In 1937, Erica remembered, Miriam had written her mother from Switzerland, mentioning among other things, that she had met a young Englishman named Peter Kingsley, who was a very good skier, had a job in a London publishing house and had spent the evening defending British policy in India. "Huh", was Charles’ comment. He took an unusual interest in Peter Kingsley from then on, and when Miriam married him two and a half months later, her father was the only person who was not surprised. And four years later, Charles had got the wind up on the strength of nothing whatever but a casual announcement from his son that he, Anthony, had met a girl named Madeleine de Sevigny, at a party the night before, and that he was taking her out to dinner on Thursday.
"Catholic?" asked Charles.
"I suppose so", said Anthony.
"French Canadian?"
"Yes, of course".
"Huh", her father had said for the second time, and then the fireworks had started.
If all he had needed in Miriam’s case was a letter containing four facts about one Peter Kingsley, and all he had needed in Anthony’s case was a casual statement followed by two facts about Madeleine, then, in telling him about Marc and in saying so desperately, "I like him, I want you to like him", she had certainly provided her father with more than enough to go on.
As he passed her again on his way down the study toward the flat-topped desk, she began, "You know, Charles, you really owe it to the advancement of science to go down to Duke University and offer yourself as a subject for their experiments in Extra-Sensory Perception…" and came to an abrupt stop.
She had stumbled on the missing half of the explanation. It was precisely because her father had known how much she had liked Marc that he had refused to speak to him. Charles Drake was simply not going to have his favorite daughter, who was also, in some respects, his favorite human being, getting mixed up with a Jewish lawyer.
"Well, I’ll be damned", said Erica, viewing her father with amazement. "Of all the nerve…".
"What are you talking about?"
"You and your little performance this afternoon. Really, Charles…" she said, exasperated, and then as the funny side of it struck her, she began to laugh.
Her father sat down in the corner chair again and finally he said, "Do you mind telling me what in hell you’re laughing at?"
"I’m laughing at you. You don’t seem to realize that other people just don’t behave the way you do. Incidentally", she said, looking at him with interest, "did you say ’Huh’ to yourself when I told you about Marc?"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about!"
"Never mind, it doesn’t matter".
"Now what?" he asked a moment later as the amusement died out of her face.
"I just remembered Marc". It wasn’t so funny after all. She sat with her head against the back of the chair and her hands on the arms, looking straight ahead of her, remarking idly after a pause, "It seems to me you’re being a little previous this time. Besides, your system doesn’t make any sense. It’s illogical…".
"Why?"
"Because if something weren’t going to happen, you wouldn’t have a premonition about it, so since it is inevitable, what’s the use of going to all this trouble to try and stop it? I’m just being academic, by the way", she added, "because judging from the look on his face when he left, Marc Reiser has been stopped quite effectively".
He said impatiently, "It’s not the event or whatever you call it that I can see coming-that’s pure fatalism. It’s just that if you know how people feel, or rather how strongly they feel it, then you can tell whether or not their feelings are likely to lead to a particular course of action…".
"That doesn’t apply in either Miriam’s or Tony’s case", Erica interrupted. "You went off the deep end about Madeleine when Tony hardly knew her and didn’t ’feel’ anything in particular about her…".
"I was right, wasn’t I?"
"I suppose so".
"As for this afternoon", her father went on, "it was perfectly obvious that Reiser had made a great impression on you. Probably you’d impressed him just as much-it usually works both ways. Anyhow, it seemed to me that it was better for everybody all round to make things quite clear at the very beginning, than to let an impossible situation develop and then have to clear it up later…".
"Yes", said Erica. "What you mean is that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure…".
"Of course", he said, obviously relieved that she had finally come to see it that way.
"…and since you’ve always done exactly what you like, it hasn’t even occurred to you to wonder whether it’s up to you to prevent it or not". She paused, surveying him, and finally added, "As I remarked a few minutes ago, Charles, you really have a lot of nerve".
Chapter III
For three weeks nothing happened. Erica’s one contact with Marc Reiser was through René de Sevigny, and the day after the cocktail party, René had gone to Quebec City. His secretary told Erica that she did not know when he would be back, except that it would not be until toward the end of the month. Erica could not get Marc out of her mind, she even tried to persuade her father to write him a note of apology, a suggestion which Charles Drake considered preposterous, and when that failed, she made several unsuccessful attempts to write him herself, but there was no way of either explaining or apologizing for her father’s behavior, and all she could say on her own behalf was that she was sorry, which was hardly enough under the circumstances. There was nothing to do but wait until René came back, and go on hoping that she would run into Marc somewhere by accident. His office was not far from hers, and Erica fell into the habit of looking for him, scanning faces in restaurants and theatres and glancing at everyone who passed her in the street, without even realizing that she was doing it.
On the last Friday in June, Charles and Margaret Drake went away for the week-end, and on Saturday morning, Erica’s younger sister Miriam telegraphed to say that she was arriving on the train from Quebec City at three o’clock that afternoon. Two months before she had written that she would be sailing "soon" but they had not expected her for at least another week.
The telegram was phoned to the Drakes’ house and taken by Mary, the cook, who in turn phoned Erica at her office. Erica had no way of reaching her parents; their fishing cabin was in back of Lachute, separated by five miles of rivers, lakes and mountains from the nearest village. Letters and telegrams delivered to the village simply stayed there until called for which, in her parents’ case, would not be until tomorrow night when they would be on their way home anyhow.
Erica said into the phone, "You’d better make up Miss Miriam’s room, Mary…".
"Yes, Miss Drake. Will you be asking anyone to dinner tonight?"