The people next door could not tell me where Eve had gone. The woman who came to the door smiled in a superior, secretive way. “A midnight .flit,” she explained, “and about time too. No, I don’t know where she’s gone. I don’t care. Good riddance, I say. I shouldn’t be surprised if the police weren’t looking for her. Anyway she’s gone. We don’t want her sort in this road, thank you.”
I have no means now of finding Eve. It is a pity. I would like to keep in touch with her, without her knowing, of course, since I couldn’t imagine what her end will be. Will she give up her profession? Will she go back to Charlie Gibbs? Or will she hang on until she becomes just another worn out, drink sodden hag hopelessly plying for hire on the streets? I don’t know.
Perhaps one day we will meet again; although I feel that it is not likely. If she is in trouble with the police she will change her name and vanish from her usual haunts.
It was only recently I picked up a copy of Voltaire’s Candide and found in it some lines that seemed appropriate not only to Eve’s future but to the future of that regiment of women who follow a profession which occupies a definite place in our present society.
I was obliged to continue that abominable trade which you men think so pleasing, but which to us unhappy creatures, is the most dreadful of all sufferings. Ah, sir, did you but know what it is to be obliged to lie with every fellow; with old tradesmen with counsellors, with monks, watermen, and abbes; to be exposed to all their insolence and abuse; to be robbed by one gallant of what we get from another; to be subject to the extortions of civil magistrates; and to have for ever before one’s eyes the prospect of old age, an hospital, or a dunghill, you would conclude that I am one of the most unhappy wretches breathing.
As I say, I don’t know. I feel that Eve’s destiny is largely in her own hands. She is not a weak woman and I feel hopeful that a time will come when she will face up to her future as I am facing up to mine. I should not like to be far away when that happens.
I have often wondered why I did not succeed in gaining her confidence. I now realize that it was too much to expect that I would ever gain her affection, but I should at least have gained her confidence. I have always believed in the theory that a woman’s emotions can hold out only for so long against the impact of a man’s mind. But, obviously, Eve was no ordinary woman. Perhaps I had been over anxious. Perhaps I gave up too soon. I don’t know. It was a difficult task not only because Eve knew every move in the game, but because the line that divides loathing and loving in a woman’s heart is very fine. I may have had too clumsy a touch.
Now that I can look back in our association over a bridge of two years, I can say that although she caused me much pain and bitterness, it was an experience that I would not have missed.
Our week-end together was in itself an intense physical impact that few men have experienced. And I do believe that she enjoyed it as much as I did. But I made the mistake of continuing our association when I should have seen her no more after that week-end.
But why go on? I have gained experience from the past and I must prepare for the future. I must stop now. Russell is looking anxiously up at my window. I can see the sun catching the glass of his watch which he holds in his hand. Already Carol has her full complement of tourists. They are waiting for me.
The End