Page 17 of Fire Must Burn

‘And now?’

‘Not so young and constantly confronted by the smallness of reality,’ said Iris. ‘And now marriage is our business, so let’s get to work, partner.’

The nine-thirty appointment was Miss Calpurnia Ford, a twenty-five-year-old switchboard operator from Balham.

‘I was engaged,’ she informed them after they took her preliminaries. ‘But he was so changed when he came back from the war. He knew it, I knew it. He said he was still willing to go through with it because he had made a promise, but I didn’t want to be a woman someone had to go through with it with to get married. So I released him, and I think he was relieved. I know I was. But I had waited for him all that time without, you know, going out and meeting anyone, and we ran in the same circles and knew all the same people, and I couldn’t face any of them any more, so here I am.’

‘And here we are,’ said Sparks. ‘Let’s talk about what sort of man you’re looking for.’

When she had left, Iris glanced over at Gwen, who shook her head.

The ten-thirty was Virginia Barton, a studious-looking librarian in her early thirties from Bayswater.

‘I don’t like people much,’ she said. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like parties, so meeting men is a chore.’

‘Is that why you came to us?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Barton. ‘Because I also don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. It’s so dispiriting. I’m not looking for anything romantically earth-shattering, nor do I want children. Just someone to sit with at the end of the day, with quiet conversations and books or listening to music by the fireplace. Someone I can grow old with. Is that asking a lot?’

‘We don’t promise results or guarantee happiness,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But we also don’t expect people to settle for less than they desire. Ask for all that you want with us, Miss Barton, and we’ll do the best we can.’

When she had left, Gwen leaned back in her chair.

‘She’s going to be a real challenge,’ she said. ‘But she’s not our special emissary from the Brigadier.’

‘Agreed on both points,’ said Iris. ‘I wonder if she’s even coming today.’

The eleven-thirty was lively, a petite twenty-three-year-old with a mass of blonde curls.

‘All right, my name’s Evelyn Lowle, but you got that on the form, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’m from Manchester, but you got that from hearing me talk.’

‘We do,’ said Sparks. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Sitting across from you? Or meaning London?’

‘Why don’t you start with London?’ suggested Mrs Bainbridge.

‘I followed a boy here, silly little fool that I was,’ she said. ‘He was a year ahead of me at university, and we were madly in love. He gets done, comes to London to seek his fortune, then I come here a year later seeking him, only when I see him, there’s nowt there any more, you know? And I find out he’s moved on to a proper London girl, and I’d cut all my ties back home, so I was stranded here. So I was having a proper strop for a good while, but then I said to myself, “Evie, quit skrikingand give your head a wobble. He’s not the only fish.” The problem is, I don’t know anyone in London. So I came here.’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘What was your life like in Manchester before you went to university?’

‘Working class all the way,’ said Miss Lowle. ‘Dad’s a bookkeeper, Mum teaches piano. She fancied I’d go to Royal Manchester or one of the other conservatoires one day, but hearing nowt but piano students non-stop in the front parlour made me lose interest in it pretty early.’

‘I’m remembering all of my early piano lessons now,’ said Mrs Bainbridge with a laugh. ‘Which piece was the straw that broke the camel’s back for you?’

‘Oh, I don’t even remember any more,’ said Miss Lowle. ‘I’ve blocked that part of my life.’

‘What sort of man are you looking for?’ asked Sparks.

‘Don’t know, rightly,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m looking for someone who is looking for me, so I’m open to possibilities. What do you think?’

‘I think that you’re laying on the accent a little thick,’ said Sparks. ‘You don’t have to throw in every bit of Mancunian slang you know in the first two minutes.’

‘Also, the piano teacher mum is a nice touch,’ added Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But you’d better be ready to name a few pieces in case the question comes up.’

Miss Lowle looked back and forth at the two of them in astonishment. Then the look was replaced by a sly smile.

‘Wow. He told me you would be the tougher one to fool,’ she said to Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But I couldn’t get by either of you, could I?’