I Capture the Castle (39 page)

which was very hot for them, but I didn’t dare risk waking her by moving.

The tea was a comfort—and by that time I more than needed comfort. Most of me ached with tiredness and my eyes felt as if they had been open for years; but worse than that—worse even than my misery over Simon, which I was more or less used to was the gradual realization that I had been utterly in the wrong with Rose. I saw that the main reason for my outburst hadn’t been noble anxiety about Simon’s happiness but sheer, blazing jealousy. And what could be more unjust than to help her to get engaged and then turn on her for it his How right she had been in accusing me of failing her! The least I could have done would have been to talk things over quietly. What made me feel worst of all was that I knew in my heart that she was fonder of me than of anyone in the world; just as I was of her, until I fell in love with Simon.

But she shouldn’t have said that about calf-love.

“How dare she!”

I thought.

“Who’s she to decide that what I feel is calf-love, which is funny—instead of first love, which is beautiful?

Why, she’s never been in love at all, herself” I went over and over it all, while I drank cup after cup of tea-the last one was so weak that I could see the lump of sugar sitting at the bottom of it. Then the waitress came and asked if I wanted anything more. I didn’t feel like leaving so I studied the menu carefully and ordered a lamb cutlet-they take a nice long time to cook and only cost seven pence each.

While I waited, I tried to ease my misery about Rose by thinking of my misery about Simon, but I found myself thinking of both miseries together.

“It’s hopeless,” I thought.

“All three of us are going to be unhappy for the rest of our lives.” Then the lamb cutlet arrived surrounded by a sea of white plate and looking smaller than I had believed any cutlet could. I ate it as slowly as possible;

I even ate the sprig of parsley they throw in for the seven pence Then the waitress put the bill down on the table and cleared away my plate in a very final way, so after a long drink of free water I felt I had better go. I opened my bag to get out a tip for the waitress and then-All my life I shall remember it. My purse wasn’t in my bag.

I hunted frantically, but without any hope. Because I knew that purse was still in the evening bag Rose had lent me.

All I found through my search was a gritty farthing in the comb pocket.

I felt icy cold and sick. The lights seemed to be much more glaring, the people all around seemed suddenly noisier and yet quite unreal. A voice in my head said: “Keep calm, keep calm now-you can explain to the manager. Give him your name and address and offer to leave something of value.” But I didn’t have anything of value; no watch or jewelry, my bag was almost worn out, I hadn’t even a coat or hat—for a wild minute I wondered if I could leave my shoes.

“But he’ll see you’re a respectable person—he’ll trust you.” I tried to reassure myself—and then I began to wonder if I looked a respectable person. My hair was untidy, my green dress was bright and cheap compared with London clothes, and Heloise needing its belt didn’t improve matters.

“But they can’t send for the police just for a pot of tea and one cutlet,” I told myself. And then it dawned on me that it wasn’t only for my bill that I needed money—how was I to get to the station without a taxi his I couldn’t walk Heloise all those miles, even if I could manage them myself.

And my railway ticket-That was in the purse, too.

“I’ve got to get help,” I thought, desperately.

But how his There were call-boxes in the front part of the restaurant, but apart from feeling I would rather die than telephone the flat, I knew it would involve Rose in impossible explanations. Then I suddenly remembered Stephen’s message that he was always at my service—but could I bring myself to wake the Fox-Cottons up at nearly two in the morning? I was still arguing with myself when waitress came back and looked at me very pointedly, so I felt I had to do something.

I got up, leaving my bill lying on the table.

“I’m waiting for someone who’s late—I’ll have to telephone,” I said.

“Will you keep this place for me?”

Heloise hated being wakened, but I didn’t dare leave her at the table; mercifully, she was too sleepy to do any barking. I explained at the pay-desk that I was going to telephone—I noticed the girl watching to see that I did go into a call-box. It was awfully hot inside, particularly with Heloise slumped against me like a fur-covered furnace. I opened the book to find the Fox-Cottons” number -And then I remembered. You need pennies to telephone from a public call-box.

“You’ll laugh at this one day,” I told myself, “you’ll laugh like anything.” And then I leaned against the call-box wall and began to cry—but I soon stopped when I remembered that my handkerchief was in Rose’s evening bag. I stared at the box you put the pennies in and thought how willingly I would rob it, if I knew how.

“Oh, please, God—do something!” I said in my heart.

Then a person who didn’t seem to be me put my hand up very quickly and pressed Button B. When the pennies came out, my inner voice said: “I knew they would.”

And then, in memory, I heard the Vicar talking of prayer, faith and the slot machine.

Can faith work backwards his Could the fact that I was going to pray have made someone forget to take their pennies back? And if it was really prayer that did it, couldn’t Button B have saved me from troubling Stephen by giving me a pound?

“Though, of course, it would have had to be in pennies,” I thought.

I prayed again, then pressed the button, wondering how I could cope with a shower of two hundred and forty pennies—but I needn’t have worried. So I got on with telephoning the Fox-Cottons.

Leda answered—sooner than I had expected.

She sounded furious. I told her I was dreadfully sorry to disturb her but that I simply couldn’t help it. Then I asked her to get Stephen.

She said: “Certainly not. You can’t talk to him now.”

“But I’ve got to,” I told her.

“And I know he won’t mind if you wake him-he’d want you to, if he knew I was in difficulties.”

“You can stay in difficulties until tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I won’t let you bother Stephen now.

It’s disgusting the way ” She broke off, and for an awful second I thought she had hung up the receiver. Then I heard voices, though I couldn’t distinguish any words-until she suddenly yelled out:

“Don’t you dare do that!”

Then she gave a shrill little squawk-and the next second, Stephen was speaking to me.

“What’s happened, what’s wrong?” he cried.

I told him as quickly as I could—leaving out the quarrel with Rose, of course. I said I had meant to go home by a late train.

“But there isn’t any late train his “Yes, there is,” I said quickly, “there’s one you didn’t know about.

Oh, I’ll explain it all later. All that matters now is that I’m stranded here and if you don’t come along quickly I shall get arrested.”

“I’ll start at once was he sounded terribly upset.

“Don’t be frightened. Go back to your table and order something else —that will stop them suspecting you. And don’t let any men talk to you-or any women either, especially hospital nurses.”

“All right—but do be as quick as you can.”

Afterwards, I wished I hadn’t said that about being arrested, because I knew he would believe it-as I never quite had done myself.

But being stranded like that in a London restaurant can be very panic-striking, particularly in the middle of the night, and I did want to make sure he would come. I was wringing wet when I hung the receiver up. I had to roll Heloise off my feet and simply drag her back to my table. Her eyes were just two pink slits. She was practically sleepwalking.

I told the waitress my friend would arrive very soon, and ordered a chocolate ice-cream soda. Then I sat back and just wallowed in relief—it was so great that I forgot how unhappy I was and began to take an interest in my surroundings. There were some people at a near-by table who were connected with a new play—one of them was the author—and they were waiting for the morning papers with the notices of it to come out. It was funny how nice and interesting almost everyone looked once my panic was over—before, there had been just a sea of noisy faces. While I was having my ice-cream soda (it was glorious), a hospital nurse came in and sat at the very next table. I almost choked through my straw—because knew what poor Stephen had been driving at.

Miss Marcy had a story that fake nurses rush about drugging girls and shipping them to the Argentine to be what she calls, “Well-daughters of joy, dear.” But as I picture the Argentine, it has plenty of its own joyful daughters.

Stephen didn’t arrive until after three o’clock-he said he’d had to walk nearly a mile before finding a taxi. He had an odd, strained look, which I put down to his having been so frightened about me.

I made him have a long, cold lemonade.

“Did you snatch the telephone from Leda?” I asked.

“It sounded like that. What luck for me that you overheard her talking! Is their telephone on the upstairs landing or something?”

“There’s one in the studio—we were in there,” he said.

“Do you mean she was still photographing you?”

He said no, it was the other studio—”The one where the big photographs are. We were just sitting talking.”

“What, till two in the morning?” Then I saw that he was avoiding my eyes, and went on quickly: “Well, tell me about your interview with the film people.”

He told me, but hardly a word of it sank in-I was too busy picturing him in the studio with Leda. I was sure she had been making love to him. I imagined them sitting on the divan with only one dim light burning, and the great naked Negro looking down.

The thought was horrible, yet fascinating.

I came back to earth as Stephen was saying:

“I’ll take you home and pack up my clothes—though Leda says I shall have to buy some better ones. And I’ll see Mr.

Stebbins. He said he wouldn’t stand in the way of my career.”

“Career” sounded a funny word for Stephen.

“What will Ivy say?” I asked.

“Oh, Ivy-was he seemed to be remembering her from a long way back.

“She’s a good girl, is Ivy.”

Somebody brought the morning papers to the people who were waiting for them. All the notices seemed to be very bad. The poor little author kept saying again and again, “It isn’t that I mind for myself, of course… was And his friends were all very indignant with the critics and said notices didn’t mean a thing, never had and never would.

“I suppose you’ll be getting notices soon,” I said to Stephen.

“Well, not notices exactly, but my name’s going to be in print.

There’s to be a piece about me under the photograph Leda’s getting into the papers—saying how I’m a young actor of great promise.

After this one picture where I keep coming on with goats, I’m to go on a contract and be taught to act. But not too much, they say, because they don’t want to spoil me.”

There was actually a note of conceit in his voice.

It was so unlike him that I stared in astonishment—and he must have guessed why I did, because he flushed and added: “Well, that’s what they said;

And you wanted me to do it. Oh, let’s get out of this place.”

I was glad to go. My relief at being rescued had worn off; and there seemed to me a stale, weary, unnatural feeling about the restaurant—the thought that it never closed made me feel exhausted for it. Most of the people now seemed tired and worried the poor little author was just leaving looking utterly downcast.

The hospital nurse looked pretty cheerful, though; she was having her second go of poached eggs.

We sat on a bench in Leicester Square for a while, with Heloise lying across both our laps. Her elbows dug into me most painfully;

and I didn’t like the feel of the Square at all -it isn’t a bit like most London squares—so I said: “Let’s go and have a look at the Thames, now that it’s getting light.”

We asked a policeman the way. He said: “You don’t want to use it for jumping in, do you, miss?” which made me laugh.

It was quite a walk-and Heloise loathed it; but she perked up after we bought her a sausage roll from a coffee stall. We got to Westminster Bridge just as the sky was red with dawn.

I thought of Wordsworth’s sonnet but it didn’t fit—the city certainly wasn’t “All bright and glittering in the smokeless air”; there was a lurid haze over everything. And I couldn’t get the feeling of “Dear God!

the very houses seem asleep” because half my mind was still in the Corner House, which never gets a sleep at all.

We stood leaning against the bridge, looking along the river.

It was beautiful, even though I didn’t get any feeling of peace. A gentle little breeze blew against my face—it was like someone pitying me. Tears rolled out of my eyes.

Stephen said: “What is it, Cassandra? Is it—something to do with me?”

For a second I thought he was harking back to his having kissed me in the larch wood. Then I saw the ashamed expression in his eyes. I said: “No, of course not.”

“I might have known that,” he said bitterly.

“I

might have guessed that nothing I’ve done tonight could matter to you.

Who are you in love with, Cassandra? Is it Neil?”

I ought to have told him he was talking nonsense, that I wasn’t in love with anyone, but I was too tired and wretched to pretend.

I just said: “No. It isn’t Neil.”

“Then it’s Simon. That’s bad, that is—because Rose will never let him go.”

“But she doesn’t love him, Stephen. She admitted it was I found myself telling him about our dreadful quarrel in her bedroom, describing how I had crept out of the flat.

“You and your late trains!” he put in.

“I

knew right well there wasn’t one.”

I went on pouring it all out. When I told him I had realized how wrongly I had behaved to Rose, he said:

“Don’t you worry about that. Rose is bad.”

“Not really bad,” I said, and began to make excuses for her, telling him she had wanted to help the family as well as herself. He cut me short by saying: