Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“Hello, Amanda,” he said softly.

“Hello,” she answered, hoping she sounded cold and distant and sharp, and then seeing the intensity of his eyes and turning away from them.

“You look like a bride.”

“Do I?” she said coldly.

“Yes,” he said. “Shall we go?”

“Major,” she said carefully and distinctly, “I really don’t know what—”

“Matthew,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Matthew.”

“Matthew,” she said, carefully and distinctly, “I really don’t know what this is all about, or what strange obsession has taken hold of—”

“Let’s discuss it in the car,” he said, and he took her elbow and began leading her toward the door. Her instinct was to pull away from him immediately, but there were other girls in the room, watching her, and so she walked stiffly beside him to the front door, and then down the low flat steps and onto the path, and then she pulled her elbow away gently and said, “I am not going anywhere with you, Major Bridges. I think you ought to understand that immed—”

“Matthew,” he said. “Then why are you dressed?”

“Did you want me to greet you in a bathrobe?”

“That might have been interesting.”

“I’m sure. Good night, Major Bridges.” She turned back toward the dorm. He seized her arm, and whirled her to face him. She could feel the pressure of his fingers biting into her flesh. “You’re hurting me,” she said coldly, and then realized how helplessly feminine that must have sounded. I don’t care how it sounded, she thought, and said again, “You’re hurting me. Now let go.”

“No.”

“Must I always threaten to slap you?”

“You’ll get over that.”

“Let go of my arm.”

“Will you let go of my heart?”

“Oh, stop that nonsense! You hardly know me!”

“I know you very well, Amanda Soames,” he said, and he released her arm suddenly and stood facing her on the path. She looked up at him, believing him for a moment, convinced by the absolute certainty in his voice, and puzzled by his sureness.

“I don’t even like you,” she said, not taking her eyes from his face.

“You will.”

“Not if you keep behaving like a cave man.” She paused. “You shouldn’t have come up here. Why did you come?”

“To see you.”

“Why?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, stop it. Really, I’m not a child.”

“Then accept it.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I never lie.”

She believed this, too. Frowning, she walked beside him to the car, a red Ford convertible, the top down. He held the door open for her, and she slid onto the seat. She expected him to kiss her the moment he got into the automobile, but he turned on the ignition instead and said, “How about New Haven for dinner? I feel like an Italian meal.”

“All right.”

“Think it’ll be too breezy with the top down?”

“No. It’s a lovely night.”

“You’re a lovely girl, Amanda.”

“Stop that!”

“Why should I? I carried a picture of you all through Europe, and now—”

“A picture?”

He tapped his temple. “Up here. And you’re prettier than I remembered. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

She felt flustered all at once. She didn’t want to encourage this kind of talk, but every time she asked him to stop he simply enlarged upon the theme. On the other hand, if she remained silent, he would accept her silence as approval and she would become an unwilling accomplice in this one-sided game he was playing. She decided to change the subject.

“Where were you?” she said.

“You missed me?”

“No. But where were you?”

“I missed you ,” he said. “Day and night.”

“Look, I... I didn’t even know you were alive until you called this afternoon.”

“Were you afraid I’d been killed in action?”

“I never even thought about it.”

“The thought was too painful?”

“You’re deliberately twisting everything I say!”

“I’m a lawyer, my dear,” Matthew said, and he smiled.

“I’m trying to tell you that you have never once entered my mind since the last time I saw you that Christmas Eve.”

“Ah, you remember when you last saw me?”

“Of course I remember. But you had nothing to do with—”

“I called you the next day, but you’d already left. I spoke to Gillian.”

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. Amanda, I told you. I never lie.”

“I’ll remember that. Why did you call?”

“Obviously to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About how beautiful I thought you were. In fact, I almost called you in Minnesota.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would you have liked that?”

“No,” she said.

“Then I’m glad I didn’t.”

“It’s funny Gillian never mentioned your calling.”

“Oh, do you still see her?”

“Whenever I’m in New York, yes. Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“You found her very attractive, didn’t you?” Amanda said.

“She is very attractive.” He paused. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.”

“You are,” he said. “How’s she getting along?”

“Fine.” Amanda paused. “You sound interested.”

“I’m not interested in anyone but you.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Be careful, now. You’re giving yourself away.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you obviously wouldn’t be flattered if some gorilla had fallen for you. So, if you’re flattered that it’s me , I can automatically conclude—”

“A good lawyer should never leap to conclusions,” she said.

“Where’d you ever hear that nonsense?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“A good lawyer should always leap to conclusions. The moment a witness drops a piece of revealing testimony, he should be ready to pounce on it.”

“Thank God I’m not a witness.”

“No, but I find your testimony revealing nonetheless.”

“Are you a good lawyer?”

“I’m an excellent lawyer. Why? Are you concerned about my future?”

“Certainly not.”

“You needn’t be. I’m very well fixed. My parents took care of that when they died.”

“Well, I couldn’t be less interested in how well fixed you are,” she said airily.

“We won’t starve, Amanda.”

She ignored his meaning. “We will if we don’t get to New Haven soon.”

“I’m opening an office in New York as soon as I’m discharged, you know.”

“When will that be?”

“In a few months, I imagine. I had trouble with my feet. Trench foot. I’ll be getting a medical discharge.”

“Then they won’t be sending you to the Pacific?”

“No. I’ll get out, and I’ll open my office, and begin practice right away.”

“That should be exciting.”

“Yes. I’ll be seeing you every night.”

Amanda laughed. “I won’t be anywhere near New York City.”

“Where will you be?”

“Torrington.”

“Doing what?”

“I’ve taken a job as a camp counselor. For the summer.”

“I’ll come up every weekend. And when the summer is over—”

“When the summer is over, I’m going back to Minnesota.”

“No, you’re not, Amanda.”

“Of course I am. I live in Minnesota.”

“You used to live in Minnesota.”

“I still live in Minnesota.”

“You’re staying in the East, Amanda.”

“Sure,” she said, exasperated. “Does that make you happy? Shall I just agree with every insane thing you say?”

“Yes.”

“All right then, I’m not going back to Minnesota, and we’ll see each other every night, and I’ll make curtains for your office, all right?”