In well-cut evening dress, with his hair well brilliantined, Grunnings was examining the menu and smiling at Beatrice. Grunnings looked fit and attractively tanned. He was about thirty-eight, of medium build, and his smile was friendly. Beatrice was smiling back with an eagerness that made Sango jealous.
He felt sad. ‘To think I’ve spent all my time dreaming in vain!’
Never once did her eyes leave Grunning’s face. If only she could dote on me like that, Sango thought bitterly. But it brought him no comfort. What could they have to talk about at such length? Was her life really complete and full? Had she, in marrying Grunnings, a man with a wife and children in England, realized her purpose?
Sango went to the bar to console himself. He climbed on to a stool. Various resolutions were forming in his mind: I should never come here again; I must forget her – completely. He must have been there a long time when he noticed her sitting at the other end of the counter. She had a straw between her lips and was sucking an ice-shake.
Her bare arms lay on the counter, while one leg dangled above the chrome-plated rungs. It would be wrong to speak to her, because he did not know her. Even as the thought flashed through his mind her eyes were on his, dancing with a joyful light; and she was smiling. His heart warmed and he was encouraged.
‘My husband knows I like this place,’ she said. ‘He always lets me sit at the bar and suck a cold drink – by myself. You are not playing today?’
‘We play when we’re engaged.’
‘I enjoy your music; I’ve always wanted to see you more closely . . . My husband has just returned from England, and is very busy. I wish he would bring me here more: I like night life.’
Sango said: ‘An engineer who works all day would like to sit with his wife and family; not go hunting bright lights.’
She sighed. ‘Grunnings has changed. Whenever he comes back from leave it is always like that. But this time, I shall do something about it.’
She was talking half to herself, half to him; more like someone thinking aloud. Sango had little time to ask himself: why is she telling me all this? Her manner was so engaging. Add to it the fact that a beauty to whom he had attached so much importance should prove human, with her own worries, and the whole dazzling incident became numbing to his reason.
‘He’s a nice fellow; he loves me very much. But lots of men also love me and I’m going to leave Grunnings . . . Sango, do you know where I can find a room? I want to move from Rokiya Hill.’
‘A room?’
‘The place is a grave; too quiet and lonely. I like noise; it is not so boring as silence. And I like high life and drinks and music.’
‘Let me think . . . My landlord might be able to help you – a man called Lajide. He’s a housing agent and lives at Twenty Molomo.’
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Housing agent! I have no money.’
‘Your beauty will see you through, Beatrice. Lajide is a man who likes beautiful women. He has eight wives, but they’re not enough. And it will save you wasting a lot of time looking around. In any case, you can always move if you are not satisfied with his offer.’
‘You are very kind, Mr. Sango. When I live on my own, I’ll be happy. I came here to live and enjoy life. For a short while I enjoyed my life, went to big functions, night clubs . . . I always wanted to be free. Then I met Grunnings and he married me. You will not believe it when I say that he was surprised to find me a complete girl who had known no man before him.’
Sango started. He looked more closely at her. Her eyes were a little too bright, but her voice was low and steady. It was just possible that the champagne, the bright lights, the heady wine and lilting music had affected her a little.
‘But now, I have given him three children and I know he can never be a real husband to me, so I’m quitting. I have thought over it a long time!’
She slipped to her feet, smoothly, delicately. No one would ever give this young woman up lightly. She left him and the astounded barman and walked back to her table. Sango could never tire of watching her walk. In his mouth was that sharp taste peculiar to an awakened but unsatisfied craving. At last he had met Beatrice and spoken to her. But what impression had he made on her? He watched her stop at a table. All eyes were on her glittering pearls. Her right arm flashed as she lifted her fingers and placed them gracefully on her forehead. It did not occur to Sango then that something unusual was about to happen.
In the next few minutes the All Language Club was disrupted by one of those dramas which take place so often and are so easily forgotten. Beatrice tried to move on. She couldn’t. She began to sink to her knees. As she fell, Sango bounded towards her.
But Grunnings was there before anyone else and had taken her hand tenderly.
‘You’re not getting your attack again, Beatrice?’ He peered critically into her face. ‘I’ll take you home.’
‘I – I just felt giddy . . . I’m all right.’
She seemed to have shrunken of a sudden. Her hair looked sodden. The lipstick had caked on her lips and her smile was wooden. Never had Sango see
n such a rapid transformation. She put her arm round Grunnings’s shoulder. Grunnings led her to their seat, collected her handbag and helped her out of the Club.
A waiter ran after them with a bill. Sango stood rooted, perplexed. Could there be so much unhappiness wrapped up in a single person? The waiter joined him, still waving the unsettled bill.
‘That woman, one day she will die – like this!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘She get some bad sick inside her. When them tell her, go home, she no go. One day she go die for this city.’
How true that prophecy proved to be! And how saddened Sango was to dwell on the enigma that was Beatrice. There seemed to be little more to do at the club that night, or perhaps morning. For already it was 2 a.m. Walking home through the streets of the city, Sango met his First Trumpet who had gone to play at an exclusive club on the island.