A Town like Alice

that's the sort of job one might get stuck into and take really seriously. But I wish it hadn't got to do with sick people. Either you've got a mission for sick people or you haven't, and I think I'm one of the ones who hasn't. But it's worth thinking about."
    "Well, you can take your time," I said. "You don't have to do anything in a hurry."
    She laughed at me. "I believe that's your guiding rule in life never do anything in a hurry."
    I smiled. "You might have a worse rule than that."
    With the coffee after dinner I tried her out on the Arts. She knew nothing about music, except that she liked listening to the radio while she sewed. She knew nothing about literature, except that she liked novels with a happy ending. She liked paintings that were a reproduction of something that she knew, but she had never been to the Academy. She knew nothing whatsoever about sculpture. For a young woman with nine hundred a year, in London, she knew little of the arts and graces of social life, which seemed to me to be a pity.
    "Would you like to come to the opera one night?" I asked.
    She smiled. "Would I understand it?"
    "Oh yes. I'll look and see what's on. I'll pick something light, and in English."
    She said, "It's terribly nice of you to ask me, but I'm sure you'd be much happier playing bridge."
    "Not a bit," I said. "I haven't been to the opera or anything like that for years."
    She smiled. "Well, of course I'd love to come," she said. "I've never seen an opera in my life. I don't even know what happens."
    We sat talking about these things for an hour or more, till it was half-past nine and she got up to go; she had three-quarters of an hour to travel out to her suburban lodgings. I went with her, because she was going from St James's Park station, and I didn't care about the thought of so young a woman walking across the park alone late at night. At the station, standing on the dark, wet pavement by the brightly lit canopy, she put out her hand.
    "Thank you so much, Mr Strachan, for the dinner, and for everything you're doing for me," she said.
    "It has been a very great pleasure to me, Miss Paget," I replied, and I meant it.
    She hesitated, and then she said, smiling, "Mr Strachan, we're going to have a good deal to do with each other. My name is Jean. I'll go crackers if you keep on calling me Miss Paget."
    "You can't teach an old dog new tricks," I said awkwardly. She laughed.
    "You said just now you don't feel any different as you get older. You can try and learn."
    "I'll bear it in mind," I said. "Sure you can manage all right now?"
    "Of course. Goodnight, Mr Strachan."
    "Goodnight," I said, lifting my hat and dodging the issue. "I'll let you know about the opera."
    In the following weeks while probate was being granted I took her to a good many things. We went together to the opera several times, to the Albert Hall on Sunday afternoons, and to art galleries and exhibitions of paintings. In return, she took me to the cinema once or twice. I cannot really say that she developed any very great artistic appreciation. She liked paintings more than concerts. If it had to be music she preferred it in the form of opera and the lighter the better; she liked to have something to look at while her ears were assailed. We went twice to Kew Garden as the spring came on. In the course of these excursions she came several times to my flat in Buckingham Gate; she got to know the kitchen, and made tea once or twice when we came in from some outing together. I had never entertained a lady in that flat before except my daughters-in-law, who sometimes come and use my spare room for a night or two in London.
    Her business was concluded in March, and I was able to send her her first cheque. She did not give up her job at once, but continued to go to the office as usual. She wanted, very wisely, to build up a small reserve of capital from her monthly cheques before starting to live on them; moreover, at that time she had not made up her mind what she wanted to do.
    That was the position one Sunday in April. I had arranged a little jaunt for her that day; she was to come to lunch at the flat and after that we were going down to Hampton Court, which she had never seen. I thought that the old palace and the spring flowers would please her, and I had been looking forward to this trip for several days. And then, of course, it rained.
    She came to the flat just before lunch, dripping in her dark blue raincoat, carrying a very wet umbrella. I took