my voice?”
“What do you think, Jenny?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me?”
He took off the reflector and handed it to Miss Plimpton. He went to the desk. Jenny followed him. He took out a prescription form.
“Your throat is a bit red, the membranes slightly roughened. After all, you have been singing. And you smoke too much. When do you open your regular stint here?”
“In five days.”
“I shall give you something to ease that minor irritation, Jenny. And if you have five days, I strongly urge you to take off three of them. Rest, sleep, relaxation.”
“Where can I buy that?”
“And I would like to have you gargle with this morning and evening.”
She sauntered over to the sliding doors which she suspected must open into the fireplace room she had seen before. “Couldn’t you prescribe an immediate drink?”
He looked up quickly and smiled, stood up and put the prescription slip in his jacket pocket. “You were determinedto go in there, weren’t you? Very well.” He slid the door open. “Come along, if you must.”
They went into the small living room. David went to the bar cabinet. Jenny went to look into the mirror over the fireplace mantel to touch her hair, freshen her lipstick.
“Still Scotch, I suppose?”
“With a little water, please.” Glancing at him in the mirror she saw him move to screen with his body the quick motion with which he turned a picture face down. He brought her drink to her and she turned and accepted it, smiling.
“No ice, I’m afraid. Please be comfortable, Jenny.” He indicated a chair. He went to the sliding doors and closed them as Jenny sat.
“You have changed, David.”
“Wouldn’t it be rather alarming if I hadn’t?” he said and came smiling toward her and took the chair opposite hers. He lifted his drink. “Salud!”
“David, you’ve become so … so guarded. No. That’s not quite the right word. Careful?”
She thought he looked slightly dismayed. “Have I? Perhaps. Care comes, I imagine. It comes. Possibly the more we acquire in this world the more careful we become … trying to hold to it.”
“I heard about Janet’s death. I do have her name right?”
“Janet, yes. I read about your marriage.”
“Which one? Not that it makes any difference. Neither of them were worth … the time it took to read about them. I should have married you. It would have worked, you know. It really would have worked.”
He looked at her somberly and shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jenny.”
“You seem so sure of that, don’t you?”
“It is better as it is.”
She stood up quickly and began to wander restlessly around the room, agitated but trying to control herself. “Very cozy here, David. Nice and sort of worn and calm and safe. Who keeps it up for you?” He did not answer. She picked up a small recorder from a table, replaced it, turned and smiled at him, “Don’t tell me you’ve given up your study of the harmonica!”
“Completely. Too many complaints. Do you still knit?”
“Rarely.” They looked at each other, both smiling, caught in old memories. She said with a trace of wistfulness, “Wemust have had fun. I remember it that way, at least. Did we have fun, really? Please tell me.”
“Yes.”
“See? I can twist your arm. Obviously, I’ve come here just to rake up old ashes. Looking for an ember, maybe.”
“Why did you come, Jenny?”
“The truth? Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone my first night in a strange city.”
“You must have scores of friends in London, just as you have everywhere else. You wouldn’t have been alone.”
She looked in the mirror, then turned toward him with that special urgency of despair. “I’ve made such a mess of things, David. Maybe it’s not my throat, but there’s something. They say I have an audience in every city in the world. But I haven’t a home anywhere. All my life I’ve … I’ve been throwing away everything that really matters.” She
“What do you think, Jenny?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me?”
He took off the reflector and handed it to Miss Plimpton. He went to the desk. Jenny followed him. He took out a prescription form.
“Your throat is a bit red, the membranes slightly roughened. After all, you have been singing. And you smoke too much. When do you open your regular stint here?”
“In five days.”
“I shall give you something to ease that minor irritation, Jenny. And if you have five days, I strongly urge you to take off three of them. Rest, sleep, relaxation.”
“Where can I buy that?”
“And I would like to have you gargle with this morning and evening.”
She sauntered over to the sliding doors which she suspected must open into the fireplace room she had seen before. “Couldn’t you prescribe an immediate drink?”
He looked up quickly and smiled, stood up and put the prescription slip in his jacket pocket. “You were determinedto go in there, weren’t you? Very well.” He slid the door open. “Come along, if you must.”
They went into the small living room. David went to the bar cabinet. Jenny went to look into the mirror over the fireplace mantel to touch her hair, freshen her lipstick.
“Still Scotch, I suppose?”
“With a little water, please.” Glancing at him in the mirror she saw him move to screen with his body the quick motion with which he turned a picture face down. He brought her drink to her and she turned and accepted it, smiling.
“No ice, I’m afraid. Please be comfortable, Jenny.” He indicated a chair. He went to the sliding doors and closed them as Jenny sat.
“You have changed, David.”
“Wouldn’t it be rather alarming if I hadn’t?” he said and came smiling toward her and took the chair opposite hers. He lifted his drink. “Salud!”
“David, you’ve become so … so guarded. No. That’s not quite the right word. Careful?”
She thought he looked slightly dismayed. “Have I? Perhaps. Care comes, I imagine. It comes. Possibly the more we acquire in this world the more careful we become … trying to hold to it.”
“I heard about Janet’s death. I do have her name right?”
“Janet, yes. I read about your marriage.”
“Which one? Not that it makes any difference. Neither of them were worth … the time it took to read about them. I should have married you. It would have worked, you know. It really would have worked.”
He looked at her somberly and shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jenny.”
“You seem so sure of that, don’t you?”
“It is better as it is.”
She stood up quickly and began to wander restlessly around the room, agitated but trying to control herself. “Very cozy here, David. Nice and sort of worn and calm and safe. Who keeps it up for you?” He did not answer. She picked up a small recorder from a table, replaced it, turned and smiled at him, “Don’t tell me you’ve given up your study of the harmonica!”
“Completely. Too many complaints. Do you still knit?”
“Rarely.” They looked at each other, both smiling, caught in old memories. She said with a trace of wistfulness, “Wemust have had fun. I remember it that way, at least. Did we have fun, really? Please tell me.”
“Yes.”
“See? I can twist your arm. Obviously, I’ve come here just to rake up old ashes. Looking for an ember, maybe.”
“Why did you come, Jenny?”
“The truth? Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone my first night in a strange city.”
“You must have scores of friends in London, just as you have everywhere else. You wouldn’t have been alone.”
She looked in the mirror, then turned toward him with that special urgency of despair. “I’ve made such a mess of things, David. Maybe it’s not my throat, but there’s something. They say I have an audience in every city in the world. But I haven’t a home anywhere. All my life I’ve … I’ve been throwing away everything that really matters.” She
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