Джеймс Хилтон - Morning Journey

“Oh, was he? A beautiful girl, I met her. Doesn’t surprise me—I suspected it all along. But how did YOU know?”

He answered grimly: “I had him watched.”

It was his mistake to have said that. It threw her into a different mood.

“Really, Austen? As simple as that? You just had him watched?”

“I thought we might need the information legally, but it turned out we didn’t and I was glad. I never intended to tell you anything about it, unless I had to, and for all these years—”

“You’ve kept the secret! That was rather wonderful, after having him watched. Do you often have people watched?”

“CAREY!”

“Have you ever had ME watched?” She was relieved to be able to laugh. “But of course you have—Richards watches me, and Foster, and Flossie —you don’t suppose I haven’t noticed, do you? It’s your way— you think it’s safer than trusting people. So do please have me watched in Hollywood—you have contacts there, I’m sure. It won’t cause me any trouble, because I won’t be having an affair with anybody, not even my ex-husband. I’m really telling you the truth—there’s not love of that kind between me and Paul.”

“Perhaps I’m just as jealous of any other kind, whatever it is.”

“The kind that hired watchers couldn’t give you evidence about?”

“Oh, Carey, why are you so bitter? Have I ever done you any wrong?”

She knew it was because he hadn’t that she was bitter, if at all. “Let’s not talk any more tonight, Austen. I hate arguments and I know you do too.”

“There’s nothing more to say, now that we’ve both spoken our minds. You’ve told me you intend to do what you want. So shall I—as soon as I know what it is. I don’t—yet. I’m too shocked—not by the thing itself but by your reason for doing it—the proof it gives of how little I mean to you, and not only I, but your home here… and Norris. What’s going to happen to that boy after you’ve gone? He worships you— you’ve been part of his cure since he came back—he depends on you… but I suppose all that counts for nothing also.”

His mention of Norris brought her to the limit of endurance. “Norris will be all right,” she answered unevenly. “I’m not as necessary for him as you think.”

“But you ARE—you always have been—you’re the only one who can talk sense to him! He has a preposterous idea of taking up medicine and going out to some island as a resident doctor—did you know that? —the whole thing is fantastic—it would take years to qualify and by that time, anyhow… but it shows the state of his mind—it shows how much he needs your advice and influence, since he won’t accept mine. And this is the moment you choose to leave him!”

He walked out of the room without waiting for a reply, even if she could have made one. It was the first time she had seen him beyond control.

The next morning at breakfast both of them, for Norris’s sake, tried to behave as if nothing was amiss. She thought she herself was acting well enough, but Austen, though he clearly did his best, could not match her, and there was a noticeable tension in his manner that made Norris, after his father had gone to the office, remark to Carey: “What’s on his mind? A new billion dollar loan or something?”

She felt sorry for Austen and therefore hurt by Norris’s flippancy; she said: “He has personal worries, Norris.”

“Meaning me?”

She suddenly decided to tell him the truth then, instead of later, partly because she was no longer sure she could keep up a pretence, partly also from an urge to discover his reaction. So she told him, explaining the thing pretty much as she had done to Austen. When she had finished he was silent for a moment, then said: “So THAT’S what was bothering him.”

“Yes. That and your own idea.”

“MY idea?” He started in alarm. “What do you mean?”

“The tropical medicine. He doesn’t like either of our ideas.”

“My God, Carey, you didn’t tell him THAT? What on earth made you— “

“Of course I didn’t, but he KNEW—he mentioned it to me and I was a bit surprised to think that YOU’D told him—”

“As if I should—”

“Then… how on earth could he know?”

He replied after a pause, with the schoolboy sarcasm that she knew disguised his emotions so often: “I suppose there are several ways. First, he might have heard us during the bridge game. But I rather doubt that— we talked too quietly. Second, Richards might have been eavesdropping after he brought in the drinks. But I rather doubt that too—I had my eye on him. Thirdly, either of them might have seen the letter I wrote to Columbia. Yes, on the whole, I think that’s the likeliest. I left the letter on the hall table to be picked up with the other mail. Somehow I didn’t think… LETTERS.”

“Oh, Norris, I’m sorry.”

“Hardly YOUR fault.”

“I think perhaps it is, in a way.”

“That father sets up a spy system? I don’t get it. You never promised him you’d drop your profession altogether. At least that’s what you once told me.”

“No, but that’s not my real reason. I told you my real reason just now.”

He said, after a silence: “Well, I never met the guy, so I can’t say whether I think he’s worth it.”

“Maybe he isn’t. It isn’t personal, anyhow.”

“Then what is it?”

“I—I don’t know. That’s why I can’t blame your father for not quite sizing it up. I can’t blame anybody. Not even myself. It’s my fault, but I don’t blame myself for it. Does that give any clue?”

He smiled. “He must mean a lot to you…”

“Which of them are you talking about?”

“Paul.” He went on smiling. “This is a funny conversation. I still say, though, he must mean a lot to you.”

“I don’t know… I don’t know WHAT he means.”

“But you’re looking forward to the excitement of working with him again. I’ll bet you are.”

She looked up, transfixed with a certain incredulity. “Looking forward to it? You really think that?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Norris, I’m DREADING it.”

“Then why do it?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“There we are again.”

“Yes.”

“You just HAVE to do it?”

“Yes, in a sort of way.”

“Maybe I know how you feel. We’re both built a bit like that. You facing your ordeal and I… if I can find one worth facing…”

“I hope you can, Norris. And I hope it isn’t too much of an ordeal. Mine won’t be more than I can help. I shall do my best to enjoy a new experience.”

“You make it sound like a school teacher visiting the Carlsbad Caverns.”

“Now whatever made you think of that?”

“I’m trying hard not to be serious. You once asked me not to be. Now I ask you not to be. Let’s have a good time till you leave—just a hell of a good time, as if we hadn’t anything on OUR minds… do you think we could?”

“I’ll try.”

And indeed a curious tranquillity settled on them both as they went about together during the days that followed. They had the good time, doing nothing specially new, just the things that had by then become routine. To Carey the whole interval had a quality of swanlike timelessness, as if anchored neither to past nor future. She thought of a river above a fall, the water rolling deep and unknowing.

Not till the last day was Paul mentioned again, and then quite casually by her. It was in her room, amidst the confusion of packing, that he exclaimed: “Carey, I said it before and I’ll say it again—you’ll be a big success in films. You’ll photograph like an angel.”

“Paul says the left profile isn’t quite so good.”