Three to See the King

Painter’s house. There was no captive balloon hoisted in the air above it, nor was there a flagpole on the roof. Nevertheless, I knew I had the right place. The bell hung on a bracket beside the door, swaying gently in the breeze and chiming from time to time. I was about to make myself known when I heard a peal of laughter within. It came from several voices, one of which I knew to be Simon’s. The rest belonged to women. I waited and heard Simon say something else, then more laughter followed.
    It certainly sounded as if they were having a good time in there, and I was reluctant to interrupt. Just then, however, the door opened and a smiling young woman emerged. When she noticed me standing there, partially hidden by shadows, she appeared not at all surprised. ‘Simon!’ she called into the house. ‘We’ve got a visitor!’ ‘Come in!’ I heard him cry. ‘Come in! Whoever it is!’ Apparently the young woman was just heading off somewhere. She smiled and held the door for me. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.
    ‘That’s OK,’ she replied, slipping away through the darkness. I hesitated for a few more seconds, then stepped over the threshold.
    14
    As I entered, Simon was half-rising from behind a table, around which sat four women and another man.
    ‘Hello!’ he boomed. ‘You decided to join us after all!’ ‘Yes, well,’ I replied. ‘I thought I’d come and have a look anyway.’
    ‘Good! Good! Michael will be so pleased to see you!’ There then followed a swirl of greetings, handshakes and introductions as I met the rest of the group, all of whom apparently knew I was an ex-neighbour of Simon’s. Not being used to dealing with so many people at once, I found their names tended to go straight in one ear and out the other. Nonetheless, they treated me like a long lost friend. Soon I had a drink in my hand and a place of honour at the table. Simon immediately told the story of how his house had been dismantled while he was away, and how I’d gone over to help him out. He described his despair at seeing the pieces of tin all stacked up on top of each other, his former existence thereby reduced to a meaningless puzzle. Inevitably, of course, we had to listen to the bit at the end where Michael Hawkins came along and put everything right again. It quickly became clear that Simon was an established raconteur amongst his new-found circle of friends, and I was quietly impressed by the way they listened enthralled to every word he said. All the same, I was slightly baffled by his earlier comment that Michael would be so pleased to see me, as though this had some extra special significance. If he’d said, ‘I’m so pleased to see you’, or even ‘Steve will be so pleased to see you’, I could have understood the remark perfectly. Instead, it seemed only to matter what this Michael Hawkins thought, and I wondered why Simon should abase himself in such a manner. Still, there was no cause to dwell on these questions right now. The present company was most acceptable and I had nothing to complain about. Quite the opposite actually. While Simon was talking, I began to notice I was getting a good deal of attention from one of the women. Several times she cast meaningful glances in my direction, and she smiled at all the parts of the story that involved me. I had a feeling she was called Jane, which was one of the names that had been bandied around during the introductions, but I couldn’t be sure. For the moment I decided I would just have to pretend I knew her name, and see how things went. Judging by the looks she gave me, the prospects were certainly promising.
    In the meantime, Simon’s tale was coming to an end.
    ‘These days we can build a house of tin with our eyes shut,’ he concluded. ‘But, of course, it helps if we keep them open!’
    There followed a gale of laughter from his listeners, and it struck me that Simon’s gift as a storyteller was in marked contrast to the streams of enquiry which had characterized his past conversations. I thought back to those dreary afternoons when he’d questioned me on whether I’d seen Steve or heard from Philip, and I decided that the new Simon was a great improvement. If only he would stop going on about Michael Hawkins! He was at it again a few minutes later when the woman who’d let me in returned.
    ‘Michael could be coming to visit us tomorrow,’ she announced. ‘I’ve just seen Philip and he says there’s a strong probability.’
    As she