Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  When I had washed up the breakfast dishes I put the little slip of paper into my pocket-book and hurried off to the office. I thought about it as I went. In fact I was so busy thinking about it, and watching my horizon widen, that I nearly got run over by a bus. The screech of brakes and the torrent of abuse from the driver brought me to my senses and made me take more care. It would be a pity to get run over now, with a cheque for five hundred pounds in my pocket and the world at my feet.

  Mr. Heatley was smiling when I went in to take his letters and I saw that he was in a friendly mood. “ Well, Kirke,” he said. “ I haven’t had time to read your book but my wife has read it and she’s tremendously impressed. She reads a great deal and she knows what she’s talking about and she says it’s most unusual. She wants you to come to supper one evening and talk about The Inward Eye.”

  “ It’s very kind of Mrs. Heatley. I’d love to,” I said.

  “ She thinks the book should do well,” he continued. “ It’s interesting and amusing. She thinks there ought to be quite a lot of money in it.”

  I took the cheque out of my pocket and laid it on his desk.

  Mr. Heatley looked at the cheque and then at me. “ H’m,” he said. “ You’re giving me notice, I suppose.”

  There was a short silence. I could not answer because I did not know what to say. With five hundred pounds in the bank I could give up the daily toil of checking figures and typing letters and could spend all my time upon the work which I enjoyed; but five hundred pounds would not last for ever. I remembered Uncle Matt’s warning about the madness of trying to earn my bread and butter by writing and I had an uncomfortable feeling that for once Father would agree with Uncle Matt.

  “ Mr. Heatley,” I said at last. “ I don’t know what to do. You’ve been very kind to me, but—but I don’t know what to do.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “ You think you’re wasting your time here? ” he inquired.

  It was difficult to find a reply to that.

  “ Perhaps you are,” he said, nodding. “ If you can make five hundred pounds in your spare time you certainly are wasting your time working here.”

  “ But can I? ” I cried desperately. “ I mean how do I know I can go on doing it? That’s the trouble? ”

  “ That is the trouble,” he agreed. “ It’s a risk of course but if I were your age with nobody dependent upon me I should be inclined to take it. What do you say to six months’ holiday? ”

  “ Six months’ holiday! ” I echoed in amazement.

  “ Yes, six months should be enough.”

  “ But Mr. Heatley——”

  “ Look here,” he said, smiling. “ Just listen to me a moment. I haven’t read this great work of yours but from what Sylvia says I’m pretty sure it’s good. Your work in the office is only moderate; you’re a bit vague at times. My idea is that you should go away and write—if that’s what you want to do. In six months you’ll know whether or not you can make a success of it. If you can, well and good; if not, come back to me. You’ll be more use to me because you’ll have got it out of your system. How’s that, Kirke? ”

  “ Yes,” I said breathlessly. “ It’s splendid! I don’t know how to thank you, sir.”

  He nodded. “ I’ll tell Penman. You had better stay on until we find another clerk.”

  “ Of course,” I said. “ Yes, of course. I can’t tell you …”

  But Mr. Heatley had finished with the subject. He took up a letter and began to dictate his reply.

  Mr. Penman’s reaction was very different from Mr. Heatley’s. He was horrified at the idea that I was giving up “ a settled job with good prospects ” and he did all he could to persuade me to carry on and to “ put the money in War Savings for a rainy day.” Wrigson and Ullenwood were incredulous at first; they thought it was another of my jokes on a par with my “ nonsense about Mother.” When at last a new clerk was engaged to take my place they were forced to believe it and were frankly envious.

  “ Gosh! ” exclaimed Wrigson. “ Fancy being able to lie in bed as long as you like! Fancy having nothing to do except amuse yourself! ”

  “ But that isn’t the idea at all,” I told him. “ I’m exchanging one job—which I’m not particularly good at—for another job which I hope to do better.”

  “ You’ll buy a car, I suppose,” said Ullenwood.

  “ You’ll paint the town red,” suggested Wrigson.

  I laughed and told them I was going to do neither. I was going to work harder than ever and live as economically as possible.

  “ You’ll be back here in six months—or less,” declared Mr. Penman.

  My first free day was wonderful. Instead of hastening off to the office I sat down at my table and wrote. At twelve o’clock I went round to The Wooden Spoon for lunch; I spent the afternoon prowling about the streets, getting a little exercise and using my eyes, and I wrote again in the evening. This arrangement suited me well and I stuck to it. With so much time to work I soon finished Golden Pavements; I bought a second-hand typewriter and typed the book myself and took it along to Mr. Randall.

  Mr. Randall was pleased to see me. “ This is lucky,” he said. “ I was just going to write and ask you to look in. Sit down and have a cigarette, Mr. Kirke. I’ve good news for you.”

  I told him I did not smoke and he took a cigarette himself and lighted it. “ Well, here’s the news,” he said cheerfully. “ We’ve found an English publisher for The Inward Eye. You had better have a look at the contract. It’s not as good as the American one of course but fair enough.”

  “ If you say so that’s all right,” I told him.

  The parcel containing the manuscript of Golden Pavements was still tucked under my arm. As a matter of fact I had forgotten about it.

  “ Is that another book? ” asked Mr. Randall.

  “ Yes, it’s a novel this time.”

  “ Good. I’ll get it sent off straight away. Basil Barnes wants it.”

  “ But I thought you’d read it! ” I cried. “ You had better read it and see if it will do. I’m not sure—I mean it may be absolute rubbish! ”

  “ I’ll read it,” he said, smiling. “ But you needn’t worry. As long as you write about things that interest you your books will interest other people. Just keep on writing. Don’t stop.”

  “ I can’t stop, Mr. Randall. For one thing I want to write—it’s become a sort of craze—and for another I’ve given up my job. It’s write or starve.”

  He laughed. “ That’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time—and talking of starving, we might go and have lunch together if you haven’t anything better to do.”

  We had lunch at a small restaurant with a sanded floor but I was far too excited and interested in our conversation to notice what we ate. Books were Mr. Randall’s job and also his hobby; there was not much he did not know about books. Presently he asked what I thought of doing next, and I told him I thought of starting another Inward Eye. There was plenty of material at hand and I had time to wander about London.

  “ Why not wander about France? ” he suggested.

  I gazed at him in astonishment.

  “ It’s just an idea,” he said, smiling. “ Far be it from me to interfere with your plans but it’s worth consideration … France or Holland … or Italy if you’d rather. I can see a whole shelf of Inward Eyes waiting to be written—clamouring to be written. If you don’t want to go abroad you might go and have a look at Cornwall. Why not? ”

  “ Yes,” I said in a dazed sort of way. “ Yes, why not? ”

  “ Had you never thought of it, Mr. Kirke? ”

  “ No, never. You’ll think I’m mad. It’s the obvious thing to do—but—but I’ve always been tied down and I’ve never had any money.”

  “ You’re free now and there’s more money coming along. I certainly think you should travel about a bit,” said Mr. Randall. “ There’s no need to decide at once, of course.”

  As I walked home to the flat Mr. Randal
l’s words rang in my head: you’re free now and there’s more money coming along. Astonishing words! Words which opened doors and windows to the imagination!

  That evening I borrowed a big atlas from Mr. Coe and had a look at the world. Should I go to France or Holland to write the next book—or should I go farther afield? The whole wide world was open to me. I could fly to South Africa or to Florida; I could visit the Caribbean or the Sahara Desert. I felt like a man with a magic carpet spread at his feet.

  After a bit I came down to earth and thought about ways and means and I realised I must wait a bit before I set off on my travels. Five hundred pounds—and more to come—sounded all right, but it would not take me to the ends of the earth. I must wait and see what happened to Golden Pavements.

  I closed the atlas and went to bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  20 Surrey Mansions

  Mark Street

  W.C.2

  Dear David,

  You said I was to let you know when I came to London. Well, here I am at last! It is very thrilling. In fact I can hardly believe it. I am sharing a flat with two school-friends and we want you to come and have supper with us on Monday night—if you think you could bear to have supper with three females! Do come, David—at about half-past seven. Nell is a very good cook! I am sorry to give you such short notice but don’t bother to reply. Just come if you can.

  Yours,

  Janet

  The letter arrived on Monday morning so there was no time to reply, but there was no doubt in my mind as to whether or not I should accept the invitation. Janet in London! It was splendid news. I wondered how she had managed to escape from Nethercleugh and whether Mother had had a hand in it. I wondered … but there was no need to wonder; I should hear all about it to-night.

  Mark Street is five minutes’ walk from Covent Garden Market and it was seven-thirty precisely when I climbed the stairs of Surrey Mansions and rang the bell of Number Twenty. Janet herself opened the door. Although I had expected to see her, it seemed very strange indeed to see her here.

  “ David! ” she exclaimed. “ How lovely! Nell and Barbie said you wouldn’t come. They’ve been teasing me about it.”

  “ Of course I came,” I said, smiling. “ You said Nell was a very good cook.”

  A tall, slim girl with dark hair emerged from the kitchen. “ That was cheating,” she declared. “ If I’d known you’d said that in your letter I wouldn’t have bet you twopence he wouldn’t come.”

  “ This is Nell,” said Janet.

  “ I thought it must be,” I said.

  We went into the sitting-room. It was large and airy with white walls and coloured-cretonne covers on the furniture. There were flowers in vases on the book-case and the table. It was a charming room and there was a friendly feeling about it, a feeling of happiness. Another girl—a plump girl with red hair and a smooth pale skin—was laying the table for supper.

  “ Here he is, Barbie! ” said Janet. “ This is David.”

  “ How do you do? ” said Barbie. “ Welcome to Scotch Corner! ”

  “ That’s what Barbie calls this flat,” explained Nell. “ She says it’s a bit of Scotland in the middle of London. She wanted to have tartan covers on the chairs and a picture of “ The Stag at Bay ” over the mantelpiece but I wouldn’t let her. I don’t belong to her barbarous country. Besides, the name is quite unsuitable because Scotch Corner isn’t in Scotland at all.”

  “ There’s something burning,” said Barbie.

  “ My ragoût! ” cried Nell, and vanished.

  “ Come and sit down, David,” said Janet. “ They’re mad but quite harmless. I want to hear your news.”

  “ I want to hear yours,” I said. “ How did you get away? ”

  “ It was difficult,” said Janet, suddenly grave. “ I never would have managed it if Mrs. Kirke hadn’t helped me. She persuaded Mother to let me come. I don’t know how she did it.”

  Barbie came over to where we were sitting and drew up a leather stool. “ Look here, David,” she said. “ I’m going to tell you the whole thing. Jan wants to be herself—not just half somebody else. That’s why Nell and I wanted her to come and stay with us. You know her family so perhaps you can understand what I’m driving at.”

  “ Yes,” I said.

  “ Jan’s sisters are bloodsuckers,” declared Barbie.

  “ Shut up, Barbie! ” exclaimed Janet.

  “ I won’t shut up! You know it’s true. You know perfectly well they’ve sucked your blood for years. You’ve never been able to do anything you wanted. Freda has always bossed you and Elsie has tagged along behind, clinging to your petticoats and bleating like Mary’s little lamb! ”

  “ Don’t listen to her, David! ” cried Janet.

  “ Yes, listen, David,” said Barbie. “ Listen to every word. How would you like to have a twin who resembles you so closely that very few people know which is you and which isn’t? ”

  “ Not much,” I said. “ As a matter of fact I know——”

  “ It’s a grim thought,” declared Barbie, interrupting me. “ All the more grim when that twin, though like you in appearance, is utterly unlike you inside; when that twin is as selfish as the devil and makes use of the resemblance for her own ends.”

  “ Barbie, don’t! ” cried Janet. “ Please be quiet! ”

  “ All right, that’s all,” said Barbie.

  “ Not quite all,” declared Nell, appearing from the kitchen with a large brown casserole in her hands. “ You haven’t told David that this morning she got a letter to say that her poor little twin is pining for her and can neither sleep nor eat. And it’s all because horrid selfish Jan has gone away and left her.”

  “ Stop! ” cried Janet. “ All that has nothing to do with David. You’re making David uncomfortable. I wouldn’t have asked him if I’d known you were going to be so silly.”

  “ We won’t say another word,” declared Barbie, rising as she spoke. “ What’s in that casserole, Nell? It smells good.”

  “ Just rabbit,” replied Nell. “ Rabbit and bits of bacon and mushrooms and odds and ends——”

  “ It’s the odds and ends that make all the difference,” said Barbie, sniffing in an appreciative manner. “ When I cook rabbit it comes out like pieces of white rubber, but Nell’s rabbit stew is fit for the gods.”

  “ Ragoût, please,” said Nell solemnly.

  We ate Nell’s ragoût, which was undoubtedly Olympian, and we drank cider and we talked.

  “ We’ve got your book, Mr. David Kirke,” said Nell. “ We’ve all read it and we think it’s simply marvellous. As a matter of fact I was wondering whether the author would deign to inscribe it for me.”

  “ My book !” I exclaimed in amazement.

  “ Thereby hangs a tale,” said Barbie, laughing. “ Jan had read it of course (your mother lent it to her) and she talked about it so much that Nell and I were crazy to see it. Nell has a friend who is a pilot in a Transatlantic Air-Liner … you can go on, Nell.”

  “ Thank you,” said Nell solemnly. “ I wondered whether this was my story or yours. Well, this friend of mine—he’s rather a dear, really—asked me if I’d like him to bring me nylons from little old New York and I said, bring me The Inward Eye by David Kirke. You needn’t be too puffed up about it,” said Nell, giggling in an attractive manner. “ For one thing I wanted to be different—all his girl-friends ask for nylons—and I wanted to be difficult.”

  “ Nell wanted to give him a difficult assignment,” Barbie explained. “ Like the hero in a fairy story who is told to bring three hairs from the dragon’s tail.”

  “ But it wasn’t difficult,” continued Nell. “ In fact it was the easiest task in the world. He said all the book-stalls were full of Inward Eyes … and as for nylons I can’t bear them now that every common little so-and-so in town is wearing the things and they’ve become a Music Hall joke like mothers-in-law and Wigan.”

  “ She’s taken a scunner at them,” put i
n Barbie.

  “ I don’t understand your barbarous tongue,” declared Nell. “ But all the little wenches at Winter and Greene’s wear them on their nasty little legs. They wear nylons and lip-stick and crimson nail varnish, but they’re too lazy to wash their necks or brush their hair. If that isn’t putting off I don’t know what is. Give me real silk every time,” added Nell, holding out a slim elegant leg encased in fine silk hosiery.

  “ It looks very nice,” I said.

  “ Don’t make her more conceited than she is already! ” said Barbie, laughing. “ Besides I want to talk about your book. It’s a peach of a book, David. It’s the sort of book to keep beside your bed and read when things look blue. I laughed like anything at the bit about that restaurant and the sketches of the people feeding.”

  “ I loved the little boy in the park,” said Janet, smiling at me across the table.

  “ Madame Tussaud’s is the best,” declared Nell. “ I’ve read it half a dozen times and it still makes me laugh.”

  The author of The Inward Eye sat and listened; to be perfectly honest he was as pleased as Punch.

  All too soon the subject was changed. Barbie asked me how and where I lived and so I told them about my flat.

  “ I think it would be rather dull to have nobody to talk to,” said Nell.

  “ It’s better to have nobody than the wrong sort of people,” I declared. “ When I first came to London I lived in a boarding-house. Everybody was so miserable that it gave me the creeps. I ran away.”

  “ You say that as if you thought it was cowardly,” said Janet.

  “ Sometimes I think it was.”

  “ But why? ” she asked. “ If you couldn’t help them or do them any good. It was no use staying and being miserable yourself.”

  “ Why were they miserable? ” Barbie wanted to know.

  I tried to explain. I told them about Mr. Kensey and Miss Bulwer, I told them about Madame Futrelle and Mrs. Hall; finally I told them about Ned and Beryl and the birthday party and they listened absorbed in the recital.