Night Without Stars (9 page)

“And more than friendship.”

Her hand was half clenched, and I slowly unbent the fingers and kissed the palm.

She said: “How would you expect it to be easier ended if it ended any other way?”

There was a sudden silence. “ I don't want it easier ended.”

“Then ended … No, Giles: it wouldn't … make sense.”

“Nothing could be worse than it is.”

“Perhaps you think that I …”

“I don't think anything at all.”

She uncurled her legs and sat up. We said nothing for a bit. I offered her a cigarette and she took one. Her hand fumbled as I lit it.

“I think perhaps I haven't played quite fair with you,” she said. “But I didn't expect this. I didn't expect any of it.”

“It's nothing to do with fairness or unfairness. There aren't any Marquis of Queensberry rules.…”

“What?”

“Any rules. Life isn't well brought up. It just shoves us about as it pleases.”

“… I'm only trying to be reasonable, sensible, to see it all from outside ourselves.”

“And are you succeeding?”

“No. All the craziness, you know, is not on your side.…”

I got up. “ Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Home.”

She stood up slowly with her back to me. I laid my hands on her shoulders and she leaned against me. I put my face in her hair.

“When I was a little girl,” she said, “I threw a doll that I loved and prized more than anything else at another girl I was angry with. It didn't hit the girl but fell on the floor and the head broke to pieces.”

“Well?”

“I don't want to damage, to upset what is good between us for the sake of a gesture. To make something ordinary and perhaps sordid in your memory out of what has been—up to now—”

“Sordid!” I said. “Good God!”

She gave a little laugh.

“You blow my hesitations away with great broadsides. D'you think they need all that?”

I said: “ I'm terrified of even one being left”

We went back by bus, there being no train at that time.

It was the usual crazy journey, more crowded than ever being evening and no passengers ever turned away. By the time we got to Monaco there were twenty-three standing, and the conductor kept shouting
avancez dans le couloir, s'il vous plaîit
!” in a tired, chiding tone as if he were a schoolmaster with a bunch of children. At Eze station five passengers got off and eight climbed volubly in. Parcels and baskets and dirty notes and good temper and ill temper and the smell of garlic and a baby crying.

I got separated from Alix by two fat talkative women, and every time the bus stopped I tried to reach her again. It would have been all right if I'd been able to see her, but once she was put of touch she seemed to disappear from reality.

The whole thing had suddenly gone off into something not quite earth-bound. I kept gripping the back of the seat I was clinging on to and saying to myself: This is real. Alix loves you. Just for the moment, just for to-night nothing else counts.

When at last the bus drew up in the square at Nice and evacuated its chattering contents I waited till she came up to me and then gripped her arm.

“Why do you hold me like that?”

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you'd disappeared or turned into a mimosa tree.”

She slid her arm into mine. “No.”

“Where shall we go? To my flat?”

“To mine. Mme. Colloni is away till to-morrow. I can cook a bit of supper and …”

We turned down towards the old town.

I said: “This comes of being kind to a strange man in a shoe-shop.”

“Now I have to cook his supper.”

“What to eat? Something nice?”

“Snails, I expect.”

“My favourite dish—so long as they're fresh killed.”

“I shot them myself.”

“What with, a potato gun?”

She said: “We are both quite mad now, Giles.”

“It's a mad world. We meet it on its own terms.”

It didn't much matter what we said just then. What mattered was a sort of oneness of feeling and decision. Just for the time we were ahead of reason and common logic. I thought, may it stay so; not for to-night only, perhaps for ever; perhaps it will last; to-morrow's sunrise is ten hours away; if it lasts until then. I thought, supposing she came to England; have I the wantonness to be selfish? But she wouldn't come, she's only being kind.

I said: “Are you only being kind?”

We crossed a street, threaded our way among some empty stalls. There were a few leaves underfoot and what felt like an occasional

crushed blossom as from a flower market.
I said: “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that.” I could have

kicked myself.
She said quietly: “Were nearly there.” There wasn't anything

more for either of us to say.
Her apartment was on the fourth floor of a tall house. There

was no one about. When we got inside the door I said:
“It's dark here, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
I pulled her quietly into the recess behind the door and kissed

her.
“Darling Alix. Darling Alix. I love you so much.”
She said breathlessly after a moment: “I like it when you speak

to me in English.”
“I'll speak often to you in English to-night then.”
We went up the stairs.
At the top of the first flight I said: “ Someone's coming down.

Shall we go up separately to avoid talk?”
“No. It can't be anyone important.”
We went on. At the turn of the second flight she stopped.
There was a creak of wood as someone leaned over the banisters.
“So there you are,” said Pierre Grognard.

I could have murdered him. Alix had dropped my hand, drawn a bit away. It was instinctive but it meant a lot.

She said: “We've just been to Monte Carlo.…”

He came down two steps.

“So that's how you spend your day off.”

“Not always—as you know. Did you want me for something Pierre?” She was cool, trying to carry it off.

“I thought you were spending the day with Armand.”

“It couldn't be arranged at the last moment.”

“I called you up twice but couldn't get a reply. I left a note under your door about Wednesday.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought you had promised me not to meet this …
goujat
again?”

“I'm not married to you yet Pierre.”

“Instead I find him sneaking up to your flat late at night—a private apartment from which I am always excluded.”

She said: “I think you'd better go now, Pierre.”

“Not until I see this man out of the building.”

I didn't speak. It seemed to me that the only way to help Alix was to do nothing to make things worse.

She said in a low voice: “ Will you forgive me, Giles?”

“… Of course.” I didn't move. With a feeling of black bitter hate and disappointment I heard Alix move from beside me and go towards the third flight.

“Good night, Giles,” she said. “And thank you.”

“Good night,” I got out.

She went slowly up the third flight.

“Good night, Alix,” Pierre said.

“Good night”

“I'll call for you on Wednesday. You'll find it all in the note I left”

She didn't reply but went on. There was silence until we heard a door open and close far up. All the spell of five minutes ago was gone. The swine, I thought. (But wouldn't you behave like that in his position?) At least, I'd not suggest insultingly to a girl like Alix that … (But wasn't that precisely what had been going to happen?)

“Well?” he demanded, “ What are you waiting for?”

I said; “I was interested to see how offensive you really could be to her.”

“If you're so considerate of Alix's feelings I wonder you put her in a position inviting insult.”

“I should think almost any excuse would do for you.”

He came down the remaining steps and came up to me.

“Go on” he said, “before I kick you down the stairs!”

I said: “ I don't feel in much danger of that.”

“No doubt you're aware that it's difficult to strike a cripple.”

“I should have thought it very easy. Anyway, don't let that stand in your fight.”

After a minute he turned away. “This man is blind and takes advantage of it”

I'd been aware of two other people coming up the stairs who had heard all this and were waiting to get past. I felt too sick and fed up to carry on the schoolboy stuff any more.

A man said: “What is it, m'sieu? What is wrong?”

I didn't know which of us he was addressing, and Pierre answered him.

“This foreigner comes to Nice and plays upon the sympathy of my fiancée. He prevails upon her—”

I said: “If you can't keep your girl faithful without outside help, why don't you go to the mayor and ask him for a distraint order—”

I had half turned to go, and he gave me a shove in the back that sent me against the wall. I turned and swung out with my fist but didn't find anything.

Then someone had me by the arm.

“Please, m'sieu. If there are differences they should be settled in a manner—”

“We cannot have fighting here!”

“
Mon Dieu
, this is a pretty scene!”

Evidently somebody was restraining Grognard too. There were about four people there now who'd been brought by our voices, and one woman spoke with authority, as if she had something to do with the flats. She badly wanted to know whom we'd been visiting, but Pierre had at least the sense to keep that to himself.

We went down the stairs and were shown out of the front door. The woman stood on the top step talking after us. “Brawling on the stairs.
Mon Dieu
, some people have no idea. They should go and cool their heads in the harbour! If my husband was here! There are those who cannot hold their wine. They will be sick as dogs before the night is out. For two pins I would call the police!” I heard Grognard go off and then stop a taxi and get in. Raging and humiliated and sick of it all, I began to make my way home.

John Chapel rang me up next day and said:

“Look, old boy, I've got a fellow coming in this evening; might just be your cup of tea; a Scotsman called McWheeler; let's see, you still play bridge, don't you?”

“No, not these days.”

“Oh, sorry. He's frightfully keen, I thought we might have had a foursome. Anyway, the point is he's over here on business, and it occurred to me you might be of use to each other. What?”

It was on my tongue to say, “I've changed my mind, Johnny; the south of France means nothing to me at all now; I'm going home next week and staying there.” But it seemed a bit curt after he'd gone to the trouble of thinking something up, so I said: “All right, Johnny. Many thanks. I'll be along.”

From his voice I pictured McWheeler as a stout chap with a bald head and black eyebrows, but possibly that was just my fancy.

He said: “Actually I'm in the biscuit trade, Mr. Gordon, but that's really beside the point. I'm in France at present representing our Chamber of Commerce and over thirty Scottish export interests. You
have
made a special study of commercial law, I understand from Chapel?”

“Yes,” I said, and thought: to hell with commercial law and exports, and with Alix, who meekly takes that arrogant fool's dictation and hasn't even had the decency to phone me …

“Well, since I came over here I've been very much impressed by the need for someone who can advise us generally on the French scene—someone particularly with an expert legal background. This big expansion of exports has brought up all sorts of little problems in its train—I'm over here about a case of infringement of designs, for one thing—and it comes hard on some of the smaller firms who have had no knowledge of the export trade until last year. Of course we can get help from government sources, but often that hasn't the
personal
interest behind it. A man on the spot who could advise in an expert way could be of considerable value.”

“Yes,” I said. And to hell with myself for getting out on a limb, for being in a rage of jealousy, for taking myself too seriously and pushing Alix into an impossible position where she couldn't behave straightly with anyone.

“I understand,” said McWheeler, “ that you are short-sighted, but able to conduct business affairs quite ably. You know something of French law?”

“Very little, I'm afraid.”

“Oh. But you studied in Paris for a year?”

“… I wasn't studying law.” John had evidently been putting over a sales talk.

McWheeler seemed a bit thoughtful. “ Well, the man I envisage will have to become acquainted with it. Not that I look on this as work which would be purely legal in character. We've men we could send over who could do that. But when Chapel mentioned you and your wish to live in France it seemed worth discussing the matter.…”

“That's very good of you.”

“… I'm not here, of course, to make any appointment—I'm not empowered to do that—I'm not even sure that it would be a full-time job yet. But we certainly feel the need of someone and some such representative, someone who understands France and the French from the inside. It's the psychological approach, you know—to avoid the legal channel rather than to seek it. A personal interview, a few words explaining a point of view—that's the important thing which can't be done from a thousand miles away. There's any amount of good will over here so long as it isn't frustrated by petty misunderstandings and surface differences in methods of doing business.”

“Oh, there's any amount of good will,” I agreed. Do you understand France and the French from the inside? What about Pierre? What's the psychological slant on him?