Dead as a Dodo by Jane Langton

Author:Jane Langton [Langton, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781784086688
Google: sJS_AwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2014-05-31T18:30:00+00:00

29

A strong desire to touch the beloved person is commonly felt. ... Hence we long to clasp in our arms those whom we tenderly love.

—Charles Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals

By some miracle Hal Shaw and Freddy Dubchick found themselves alone together in the Oxford Playhouse. Alone, that is, except for two hundred fifty-seven strangers who had also bought tickets to As You Like It. Their aloneness consisted in the absence of Oliver Clare and Margo Shaw.

Their seats were far apart, but Hal recognized Freddy's small neat head from the back, and at intermission he pushed through fifty people moving up the aisle to intercept her. She saw him coming, and thrust through half a dozen bodies, her face glowing.

"I intend to kiss you," he said, leaning over her, "sometime in the next thirty seconds. I mean, life is short, and we've got to get in as many kisses as possible."

"Not here," said Freddy, laughing. "Not in front of all these people."

"I'll tell you what we need," said Hal impulsively. "You know that thing they have on the streets of Paris called a pissoir, so that men can relieve themselves in the open air? Well, what we need right now is a kissoir. It's the same sort of thing, but for people in love. Oh, God, Freddy, I love you so."

In the lobby of the theater people were buying drinks, standing in clots and clusters, talking cheerfully. Hal touched Freddy's face and kissed her.

"Are you really eager to see the rest of the play?" breathed Freddy.

"No, no, I hate Shakespeare." Hal put his arm around her and they went outside.

Beaumont Street was the usual Oxford mixture of seediness and grandeur. Across the street the Ashmolean stretched left and right. On the crest of the roof the white figure of Apollo was half-submerged in a low-hanging mist. Rain had been threatening all day. Trucks rumbled past. Hal remembered to look to his right before hurrying Freddy across.

They walked all the way to Norham Road. On the way it began to mizzle with rain, and Freddy popped up her umbrella. "Our kissoir," she said, and under its skimpy protection they clung together and walked and kissed. They didn't say anything. There was nothing that needed to be said. Somewhere in the world there were a couple of enormous obstacles in the shape of Margo Shaw and Oliver Clare, but right now under this amorous umbrella they were totally irrelevant. It would be vulgar to mention them.

There were lighted windows in Freddy's house. "Oh, dear," she said, "my father's home. I thought he was working late." She steered Hal into the side garden, and they sat down on a damp wooden bench. Hal held the umbrella.

Indoors, Freddy's dog jumped up on a windowsill and whimpered. William rose from his chair and looked out. He could see the two figures on the bench, and in spite of the umbrella he recognized the young man who was embracing his daughter so passionately.

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