Sweet Dreams

~ ~ ~

Caroline, Freddie’s wife, looks rather like him, except that whereas Freddie’s smile disappears up round the right-hand side of his face, hers goes up to the left. So that when they sit facing each other on either side of their fireplace, both grins take off in the direction of the mantelpiece, as if drawn by the draught.

Howard sits on the long sofa between them, facing the Rembrandt. The ancient silk upholstery of the sofa is touchingly faded and threadbare. The carpet has obviously been in the family for years, too, and the Rembrandt is unrestored and almost completely black.

Howard sips his sherry, and tries not to wave his arms about as he explains how they converted their house.

“Yur,” says Freddie at intervals. He is wearing another crumpled three-piece suit, and another tie which sags to reveal his brass collar-stud.

“Yur,” adds Caroline sympathetically. She is a kindly-looking girl with thick white legs, and her slip showing.

They have seven children. Some of them are away at school, some being looked after by Nanny, in the upper parts of the house.

The house is in the centre of the city, on the edge of the Park, two minutes’ walk from the best shops and the square where all the drop-outs and drug-addicts meet. Through the windows you should have a good view of the RCA tower and the Hilton hotel. But the bottom of all the surrounding buildings is hidden by the high brick wall round the garden, and the top of them by the beige silk shades, which are half-lowered over the windows. Everything inside the house is beige or dark brown or faded pastel; good but slightly worn; human but impersonal.

Howard sits back a little on the sofa. He feels very much at home.

“I suppose in a way I always really knew it was you,” he says. “From that first time I met you. Because as soon as one starts to think about it seriously it’s obvious. It has to be you. There’s no one else who would even begin to be plausible.”

“Terrifically kind,” says Freddie, putting his head on one side and grinning awkwardly. “No special skill involved, though. Anyone could do it.”

“Oh, come, come!” says Howard, smiling.

“No, really …”

“Howard’s right, darling,” murmurs Caroline. “You mustn’t keep running yourself down. It’s a dreadful bore for all the rest of us.”

“Oh, dear,” says Freddie, knotting his arms and legs together in embarrassment.

“I can’t help feeling,” says Howard, sticking his head forward ruefully, “now I know who you are, that I’ve been a bit outspoken in some of my remarks about the system.”

“Not at all!” says Freddie.

“Not a bit!” says Caroline.

“But I must in all honesty say,” says Howard very quickly, jutting his chin out and smilingly blinking his eyes, “that I still think there are a number of things in the universe which really need seriously looking into.”

“Oh, the whole thing!” says Freddie with feeling.

“Ghastly mess,” says Caroline.

“Absolute disaster area,” says Freddie.

“Frightful,” says Caroline.

“So far as one can understand it,” says Freddie.

“Freddie feels frightfully strongly about it, you see,” says Caroline.

Howard looks from one to the other in astonishment.

“Good heavens!” he says. “I should never have guessed….”

“Oh, Freddie’s a terrific radical,” says Caroline.

“Really?” says Howard.

“A terrible firebrand, really,” says Caroline.

Freddie knots himself up.

“A bit firebrandish,” he admits.

“A bit of a Maoist, to tell you the truth,” says Caroline.

She looks sideways at Howard to see how he is taking this. So does Freddie.

“A Maoist?” says Howard, astonished.

“Permanent revolution,” says Caroline.

“That style of thing,” agrees Freddie.

“What he feels, you see,” says Caroline, “is that people ought to struggle pretty well all the time against the limitations of the world and their own nature. Not stop.”

Howard gazes at Freddie, deeply impressed.

“Don’t worry,” says Freddie. ”I don’t think my views have much effect.”

“Don’t be silly,” says Caroline. “People have a lot of respect for them.”

“I’m not sure they even notice them.”

“I notice them,” says Howard fervently. “I respect them.”

“You see?” says Caroline.

“Rather cheering meeting you, I must admit,” says Freddie. “Fearfully difficult in this job to know if one’s having any effect on things. One tries to — well — set a bit of an example. If that’s not too sanctimonious.”

“Not at all!” cries Howard. “Thank God someone is still prepared to make a moral stand like this!”

“I told you, darling,” says Caroline.

“Sometimes,” says Freddie, “one’s tempted to just plunge in and put everything to rights.”

“I know the feeling,” says Howard warmly.

“But if one really believes in participatory democracy, and all that kind of thing, one has to be a bit constitutional about it.”

“Of course,” says Howard.

“Paradoxically.”

“You do jog things along a bit behind the scenes, though, darling,” says Caroline. “You do drop a hint here and there.”

“That’s the most one can do, really,” says Freddie. “Get hold of some ordinary chap and drop a few hints in his ear.”

“That’s why Freddie asked you to come round today,” says Caroline.

“Perhaps ‘ordinary chap’ is a rather unfortunate phrase….“

“Not at all,” says Howard. “You couldn’t find a more ordinary chap than me.”

“What I thought,” says Freddie, “was that we could fix you up with some kind of nominal job in the organization….”

“Like Managing Director,” says Caroline.

“Or Prime Minister,” says Freddie. “Something like that. Then between us possibly we could begin to stir things up a bit.”

Howard frowns at his glass, trying to conceal his pleasure.

“Well,” he says.

“I haven’t put it very well,” says Freddie, screwing his head round sideways.

“The ideas would be yours as much as Freddie’s,” says Caroline.

“I’d just make the odd suggestion from time to time,” says Freddie.

“Well,” says Howard. His hands are shaking slightly.

“It’s not the kind of thing that would influence you, of course,” says Caroline, “but the prospects would be quite good.”

“Because I don’t suppose I shall go on forever,” says Freddie, smiling. “Anyway, perhaps you’d think it over.”

“Yur,” says Howard thoughtfully, putting his head on one side. “Yur.”