Джон Пристли - Benighted

"And if you're cross now," she was saying, "then you're no sport, and I don't like you."

"I was never less cross," he cried. "The fact is, I'm all excited. Either there's something very heady about a car that's standing still or throwing that whisky away has made me drunk." He really did feel oddly exultant all of a sudden. "I think the spell must be working. Life's suddenly changed from being a damned long dusty road into an enormous hamper, and I feel as if I'm trying to lift the lid now. Gladys, I want to give you a colossal hug."

Her hands came down in front of her and then fluttered towards him. "Well," she said calmly, "if that's how you feel, go on."

She was in his arms and her face was tilted back, a few inches away. They kissed. Then her hand was passed over his cheek, and his arms tightened about her and they kissed again. It was all done very quietly and comfortably, without any of the blind fumbling and straining of a new passion, yet it had not only meaning but intensity. This intensity, however, like a slant of sunlight, had passed through a mellowing atmosphere of large friendliness.

Now, her hands pressing against him, she gently pushed herself away. Penderel drew a long breath. He wasn't bewildered, he wasn't ecstatic; he was suddenly and solidly happy. He felt enormously rich.

"I didn't mean that, you know," she remarked, "when I said you ought to do something."

"That's a pity. No, it isn"t." It was funny. He was cool enough, and yet his voice wasn"t. It was hoarse, unsteady. "Well, I will do something now. I'll start this week."

"Listen, Roger." She put a hand on his arm. "Why don't you come to London?"

"I will. As a matter of fact, I'm on my way there now. That sounds damned odd, when you think of it."

"You must think I'm rushing it." She was very serious now. "But I can't help it. I feel I must, while we're here and it's quiet and – Oh! – I don't know. But listen. Do you – will you – want to see me again?"

His hands went out, but she caught and held them. "No, never mind about that, now. Tell me, honestly and truly, do you?"

"Of course I do!" he cried. "What a question! Why, you're the very person I'm going up to see, though I didn't know it when I began this journey. But then I didn't know anything. When do we get there? Anyhow, we'll begin with dinner the very first night, that is, if Sir William doesn't object. What about him?"

"Don't be silly. He doesn't matter. He can fade out. He's done that already."

"So he has," he assented. "And it's a comforting thought. But what's this about town?"

"I want to see you too. And I want to help if you'll start again. I'll do anything, everything."

His mind went blundering after her. "Do you mean – - " he began.

"Don't you see what I mean?" she broke in, with a whispered vehemence. "I'll do everything. Oh, it sounds crazy, I know. Don't think I'm always like this. I've never been like this before. But the girl from the chorus you've met in the middle of the night is telling you she'll live with you if you want her to, and there you have it. She's gone mad and is flinging herself at you."

"And he's trying to fling himself at her," he cried, clasping her arms. An idea was fermenting in his mind. Why shouldn't they try it together? They'd nothing to lose, at least he hadn"t, and everything to gain. It was delightfully crazy, this idea of his, which wasn't identical with hers, much crazier. But he hadn't tested the strength of hers yet. "You're absolutely regal, Gladys; you take my breath away. But listen to me a minute – - "

"Are you going to tell me you don't want me?" she demanded. "Because you've only to nod and it'll save you the trouble."

"No, I'm not," he replied hastily. "Something quite different."

"Then I know what it is," she went on, "and I'm going to tell you. You were just going to point out that you hadn't much money and didn't exactly know where you were going to earn any and that I'd have a damned thin time, weren't you? I knew you were. Well, that doesn't matter. If you really like me enough, we can have some fun together and manage somehow. To begin with, I can get a job. I really have been in the chorus, you know – though lately I've been resting – though I've not had much from Bill, you needn't think it; he's not been keeping me really – and I can go back to the chorus. If there's nothing doing there, I can easily get a job of some sort – there's a girl I know managing a milliner's who'd get me into the shop. And we'd find a cheap little flat, high up, somewhere not too far out, and if you found anything at all to do, we'd manage all right. I know I'd be pretty rotten, and you probably wouldn't be comfortable at first. I can't do much – something quick and easy on a gas-ring is about my limit in cooking – but I'd try and I'd be happy so long as you didn't curse me too often. I know what it means, of course; I'm not a kid. Living like that with anybody else but you would be little hell; but with you it would be all different – there'd be fun and excitement all the time – and we'd go roaming round together and talk and talk about everything, just as we've been doing to-night, and we wouldn't feel lost and lonely any more. I know I'm not the sort of girl you used to think about – like that other one – but I understand; and if you ever got depressed I'd tease you out of it and then love you hard – Oh! you must think I'm silly." A little choked cry, and she had flung her arms round him and was pressing her face against his.

"My dear, my dear," he found himself saying. He saw the two of them crazily garreting it together somewhere above the bus tops; laughing or grousing together if nothing came off; jubilant over the occasional windfalls; rushing one another into life. He was holding her close now, was protective, soothing; yet all the time he had a dim feeling that it was he who was finding comfort, sustenance itself, in this happy weight in his arms. Here was the way back into things. But he wouldn't sneak up to share her attic. His own idea, mad as it seemed, was better than that. They'd get married, risk all and then plunge in together. No doubt people were right, he'd wanted the moon; now he'd start again and simply want cheese; and perhaps in the end he'd find that the moon was made of cheese after all.

He put a hand on her hair and gently tilted back her face so that he could kiss her again. "It's a great idea, Gladys," he told her, "and you're wonderful, and we'll make it all happen. Only my idea improves on yours, though you'll probably think it crazy."

"Tell me," she whispered. "What is it?"

"Let's go back first, and then I will." She must hear it back in the house, with other people not far away, where she could test it. Anything was plausible here, in this tiny odd world they seemed to have created for themselves. "We've been too long away as it is. We'll go back now."

"No, no. You want to leave me." He felt her body stiffen in his arms.

"I don"t. Not ever. But we must see what the others are doing. They're probably asleep." He couldn't help feeling that they weren"t, though. "Then we'll talk it all out. I've a special reason for wanting to finish it off there."

"All right." She drew back but kept her eyes fixed on his. Then, after a pause, she went on: "But are you sure – - ?" The question died away. Her voice was dubious; her stare was dubious, sombre. He was instantly visited by a curious mixed feeling of alarm and shame. It had occurred to her that she really knew nothing about him. And he knew nothing about her. They were strangers, staring through the dusk at one another. Voices, questioning eyes, the electric contact of flesh, and you seemed to know everything – a turn of the wheel, a click, and you knew nothing. The old despair returned; he was trapped again. Without thinking what he was doing, he took hold of her hand and the next moment it had given him a warm hard squeeze. At the same time a thought arrived, just as if it had been squeezed into him.