“Do you think we’ll ever go there again?” she asked, her face becoming sad. “It seems such a long way off.”
“Of course we’ll go there again. Don’t you want to swim in the lake once more? Do you remember the time when that old snake fell out of a tree and scared you? We were just going in and you absolutely refused to swim that day.”
She shivered. “I hate snakes,” she said. “You know I hate snakes.”
“I was only teasing,” he said quickly; “I hate things like that too, but I’m glad I came here. There is something solid and primitive about this place that Italy hasn’t got. Italy is ice-cake buildings and post-card skies. Here you feel the pulse of the people. The streets have run with blood and the buildings still echo with the groans of the oppressed. Look at it, look at the sea, the flowers, the people. Don’t you think they are more solid, more real than Italy?”
She said: “Yes, everything now is more real and more solid. The touch of fairyland has gone away.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “The touch of fairyland has gone away. That sounds so sad and final.”
She didn’t look at him. “Do you remember the fireflies at Arolo? The banks of the lake in the moonlight with hundreds of fireflies like silver sparks glowing in the grass?”
“There is something wrong,” he said. “Tell me, isn’t there something wrong?”
“Do you feel it too?”
“Then there is something. What is it?”
“I’ve told you.”
“Please don’t be mysterious. Tell me.”
She took a nervous sip from her glass and didn’t say anything. Mandell wondered why she looked so tragic. He thought this talk about fairyland was under the arm. He liked straight dealings himself and fancy language gave him a pain.
“Are you sorry you’ve come?” the big man asked. “Is that it? Would you rather we had gone to Europe instead?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. You see, the edges are frayed now. Please don’t make me say it. You must feel as I feel.”
He stretched out his hand to take hers, but she avoided him. “Why must you talk in riddles? First, the touch of fairyland has gone, and now the edges are frayed. What do you mean?”
She finished her drink. “I’m trying so hard to be kind,” she said. “Can’t you see that? Things don’t mean the same to me any more—there, I’ve told you.”
Still he couldn’t grasp what she meant. He signalled to Mandell to fill the glasses. Mandell gave an elaborate start, as if he had just noticed them, and brought the shaker over. “You like these, sir?” he said agreeably.
“Yes, they are very good,” the big man said, smiling vaguely, “very good indeed.”
Mandell pushed the glasses a few inches towards them and then stood away, taking up his old position.
“What was it you were saying?” the big man asked, taking up the thread of the conversation. “Are you bored with travelling? Do you want to settle down?”
She said, “Yes.”
“But where? Here?”
She shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be here.”
There was a long pause, then he said: “I love you so much that I will go wherever you wish. Tell me, and we will make plans.”
She faced him. “Can’t you understand”—there was an edge on her voice—“I can’t bear any more of this? I’ve tried and tried to tell you, but you won’t understand. I can’t go on with this any longer.”
“Don’t get angry. I understand that. I am quite willing to do what you want. Really, you can please yourself.”
She said very intensely, “We must part.”
He slopped his drink on the mahogany top of the bar. “We must part?” he repeated. “You mean you don’t want me any more?”
“I tried so hard to tell you nicely, but you are so sure of yourself. You have always been so sure of yourself.”
“No, you have mistaken me if you think that. I have never been sure of myself, but I’ve been sure of you. It isn’t the same thing. I thought your love for me was as enduring as mine for you. You mustn’t say I was sure of myself. I trusted your love. I had to have something I need not doubt. Don’t you understand! With all this horrible chaos in the world, with lies and envy and sordid business, I hung on to the one thing I thought would never forsake me.”
She said, “I’m very sorry.”
“Of course”—he passed his fingers through his hair—“I know you are. When did it happen? Recently?”
She said: “Now I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
“You can’t leave it like that. I’m crazy about you. You know I’m crazy about you. Have I done anything that decided you?”
She shook her head. “I’m bad,” she said softly; “I thought I could find the happiness I wanted with you, but I haven’t. I must live my life. I have not the courage to pretend. You wouldn’t want me to pretend, would you?”
“Why do you say you’re bad? Is it because there is someone else?”
She hesitated a moment, then she said: “Yes, yes. I didn’t want to tell you, but I must. You are bound to hear sooner or later.”
With the morbid interest of a lounger at a street accident, Mandell watched the big man dispassionately. He noticed that he had suddenly gone very pale and it was only with difficulty that he controlled himself.
“I see,” he said.
“No,” she said quickly, “you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. You are thinking that I have wounded your pride. I know how men feel when this happens. But it won’t wound your pride. I’m so glad about that because you have been so very sweet to me. You have, and I have appreciated—”
“Please,” he said, “don’t talk like that. You are making my love sound like a donation to a hospital. It wasn’t like that. I gave you everything, and I suppose it just wasn’t enough.”
Mandell saw her flinch and he raised his eyebrows approvingly. He thought this big guy was taking it lying down. What this dame wanted was fireworks. He sniffed contemptuously. All this talk about fairyland and frayed edges—it was just so much crap.
“I’m going away with Margaret Whitely,” she said quietly.
The big man’s colour came back, making his face congested. “Who?” he said, staring at her.
“Yes. Oh, I know what you are going to say, but I’ve thought and thought and thought. I must please myself.”
He seemed now to be quite controlled again. When he spoke, it was in an irritatingly soothing voice that one might use to a child. “My dear, surely you have got over that nonsense now?”
She shook her head. “Please don’t try and be understanding,” she said. “I know how you feel about it, but I’ve really made up my mind once and for all.”
He lit a cigarette, holding the heavy gold case thoughtfully in his hand. “Does Margaret know about us? Does she know what she is doing to us?”
“She has waited for me. She knew that this would come to nothing. She told me a year ago. She waited and, you see, she was right.”
“Are you being perverted? Isn’t it rather a beastly thing to do?”
“I suppose I must expect to hear that sort of thing, but it will not stop me. Margaret and I can’t be parted any longer.”
“I think I would rather it had been a man.”
She shook her head. “No, you are wrong. You would not have taken it as you are taking it now. You wouldn’t have been patient. You would have got into a terrible rage and you would have wanted to kill him.”