“You have a beautiful body,” Katherine said.
“Oh, Katherine!”
“It’s true.”
“And she has beautiful hair,” Sarah said. “Naturally curly, and that beautiful taffy color. I’m so furious I won’t be able to be at the wedding. We’re going back to the States this Christmas, Kat, so I won’t be back next term. I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” Katherine said.
“We’ll be back in New York, and Daddy promised I could go to Dramatic School. I’m really looking forward to it awfully.”
Pen looked at her watch. “It’s nearly time for the end of prep,” she said, folding her letter. “We’d better go upstairs. I say, Sarah, don’t you think we can persuade Halsey to move the chest of drawers away from the window tonight? It spoils the view, and nothing’s going to keep me from walking in my sleep when I’m so happy.”
Miss Anderson did not notice Katherine in her gym shoes until the next morning after breakfast, when Katherine was going back to her room to make her bed. Then she stopped her in the passage.
“What have you got on your feet?”
“My gym shoes.”
“Where are the shoes I gave you yesterday?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve lost them.”
“How could you have lost them?”
“I just have.”
“You’d better come with me to Miss Valentine’s office.”
“All right.”
But even two hours in Miss Valentine’s office could not make Katherine tell what had happened to the shoes.
“If you will let me wire my Aunt Manya in London tonight, she will wire you or phone back that I am never to wear any such shoes,” she said finally, “and as she, as well as Father, is my legal guardian, that ought to satisfy you.”
And Manya’s furious telephone call settled matters. The shoes were never mentioned again, and everybody but Katherine forgot the matter quickly. Somehow she couldn’t seem to throw it right off. Her hip, which she never thought of except when she was doing some sort of exercise that was too difficult for her, began to bother her, and she felt that she was limping all the time. But after a while she forgot about it, and her concentration went back to her music, and reading, and getting the year over with.
When the year had finally gone and there were only a few more days left for ever and ever of this school, which she disliked but knew to be no worse than most other schools, she managed to wangle permission from Manya to go to Paris for a week and stay alone in a small hotel on the Rue Ordener. Charlot happened to have a week off just at that time and would be able to take care of her. Katherine knew that her father heartily disapproved of her doing anything like that alone, but that Manya believed in young people’s being on their own as soon as possible, and was her ally. The thought of a week in Paris and a chance to see Justin again was almost unbearably exciting. It was more difficult than ever to sleep, and she read longer and longer each night under the bedclothes. One afternoon, just a few days before the end of term, when she was up in the old elm tree with Martin Chuzzlewit, Penelope Deerenforth hailed her.
“I say, Kat, are you up there?”
“Yes,” Katherine said shortly, irritated at the interruption.
“Would you mind if I came up for a sec?”
“No, come along.”
Pen clambered up, panting, and Katherine reached down and gave her a hand. “I never was the sportsy type,” Pen said, settling herself on a branch and straightening her glasses. “Look, Kat, I hear you’re going to Paris.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Well, look, would you mind if I went with you and stayed at the same hotel just for one night?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t know you were going to Paris.”
“I told you Edmond was going to study at the Sorbonne this summer, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Well, his mother’s coming with him, and she’s invited me to stay with them for a fortnight, but they won’t be in till the next day, and I’d feel rather nervous about staying by myself in a strange hotel, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Of course, Pen, it’s all right. Will you write and ask about a double room for Sunday night or shall I?”
“I’ll do it, if you’ll give me the address. Thanks very much, Kat, it’s very kind of you.”
“Don’t be silly. It’ll be very pleasant.”
She left the school without a regret. She resented the fact that Pen was to be with her, because that would keep her from throwing off the school completely, from blotting out its existence. But in the long run it wasn’t important.
On her last day there after she had finished packing, she went back to the studio that had been Justin’s and still seemed to hold something of his personality; went back to the old château for the first time and played on the organ, which by now was falling apart and wheezing more than ever. Even if she was not able to see Justin during this one week in Paris, she would be in his city, and in the city where Julie had studied; she would write Justin from London; she would study with him in the autumn. Her term in prison had been served.
ELEVEN
Katherine and Pen talked very little on the trip to Paris. Without the background of school they both became suddenly shy. Innumerable walls rose up between them, larger even than those that had existed at school, where Pen was an integral part of the place and Katherine always an outsider. Charlot took them out to dinner but brought them back to their hotel early, saying that both looked tired and needed a good sleep, and he would be around for Katherine in the morning. He looked, as usual, thin and exhausted, but somehow the strain had gone out of his face; it was no longer the face of someone who was in desperate need of comfort and understanding. When he heard of Pen’s engagement, he congratulated her, looked at Katherine a little strangely, and said, “I, too, am engaged.” For a moment Katherine felt a terrific pang of jealousy run through her. Charlot was no longer hers, and although she did not want him, it would be difficult to conquer the selfish wish that no one else should have him. “You’ll adore her, Katherine,” he said. “She’s so beautiful, and sincere, and real. She has hair like yours, Miss Deerenforth, but you’re obviously English, and she couldn’t be anything but French. It’s so fantastic that she loves me, Katherine. I can’t believe it, I can’t imagine myself being so fantastically lucky.”
“I told you you weren’t in love with me,” Katherine said.
He reached across the table and took her hand. “I know, darling. You’ve always been right about everything. You—you don’t regret anything, do you?”
“No, Charlot. I don’t regret anything.”
“You’ll see her before you go. She’s in Avignon for a friend’s wedding now, but she’ll be back Sunday morning. You’ll love her and she’ll love you.”
Katherine didn’t feel as happy about Charlot’s wedding as she felt she should. When they were undressed and in bed, she turned to Pen. “You know I ought to be delirious with joy about Charlot, and I am terribly glad to see him so happy. It’s wonderful to see his face so un-tight, but I feel sort of lost, as though something sort of valuable had gone out of my life.”
“Was he really in love with you once?” Pen asked. “He sounded as though he had been.”
“Just for a very short time.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“No. I just—I just somehow wish he’d written me about it.”
“What did he mean when he asked if you regretted anything?”
“Oh—nothing.”
Pen changed the subject. “I wish I’d known you better at school, Kat.”
“I wish you had, too.”
“I think we might have been awfully good friends.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about that mess you had with Sarah.”
“I am, too.”
“It was all Val’s and Halsey’s fault
, wasn’t it?”
“I guess so. Yes. And mine, for not knowing anything about anything. I still don’t. Know anything about anything, I mean.”
“I’m going to find out soon,” Pen said happily. “Shall we turn out the light now, Kat? Are you sleepy?”
“Um-hum. Good night, Pen.”
“Good night, Kat.”
Katherine woke out of a deep sleep to hear the phone ringing. She reached out drowsily and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
It was Manya’s voice. “Katya, darling, I’m sorry to wake you, but I just got back, and I knew you’d be out cavorting with Charlot and that Justin of yours after tonight, and I wanted to be sure to get you. Now, listen carefully, Katya. We’re sailing for New York on Sunday. Oliver Henley phoned me this evening, and he wants me to do the play in New York next winter, and we’re closing here on Wednesday, and that will give us just time to get ready to sail on Sunday, and we can spend the summer in Connecticut. The boat sails from Le Havre at midnight, so if Charlot will put you on the boat train, we’ll meet you there. Have you got it all straight?”
“Yes. I’ve got it all straight, but I don’t want to go back to America. I want to stay in Paris and study with Justin.”
“Oh, my darling, I’m sorry, but I could never persuade your father to let you stay in Paris all by yourself, when you’re only seventeen.”
“I’ll be eighteen in October.”
“But you’re seventeen now. I know it would be wonderful for you, and I know how much it would mean to you, but he’s your father, and he’s an angel and a great composer, even if he has a terrible streak of conventionality where you’re concerned, and you’ve got to do what he says till you’re eighteen at any rate, and you can study with the best teacher in New York, so please be a good girl for Manya’s sake, and take the boat train to Le Havre on Saturday.”
“Oh, all right, all right, I’ll be there, damn it,” Katherine said, and hung up. Then she switched on the bed lamp and looked at her mother’s wrist watch. Two o’clock. She glanced at the other bed and noticed that the covers were pushed back and Pen was gone.—She’s probably gone to the bathroom—she thought, and turned out the light and lay down again. But with Manya’s words still ringing in her ears, she couldn’t go back to sleep.—Why in thunder she should have to pick now to go back to New York is beyond me—she thought.—If she could at least have waited until the end of the summer I could have studied with Justin during the summer and that would be better than nothing. I don’t know whom to study with in New York. I suppose I’ll go to Mother’s old teacher and ask him, but I don’t even know if he’s still alive. He was in his sixties when Mother was still working with him. Why do things always have to be such a hateful mess? Just when I thought everything was going to be all right again … Pen’s been gone an awfully long time. Oh, Lord, I suppose she’s walking in her sleep again, what with all the excitement of meeting her Edmond tomorrow.—
She turned on the light again and got out of bed. Although it was July and the trip on the train the day before had been hot and uncomfortable, the room felt cold, and when she went over to the window and pushed it to, she noticed that it was raining softly. She put on her bathrobe and slippers and opened the door. There was no sign of Pen in the long, dimly lighted passage, and the bathroom, too, was empty. Seized with an overwhelming anxiety, she dressed quickly, and went down to the desk. A sleepy-looking clerk with a too-long mustache was reading a paper, and he eyed her suspiciously.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Katherine said, “but the young lady I’m with walks in her sleep, and she isn’t in the room and I’m worried about her.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” the clerk asked.
“Please help me to find her.”
“She’s probably in the w.c.”
“I looked there. Please. She may have fallen somewhere and hurt herself.”
The clerk got up, grunting, and went up in the elevator. Katherine waited at the desk.—I know I’m silly to be frightened—she thought—Mother always teased me for being a worry bug. Pen’s always walked in her sleep and nothing’s ever happened to her before. I wish tomorrow would come, and everything would be all right. Even though I know tomorrow doesn’t always make everything all right. Sometimes it makes what you’ve been afraid of come true. But I wish tomorrow would come and we were sitting up in bed eating breakfast the way we had planned and waiting for Edmond and Charlot to come. I wish Charlot had written me about his being engaged. He should have written. I wonder what she’s like. I bet she isn’t worthy of him. I bet she’s a bitch. I wish that awful little cockroach of a man would find Pen. Why did he go off and leave me all alone? I don’t want to go back to America. I don’t want to. It’s not fair. I’ve dreamed so about being in Paris next winter, working with Justin. I should have been allowed to be in Paris next winter.—
The elevator rattled down and the clerk came out. “I can’t find her anywhere,” he said. “And she couldn’t have gone out. I would have seen her. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have.” He opened the door and looked out, then came back to the desk, rubbing his tobacco-stained mustache with the back of his hand. “If she’s out on the streets, there’s no use looking for her. You’d better go back on up to bed. She’ll probably turn up in the morning.” He picked up his newspaper again.
Katherine stared at him helplessly for a moment, then went back upstairs and undressed and climbed into bed, frowning anxiously at the tumbled covers of Pen’s empty bed. As she reached out to switch off the light, she remembered that she had closed the window and got up to open it again. And as she put out her hand to open the window, a terrible thought struck her, and she drew back, afraid to touch it. Then she gathered herself together and pulled the long window open and peered down three stories to the courtyard below. It was so dark she could see nothing, but she stayed peering down for a long time, trembling from head to foot. Then she turned suddenly and pulled on her bathrobe and ran downstairs to the desk again.
The night clerk looked up from his paper with irritation. “Now, see here,” he said. “I don’t want any more of this nonsense tonight.”
“Please.” Katherine clasped her hands together. “Our window opens onto the court. Please … would you … go and look …”
“You’re making a lot of fuss over nothing,” the clerk said, pulled a soiled handkerchief out of his pocket, and took some shreds of tobacco out of his mouth. “But if it’s the only way to keep you quiet—” He got up and went off, and Katherine was left waiting, leaning against the desk again. This time he wasn’t gone long, and Katherine could see that he was very frightened. He went to the telephone and spoke to someone in French so rapid and inarticulate that Katherine could understand only a few words of it.
“What is it?” she asked. “Please, what is it?”
“You’d better go up to your room and wait there,” he said. “You’d better go up and wait. What room is it? No, maybe you shouldn’t. Oh, I don’t know what you’d better do. What’s your room number?”
“34a. Did you find her?”
“Yes, I found her.”
“Is she—is she all right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” he said. “You stay here. No, go up to your room and wait. Yes, that’s best. You go up to your room and wait.”
The thin, merry-faced porter with the green-baize apron, who had carried their bags up that afternoon, came out from a small door hidden in the shadows.
“Go on up to your room,” the night clerk said again. “Go on up. It’s best.”
Katherine went back to the room and waited, her hands pressed tightly together, her heart pounding so violently that her ears hurt and it was difficult to breathe, trying not to look at the window. She had shut the door, but suddenly she went to it and stood there waiting, until the night clerk and the porter carried Pen in and laid her on the bed.
Her pajamas were soaked with rain and clung to her body. Her fair hair was wet, to
o, and a strand lay across her face. The rain was wet on her face and mixed with a thin stream of blood that came from her mouth. Her breathing was so shallow that it was barely perceptible.
Katherine ran to her suitcase and got out the slip of paper that had Charlot’s number on it. She gave it to the night clerk and said, “Get me this number quickly. It’s a doctor. Hurry up.” Then she turned to the porter. “Get me some hot-water bottles as quickly as you can. Really hot, and wrap them in towels. Be as quick as you can.” Then back to the night clerk. “Get me that number.” She pushed them out of the door, then went to the telephone and took off the receiver. After a moment she could hear the clerk ringing Charlot’s number. The telephone rang and rang and rang, and she was afraid it would never be answered, but at last a cross voice said, “Well, what is it?”
“I want to speak to Charlot right away, please,” she said.
“Doesn’t live here,” she heard the voice say, and the telephone was hung up.
She jiggled the receiver frantically. “Get that number again,” she told the night clerk.
Again the phone rang. This time it wasn’t as long before the voice said, “What is it?”
“M. Charles Bejart, please. I want to speak to him at once. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Wait a minute,” the voice said, and there was another long pause. Katherine looked at Pen lying so motionless on the bed, her wet hair clinging to her face, the thin line of blood oozing out of her mouth. “Oh, God,” Katherine whispered, “please, God, please, please, please—”
The Small Rain Page 21
