Джеймс Хилтон - Time And Time Again

‘No, not at all. Well, hardly at all. Except when I see her—THINK I see her, that is. I’m a… temperamentally, I mean… I’m a bit of a sceptic. But perhaps a credulous one.’

‘A credulous sceptic, eh? What sort of animal is that?’

‘Well… if I saw a man walking on the water, I don’t think I’d conclude he was the son of God, but I’d probably say: Look, there’s a fellow seems to be able to walk on water… Because so many strange things happen today. One must cling to one’s doubts, but it’s just nonsense to disbelieve everything on principle… I won’t take up more of your time, though. You’re right about my needing rest—I’ll try to get it. I wish I could join the army and get away somewhere. Sort of requiescat in khaki. But I’ll be all right. You’ve given me the answer I wanted.’

‘How IS Sir Havelock these days?’

‘Fine, fine.’

‘Perhaps HE’S the one who really ought to consult Heming Wentworth?’

They exchanged a smile, as at a particularly subtle joke which they alone could share.

The talk with Blainey did much for Charles, but Gerald did most of all. Charles took time off from the Office and went to Cheshire to see the boy, who knew nothing of what had happened and was supremely happy in his aunt’s home. It was the spectacle of this happiness that helped Charles far more than Gerald ever afterwards knew. Charles kept putting off the job of telling him the truth as much for his own sake as Gerald’s; and when this reluctance became revealed as part of a state of mind, Jane’s sister thought of an ingenious alternative. Gerald was five—an age when the loss of his mother, if he learned about it, might overtax his emotional resources, though he had quite easily accustomed himself to seeing her only at long intervals. Aunt Birdie’s idea was that if the boy were sent to some American relatives who had already pressingly invited him, the blow might be deferred till it was much less of a blow. Such a plan was all the simpler because there had been frequent talk of sending him to America and he had come to think of the trip as a desirable event even at the price of separation from his parents. It was leaving Aunt Birdie that bothered him most, for during his stay at her house he had developed a great attachment to her. Birdie, therefore, with a husband abroad and not much else to do, suggested that she should make the trip with him and stay till he had settled down and made new friends. Charles was in entire agreement. He went back to London to work on the practical details, and to such effect that within a month of the incident in Marlow Terrace Gerald and his aunt were aboard the Clipper.

Charles saw them off and then, sick at heart but in better control of himself than for some time, faced the fact of his own future. Of course he would not need to see Heming Wentworth. There was really nothing the matter with him. Blainey had been right. Just rest—and he had had it. Now he had better get back to work. There were things to do, arrangements to make, matters he had neglected during his—whatever one called it— would BREAKDOWN be the proper word? And the first thing was to see Havelock again. He hadn’t done so since the incident in Marlow Terrace. He hadn’t felt it possible to do more than keep in touch with Cobb about him. But now he decided the nettle must be grasped, and in the same mood he would stop saying ‘the incident in Marlow Terrace’, either to himself or to others, when what he really meant was ‘Jane’s death’.

He had moved out of the flat in Chelsea and had managed to get a room at his club. After dining there alone one evening he made the journey to Kensington and rang the bell of his father’s flat as casually as if there had been no interval since his former regular visits. Cobb admitted him, tactfully without surprise, but told him in the hallway that Havelock had not yet fully recovered from the shock of the whole thing; it had taken away the fun he got from air-raids, so that he was still rather moody and cantankerous. Charles found that this was so, except for the cantankerousness, which was rather in himself as he realized that the old man was now all he had left in the Eastern Hemisphere. Havelock did his best to be amiable, but the visit was a short one. ‘I’ll come back soon,’ Charles promised, still casually. He had given no explanations and none had been asked for. In the hallway again, as Cobb helped him on with his coat, Charles remarked: ‘Certainly keeps well physically, doesn’t he?’

Cobb agreed that he did. ‘He’s been writing a letter again, sir, but nothing to worry about.’

‘Oh?… Who is it this time—General Rommel or the Pope?’

‘President Roosevelt.’

Charles gave a low whistle. ‘You read it of course?’

‘Yes, and it seemed all right, so I let it go. I thought it would cheer him up—Sir Havelock, I mean. I don’t suppose the President’ll ever see it.’

‘But what’s it about?’

‘A statue of Columbus in London. Sir Havelock thinks there ought to be one.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘Apparently not, sir.’

‘Why, no, I can’t think of any. Not a bad idea, Cobb, but a little awkward just now, since Columbus was an Italian. Mustn’t glorify the ancestors of our enemies, must we?… However, I don’t think His Majesty’s Government, in the circumstances, will consider the suggestion treasonous.’

It eased Charles to find this sort of wry humour in most of his concerns, and he was beginning to be known for it. Some people said he was witty, others that he joked about matters that weren’t funny; a few guessed that he was desperately unhappy and had found a way to come to terms with both the desperation and the unhappiness.

Charles did not ask for a longer leave, as some of his friends urged; he said truthfully that he found his work a help, or at least a time-occupier, and even his night duties were useful in solving the problem of sleep. He was well liked and his friends rallied round with as much hospitality as conditions permitted them to offer; but he really did not mind being alone when he was also, as so often happened, exhausted.

One day it fell to him, as a representative of the Foreign Office, to escort a Middle-Eastern potentate and his entourage to an airport whence a military plane would fly them carefully home. Charles had had something to do with his visit to what was usually on such occasions referred to as the war-torn island; it had been a visit staged with psychological shrewdness and not without a likely effect in terms of oil concessions. Accompanying the small party was a British Military Attaché who would travel back with the potentate and keep him happy during the trip. (For what better reason, after all, did one learn those obscure and difficult languages?) The Attaché‘s name was Venner, and he persisted in calling Charles ‘Allenson’; Charles did not correct him. But he found the young fellow congenial company during the short time they had together at the airport. They were granted this respite because their illustrious charge had asked to be left alone for a period of prayer and meditation, and after harassed consultations with airport officials a small room not very suitable for the purpose had been discovered and commandeered. It was the room (so an official said) where incoming suspects were searched for smuggled drugs or diamonds.

Charles, thinking of the last time he had seen anyone off at an airport (his own son and sister-in-law), paced up and down a plywood corridor with the Attaché; thought also of the potentate on his knees a few yards away, after the fashion of his ancestors for a thousand years; thought also of the great engines warming up nearby, ready to carry him to biblical lands in a matter of hours; thought also of the millions of Londoners waiting in their own homes for the probable nightly dose of death and destruction. Truly a moment to take refuge in some deep philosophy, if one had any.