The Dividing Stream

by Francis King

  ‘‘But I don’t want to go in there,’’ she retorted as she would have done to Max. ‘‘It looks sinister.’’

  He laughed. ‘‘ Don’t be silly, there’s nothing sinister about it. Come on.’’ Before she could object, he had gone in before her.

  ‘‘I don’t like your manners,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Don’t you?’’

  ‘‘I think you’re extremely rude.’’

  ‘‘That’s the only way to deal with you.… What’ll you have to drink?’’

  ‘‘I don’t want anything to drink.’’

  ‘‘Yes, you do.’’ He turned to the man behind the counter. ‘‘Two large coffees.… How do you feel? Better?’’

  ‘‘I hate to be despised.’’

  ‘‘Despised?’’

  ‘‘I know how you despise me. For being drunk in the middle of the afternoon. And then for not going back for my lipstick when I knew I had dropped it under the bench. And now because I don’t like being in this kind of place.’’

  ‘‘You’re rich,’’ he said.

  ‘‘And you despise me for that.’’

  ‘‘No, I have far too great a respect for money to despise those that have it. But you shouldn’t let it spoil you.’’

  ‘‘What are you doing in Italy?’’

  ‘‘I live here.’’

  ‘‘Work here, you mean?’’

  ‘‘Sometimes.’’

  ‘‘Where do you live?’’

  ‘‘Oh, all over the place.’’ He laughed: ‘‘You say that I’m rude, but your own curiosity isn’t exactly polite, is it?’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I’m interested, that’s all. You interest me,’’ she repeated. But he had turned away to speak to the waiter.

  ‘‘Sixty lire, with a twenty lire tip. That’s forty lire each.’’ He waited for her to pay him her share and when she handed him a fifty lire note, returned her ten lire.

  ‘‘Now what?’’ he asked when they emerged into the street. ‘‘What about your friends?’’

  Karen pulled a face. ‘‘I’m supposed to meet them at the car at five.’’

  ‘‘It’s now four o’clock,’’ he said, looking at the watch on his thin, brown wrist. ‘‘Are you driving back to Florence?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Do you want a lift?’’

  He smiled. ‘‘No, I don’t want a lift. I’m going there, but I don’t want a lift.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I prefer to go in the S.I.T.A. bus. The company’s more amusing.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘You know I didn’t mean you. But they’re both pretty good hell, aren’t they? One can see that at once. Well, aren’t they?’’

  ‘‘They’re very kind people,’’ Karen said. She had never thought it before, but now as he criticized them, she knew it to be true.

  ‘‘Oh, kind! Don’t pretend that they don’t make your flesh creep.’’

  ‘‘You’ve hardly spoken to them.’’

  ‘‘Come to Florence with me, in the bus,’’ he suddenly suggested.

  ‘‘No, I can’t do that.’’

  ‘‘What’s the matter? Afraid of the discomfort? Yes, it is uncomfortable. You may have to stand. And there’s the noise and the dust. And, of course, the people.’’

  ‘‘I wish you wouldn’t sneer at me. I’ve told you, I don’t like it.… I can’t come with you because I’ve promised to go back with the Maskells. They’d think me awfully rude if I didn’t turn up.’’

  ‘‘You could leave a note. I have some economy labels in my rucksack. Write on one that you’ve met an old friend and we can stick it on the car window.’’

  ‘‘I think that would be rather ruthless.’’ As if she had suddenly made a discovery, she added: ‘‘You are ruthless, I think.’’

  ‘‘Here’s the label. Sit down and write on it. Use my fountain pen.… What’s the matter?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I’ve something in my eye.’’

  ‘‘Don’t rub it, that’ll only make it worse. Let me see.’’

  ‘‘No, it’s all right, thank you.’’ She shrank away, as she had always shrunk from the hands of others. ‘‘It’s all right, really it’s all right.’’

  ‘‘How can it be all right, when your eye is streaming tears? Do you think I’m going to hurt you? Or are you just being old-fashioned?’’ He put one hand on her chin and with the fingers of the other opened the eye. She at once squirmed away, making him exclaim angrily: ‘‘ Oh, don’t be such a coward.… Here, wait a moment, I can see it. It’s a bit of grit.’’ He pulled the handkerchief from her belt, once again making her struggle from him like a wild animal, and with a gentle flick removed the irritation. ‘‘All right?’’ She had covered her face with both hands and he repeated: ‘‘All right?’’

  ‘‘Yes, thank you. I just felt faint for a moment, it must be the drink. Yes, I’m all right now,’’ she said in a flat, subdued voice.

  ‘‘Well, write your message then.’’

  ‘‘There’s—there’s just one thing——’’

  ‘‘Now what’s the matter?’’

  ‘‘I’ve got to meet a train at seven-thirty. What time does the bus get back? I mustn’t be late.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I think it should be back by then. I don’t know for certain,’’ he answered casually.

  ‘‘But I must be certain. You see, I’m meeting my children. They’re coming out from England.’’

  ‘‘You’ve got children?’’ he said in surprise. ‘‘You look so young.’’

  ‘‘Only one of my own. The other two are my stepchildren.’’

  ‘‘That means that your husband is older than you?’’

  ‘‘Yes.… Why are you smiling?’’

  ‘‘I guessed that he would be.’’

  She moved as if to leave him, but then again sat down. ‘‘I must know about the bus,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Oh, we’ll ask when we get on.’’

  But he forgot; and, of course, she forgot to remind him.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘‘MAX must have walked miles up and down this platform,’’ Mrs. Bennett said to Lena.

  ‘‘He’s worried,’’ Lena said.

  ‘‘Oh, I long ago ceased to worry about Karen and if he was sensible he would follow suit.… Oh, do sit down, Max, do stop this incessant prowling. You make me feel so hot.’’

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ Max said. ‘‘But what can have happened to her? I rang tip the hotel and they said the Maskells had returned without her. Unfortunately they went out again almost immediately, so I can’t get in touch.’’

  Mrs. Bennett shrugged her shoulders, as if the topic bored her, and said: ‘‘How nice you look, Lena. I’ve seldom seen you look nicer.’’ The girl had no figure and it was sensible of her to wear a plain suit of dark blue shantung, with a white blouse, white shoes and a white hand-bag. There had been days when she had been less sensible. ‘‘Doesn’t she look nice, Max?’’ But Max was once again striding up the platform.

  Pamela, a tall, thick-set girl with a high colour, large hands and feet, and a mass of straight blonde hair which she wore to her shoulders, was the first to jump from the wagons-lits. As the train panted into the vast, cool station, like a dying animal returning to its lair, she waved a handkerchief at her window and screamed in turn: ‘‘Daddy, Mummy, Granny.’’ Then she leapt out and threw herself on her father as if she were a dog. ‘‘Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,’’ she squealed. ‘‘And Granny—darling! … But where’s Mummy? Isn’t she here?’’

  Her brother Colin was fourteen, two years her junior, with a small, compact body which made him look even younger, sleek black hair, his dead mother’s fluttering hands, and a voice which seemed over-precise because he had once had a lisp. Having spent three years at school in England, both he and his sister had lost all trace of their American accents.

  He was helping Mrs. Brandon, who had brought them, and his younger brother, Nicko, down from the carriage.<
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  ‘‘Bigger jump than England,’’ Nicko remarked. He was a sturdy, fair-haired child, but at this moment he was tired and travel-sick, and he spoke in a whisper.

  ‘‘Nicko was sick,’’ Pamela said. ‘‘It was awful. All through the journey.’’

  ‘‘Wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t!’’ Nicko shouted, stamping his foot in rage.

  ‘‘Oh, Pamela,’’ Colin rebuked her. ‘‘You know he didn’t want it said.… Come, Nicko. Here’s Daddy—and Granny.’’

  ‘‘Hello, old chap.’’ Max lifted him up, kissed his cheek and then hugged him, but the child seemed to sense his foster-father’s awkwardness and at once screamed: ‘‘ Put me down, put me down, put me down!’’

  ‘‘He’s tired,’’ Colin said, feeling sorry for his father. ‘‘ Isn’t he, Mrs. Brandon?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I’m afraid he hardly slept a wink.’’ Nicko was now clutching Mrs. Bennett’s hand, his thumb in his mouth. ‘‘How he loves you, Mrs. Bennett,’’ she said with a touch of envy, since she had never herself succeeded in winning a child’s affection. She was a woman thin to the point of emaciation, with eyebrows pencilled on gaunt, bony brows, black hair cut fashionably close to a head that was always slightly tilted back on its spindly neck, and hands whose fingers, habitually curling inwards as if about to grasp something, were covered in rings. Her voice was clear yet toneless, with a remarkable carrying power. She edited a woman’s fashion-magazine.

  ‘‘I hope the children were good,’’ Max said, making Pamela and Colin exchange fearful glances.

  ‘‘Oh, of course they were,’’ Mrs. Brandon said. ‘‘They were angels, and I don’t know how I should have managed without them. Colin has got the most lovely manners, I envy the girl who marries him.’’

  ‘‘Colin says he never wants to marry,’’ Pamela declared.

  Mrs. Brandon gave a laugh that sounded like pebbles being rattled in a tin can. ‘‘Oh, boys always say that,’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘But when they grow older they change their minds.’’

  ‘‘I shan’t change my mind,’’ Colin said.

  Max shifted uneasily, as if he imagined that the example of his own marriage had deterred the boy, while Nicko murmured to his grandmother: ‘‘I’m hungry. I’m sleepy.’’

  ‘‘Well—let’s go!’’ Max said. ‘‘No, you don’t have to carry your suit-case,’’ he told Pamela. ‘‘The porter can take it for you.’’

  ‘‘Yes, put it down, child,’’ Mrs. Bennett said. ‘‘ It’s far too heavy. You’ll only rupture yourself.’’

  ‘‘He’s a very old man,’’ Pamela said, and for the first time the others noticed that what she said was true.

  ‘‘He’ll have to get a buddy to help him,’’ Max said; but when he passed on this suggestion it was at once laughed away. No, no; he could manage easily on his own, the porter declared, he wanted no assistance. Max shrugged his shoulders: ‘‘Incredible,’’ he said. ‘‘What about you, Maisie? Are you coming with us?’’

  ‘‘Lady N. said she’d send a car for me. I’ve been warned about it. It’s a 1923 Daimler, driven by an aged, aged retainer and it always breaks down or runs out of petrol on the way up to Fiesole. But she’d be awfully hurt if I didn’t arrive in it. I wish I were staying at Palazzo d’Oro with you,’’ she added.

  ‘‘Mrs. Brandon says that life at the villa will be absolute hell,’’ Pamela said. ‘‘There’s no bath and one has to use things called bidets and when somebody-or-other stayed there last year the lavatory wouldn’t pull for the whole of July.’’

  Mrs. Brandon laughed. ‘‘Don’t let Lady N. hear you say that.’’

  ‘‘Are we going to meet Lady Newton?’’ Colin asked dubiously.

  ‘‘I expect so.… You don’t look pleased.’’

  ‘‘From what you’ve said about her, she sounds awful,’’ Colin said.

  ‘‘I don’t know why you want to stay with her, Mrs. Brandon,’’ Pamela added.

  When Mrs. Brandon had chugged off in the back of the Daimler and the rest of them were in the Packard, Max suddenly exclaimed: ‘‘Good God!’’ He had just started the engine, but now switched it off.

  ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Mrs. Bennett asked, easing Nicko’s thumb out of his mouth as he slept in her lap.

  ‘‘Lena,’’ Max said. ‘‘What became of Lena?’’

  ‘‘I forgot all about her,’’ Mrs. Bennett said. ‘‘ The child must have wandered off.’’

  ‘‘Who’s Lena?’’ Colin asked.

  ‘‘She must have thought us terribly rude. We took absolutely no notice of her—didn’t even introduce the kids to her. After all, it was very decent of her to come anyway.’’

  ‘‘I hope her feelings weren’t hurt,’’ Mrs. Bennett said. ‘‘ I think she’s a girl who feels more deeply than one thinks … Give me your handkerchief, Pamela. Nicko’s dribbling all down my blouse. Oh! What a filthy rag!’’

  ‘‘I’ll just slip into the station to see if she’s still there,’’ Max said.

  ‘‘Who’s Lena?’’ Colin repeated.

  ‘‘Your father’s Italian secretary,’’ Mrs. Bennett said.

  ‘‘Is she nice?’’ Pamela asked.

  ‘‘Yes, she’s a nice, sensible girl. A very nice girl,’’ Mrs. Bennett answered: ‘‘ But she doesn’t always dress sensibly,’’ she added.

  ‘‘No one’s ever quite right for Granny,’’ Colin said.

  Max was dressing for dinner while Colin sat on the edge of the bed and watched him. Recently, father and son had begun to feel more and more awkward in each other’s presence. The love between them was still deep, but as Colin grew older, its physical expression suffered increasing restraint without either of them finding the intellectual substitute for which both hoped in secret. Max, frightened by the child’s alarming precocity, always had the suspicion that he was being laughed at; whereas Colin, wanting confidence in his ability to command affection, mistook his father’s shyness for lack of warmth and sympathy.

  Admiringly the boy watched the muscular reflection of his father’s naked back and shoulders in the long mirror, at the same time feeling that he should say something to bridge the long silence that had begun to gape between them.

  ‘‘I’m sorry about the school,’’ he said at last. Although, when writing to his father, he had bravely concealed his disappointment, his failure to win a scholarship to Winchester had by now become an obsession.

  ‘‘What on earth does it matter?’’ Max said, drawing his cut-throat down the fold of his cheek. ‘‘ You’re going there anyway.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to have got it.… Everyone expected me to get it,’’ Colin added. ‘‘That’s the awful part of it—when people expect you to do things, and you fail.’’ He looked at the back of his father’s head, but Max said nothing, continuing to shave. It was silly of him to have tried to explain, the boy decided; obviously his father had other things to think about.

  Meanwhile Max was deciding that all the possible answers at which he in turn clutched would sound either patronizing or trite or sentimental or callous to his son’s ears, so in the end he said nothing at all. But having finished his shave, he forced himself to cross over and ruffle the boy’s hair. ‘‘It’s good seeing you again,’’ he said.

  He was both surprised and touched when, with a strange violence, the boy gripped his bare forearm, muttering no more than: ‘‘Yes, father. I’m glad.’’

  But such moments were rare in their relationship; and they were to become even rarer.

  ‘‘Well, have you forgiven your mother?’’ Karen asked gaily, as she joined the dining-table. ‘‘Well?’’ she asked, when no answer came.

  ‘‘Of course,’’ said Colin. He had risen to draw back his step-mother’s chair, and now stooped to pick up Mrs. Bennett’s napkin. His sleek black hair gleamed under the light; he was wearing a grey flannel suit, the trousers fastened with a snake-belt, and a tie which he had chosen with much deliberation from his father’s collection
.

  ‘‘You seem less sure, Pamela.’’

  Pamela’s cheeks reddened as she bent over her soup. ‘‘Nicko was disappointed,’’ she said. ‘‘He was so excited about seeing you.’’

  ‘‘Well, he’s seen me now,’’ Karen answered in perfect good humour. ‘‘And he didn’t seem annoyed.’’ She had just left him upstairs in a bedroom which opened out from Mrs. Bennett’s.

  ‘‘You could have been there,’’ Pamela pursued. ‘‘You knew what time we were coming, ages and ages ago.’’

  ‘‘There’s no need to whine,’’ Karen said, in reference to her step-daughter’s tendency to become tearful when she was angry. ‘‘I’ve already explained, it wasn’t my fault. I never knew that the bus would take two hours to do a journey which only takes an hour by car.’’

  ‘‘Buses usually take longer than cars.’’

  ‘‘I don’t like your tone. I admit that I made a mistake and I’ve said that I’m sorry. I can’t see what more you expect me to do.’’

  ‘‘But why did you come by bus, dear?’’ Mrs. Bennett asked.

  ‘‘Oh, Mother!’’ Karen exclaimed. ‘‘ I explained that when we first met. I came by bus because I got so bored with the Maskells. They got so on my nerves. I just felt that I couldn’t spend another moment with them. I asked when the bus would arrive,’’ she continued, on an impulse, with a fresh lie, ‘‘and the man said nineteen forty. Well, I know it was stupid of me, but I always get confused by that way of telling the time and I thought it meant twenty minutes to seven.’’

  ‘‘You subtract twelve from the number,’’ Colin said.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ Karen laughed, and added: ‘‘It’s nice to have children who can give one lessons in arithmetic.’’

  ‘‘Let’s drop the subject,’’ Max suggested.

  ‘‘Willingly. But before we can drop it, I must go and have a word about it with Mrs. Maskell,’’ Karen said, catching sight of Chris alone in the hall. ‘‘Now that I’ve made my peace with you all, I must make my peace with her.’’

  Pamela examined Chris and then said: ‘‘I’m not surprised that Mummy preferred to go by bus. Mrs. Maskell looks quite awful.’’ She and Colin both giggled as their grandmother reprimanded: ‘‘You’ve taken to saying very unkind things about other people. It’s something new, and I don’t like it. You were unnecessarily sharp to your mother.’’