the Humming Bird,' said Ianthe, naming the café where she sometimes had lunch. It would be the first time she had ever been with John to a place that was part of her own particular world, unless one counted the Ash Wednesday lunchtime service at her uncle's church. But now that she came to think of it she had never been out to any sort of meal with John. There was to her something romantic about the idea of sitting with him in the place where she had so often sat alone, eating a poached egg or macaroni cheese at a shaky little oak table.

'No, we don't do evening meals,' Mrs Harper was saying to an obvious middle-aged civil servant as they entered. 'But I could knock you up a couple of poached eggs or a buck rarebit—how would that do?'

'Shall we have poached eggs?' John asked, as they sat down.

Ianthe hesitated. The eating of eggs together had not figured in the romantic picture, perhaps no actual food had suggested itself. Then she realized that he must be hungry and she felt a pang of that pity which is akin to love.

'Yes, let's have that,' she agreed.

'And cakes and China tea?'

'Yes, lovely.

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