me.”
“I don’t want anything from you, and I never will. You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m just so terriblysorry that I hurt you, that’s all. I’ve been thinking about it all these years, and wishing I could tell you.”
Cat and mouse. She is too complicated for me, he was thinking as he watched her now. Fundamentally, I am a simple man. Or am I? Am I just not as clever as I think I am?
When she put out her hands to touch his, he drew his own away, demanding, “What’s your game? Whatever it is, I don’t want to play it. You’re the past, the dead, forgotten past.”
“Not entirely forgotten. Don’t you ever have moments when you wonder what it would be like if we had—”
He ejaculated: “No!”
“Ah, but you must have,” she insisted gently. “I do. It’s only natural. And it’s only speculation, after all, because I’m quite happy as I am. I hope you are too.”
“Very,” he said now.
First she says she won’t be able to sleep, and now she tells me how happy she is.
One hand, with its shell-pink nails, was playing with her pearls. She knows how pretty that gesture is, he thought with scorn. And raising his cup, he encountered her eyes: soft, dark, and glittering, they were, sloe eyes like the plumfruit.
“It would never have worked, you know. Even though I had been willing to live where you do, or you had been willing to go somewhere else, it wouldn’t. Even in spite of all our love, it wouldn’t. We’re too different, you and I.”
He flared up. “So why talk about it? What’s your point?”
“None, really, I guess. It was just seeing you again that’s brought things back.”
He didn’t want to be reminded of that gray morning, of his despair, of himself walking through that park alone.
There had been melting ice and ducks on the pond. He hadn’t thought about it all in years. Years. He didn’t want to think about it now.
“Well,” he said, “well, here we are. There’s enough material here to fill a book. But since I’ve no intention of writing one, I’d best go.”
Randi stood up. “Yes. Good-bye, Adam. Good luck.”
For a moment they stood looking at each other. Flower face, he thought. Then they shook hands and parted.
For about ten minutes he stayed outside in front of the hotel, just stayed there in the cold night air.
After a while a phrase from Shakespeare popped into his head, that business about life being a stage and all men players. So, briefly, he had played a part with Randi; then the show had closed, the actors dispersed, and everyone had gone home, where each belonged.
“Where have you been?” Margaret cried when he opened the door. “I was beginning to worry. All these muggings in New York—”
“I browsed through the bookstore. I would have bought half a dozen more if we had room enough in the luggage. Hey, what’s this?”
A tray with biscuits and a bottle of champagne in a bucket stood on the table.
“It’s a celebration,” she said.
“Of our holiday. What a nice idea!”
“No, of more than that. It’s the anniversary of the day you proposed.”
Women, he thought. They remember everything.
“It was the next-to-most wonderful day of my life. Next to our wedding day.”
Her face was illumined. Intensely moved, he took her into his arms and kissed her.
“Oh, Margaret,” he said.
Then he opened the bottle with a triumphant pop, poured two bubbling glasses full, and made a toast.
“To love!” he cried, raising his glass. “Bless it, and bless us always.”
FOUR
O ne morning in the middle of January, Adam, raising his eyes from a stack of charts on his desk to answer the telephone, heard an unexpected voice.
“Hello! This is Randi. Are you shocked?”
Actually he was, but he replied calmly, “Not shocked, but surprised. Are you calling from New York or California?”
“Neither. I’m here in Elmsford. I’ve taken a six-month sublet on a garden apartment in Randolph Crossing, and I’m in Elmsford for
“I don’t want anything from you, and I never will. You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m just so terriblysorry that I hurt you, that’s all. I’ve been thinking about it all these years, and wishing I could tell you.”
Cat and mouse. She is too complicated for me, he was thinking as he watched her now. Fundamentally, I am a simple man. Or am I? Am I just not as clever as I think I am?
When she put out her hands to touch his, he drew his own away, demanding, “What’s your game? Whatever it is, I don’t want to play it. You’re the past, the dead, forgotten past.”
“Not entirely forgotten. Don’t you ever have moments when you wonder what it would be like if we had—”
He ejaculated: “No!”
“Ah, but you must have,” she insisted gently. “I do. It’s only natural. And it’s only speculation, after all, because I’m quite happy as I am. I hope you are too.”
“Very,” he said now.
First she says she won’t be able to sleep, and now she tells me how happy she is.
One hand, with its shell-pink nails, was playing with her pearls. She knows how pretty that gesture is, he thought with scorn. And raising his cup, he encountered her eyes: soft, dark, and glittering, they were, sloe eyes like the plumfruit.
“It would never have worked, you know. Even though I had been willing to live where you do, or you had been willing to go somewhere else, it wouldn’t. Even in spite of all our love, it wouldn’t. We’re too different, you and I.”
He flared up. “So why talk about it? What’s your point?”
“None, really, I guess. It was just seeing you again that’s brought things back.”
He didn’t want to be reminded of that gray morning, of his despair, of himself walking through that park alone.
There had been melting ice and ducks on the pond. He hadn’t thought about it all in years. Years. He didn’t want to think about it now.
“Well,” he said, “well, here we are. There’s enough material here to fill a book. But since I’ve no intention of writing one, I’d best go.”
Randi stood up. “Yes. Good-bye, Adam. Good luck.”
For a moment they stood looking at each other. Flower face, he thought. Then they shook hands and parted.
For about ten minutes he stayed outside in front of the hotel, just stayed there in the cold night air.
After a while a phrase from Shakespeare popped into his head, that business about life being a stage and all men players. So, briefly, he had played a part with Randi; then the show had closed, the actors dispersed, and everyone had gone home, where each belonged.
“Where have you been?” Margaret cried when he opened the door. “I was beginning to worry. All these muggings in New York—”
“I browsed through the bookstore. I would have bought half a dozen more if we had room enough in the luggage. Hey, what’s this?”
A tray with biscuits and a bottle of champagne in a bucket stood on the table.
“It’s a celebration,” she said.
“Of our holiday. What a nice idea!”
“No, of more than that. It’s the anniversary of the day you proposed.”
Women, he thought. They remember everything.
“It was the next-to-most wonderful day of my life. Next to our wedding day.”
Her face was illumined. Intensely moved, he took her into his arms and kissed her.
“Oh, Margaret,” he said.
Then he opened the bottle with a triumphant pop, poured two bubbling glasses full, and made a toast.
“To love!” he cried, raising his glass. “Bless it, and bless us always.”
FOUR
O ne morning in the middle of January, Adam, raising his eyes from a stack of charts on his desk to answer the telephone, heard an unexpected voice.
“Hello! This is Randi. Are you shocked?”
Actually he was, but he replied calmly, “Not shocked, but surprised. Are you calling from New York or California?”
“Neither. I’m here in Elmsford. I’ve taken a six-month sublet on a garden apartment in Randolph Crossing, and I’m in Elmsford for
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