Giant's Bread
Page 33
He nodded.
‘I cabled.’
Joe sighed.
‘You’re so terribly efficient, Sebastian.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But there’s nobody like you – nobody. I’ve thought of you so often lately.’
‘Have you?’
He thought of the lonely years – the aching longing – the baffled desire. Why did things always come to you at the wrong time?
She went on.
‘I never dreamt you’d still think about me. I always fancied that some day you and Jane –’
A queer pang shot through him. Jane …
He and Jane …
He said gruffly:
‘Jane to my mind is one of the finest things God ever made. But she belongs body and soul to Vernon and always will …’
‘I suppose so. But it’s a pity. You and she are the strong ones. You belong together.’
They did, in a curious way. He knew what she meant.
Joe said with a flickering smile:
‘This reminds me of the books one reads as a child. Edifying death-bed scenes. Friends and relations gathering round. Wan smiles of heroine.’
Sebastian had made up his mind. Why had he felt this wasn’t love? It was. This passion of pure disinterested pity and tenderness – this deep affection lasting through the years. A thousand times better worthwhile than those stormy or tepid affairs that occurred with monotonous regularity – that punctuated his life without ever touching any real depths.
His heart went out to the childish figure. Somehow, he’d bring it off.
He said gently:
‘There aren’t going to be any death-bed scenes, Joe. You’re going to get well and marry me.’
‘Darling Sebastian – tie you to a consumptive wife? Of course not.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll do one of two things – either get well or die. If you die, you die and there’s an end of it. If you get cured, you marry me. And no expense will be spared to cure you.’
‘I’m pretty bad, Sebastian dear.’
‘Possibly. But nothing is more uncertain than tubercle – any doctor will tell you so. You’ve been just letting yourself go. I think myself you’ll get well. A long weary business but it can be done.’
She looked at him. He saw the colour rising and falling in her thin cheeks. He knew then that she loved him – and a queer little stir of warmth woke round his heart. His mother had died two years ago. Since then no one had really cared.
Joe said in a low voice:
‘Sebastian – do you really need me? I – I’ve made such a mess of things.’
He said with sincerity:
‘Need you? I’m the loneliest man on earth.’
And suddenly he broke down. It was a thing he had never done in his life – never thought he would do. He knelt by Joe’s bed, his face buried, his shoulders heaving.
Her hand stroked his head. He knew she was happy, her proud spirit appeased. Dear Joe – so impulsive, so warm-hearted, so wrong-headed. She was dearer to him than anyone on earth. They could help one another.
The nurse came in – the visitor had been there long enough. She withdrew again for Sebastian to say goodbye.
‘By the way,’ he said. ‘That French fellow – what’s his name – ?’
‘François? He’s dead.’
‘That’s all right. You could have got a divorce, of course. But being a widow makes it easier.’
‘You do think I shall get well?’
Pathetic – the way she said that!
‘Of course.’
The nurse reappeared and he took his departure. He called on the doctor – had a long talk. The doctor was not hopeful. But he agreed that there was a chance. They decided on Florida.
Sebastian left the home. He walked along the street deep in thought. He saw a placard with ‘Terrible disaster to Resplendent’ on it, but it conveyed nothing to his mind.
He was too busy with his own thoughts. What was really best for Joe? To live or to die? He wondered …
She’d had such a rotten life. He wanted the best for her.
He went to bed and slept heavily.
2
He awoke to a vague uneasiness. There was something – something. For the life of him he couldn’t put a name to it …
It wasn’t Joe. Joe was in the foreground of his mind. This was something in the background – shoved away – something that he hadn’t been able to give consideration to at the time.
He thought: ‘I shall remember presently …’ But he didn’t.
As he dressed, he thought out the problem of Joe. He was all for moving her to Florida as soon as possible. Later, perhaps, Switzerland. She was very weak – but not too weak to be moved. As soon as she had seen Vernon and Jane –
They were arriving – when? The Resplendent, wasn’t it? The Resplendent…
The razor he was holding dropped from his hand. He’d got it now! Before his eyes rose the vision of a newspaper placard.
The Resplendent – Terrible Disaster …
Vernon and Jane were on the Resplendent.
He rang furiously. A few minutes later he was scanning the morning newspaper. There were now full details to hand. His eyes scanned them rapidly. The Resplendent had struck an iceberg – the death-roll, survivors …
A list of names … survivors. He found the name there of Green, Vernon was alive anyway. Then he searched the other list and found at last what he was looking for – fearing – the name of Jane Harding.
3
He stood quite still, staring at the newssheet in his hand. Presently he folded it up neatly, laid it on a side table and rang the bell. In a few minutes a curt order given to the bellhop sent his secretary hurrying to him.
‘I’ve got an appointment at ten o’clock I can’t break. There are some things you’ve got to find out for me. Have the information ready for me when I return.’
He detailed the points succinctly. The fullest particulars as to the Resplendent were to be collected, and certain radios were to be sent off.
Sebastian telephoned himself to the hospital and warned them that no mention of the Resplendent disaster was to be made to the patient. He had a few words with Joe herself which he managed to make normal and commonplace.
He stopped at a florist to send her some flowers and then went off to embark on a long day of meetings and business appointments. It is to be doubted if anyone noticed that the great Sebastian Levinne was unlike himself in the smallest detail. He had never been more shrewd in driving a bargain and his power of getting his own way was never more in evidence.
It was six o’clock when he returned to the Biltmore.
His secretary met him with all the information available. The survivors had been picked up by a Norwegian ship. They would be due in New York in three days’ time.
Sebastian nodded, his face unchanged. He gave further instructions.
On the evening of the third day following that, he returned to his hotel to be met by the information that Mr Green had arrived and was installed in the suite adjoining his own.
Sebastian strode there.
Vernon was standing by the window. He turned round.
Sebastian felt something like a shock. In some strange way, he no longer recognized his friend. Something had happened to him.
They stood staring at each other. Sebastian spoke first. He said the thing that all day had been present in his mind.
‘Jane’s dead,’ he said.
Vernon nodded – gravely – understandingly.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Jane’s dead – and I killed her.’
The old unemotional Sebastian revived and protested.
‘For God’s sake, Vernon, don’t take it like that. She came with you – naturally – don’t be morbid about it.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Vernon. ‘You don’t know what happened.’
He paused and then went on, speaking very quietly and collectedly.
&nbs
p; ‘I can’t describe the thing – it happened quite suddenly, you know – in the middle of the night. There was very little time. The boat heeled over, you know, at an appalling angle … The two of them came together – slipping – sliding down the deck – they couldn’t save themselves.’
‘What two?’
‘Nell and Jane, of course.’
‘What’s Nell got to do with it?’
‘She was on board –’
‘What?’
‘Yes. I didn’t know. Jane and I were second-class, of course, and I don’t think we ever glanced at a passenger list. Yes, Nell and George Chetwynd were on board. That’s what I’m telling you if you wouldn’t interrupt. It happened – a sort of nightmare – no time for lifebelts or anything. I was hanging on to a stanchion – or whatever you call it – to save myself from falling into the sea.
‘And they came drifting along the deck, those two – right by me – slipping – sliding – faster and faster – and the sea waiting for them below.
‘I’d no idea Nell was on board till I saw her – drifting down to destruction – and crying out “Vernon”.
‘There isn’t time to think on these occasions, I tell you. One can just make an instinctive gesture. I could grab on to one or other of them … Nell or Jane …
‘I grabbed Nell and held her, held her like grim death.’
‘And Jane?’
Vernon said quietly:
‘I can see her face still – looking at me – as she went … down into that green swirl …’
‘My God,’ said Sebastian hoarsely.
Then suddenly his impassivity forsook him. His voice rang out bellowing like a bull.
‘You saved Nell? You bloody fool! To save Nell – and let Jane drown. Why, Nell isn’t worth the tip of Jane’s little finger. Damn you!’
‘I know that.’
‘You know it? Then –’
‘I tell you, it isn’t what you know – it’s some blind instinct that takes hold of you …’
‘Damn you – damn you –’
‘I’m damned all right. You needn’t worry. I let Jane drown – and I love her.’
‘Love her?’
‘Yes, I’ve always loved her … I see that now … Always, from the beginning, I was afraid of her – because I loved her. I was a coward there, like everywhere else – trying to escape from reality. I fought against her – I was ashamed of the power she had over me – I’ve taken her through Hell …
‘And now I want her – I want her – Oh! you’ll say that’s like me to want a thing as soon as it’s out of my reach – perhaps it’s true – perhaps I am like that …
‘I only know that I love Jane – that I love her – and that she’s gone from me for ever …’
He sat down on a chair and said in his normal tone:
‘I want to work. Get out of here, Sebastian, there’s a good fellow.’
‘My God, Vernon, I didn’t think I could ever hate you –’
Vernon repeated: ‘I want to work …’
Sebastian turned on his heel and left the room.
4
Vernon sat very still.
Jane …
Horrible to suffer like this – to want anyone so much …
Jane … Jane …
Yes, he’d always loved her. After that very first meeting he’d been unable to keep away … He’d been drawn towards her by something stronger than himself …
Fool and coward to be afraid – always afraid. Afraid of any deep reality – of any violent emotion.
And she had known – she had always known – and been unable to help him. What had she said: ‘Divided in time?’ That first evening at Sebastian’s party when she had sung.
‘I saw a fairy lady there
With long white hands and drowning hair …’
Drowning hair … no, no, not that. Queer she should have sung that song. And the statue of the drowned woman … That was queer, too.
What was the other thing she had sung that night?
‘J’ai perdu mon amie – elle est morte
Tout s’en va cette fois pour jamais,
Pour jamais pour toujours elle emporte
Le dernier des amours que j’aimais …’
He had lost Abbots Puissants, he had lost Nell …
But with Jane, he had indeed lost ‘le dernier des amours que j’aimais’.
For the rest of his life he would be able to see only one woman – Jane.
He loved Jane … he loved her …
And he’d tortured her, slighted her, finally abandoned her to that green evil sea …
The statue in the South Kensington Museum …
God – he mustn’t think of that …
Yes – he’d think of everything … This time he wouldn’t turn away …
Jane … Jane … Jane …
He wanted her … Jane …
He’d never see her again …
He’d lost everything now … everything …
Those days, months, years in Russia … Wasted years …
Fool – to live beside her, to hold her body in his arms, and all the time to be afraid … Afraid of his passion for her …
That old terror of The Beast …
And suddenly, as he thought of The Beast, he knew …
Knew that at last he had come into his heritage …
5
It was like the day he had come back from the Titanic Concert. It was the Vision he had had then. He called it Vision for it seemed more that than sound. Seeing and hearing were one – curves and spirals of sound – ascending, descending, returning.
And now he knew – he had the technical knowledge.
He snatched at paper, jotted down brief, scrawled hieroglyphics, a kind of frantic shorthand. There were years of work in front of him, but he knew that he should never again recapture this first freshness and clearness of Vision …
It must be so – and so – a whole weight of metal – brass – all the brass in the world.
And those new glass sounds, ringing – clear –
He was happy …
An hour passed – two hours …
For a moment he came out of his frenzy – remembered – Jane!
He felt sick – ashamed … Couldn’t he even mourn her for one evening? There was something base, cruel, in the way he was using his sorrow, his desire – transmuting it into terms of sound.
That was what it meant being a creator … ruthlessness – using everything …
And people like Jane were the victims …
Jane …
He felt torn in two – agony and wild exultation.
He thought: ‘Perhaps women feel like this when they have a child …’
Presently he bent again over his sheets of paper, writing frenziedly, flinging them on the floor as he finished them.
When the door opened, he did not hear it. He was deaf to the rustle of a woman’s dress. Only when a small frightened voice said: ‘Vernon,’ did he look up.
With an effort he forced the abstracted look from his face.
‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘Nell.’
She stood there, twisting her hands together – her face white and ravaged. She spoke in breathless gasps.
‘Vernon – I found out – they told me – where you were – and I came –’
He nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You came?’
Oboes – no, cut out oboes – too soft a note – it must be strident, brazen. But harps, yes, he wanted the liquidness of harps – like water – you wanted water as a source of power.
Bother – Nell was speaking. He’d have to listen.
‘Vernon – after that awful escape from death – I knew … There’s only one thing that matters – love. I’ve always loved you. I’ve come back to you – for always.’
‘Oh!’ he said stupidly.
She had come nearer, was holding out her hands to him.
He looked at her as if from a great distance. Really,
Nell was extraordinarily pretty. He could well see why he had fallen in love with her. Queer, that he wasn’t the least bit in love with her now. How awkward it all was. He did wish she would go away and let him get on with what he was doing. What about trombones? One could improve on a trombone …
‘Vernon –’ Her voice was sharp – frightened. ‘Don’t you love me any more?’
It was really best to be truthful. He said with an odd formal politeness:
‘I’m awfully sorry. I – I’m afraid I don’t. You see I love Jane.’
‘You’re angry with me – because of that lie – about the – the child –’
‘What lie? About what child?’
‘Don’t you even remember? I said I was going to have a child and it wasn’t true … Oh, Vernon, forgive me – forgive me –’
‘That’s quite all right, Nell. Don’t you worry. I’m sure everything’s for the best. George is an awfully good chap and you’re really happiest with him. And now, for God’s sake, do go away. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m most awfully busy. The whole thing will go if I don’t pin it down …’
She stared at him.
Then slowly she moved towards the door. She stopped, turned, flung out her hands towards him.
‘Vernon –’
It was a last cry of despairing appeal.
He did not even look up, only shook his head impatiently.
She went out, shutting the door behind her.
Vernon gave a sigh of relief.
There was nothing now to come between him and his work …
He bent over the table …
Unfinished Portrait
A MARY WESTMACOTT NOVEL
Agatha Christie
‘In Celia we have more nearly than anywhere else a portrait of Agatha.’
Max Mallowan
Bereft of the three people she has held most dear – her mother, her husband and her daughter – Celia is on the verge of suicide. Then one night on an exotic island she meets Larraby, a successful portrait painter, and through a long night of talk reveals how she is afraid to commit herself to a second chance of happiness with another person, yet is not brave enough to face life alone. Can Larraby help Celia come to terms with the past or will they part, her outcome still uncertain?