Рекс Стаут - The Last Drive and Other Stories

“Do you like me?” she demanded.

The poor man could only nod.

She pretended to pout. “I don’t believe you at all. I’ll try again. There’s lots more.” She turned to the bed, near which lay a great heap of boxes and bundles of all sizes and shapes. “I know what I’ll do! Go out in the hall again.”

He felt that he was making rather an ass of himself, but what could he do but obey? So out he went again into the dark hall, and re-entered at her call a few minutes later.

The blue frock and hat lay on the bed, discarded; and before him stood a vision in creamy white. She was bareheaded; her throat gleamed whiter than the filmy stuff that enveloped her, and her arms too as she swept him an old-fashioned curtsey and the flowing sleeves opened. Around the waist a heavy silken girdle drew in the folds to her slender form.

“ Mon peignoir ,” she announced, observing the effect on him. “ Comment le trouvez-vous, monsieur? Isn’t it just lovely? Tell me, isn’t it?”

“It — it’s pretty nice,” Canby stammered.

“But yes! And oh, everything is so nice! I never dreamed I would have a single one of these beautiful things, and now I have them all, and all because you are so kind to me — and I just have to kiss you!”

And once more he felt her arms about his neck and her lips on his cheek — both his cheeks. He stiffened and held himself rigid; when she drew away he remained so, holding himself together by a great effort. And he succeeded in mastering the impulse of desire, but as he stood there motionless, devouring her with his eyes, the thought that his abstinence was folly, his spartan control senseless and purposeless, seized him and overwhelmed him. Still he remained without moving, his muscles tense.

“Oh, now you’re angry!” Nella was saying in pretty girlish despair. “I do want you to like me, you are so kind, and — See!” Her manner changed in a flash. “That’s the way it ought to be, isn’t it?” Up went her hands to her head, there was a quick movement, another, and the mass of dark brown hair tumbled about her shoulders and down her back, reaching to the waist; one thick wavy strand hung in front, in startling contrast to the white gown.

“There! Isn’t it nice and long?”

Canby, mad with the beauty of her, took a step forward.

“Nella!” His tone was dry — he had to make it so; his face was pale. “Nella, do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” she said simply.

“No, not like that.” He moved forward quite close to her, his eyes on hers. There was a pause.

“I really believe you don’t understand,” he said abruptly. “I’ve got to explain. If it goes on like this you’ll drive me crazy. You remember a long time ago I said I was fond of you? I am. I am fonder of you than I have even been of anyone in my life. So you see why I can’t stand this sort of thing.”

“But I’m fond of you too, and I like it!”

He groaned. “Yes, I know you are, but in a different way; at least, I think it’s in a different way, and that’s what I want to find out. You thought, Nella, that when I asked you to come and live with me — you thought that was what I wanted; but what I really wanted — though I wouldn’t admit it to myself at the time — was to ask you to marry me.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you?”

“Yes, that was what I wanted,” he went on, ignoring her question, “though I tried to deceive myself. This is what I get for trying to shut my eyes to the facts. But, good heavens — the thing was impossible! It is still impossible. I’m more than twice as old as you. You are not yet twenty; I am past forty. It would be unfair to you, terribly unfair. When you are thirty-eight I will be sixty. Oh, I’ve made all the combinations. But now — I don’t know. Perhaps I owe myself a chance. I couldn’t bear to take advantage of you, your innocence and youth, but after all, if I could make you happy, and the Lord knows I’d try—”

“But you are making me happy!”

“I know. I mean, if you could love me. Not as a grandfather, my dear child. Garry Linwood told me I was a fool, and I begin to respect his judgment. For, I suppose, you could never have the feeling for me that I want you to have, that I have for you. If you did, it couldn’t last. I’m too old — hopelessly old.”

“You are not!” cried the girl. “And I do love you!”

He was suddenly silent. He stood and looked at her, and all at once his face changed. All the determination of it, all the lines of resistance, were swept away by a fierce wave of emotion. He made a quick step forward and took her in his arms, but still holding her a little away from him. He was trembling from head to foot.

“Nella!” he said. His voice was husky. “Does this — do I frighten you?”

She shook her head, smiling at him as she declared calmly:

“Of course not!”

The next instant he crushed her in his arms, the last vestige of control vanished. Her own arms remained by her side, but for that matter she could not have moved them had she wished, so closely did he hold her. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, her throat, and then he found her lips. Her soft supple body next to his filled him with an indescribable warmth; his senses floated away in a whirl of tumultuous passion. Her lips were firm, yet yielding; there was no response in them, yet somehow they seemed to withhold nothing. He drew her closer, and felt the pressure against him in her effort to breathe.

The sweetness of her lips! Given or taken, the whole world was in them. He was drinking at the only fount that could quench his thirst, and he would not relinquish the draught. He neither knew nor cared how long he remained thus, straining her to him, for the force of all the weeks of repression surged into his arms and kept them round her. He could not even tell if she resisted, though that would not have mattered, for it was not tenderness that inspired this embrace.

“You are mine!” His tone was fiercely, savagely triumphant. “Mine, Nella!” Again he had her lips.

Then all at once the wave subsided as suddenly as it had come. He released her, almost pushing her from him in his revulsion. He turned his back and covered his face with his hands.

The girl’s voice came:

“Oh, how tight you squeezed me! I could scarcely breathe!”

“Good heavens!” cried Canby, wheeling about. “And that’s all you felt—” He checked himself and gathered his scattered senses. When he spoke again his voice was bitterly ironic. “And I wanted to be your guardian! Nella, I’m an old fool. Don’t misunderstand me; I wouldn’t insist on your love. My desire is to have you for my wife, on any terms; but I won’t ask you, and that’s all there is to it. Later, we’ll see. Forget everything I’ve said. If I asked you now to marry me, you would?”

She seemed to hesitate.

“Yes, I would,” she said at last.

“Very well. All the more reason why I shouldn’t ask it — now. I’ve got to think the thing out. I see I haven’t really thought about it; I’ve merely tried to make myself believe lies. It’s all a question of your chance for happiness, and I swear I won’t rob you of it. I’m tempted unspeakably. If we — if you find you can love me, we’ll see. Good night, and forgive me.”

He had reached the door when her voice came:

“Don’t you want me to kiss you good night?”

“I do not!” he replied grimly; and the next instant the door closed after him.

If only Canby had possessed a sufficiently active sense of humor to see the comedy in the thing it would have saved him many a bad hour. Or, if he had been a reader of modern fiction he would have known that in the past ten years hundreds of wealthy, middle-aged bachelors have suffered untold miseries through their unhappy passion for their beautiful young wards, and he would have been much less disturbed by the appearance of youth upon the scene in the person of Tom Linwood; for he would have known beforehand that it was inevitable, and the very triteness of the situation would have soothed his pain a little.