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.,’ he drifted out of the room.‘What hidden talents spring up in one’s friends,’ said Digby.‘I didn’t know Mark could imitate a young girl so well.I hope hell be able to follow up this promising start,’‘He’d better send her some flowers and follow it up quickly with an invitation to lunch at one of our drearier places.She’ll find it amusing and different,’ said Tom.It was odd to think that he himself had once been on the threshold of that kind of life and that he had thrown it all away, as it were, to go out to Africa and study the ways of a so-called primitive tribe.For really, when one came to consider it, what could be more primitive than the rigid ceremonial of launching a debutante on the marriage market?CHAPTER FIFTEENDuring the next few weeks some changes took place in the circle of the young anthropologists.Jean-Pierre le Rossignol, after a visit to Bournemouth to study the English on holiday, returned thankfully to France.Brandon and Melanie Pirbright set out for the field to gather material about the married life of a primitive people, giving in exchange generous information about their own, which filled the natives with delight and astonishment.Tom, after a gay evening drinking the bottle of Pouilly Fuissé with Catherine, setded down to revise his thesis and prepare it for the final typing.He saw Deirdre as often as was necessary for his well-being and happiness, which was just a little less often than she would have liked.Primrose and Vanessa set off for a holiday in Italy, while Digby and Mark gathered strength to visit their parents in Nottingham and Wolverhampton respectively.Catherine had decided that she and Deirdre could now meet again as friends, and one morning sat waiting among the mosaic peacocks for Deirdre to join her in a simple lunch.‘Just the kind of place for two women to meet for lunch,’ she said when Deirdre had arrived, ‘nothing to drink and not all that much to eat—no red meat, no birds, but poached eggs and welsh rarebits, the kind of nourishment that builds the backbone of this great country of ours.And we must help ourselves, too.Need you clutch that parcel to your breast, whatever it is? I should leave it behind to mark your place.’‘Yes, perhaps I will,’ said Deirdre doubtfully.‘I suppose it will be all right.’When they returned to the table with their food she seemed anxious about the parcel in a rather ostentatious way, so that Catherine felt that she was expected at least to make some comment and perhaps even to ask what it was.‘It’s Tom’s thesis,’ said Deirdre in a reverent tone.‘He’s just given me a copy to read.Look,’ she unwrapped the paper, ‘four hundred and ninety seven pages.How does he do it?’‘Well,’ said Catherine, ‘writers of fiction would tell you that one just goes on and on until one reaches page four hundred and ninety seven, but of course we don’t have to write at such prodigious length and might well find it a bit of an endurance test.A thesis must be long.The object, you see, is to bore and stupefy the examiners to such an extent that they will have to accept it—only if a thesis is short enough to be read all through word for word is there any danger of failure.’‘Oh, Catherine …’ Deirdre laughed a little uncertainly.‘Actually I know I shall find this very interesting,’ she added, assuming the slightly patronizing tone that a specialist may when speaking to a non-specialist.‘Well, don’t get scrambled egg all over it,’ said Catherine, lifting the manuscript from the table.She turned a page at random.‘It would, however, be dangerous at this stage to embark on any extensive analysis…’ she read.‘ Oh, what cowards scholars are! When you think how poets and novelists rush in with their analyses of the human heart and mind and soul of which they often have far less knowledge than darling Tom has of his tribe.And why do they find it so difficult to begin or start anything—they must always commence- have you noticed? I hoped I had cured Tom of that, but I’ve obviously failed.’There was a pause, as if Catherine’s words might have a deeper significance which both women recognized.I should have let him go on writing ‘commence’ if he wanted to, Catherine thought.I wonder if that was what drove him away in the end? It is said to be the small things that do that, the straws on the camel’s back.Perhaps I should rejoice to imagine him, free and triumphant, defiandy writing ‘commence’.‘Catherine,’ Deirdre began.‘Yes?’‘Who is Elaine?’‘Ah, Elaine.What makes you ask?’‘Tom was talking about her one evening when we were having dinner.’‘Poor Deirdre, was it one of those rather miserable meals, where you both look down into your glasses and trace patterns with forks and move the salts and peppers about?’‘Yes, it was a bit like that,’ Deirdre smiled.‘I do try to understand, but Tom isn’t always very easy, is he?’ She went on quickly, perhaps not wishing for an answer to her question.‘I gathered Elaine was an old girl friend or something.’‘Yes, Tom’s first love, and of course living in the country and not meeting many suitable people she hasn’t married anyone else.She’s very fond of dogs, golden retrievers I think they are.’‘Oh.Is Tom fond of dogs?’ asked Deirdre rather desperately
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